the afterparty [lucky & ivan]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

“So it’s as easy as pulling the safety latch?” Lucky’s fingers plucked the steel lever before the trapping instructor even had a chance to respond. His hand waved over the open bear trap, the basic beginner’s lesson for this man’s class. The bald man protested, the wrinkles of his eyebrows rising above his hairline and he reached out to pull Lucky back. “Okay! Okay, relax. Don’t touch me.” He stood and moved away from the trap. Lucky threw a ball barring atop it and the entire trap, which took the trainer minutes to set up, relapsed within seconds.

Lucky loomed over the raised trap, hands on his hips, studying the situation to see if it had any value in his arsenal of strategy. The ball, which had slipped through the machine’s claws, neared the ceiling before dropping with a few extra bounces. He simply shook his head toward the trainer. It seemed like a waste of time for him to go out of his way to set up a trap that a tribute may or may not step into when he could just chop their arm off instead.

One of the higher-ups in the Training Center pulled the trap instructor away into a combination of whispers and scolding commentary. Lucky scanned the line of traps, searching for at least one that he could take inspiration from, but each one’s “how-to” pamphlet looked way too complicated to appear so simple.

The trainer and his small friend come back. He introduced the man to Lucky as Ivan Korsch, Head Gamemaker for the Games. Lucky’s back straightened in reverence for the man, even if it made Ivan even smaller in comparison. He didn’t often make fun of someone for their height: women were strictly off limits for a boy raised on his father’s chivalrous values, but men? He would be lying if he said a short king wasn’t both cute and silly.

Ivan guided them through a series of back exits and empty rooms. Lucky swore they were going in circles, stringing him along a wild tribunal procession. It wasn’t until Ivan mentioned his birthday party that his stomach sunk inward. The night went on for so long that he didn’t have the energy to clean up the evidence. The celebrations were, of course, not sanctioned, but that was part of the fun! His mind paced through numerous excuses and denials hidden behind a blank smile as if he was somehow meant to feel pride from Gamemaker’s scolding. Ivan’s feigned disappointment made at least part of his smile turn into a smirk. That was the pettiest he looked forward to from Capitolites.

He didn’t budge at the mention of cameras. Lucky always assumed there were cameras about, unsure whether that was for better or for worse last night. Why, though, a Gamemaker of this death pit sounded so pissed, as if Lucky did something against the rules, perplexed him. Ivan’s card dragged through the door.

Inside, Lucky flinched. With a good night’s sleep on his shoulders, the status of the pool was significantly worse than he thought it had been!

Half-eaten food floated atop the pool’s surface and bottles swayed with the wind from the freshly opened door and windows. The worst part, however, had to be the paint. It was everywhere. He thought most of it might go away as they swam, but it remained in every corner, wall, and surface. Lucky looked at his fingertips; a nail or two had dry pink paint stuck underneath them.

Ivan assigned Lucky’s punishment with a grin: he was to clean it all up and leave the place better than it started. Spotless, glowing, and in grand condition. Didn’t they create robots and chop off people’s tongues to do things like this? Lucky was a tribute, not a janitor, and expected to be treated as such!

The mop landed at Lucky’s side, with the dirty water from its brushes splashing against the side of his pant leg. He straightened out, hands on hips once again.

“I don’t know, Mister Ivan. Sounds like hearsay to me. I did not do this.” Lucky looked up to the wall: HAPPY SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY, LUCKY. His head shook, extending the comedic effect for a few more beats. "Kidding!" Lucky stuffed the mop back into the water, swirling it around as he pondered what to do next.

"One birthday wish? Oh boy." Lucky shut his eye and started pretending to whisper in the direction of his pocket pal, the Gamemaker. When he opened it, Ivan was still looking up to him with petty and exploitative eyes. The look of a man he knew well but one he hadn’t thought of in just about a week. His father. Shorter than him, of course, Ivan was just so small for a man of his likely middling age.

The realization flickered his spirit, and Lucky’s smile faded. "First of all, I’m sincerely sorry that I disappointed you, Mister Ivan. I just wanted to impress you all." Notice me, he begged.

