um, pins?! rave/caleb

His room is quiet. Lights so bright that even when he pulls the covers tight over his head he can still see the illumination through the fibres of the material. His routine had been thrown out of whack. Grunting he slips from his bead, bare feet slapping the cold ground as he made his way through the apartment. It was silent. Just the way he liked it.

Moving around the apartment he dims the lights, eyes reaching for the darts he had requested the night before. He straps them around his waist before his fingers close around the barrel of a camera. At first he had plans to just ask for a diary, but something about physically recording the days events excited him, and extra set of eyes, ones that (unlike himself) couldn't fabricate lies just because that may be what he wanted to see.

Last night for example, camera in hand, shadows as armour, he had slinked around the quiet halls of the training center. Eyes observant as ever the small wet sounds of lips on skin, of quiet moans had caught his attention. Any other person might have walked by, cheeks dusted with the colour of rose, but he had wrapped the shadows tighter around him. Stealthy peaking around the corner of an almost closed door he could see the figures of two peoples, mouths attacking each other hungrily. Tongues so far down each others throat that they could tickle their bum holes if they so desired. In fact he might have seen the clench of a cheek (he would have to check back with his recording).

The small sliver of light must have caught their attention because a small shocked and disgusted sound had him running down the halls. He was sure that one of the woman was Opal Earnest. But again, his camera held the facts, his mind liable to unknown desires.

He would not make that error this afternoon.

After a few hours he finds himself on the fifth floor, eyes dancing around the apartment that almost looked identical to his own. there was nothing personal about these, maybe a stray detail here and there to make the tributes feel slightly more at ease. The lights are out, but he still finds himself keeping to the edges.

Quietly he opens the door to one room, eyes adjusting to the darkness. At first glance it looks empty, so he moves deeper, pushing open closets, looking through draws. But like the last few apartments they are empty, except for a few pins tucked away in one of the dressers. He takes one, shoving it into his pocket. A sad representation of what we were to the capitol. Just pieces of their puzzles, ones that would not leave a mark, that would be wiped away leaving pristine sheets for the ones who take our place next.

Closing the last draw he turns around, only for the room to be flooded with light.

Fuck.

"Um," he looks around the room, desperate to sink into the shadows. "Pins! ahem, what's the deal with them?"