pretty/petty ; roe v. jimmy, final round

Thank god for Miss Nessa Garner. Or, maybe just for her cowardice. Nessa turning tail meant that Roe actually got to sit still for a minute, look at his knee a little closer, and then decide, actually, he shouldn't be looking that close at it.

It's different when it happens to you. He's fucked shit up before. He stabbed a little girl and crushed a kid's leg, whipped a gash into that poor guy's face just because he had the balls to tell Roe not to. And so he waits there on the edge of the cage scowling, trying not to think about how he's going to un-smash his kneecap in time so it doesn't fuck him over.

He can move, but it's dicey. It doesn't pivot quite right.

"The fuck're you looking at?" He snaps at one of the tributes still hanging around, cheering for dear Antigone.

Nothing to see here - just an asshole being pathetic.

At least if Antigone makes the match, Roe's already beaten her once before. There's an easy precedent. She's annoying, sure, but more than any of the rest of them.

Except it ends up not even mattering. Whatever relief Roe'd gotten from not having to fight the Capitol-darling victor relative flies out the window in the span of a few seconds. The scoreboard rearranges itself. There he is - little old nobody next to the Garner.

Great.

Arcadia must be laughing wherever she ended up slinking away too. And it's with that thought, with her nasty assumption about compensation that he turns to the weapon rack. He'd be an idiot to use his hands, no matter how good he is with them. He'd be stupid to take one of those longswords, he'd just make a fool of himself, playing right into her game.

No, instead Roe wraps his hands around the double hilts of a pair of short blades, set aside near the knives. Except these ones are a little sharper, a bit longer, straight-edged and gunmetal black and sturdy in his hands.

And what's better than one, but two?

“Y'know, I was kinda looking forward to fighting your little cousin in here" He shifts his way into the cage and then stops, considering, "Although maybe fight isn’t the right word-"

He pretends like he's thinking it over, like he's not just looking for an opening to slash at this kid.

"-kick around, more like.”

Always the fuckin' bridesmaid - he was runner up in that sparring tournament, he'll be damned if he falls flat here too.

“You’ll have to do.”