splintered reputation | nessa & mateo

When the board colors Nessa Garner’s name in green, he laughs.

Finally. Finally they deem him unremarkable, a dull blade, and it’s sort of a little tragic how he couldn’t be more than happier about it. Meek as a rat, he is so used to rendering himself invisible, to be away from the spotlight, that the inconspicuousness has morphed to become his own secret power, an armor he could don on if he so wished or a passageway he could conjure out of thin air to escape through.

And escape Mateo did.

The second the doors crept open, he was the first out - but not before using one foot to test out the threshold, head tilted up towards the mounted guns overhead. No gunfire. His other foot followed next, stealthily so, and soon his steps were pitter-pattering on the linoleum as he crouches low and moves ahead, eyes sharp and ears alert. He still finds himself worryingly absent of any useful items except the leather whip he jeered at, nothing except for the clothes on his person and a silent but ardent prayer to not cross paths with anyone.

A little mouse like him scurrying along the corners would be the perfect meal for a cat, or worse.

No, he needs to find something, and quick. Or someone. A few faces pass by in thought, yet only two sticks: Roe Daniels’ shark smile and Eyvinder Forrester’s umbra eyes. Bloodlust and blood-curdling.

Roe’s still back in the competition so he could retrace his steps. That, or he force himself to remember the way to the seven suite. Are the elevators working? He’d have to test that out - but halfway into that thought, he turns a corner and gets a mouthful of hair, almost frightening himself to death.

“God,” Mateo spits, clutching a light sconce in the wall to steady himself. He runs his tongue along the side of his hand to rid it off Nessa. “Are you stalking me, Garner?” he queries. Doesn’t wait for the answer as he walks past her, ears twitching for any other surprises.

Then he trains his eyes back onto the young Garner girl. “Acting like you don’t know something is the best way to make someone underestimate you.” He averts his gaze again, this time towards the shelves lining up the walls, his previous desire for a weapon undying. “But you’d know that, wouldn’t you?” Mateo asks, his back turned to the Garner - and that’s a ploy as well, especially when he is so intent on listening to whether she’d move closer or not.

He takes the side opposite of the other, face to forehead with Nessa as they glean the contents of the tall shelves that now separate them. The distance is welcomed. Keeping her – or anyone really – at arm’s length would be the smartest move here. No attachments, no ambushes. You live in Eleven long enough and you know what happens what a deal goes south, when an alliance sours. It makes things awfully personal.

Her lies make him scoff. “Sure,” Mateo replies, fixing a deadpan look at her through a gap between two books.

“The little sister of Flynn Garner: innocent, harmless, meek.”

His tongue clicks the last word.

In return, she makes her own observation and it’s accurate to a fault, smaller and insignificant all comfortable words to him, but the last part settles uneasily in his stomach. He’d never plan for underestimation, not really, because everyone here knows that each tribute is a threat. They’d be unwise not to. Even Nessa, fledgling as she was, has bruises on her knuckles and a determined set to her jaw.

“I am small and insignificant. It’s not some act I’m putting on, if that’s what you’re proposing. The only significance I have is all in my last name.” He looks at her. “What about you? Does Nessa hold the same weight to Garner?”

Then he looks past her. Behind Nessa Garner, tall lockers gleam invitingly in their personal alcoves and he remembers with a small tingle down his spine - that's where the training weapons were stored.

He tries not to gulp the lump that rises to his throat.

Instead he casts his gaze downward, trudging ahead towards a table full of plants, small terrariums lit by a beam of fake sunlight. Mateo runs his fingers through a few leaves, trying to remember the ones that could be eaten and of course, the ones that could not.  

A buzzer sounds overhead by then. The contest. It ended. 

He looks at Nessa, searching her face for whatever expression she has towards the fact that her cousin was one of the last few remaining in the ring.