ashes to eve to haven dust, too
part three: calm before the bunnies.
Catriona Zarei has come to the conclusion that humans are far less evolved than they'd like to believe.
It's not a sudden epiphany - Catriona has never been particularly endeared by most of the people she encounters. Coworkers, family friends, government officials and what have you… all of them possess relatively similar traits, and few of them are traits she would label as beneficial to their personality. Narcissism, vanity, hypersensitivity, anxiety, boldness, condescension, greed, anger, deeply-rooted insecurities and inferiority complexes, the list goes on. But that's unimportant; the point is that, of all the human vices Catriona has learned to detest, none will ever be more offensive to her than idiocy.
And idiocy might as well be a synonym for the demonic duo of brats known as Maeve Alcraiz and Voitsekh Nazeryan.
Each time she thinks they can't possibly do something more asinine, her already low expectations end up being brought lower. The junior gamemakers are stupidity incarnate, made over with a dash of chaos, a sprinkle of sarcasm and an obvious dusting of weed (really, Catriona has no idea how they've been passing their drug tests. She's never met a pair of GMs so obviously coked up. But that's beside the point.) They disrupt her work. They disrupt the order of the office. They even disrupt her sleep. If she were allowed, she'd have fired the privileged little jackanapes ten times over by now, figuratively and literally. But…
She's seen their arena plans; had to call their professors from university to get a few copies of their undergrad work sent over on short notice, mostly to try and determine whether the havoc twins were worth keeping around at all after their disastrous first day. Catriona really hadn't been expecting much from the files she received in turn - after all, it takes a brainto construct an arena, and she's not sure Alcraiz or Nazeryan actually have one.
… needless to say, her shock at viewing the contents of their portfolios was pretty close to genuine. Quite a feat, given Catriona tends to reject shock on principle, just as she does most emotions (feelings are rather detrimental to rationality). Still, the point was made; despite being devil-may-care brats, Alcraiz and Nazeryan weren't entirely useless.
… in Gamemaking, that is. She won't speak for everything else.
Their ideas were… fantastical, a bit obnoxious, a bit over the top… probably histrionic if she had to put a word to them. Not the usual content for a set of junior GMs right out of university. Not the usual content for a set of Gamemakers period. They plan their designs around bizarre fever dreams with pointless decoration, an overemphasis on colorful aesthetics and - gods forbid - a ridiculous number of jokes. None of it makes sense, but the entertainment value of listening to them talk during the cabinet War Room meetings, and the theatricality of their concepts, are nothing short of genius.
Nazeryan and Alcraiz are Gamemaking savants.
(Emptyheaded savants. Catriona doesn't understand.)
"Do you know why you're here?" She asks. crossing her arms over her chest as two sheepish-and-smiley teenagers sit in silence on the other side of her desk, neither speaking even if they clearly want to. Catriona raises an eyebrow at their apparent self-imposed quietude, wholly unamused by the pair's apparent turn toward obedience. It's clearly an act. Perhaps they just need a bit more incentive to talk…
She slams her hands down on the desk in front of her, no small amount of pseudo-glee within her body as Maeve and Voitsekh flinch away from her, the former reaching over to grab hold of the latter's arm for some reassurance of safety. In response, Voitsekh reaches into his pocket and (not so) surreptitiously passes a piece of candy in Maeve's direction, his eyes never once leaving Catriona, not even when Maeve excitedly snatches the candy from his hand, peels off the wrapper, and pops it into her mouth.
"Mm. Cotton candy flavor?" She asks, and Voitsekh shrugs one shoulder as if to say how should I know? Catriona nearly feels a vein pop in her face from how hard her brow is currently furrowed.
"Need I remind you that we are in a meeting?"
Voitsekh pales. Maeve balks.
"R-right ma'am, of course! Might I just say what a lovely time it is to have a meeting…"
"Early bird catches the worm!"
"... and the sun's just hanging there in the sky like a little lightbulb, which means it's basically encouragement to conduct interrogations…"
Catriona's eyes narrow. "I'd hardly say I'm interrogating you."
