green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia}
Aug 16, 2020 18:02:52 GMT -5
Post by rook on Aug 16, 2020 18:02:52 GMT -5
♕ patricia valfierno ♕
victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games
I'm uncomfortably full. The fragrant roast lamb feast that Katelyn slaved over sits heavy in my stomach, and with no wine to wash it down with on account of my abstinence, I feel so bloated that I want to collapse onto one of the many chaise lounges that the Capitol insists in putting in every room and hallway in a five mile radius.
I already know my fate for this evening will be me slumped in my armchair back on floor five in a haze of smoke, watching analysis and punditry on Emmett and Kenji's fight, and a big part of me is itching to get back down there and see if the kid has done enough, or if he's face down in the dirt, resigned to another name on a long list of the dead.
I hope he pulled through, he's our only shot given how fucking useless and miserable Lysander is. Ripred, that girl.
I stumble through the red carpets and eggshell walls of Eleven's living quarters, a great number of doors staring back at me unlabeled and each identical to the last. I look over my shoulder back to the dining hall and consider backtracking to ask exactly where the bathroom is, but pride gets the better of me, and I venture onwards in search of the bathroom. The last thing I want is to stumble back in there and see Katelyn and Opal sucking each-others faces like teenagers.
I tentatively push at the nearest door to me, but it won't budge at all - firmly locked. Kate mentioned that Harbinger and Kirito were both out tonight, I guess that explains that. Eleven's fabled trilogy of Victors are so sought after every year for interviews, galas, high profile events, or even to give their opinions on the Games on-air with Flickerman and Templesmith. I don't envy them at all, and my personality got me off the media ticket nice and early in my time as a Victor.
I try the next door, and this one swings open. But it's not the bathroom. It's a bedroom. And there, slumped on the carpet leaning against her bed-frame is the slight figure of Kassandra Nerys. The girl who fell from space. Her prosthetic arm is detached and lying lifeless on the floor as she flicks furiously at a screen, her face lighting up rapidly with different colours as she does so.
"Oh, sorry. I thought this was the bathroom." I break my own awkward silence.
A digging guilt blooms in my chest as I realise that I had completely forgotten that Kassandra even existed. Her Games were at the peak of my substance abuse issues, and I was in rehab for her Victory Tour. Whenever I think of Eleven, my mind skips straight to Kate, Harb, and Kirito. I had forgotten that she was even from the same District as them at all.
Kate didn't even mention her at dinner.
I feel bad, like she's been shoved up here out of the way because she's not as glamorous as the famous three. Because she's young, feisty, and a little rough around the edges. Not built for the puff-pieces and press panels that her co-victors so frequently attend.
"Do you mind if I smoke out your window?" I ask boldly to the girl who's stark face I've not seen up-close and in person before tonight. I take a half-step into her room and pull a pack of cigarettes from my denim jacket pocket and point them at her window like an extension of my finger. The bathroom was always an excuse to feed a dirty habit.