There was very little Gryffon actually paid attention to during the training of the tributes. Only on the third day did he go down to watch them, and at some point even caught the 8 kids' eyes when they retreated to go back to their floor. In this time Gryffon spent some time actually watching the kids practice, took notice of their scores, and tried to pay as much attention to their interviews as he could.
And the man had to admit: there was just so little he could take seriously. The girl's parents seemed neglectful by the way she mentioned them, and almost everything said was laughable. Gryffon, despite himself, rolled his eyes and groaned and almost scoffed, pained, at several of the answers given and questions asked. Caesar seemed more interested in their supposed relationship with one another than anything Games related, and frankly, it was boring Gryffon half to death. The whole talk of them being childhood sweethearts was sickening to an extent.
Although, when the Games began, Gryffon snapped out of his boredom and paced about, though watched.
The arena was an abandoned city of sorts and around the Cornucopia buzzed an electric fence. Beyond the rooftop center there were several buildings, all mostly crumbling, broken down, or near collapsing. When Gryffon popped back into the lounge, the Games were already on its second or third day with about twelve kids dead - which meant only twelve were alive, still. Two of them being the 8 kids.
"Oh, why thank you, darling," Gryffon mused as he whizzed past a Capitolite, snatching up the fruit on top of the man's sundae and picked up a clear drink. He threw a smirk over his shoulder before turning and popping the cherry into his mouth, blowing the stem out and watched as it landed in the hair of some other Capitolite who grumbled and simply glared at the Victor as he walked by and took a seat at the couch. No one was surprised by his childishness anymore. The secluded, quiet, scared-looking as well as scary-looking boy from three years ago was nowhere near timid anymore.
Obnoxious is what people enjoyed calling him now. Gryffon? He was just taking the advice he was given and not hiding. He was doing what he wanted and what he was comfortable with. And on top of that? He had managed to push almost everyone away. Everything was working how he wanted it to.
"What're they doing now? Playing House?" Gryffon asked disdainfully before he propped his legs up on the little coffee table in front of the couch, tilting a sip of his drink into his mouth. His eyes screwed shut for a moment and he had to down another gulp to get used to the bitter taste. No matter how many times he drank it still felt odd, still felt like a self-betrayal. But he was getting there, he supposed.
"Hey, watch it, Sunshine," Kella growled, reaching for the cup of coffee he just barely managed to avoid. She had seemed so accepting of him before. Of course, she also got friendlier with Trace and the two seemed more like a married couple than the bickering Victors they were Gryffon's first year as mentor, so things could change. Gryffon honestly didn't care - at least he had managed to convince himself of that for the most part. He was supposedly okay with Diamanté being the only one to stand him, being she was no better, but in a much quieter way.
With a roll of his eyes, Gryffon shrugged at the 3 Victor's comment and returned his attention to the screen that most interested him.
The little redhead - that he had completely lost hope on at that point - was sewing the curtains into the boy's jacket and her own, apparently fixing their lengths or something? At least 8's skills could come in handy in these situations, especially since they were fortunate enough to find a building with all the materials they needed in it. Lucky little bastards . . . Their damned arena was so easy . . . If it weren't for the mutts and the falling buildings and fence the redhead had managed to disable as she ran from the bloodbath, the entire arena would be one big piece of cake.
Everyday they were there Gryffon begged for them to die. The redhead looked so innocent and the boy was so blatantly obsessed with her, it was disgusting. Completely and utterly disgusting and Gryffon couldn't stand it. It's like they were also a married couple, though they were just as aware of it as Brun and Fairbain were.
"Don't break anything again, Sauntor. The Avoxes won't like hearing of another clean up because of you."
Gryffon tensed at the voice and glanced up at the man who stood behind the couch with his arms crossed. Trace Brun. Uhg. He was no better than Kella now with his babying and his sarcastic remarks. Asshole.
The only fun he ever had was behind the scenes or when he was allowed to watch the Games without the peanut gallery talking to him. "If this wasn't so good, I'd probably throw it at you," Gryffon said, forcefully calm, as he brought the drink up to his lips once more and loosened his hold on the glass as he swallowed.