"Aren't you?" Nazeryan asks, cocking his head slightly to one side. "Three chairs separated by a desk in a dimly lit room in the middle of a secure building. Sure feels like an interrogation."
"Where's the two-way mirror?" Alcraiz pipes up, apparently having decided to tune back into the conversation now that her candy seems to have vanished. Catriona shoots her a glare.
"As I was saying," she emphasizes to try and make clear the brats don't interrupt her again. "This isn't an interrogation. An interrogation would imply that I was trying to wheedle an answer out of you for something, and while I do have questions, I already possess all the answers I need in regard to your actions."
"Don't suppose you'd be willing to share or anything? Like, that's not sarcastic, I genuinely don't know what actions I take on a daily basis, I could use some life tips." Nazeryan smiles, straightening up in his chair. Alcraiz looks between her friend and Catriona, as if trying to judge the danger of the situation, and then cheerily adds.
"He's three days sober!"
"Worst three days of my life." The smile disappears. Alcraiz smacks Nazeryan non-gently on the shoulder.
"Aww, it's okay! Only two more days to go 'til we hit a weekend. We can go for a drink at that ritzy new club they opened down town, yannow, the one with all the pretty neon lights over the entryway? Well, I guess that's most buildings downtown but it's different, they got this fire pillar thingy out front…"
"Ahem," Catriona says, and Alcraiz blinks.
"Oh, you can come too, Mrs. Zarei! Workplace bonding activity?"
"I have far better things to do with my time. Let's get back to discussing the grievous workplace violation you two committed."
"Oh, right, the interrogation."
"It's not a…" Catriona closes her eyes, reaching up to press her hand against her forehead. Fuck, she wishes Valerian were here. He's far better than she at keeping his temper in check. "Right. Why do I even bother."
"No clue," Nazeryan says. "Bothering's super overrated. Just like socializing. And sobriety."
I am going to commit murder.
Perhaps desiring to strangle two certain havoc brats with her bare hands may be a turn for the dramatic, and yet Catriona resists the urge to do so all the same. Valerian's always raised an eyebrow at her, whenever she'd expressed such an urge - Catriona, you really shouldn't emulate the movies - yet Catriona's far past the point of caring.
(For the most part, Catriona's far past the point of caring about Maeve Alcraiz and Voitsekh Nazeryan. Typically, she wouldn't have to care. She'd just have to go about her day, put up with their antics how she can, discipline them how she could, and that was all that was necessary for her to do.
Yet when their buffoonery comes up directly against her authority…)
Catriona slams her eyes shut, pressing her lips together in a tight line to quell the lengthy rage rant that so wants to leave them. She still can't quite fathom the events that have transpired in the last thirty minutes. Forget the fact that Alcraiz and Nazeryan had somehow knownabout the existence of her phone line - which, honestly, how even? - how did they even get into her office? Did they bribe a security guard? Did they sweet talk Valerian into letting them inside? Had they snuck in while her back was turned, when the door was left slightly ajar? Whatever the case, she clearly needs to think about installing a better security system… firing some incompetents, hiring on new staff loyal to her will and wishes. It might take time, but…
It would be worth it. After all, there's a reason why only she and Valerian were given access to her office. It was in her office that all arena plans, nascent ideas, mutt designs, and Games calamities were stored. It was in her office that her direct phone line to President Snow was housed. It was supposed to be the most secure facility of the GM headquarters. Not even the Vice-President could enter without due permission.
Yet Catriona was greeted with Maeve Alcraiz and Voitsekh Nazeryan's existence within her office no more than ten minutes ago, after she'd returned from a rather appreciable coffee break with Valerian no less. Fine, she'd forget her theories about how they'd arrived: but they'd doubtlessly flounced into her - locked, mind you - office like it was nothing. Had fallen over themselves giggling, as they'd searched her drawers, until their eyes had drawn themselves over to the grand prize…
It had been just three days since Maeve Alcraiz and Voitsekh Nazeryan had been instated, and yet they had already become the bane of her existence - which says far too much, given that her irritation was clinically unattainable. