queen of bad decisions [nixie, 95th top 8]

At first, things didn't seem to bad, cooped up in this Capitol hotel. For one, it was relatively luxurious, as most things in the Capitol were. Even the rooftop had an elaborate pool. I didn't mind being in the place, at least at first. That is, until the reality of it sunk in. My tributes— the ones that were supposed to win to show that District Four knew what the fuck we were doing— were dead. I wasn't going to look all that good coming out of here.

God damn, I hated when I had to defend my reputation to people. Shouldn't they be happy enough that Talon got out alive the year after I did? My work should have been done then and there, if you ask me. I should be allowed to relax, enjoying the Capitol's luxurious amenities from that day forward.

Now, I didn't mind putting on a show. I'd always loved to be a bit of a performer. I liked to show off. That much I wouldn't deny. So really, I don't mind flaunting my victor status and meeting certain expectations they have for me. I just don't want to be told exactly what I should be doing each day of the Games and whatever.

I'd rather just enjoy watching.

Speaking of which, despite the telescopes at the pool and the nightclub used as a designated viewing area, a forcefield-guarded rooftop didn't exactly feel like the place for leisure. If I hadn't thought that the forcefield was there for the other victors, I almost would've been offended at the lack of trust. They have to have a forcefield with risk of Flynn trying to get out and get to his relatives that were in the Games, I supposed.

Descending from the rooftop and back down into the main part of the hotel, I made my way back to my designated room. It was the sixth day of the Hunger Games, and interviews with the family members of the Top Eight tributes were to be broadcast on the television during a lull in the Games. Surely, fights would start up soon. The Gamemakers were pretty good instigators. I respected that about them, despite the fact that other Gamemakers had tried to kill me during my own Games.

Although really, it's just a part of the job descrition.

I opened the door to my room, closed it behind me, and made my way to my bed. Flopping down and putting my feet up, I brought my attention toward the television. Honestly, I hadn't bothered turning off the television since I'd been here, the remote lying untouched aside from for volume control. Honestly though, I wondered if I'd get in trouble if I did try to turn it off.

When I determined that there was no point in finding out, I ended up just listening in to the Top Eight interviews. They talked to Flynn, of course, and a few others. Almost immediately after the interviews, they cut back to the feed of the Games: fights had started.

The screen would switch between eventful moments in each of the two ongoing fights, until eventually just showing them side-by-side in a split-screen display. Honestly, at this point in the Games, that type of viewing was ideal. A moment or so later, two other fights appeared on the screen as well. Four fights. Eight tributes. This would be interesting.

I was watching intently for a while and then— oh no. Something wasn't right. I felt sick to my stomach. This was not a fun feeling. I rushed to the restroom.

Moments later, I found myself staring at my own face in the mirror. What the hell was that about? Had the Games set me off? Was that what made my stomach churn? No, it couldn't be. That had never happened.

Maybe I was getting sick. I'd give it until the morning, I decided.

-

Waking up the next morning, I decided to go find out if there was any sort of medical care offered in the hotel we victors were staying in. I asked around, eventually being directed to someone who was supposedly 'certified to take a look at me'.

Sitting on a table in a medical exam room always felt uncomfortable to me. Even if there was no physical exam, it always felt a bit personal. I was waiting for the provider to come back into the room, when I found myself lost in thought for a moment.

"What brings you on board, Miss Summers?"

Remembering his voice, it was echoing in my head.

Oh.

Oh no.

That couldn't be right. I didn't want it to be right. I had to know, though.

The doctor, or nurse, or whoever she was, re-entered the room and started to speak.

"So, Miss Nixie Summers! What've we got going on?" she asked, a bit cheerier than I would've liked to hear, with how I was feeling in that moment. My stomach did a flip again.

I ended up asking her to do a pregnancy test on me.

I also may have threatened her, just in case she thought of telling anyone about it, or its results for that matter.

-

While I awaited my test results, I tried to distract myself. I focused on the television on the corner of the room, playing the current feed of the Games, just on mute. Even letting myself zone into that for a while, the wait felt like an eternity. I was afraid she wasn't going to come back at first.

She did come back, though. Before she even told me the outcome of the test, though, I knew full well the news she was about to share with me.

"It's positive, Miss Summers," she said, a smile threatening to broaden on her face. She wasn't hiding her excitement well, and I wanted to smack the look off of her face.

"You're pregnant." It was like she thought I didn't understand her telling my it was positive since my reaction wasn't the one she seemed to have been expecting.

"Yeah, I figured that one out before you said it. Maybe you should be a bit better on delivering news to your patients. Wipe the smirk off your face before you tell someone next time," I snapped.

The expression of excitement dropped from her face in an instant.

"My apologies, Miss Summers," she urgently told me.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I need to go."

-

Collapsing on my bed again, I let out a long sigh. Why couldn't it have just been the drugs they'd used on me to get me here that were making me feel so sick?

Why'd it have to be a kid?

Of all things, why did it have to be Lorenzo Emberstatt's kid?