At the same time, his eyes remained strained on the screen, simply watching Emily's quick and efficient movements with the sewing needle. She had appeared so useless, so unable to do anything. The stupid little girl had even fainted at her reaping! And her score was a measly little five! So was yours, smartass, Gryffon reminded himself bitterly, lowering the glass from his lips. She had managed to electrocute at least half of the tributes at the bloodbath, but hadn't done much else. Everything else done was done by her dedicated boy toy. If anything, it was he who would win.
Even so, Gryffon's metaphorical money was on the 1 boy, if all for the sake of being stubborn.
Gryffon refocused on the screen when she started to cut out small, ring-shaped bracelets. "What the fuck?" he growled, leaned forward in his seat. He glanced at Kella but her eyes were watching the screen and her expression revealed nothing, and neither did Trace's. Okay. So they didn't know anything . . . And Diamanté wasn't around to ask.
"Can I have your wrist?" the meek teen asked her partner, hardly looking Liam in the eyes.
Gryffon blinked slowly and chuckled. "What the fuck is this?" he repeated, his tone incredulous and just a tad bit amused. She was making stupid, cheap-ass accessories for them? To what? Mark an alliance or someshit? How much stupider could she get? It was ridiculous enough that Gryffon didn't know if he wanted to slap some sense into the girl or just laugh at her before, but now she was branding them?
He passed a hand over his face and put his feet down before leaning on his knees, as if that would bring him much close to the holographic screen on the wall. "And he's accepting it. My god. They're asking to be killed."
"And you're going to be the one to do it, I presume?"
"I might as well be, Rose," Gryffon scoffed, glancing up at the newest 7 Victor, Abraham Rose. Won a year prior, got a prosthetic hand, axe tattooed to his neck, and he appeared to have a thing for the little redhead in 8. Abraham was just all-around adorable. Gryffon disliked that, too. "The others are no better at killing - that fucking fence did more, for Christ's sake!" He turned his eyes away from the natural male redhead and looked back toward the screen just in time to see the 8 boy as he raised his right hand to Emily, but she instructed him to give her his left.
What?
The hell did that mean?
It made no sense.
What . . ?
The redhead wrapped one around her wrist as well, and before he could finish watching the scene, Gryffon stood up and let his eyes scan for the 8 mentor. "Phox!" He set the glass on the table and practically jumped over the couch to where the older mentor stood in between two sponsors, the three of them staring at the screen - Phox looking especially confused.
"The fuck does the cloth thing mean?" He needed to know. It seemed so important to Emily and Liam knew what it was. It couldn't just be some insider for the two of them. That would be stupid. They wouldn't get sponsors that way, if that was even what Emily was trying to get at. "Damnit, man, what the hell does it mean?"
The Victor looked at him and shook his head, waving his hand to signal Gryffon away. With a scoff and a wry laugh, the younger boy stepped in front of Phox's vision and raised a brow. "Uh, no? What does it mean? Hello, Phox? You're the only bastard who can answer this," he said hastily, glaring at the man. "Phox, what does it - "
"You ARE an impatient child, aren't you!?" he sighed, giving up on trying to look over the tall man as he brought his gaze to Gryffon. "Don't you have your own tribute to worry about?"
"Yeah, but he's boring and hopeless anyway. At least your kids are interesting, even if they'll die. What does the - "
"Marriage. They got married," Phox grumbled, pushing Gryffon aside and going closer to the cluster of Victors who weren't talking with sponsors.
Married? That was the wedding ring? . . The sponsors he just left to stand there had their eyes widened and large grins crossed their features. Of course they would be happy. Of course they'd think it was cute. Gryffon was right on them gaining sponsors because of the gesture, but they had both totally lied to Caesar. They were so screwed . . . And really?
Get married in the arena? The mere idea of marriage baffled Gryffon, but to get married in the fucking goddamned arena? What the absolute fuck was going on?
Gryffon blinked and laughed to himself, slowly shaking his head as it registered. "Huh . . . well isn't that is the sweetest little - "
BOOM
Gryffon whipped around and looked at the screen, watching the newlyweds separate from their little make-out session as a cannon rang to announce someone's death.
Sweetest thing ever? Not quite.
They were going to die, they wouldn't make it, and even if one of them did, they would have lost their spouse in the process.
Did she not think?
Was she just born that idiotic and ignorant!?
Did Phox do NOTHING to point that out to either of them!?
He felt almost nauseated by the action, by the stupidly endearing action of the unofficial proposal. All their crap about not being each other's sweethearts was just flushed down the drain and it was going to become another badly told love story that the Capitol twisted and morphed into their own little fantasy.
"Weeeeeeell! I'm totally counting down how long they'll last now. I say . . . give either both or one of them maybe . . . a week, if they're lucky, to live together," Gryffon threw out a bet, shrugging away the few glares that got tossed his way.
Yeah, he wasn't helping himself or his tributes, but he was betted on this same way before. He was counted down to die - and nope! Ended up killing in the messiest way possible, quite literally spilling many people's guts. All the Career districts hated him, and most of the others feared him, until it came to the other Victors. They cared. They all seriously cared and he couldn't understand why. Especially now that he apparently was such a jerk. They all wished him dead again, too.
Why help people so helpless? Why support such stupidity?
He'd rather Emily and Liam just get torn apart right there and then. It'd save them the pain from later. It was still early, their lives wouldn't be big losses just yet.
But nope . . . That was too sentimental for him. Gryffon just shrugged the thought away.
However many days later - Gryffon had stopped counting - the 8s were still alive. They were both trying to keep up with each other, and they were doing fairly well, until the redhead decided to get sick. Well, that was quite the misfortune, now wasn't it?
Maybe she'd finally die, and though their marriage would be short-lived, it wouldn't hurt so much . . . Maybe? Gryffon didn't know - he didn't care. He just figured this was some hormonal teenage girl thing where they act on instincts or someshit instead of their head and logical thinking. But there seemed to be little logic between the two of them from what he'd seen to begin with, so maybe that wasn't the case.
Whatever . . . It wasn't his problem.
Gryffon rolled his shoulders back and paced the back of the room where he wouldn't bump into anyone as he avoided any interviews. His last remaining tribute had died within the last couple days, and to be honest, he was relieved. One less of his district members to suffer through this shit job.
But now it left him with pitiful glances from the more sympathetic sponsors and mocking smirks from the more wry ones. He was asked to do one-on-one interviews with people, all of which he just managed to get out of, only to stay there and watch. He had disregarded most of the last three Games, but this one was frustrating him . . .
Emily had fallen ill and sure, he looked concerned with all his pacing, but he was just restless. Sitting down meant no movement and that would just bore him and he wasn't the one who went looking around for Capitolites or Dia, so it was either he observe or be bored. He chose the former.
He had watched as Phox ran around and negotiated with a few sponsors before finally acquiring the items he was asking for: a thing of soup, a canteen, and iodine tablets to clean the water.
Well, fucking finally, right? Gryffon would put his money on the water for being the reason why Emily had gotten sick - but it's not like he could talk. His kid could catch hypothermia and Gryffon wouldn't bother sending the medicine. He'd just let them die. The earlier the death, the better. It assured they wouldn't get out, even by accident.
"Aren't you nice, sticking up for your hopeless kids," Gryffon commented when Phox returned from shipping his sponsor gifts to the arena. The man shot him a look and rolled his eyes before simply walking past. Uhg, they were all such downers?Couldn't they at least try to have some fun or joke around? The Games were already dull as it was. Gryffon glanced over at another screen as he watched a pair of tributes run from a crumbling building, and looked at another that projected the Cornucopia with its fallen fence, until he returned to Liam's and Emily's screen.
A light dinging sounded in the arena after a few minutes, and Liam left the redhead's side for a moment to retrieve Phox's gift.
"What did you get?"
"It's for you, actually," Liam replied as he unwrapped the package. "He sent soup."
The boy was insisting she eat something, even when she shook her head no and groaned and complained. Just let her die . . . She was just using him . . . She was useless, and she would need food. He could hunt and survive on his own . . . Couldn't he just pick up on that and kill her? He had the capabilities to, especially now that she was so down in the dumps.
"Hah, that's funny," Gryffon chuckled suddenly, shifting a few eyes in his direction as he finally stopped his pacing and just crossed his arms over his chest to stare the screen. "Hey, Phox, what would happen if either of them were to die? Would they just burn the 'rings'? Is that a divorce in Eight? Get rid of the cloth?"
"Gryffon, I'm not answering that," the man sighed, shaking his head as he ordered a drink at the bar.
"Oh boo, Phox, don't be like - "
"Damnit, Sauntor, shut up! Some of us are trying to watch!"