Lucky slid the mop across the floor. Chipped and dried paint scraped off as he applied more and more force to the handle. "I don’t want you to think it’s just some stupid party, Mister Ivan. It was so much more! I’m playing the strategy game. Everyone thought it was harmless and I’m just some oblivious kid. That I’m impervious." Impervious. The inherent opposite of ‘pervious,’ his new favorite word Rita called him something like that last- wait. Lucky’s eyes darted to the restroom at the back. Certainly Ivan and the other Gamemakers don’t have cameras in the bathrooms, right? That’d be an invasion of privacy!!

"I’m kind of like a scientist, and this was like an experiment. Please don’t think I’m just some brat. I’m not. Well, I won’t deny I’m kind of a brat but I’m not just a brat, you know?" Lucky continued cleaning. "I guess my wish is… well, can you bring those tapes next week? When we’re doing the training sessions in private. I’ll show you exactly what I’m talking about. And maybe some music while I clean?" Lucky wanted to ask for more but knew not to be greedy.

After a week in this place, he was dying to wish for a hug. Ivan seemed like the perfect candidate, the type of witty and humorous person that could validate him at the moment… but that may just be his daddy issues speaking.

l u c k y
nachtnebel

He thought the impressive monologue about intent and strategy might grant him a second wish, but Ivan corrected Lucky immediately with a denial and a mocking remark. He worked hard, per the Gamemaker's request, without a clue if the water he soaked into the messy floors was doing anything to help. Why would he? He was focused on a million different things back home, none of which included cleaning the house. After a run-in with his mother's confessions, his parents told him he'd never have to clean again, a benefit of his nosiness.

Ivan course-corrected him to his right, where a fresh stain concentrated underneath his foot from a paint tube. Lucky rolled the water bucket closer, eye glaring at the man, unamused. The wish he chose to grant was music as opposed to those tapes. A shame, given the stories and strategies he'd developed by watching the other tributes. Ivan began to sing from his deck chair. The pitchy tone swung across the open layout of the pool room. With the first line, Lucky laughed, turning around to toss a few empty bottles in the trash. For the second, he distanced himself to the other side of the room, but Ivan's voice extended to every crevice of the room. The third tested Lucky's patience. He almost through the mop in Ivan's direction as if it were a javelin. Trapper joined in per the Gamemaker's request, and while his tone was just as rotten as Ivan's, he was amused to figure out that his name was Eugene. Who the hell would name their kid Eugene?

If this was his punishment, though, he took it without much protest. In a few weeks from now, he'd have Ivan's number and more.

The Gamemaker interrupted once again, ripping the mop from Lucky's hand. Once again, he was being scolded. The itch to send Ivan flying into the pull returned. His experiment was a failure, and all Lucky did was make himself a bigger target in the arena. Let them fucking try.

He bent his knees, crouching to make himself level with Ivan. "I don't need them to repay me. They gave me something priceless just by letting me get close." Lucky sized the Gamemaker up and down, reading his body language as he did all the tributes. "You said you didn't have all day to watch me clean, but I spoke for all of fifteen seconds and you've reclined in that chair, sang me a song, and gotten in my face to tell me just how screwed I am." He took the mop back and swung around toward the wall with his name blocked out in warm letters.

Lucky whipped the mop over his shoulder, fresh out of the bucket. Dirty water pelted Ivan's pant legs and his shoes. "Could've thrown you in the water the moment you took the mop from my hand. A bit of resistance on my end, and I could've sent you flying back with how slippery the floor is." From what Lucky gathered, Ivan liked having control. Of course, it wasn't hard to figure that out from a Gamemaker. The best time to beat him would have been when he was trying to take back control. That was when someone of Ivan's stature, in comparison to his own, would be most vulnerable.

Lucky launched the mop's bristles at the Y in LUCKY. It was such a relief to be able to divulge his strategies with someone who couldn't use them against him in the arena. He wanted to be a charmer for the tributes. Oblivious, like he told Ivan the first time. He wasn't book smart, but Lucky studied the art of fighting, even when he was sidelined with injury. Nobody was entirely predictable, but Lucky watched enough Hunger Games clips in the academy to know what weaknesses he could exploit.

"I know my blindspot. Literally. And I know everyone knows it. Everyone else is training on how to fight the generic tribute. I'm training on how to fight them." His name written on the wall was just falling drops of colored water. He looked to Ivan for approval, man to man. "Good so far?"