hard to find {angels} in hell // [Lei]

Beryl Shore is not someone I would have called myself friends or even acquaintances with just days ago. We are both Careers, by profession. It comes with the families, I suppose. The great families always tend to produce as many children as possible to try and breed a Victor in their brood. (The Rexes, the Morenos, the Shores, the Lightwoods... They're all the same, really. They all want a winner.) Beryl had always been a slippery little bastard, by all accounts I'd heard. He was a hustler of sorts, a smooth criminal of high society. He's got a quick wit and a sharp mouth. I can't help but admire him for it, even if it does remind me a little bit too much of Tarquin at times.

I snort at his question, throwing my head back in laughter. The scabbed scratches on my neck sting as a result and one of my hands shoots up to scratch at it quickly. It's still healing from momma's assault last week and the cold is only aggravating the stiff skin. I stop myself from scratching when I notice his eyes still on me, returning his stare with a quirked eyebrow. I give a small sigh, rolling my eyes in response. "Mmm, I suppose you could ask," I mutter, a soft smile coming upon my face before I reach out to down the rest of my drink. My stomach flips for a moment before settling again. "Haven't had a good night's sleep in over half a year, to be honest. Just been a bit more... preoccupied lately."

Preoccupied is putting it lightly. (I'm never more occupied than when Tyrannus is running through my thoughts. Recently he's been on a world encompassing jog.)

In my life, I've come to accept the inevitability of several things. Most of them are things I wish not to happen, but know will. The first is that I will die, either a death of a tribute in the Games by the hands of a king or in the game of Life by the hands of Father Time. It's cruel, really, it is, that my life has been so diminished to the subtle variations in which I die. Trainers yell when I miss a jab that, whoops, there goes my arm, then my head, and then I'm lying on a frosty mountain dying while another tribute survives by my death. They scream that the fruit I picked is poisonous and I'll be dead within a few hours as my body shuts down slowly and painfully within a grass knoll. (I've come to a point in life where I've learned to ignore them, if only for the fact that the outcome is always the same.) The process doesn't matter. I'll always be dead. The second of these inevitabilities long since accepted is the fact that I will never, ever find true happiness. Every fiber of my being longs for it, but the heart is a fickle thing and plays dirty tricks upon their captors. (Loving Tyrannus is the cruelest fate of all.) He will never see me as I see him. Society would never accept it anyhow. I will let him rip my heart into tiny pieces until all I am is blood on his boots. He'll wash me off without thought then and I'll be left alone, as I always am. (For now, I'll give everything I have just to make him look at me one last time before letting myself fall victim to my first fate with arms wide open.)

"Not getting cold feel, are we?" Beryl teases, the look on his face both asking earnestly and not caring. He's joking, but there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He's a perceptive bugger. I'm not sure if I appreciate the attention or loathe it after having walled up my business for so long. Not a soul knows, nor should they ever. (It's wrong, it really is, but I love him more than I can bear.) "Just a few more days before we see if all the work we’ve put in this past week will come to fruition. And even then it’s only the beginning. Until then, try to loosen up.” My eyes stay steady with Beryl's for a moment, my hand poised upon my empty glass as he pushes a new one over. I take it without a word and raise it to my lips, frowning at the taste of it again as I take a large gulp. (I'm not one to drink, but right about now, I can see why people drown their troubles in booze.)

I set the glass down lightly, lacing my fingers together around the warm surface as my eyes come to rest on the boy across from me again. My mouth feels heavy with unadmitted truths and helpless pleas, but my lips stay firmly shut. They only open when I sigh, slumping in my chair a little more and raising my hands to rub at my face. I feel as if I've been dragged through the street behind a chariot of fire. I am ragged and tired and oh so sick of trying. "If you're asking whether or not I'll ditch, don't. I'm not just going to leave you lot to foul up a plan I had a hand in divising. I'm not going to. I have my reasons to be here, as do you. I can't... I can't leave just yet," I reply, dropping my hands to my lap and picking at my fingers nervously. I hardly talk to anyone but Tyrannus. I don't do social interaction. It's weird. My eyes fix on Beryl, but they are tired. I can feel them droop and I'm sure I look a wreck. With a bitter chuckle, I roll my eyes and pull myself up straight again to face him head on. "What is it you're driving at, Shore?"