"Aha, fuck off, Rose," Gryffon scoffed, flipping the boy off. "I'm trying to figure things out, it's important to their survival." As if he decided their fates, but hey, in theory, his comments made some sort of difference in the sponsors' minds. They were all clueless Capitolites anyway. He was merely helping them think a little bit.
Another groan from the girl made Gryffon chuckle lightly. God, she was such a child. A few minutes passed by and the two discussed the soup's flavor and Emily's weak immune system and weird eating habits as she slowly took sips of the now-clean water and finished her soup. They were a disgusting couple. They were sweet and cute, like some sort of highschool fantasy or something of the sort. And to top it off? They supposedly only got together in the arena - and that was to get married. Gryffon had noticed their attachment to each other in training, of course he did, but this was too funny. Their faith in each other was literally sickening, like Emily's whatever was contagious and he was now coming down with something. That could also just be the envy talking, but Gryffon didn't dwell on that possibility.
With a sweet kiss and a declaration that he was going to go try to find some rabbit, Liam left with his bow and arrows, and left Emily there alone. Bam! Perfect time for the Careers to jump in. Perfect time for the building to crumble. Perfect time for either of them to finallydie.
But a crash and explosion was good, too.
BOOM
The flash of light and heat that traveled into the room Emily was in was enough to cause heat waves to distort the image on the screen, but it only added to the effect of the fear so blatant on her face and Liam was nowhere to be seen.
Oh, how perfect!
"Fucking finally," Gryffon laughed. "What did I say, everyone? This girl's not lastin'." Mostly everyone was tense and watching the scene, their glares glued to the screen, and their bodies either visibly frightened or eager to see what would happen next - especially the sponsors and Capitolites.
One Victor in particular looked rather afraid, but Gryffon just smiled at that fact. What was Abraham's deal with her? Or was it just a 'redheads stick together' kind of thing? Was that why he was worried?
Oh well, whatever.
Gryffon shook his head and raised a brow at the thickening smoke. Time to find another screen to focus on that faced a clearer angle. He found one that was facing Emily's back, showing the light blasting onto her. Good. Finally a show.
When Liam had come back, he had found Emily with a bar of metal through her center. But she didn't fucking die!
Gryffon sat back on the couch, eyes closed, but he was more than awake and was listening. She had blown on the whistle, Liam came back with some other kid, dug her out . . . Only when another gong went off did Gryffon look up again and where did, he saw the tributes climbing down into the sewers.
They patched Emily up better, they walked around, tried to find a place to stay. Only Emily remained in the spot, though, and Liam disappeared to go check things. Oh. Shit. That wasn't good.
The walls of the place she hid in spun and flipped out, tossing her back into the water. A whole commotion later and the Careers were on her. Except she proved she could do some rather messy hand-to-hand combat and fed one of the Careers to a crocodile mutt that surfaced. Gryffon couldn't help but grin at the mutt. The stupid thing was huge, scarred, and smug, with eyes that made it look real: large, round, and a mossy amber in color. It's like it could understand what was going on and he fully consciously ate up the Career.
It was perfect.
After hiding away some more, the two moved into another idling, but were attacked by a stampede of rats. Families and families of large rodents came and climbed on top of them, clawed at them, bit, ran. They were completely surrounded and only when they managed to climb into the air vents did the rats leave them alone. They crawled along until they could drop down into a room. At that point, Gryffon anticipated everything else to move as quickly as it had.
When the allies left the room, they ran into this strange gas, one Gryffon dreaded just by looking at it. They were going to show it in a way they could see what she was . . . That wasn't fair. That wasn't . . .
"Oh my god," Gryffon groaned, passing a hand over his face and through his hair. Laughter, pounding feet, screaming, a grunt, a thump. Crying . . . He shook his head and clenched his jaw tightly, sending a sharp ache to his temples. When he finally looked back up at the screen, Emily was leaning over Liam's bloodied body, and seconds after there was a cannon.
She killed him. She killed him by fault of the Careers . . . She killed them because of the hallucination. That wasn't right. That wasn't supposed to have happened.
"Now someone please kill her, too," Gryffon ordered loudly, his voice growling and harsh. He didn't care, couldn't care, he was just going to watch and enjoy it. Support whatever happened then. Gryffon looked over at Phox and narrowed his eyes. The man looked so utterly disappointed, like he had just witnessed a gold trophy get thrown out a window and it was replaced with a cheap plastic one. And in a way, Gryffon supposed that's what really happened.