Enjoy
Seneca has pulled me aside and begun to sweet talk me into coming out with him later. The entire time, I force myself to not look toward the center of the room. I focus back toward Seneca. He is more than ten years older than me and still, he refuses to stop these advances. This has gone on between us for some time, him asking me into dark corners and me asking him to walk off a nearby balcony. My father has remarked that he enjoys my fire. I have remarked that I'd enjoy the power to burn him into ash.
Seneca leans forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "-day I will be gamemaker. We can do big things together."
I manage not to knock aside his hand. "I would rather not."
He cooes toward me and I control the urge to roll my eyes.
"When I am head gamemaker President Snow will jump to have you marry me."
"My grandfather does not jump for anyone." I do not mention that Cori has already promised I will never marry. No one is worthy of your rank he says. You will not disgrace me as your mother did. It is at these moments that I worry Cori will oneday kill me.
I push aside the thought, focusing on Crane's greasy hair.
He has said something else that I have not heard but I merely say goodnight and stalk toward the nearest bar. I pick up a flute of something blue just as someone leans over me.
"A baker's daughter, huh?" I jump, jostling the substance over the front of the boy's trousers.
I grab a cloth and begin to wipe at the spot as I register his hands pushing me away. I am sure my face is crimson. O'Dair himself, looks quite flustered.
"S'orry," I mumble.
"For what?" He dips the cloth into a nearby bucket and swipes it across the stain. I am humiliated that my hands were in the very same place a moment ago. "Pretending you're a baker's daughter or fondling me in public?"
Not caring to endure anymore of this public humiliation I shrug and walk away. O'Dair is fast, behind me in two seconds. He grabs my arm and spins me around. "Who are you?"
Something ugly rips through me as I remember the game-maker's words. Not only does this boy have confidence which rivals Narcissus', he is a murderer.
I glance nonchalantly at the hand gripping my forearm. "If you don't let me go, you're going to find out."
He looks surprised before letting go and putting a step of space between us. It seems that no one in the hall has noticed the scene, no doubt the blue juice is to blame.
"If you're not a baker's girl. Who are you?"
I shrug, "I live here." Simple enough. Dozens of nobles live inside of the palace, including the gamemaker's families.
His eyes narrow. "Why did you lie."
"Does it matter." I really wish this conversation was over. I am longing for my bed and a hot shower to wash this paint off my face.
"No." A moment later he hold out a hand which matches a charming smile. "I'm Finnick O'Dair, winner of the 65th hunger games. And who are you?"
He will find out eventually, my mind whispers. I have seen the looks of those who I tell, as outrage and hate muddle each pleasant part of their features. My namesake alone has the ability to murder friendships and destroy any chance of romance. Not that I am planning a romance with this shallow victor, I remind myself.
"Congratulations, trident-boy." His eyes spark and I ignore that it pleases me.
"I'm Avivox Murphy. Daughter of Game maker Murphy," his eyes predictably darken. Because they will put a seceret lock on him or perhaps because I am reckless I add, "Granddaughter of President Snow." I ignore how O'Dair's face changes, grabbing a flute of blue drink and making my way back to my rooms. I predict I will never have to speak to that boy again.
