Regrets Collect Like Old Friends // [Lex/Mace]

how long have i known you brother?
hundreds of lives
thousands of years

Now completed, the fortress of pillows and blankets consumes the District One car fully, apart from the square foot of space between the compartment door and the knitted portcullis that separates the cozy interior from the world outside. Weighing whether she should stay - now that Denali has been summoned back to the District Five car - or whether she should give the rest of the group some time alone together, Lex stands at the perimeter, doing her damnedest to secure a sheet knot that keeps slipping. Not an easy undertaking with one arm out of commission, but if she learned anything from her time in the arena it's that there are few predicaments that can't be solved with the combination of desperation and incisors.

"Uh, 'evening."

Dropping the sheet corner from her mouth, she glances over at the visitor and returns the greeting with a curt nod. When he looks at her, Lex wonders if all he can see is the throwing axe leaving her hand bound for Enzo's head, the same way she can't look at Anatalia past the fire and smoke of Denali's arms. If that's why this feels a bit like a standoff. She returns her attention to the fort, opening her mouth to tell him that, yes, Temple's in here when he asks for Lex specifically. Well, sort of.

"Suppose I could have a moment of your time, Miss Lionel?"

'Miss Lionel'? Ripred. Eyes rolling all the way back in their sockets, Lex can't help pulling a face that approximates if my arm wasn't messed up right now I'd deck you for that. She settles for muttering "Lexandriy" under her breath instead. At least that just sounds formal instead of formal and patronizing.

"I just wanted to offer you this." He holds out one arm, draped with a jacket. She scrutinizes the gift and the Victor in turn. Mace Emberstatt looks as anxious to get the interaction over with as Lex feels, but she can't figure out why. What, is there some booby trap hidden beneath the worn leather? Fangs hidden in the sleeves, poison stitched into the seams? Some sort of ear-for-an-ear retribution for mutilating his tribute? She squints at the District Ten mentor - he doesn't seem like the malicious type, and if he were she'd probably feel his fingers around her throat instead.

Launching into a description of the jacket so meandering it puts some of Lex's more aimless ramblings to shame, Mace explains that the jacket is from his Games — sort of — and that it's hers if she wants it. Left with more questions, Lex meets his grey stare to read him for a tell. There are no answers in the way he looks right through her.

She sighs, casting a glance at the fort to catch the blankets rustling as someone moves around inside. Best not to interrupt the others' fun with... well, with whatever this is. "Hallway?" She nods at the doorway behind Mace's broad frame, eager to escape into the corridor. When he doesn't immediately budge, Miss Lionel follows the suggestion up with an impatient "Ladies first."

In the hallway, she gives the Victor and his jacket a quizzical look. "Well," she sighs. "Obviously I'm not going to say no, since you've got that victor money and all I've got is my life. But are you sure you have the right person?" He wasn't drunk; as far as Lex knew, he wasn't a drunk. And thirty-or-forty-some-odd is too young for senility, isn't it? "Seems like a sentimental thing to give to a stranger is all I'm saying." A wry grin twists up the right half of her face, trying to trick the conversation into feeling comfortable. "Sure you wouldn't rather send a new mill drill lathe my way?" She can tell the joke won't land before it even leaves her mouth, but it's the only way Lex has ever known how to put herself back in control of situations she can't quite figure out how to deal with otherwise.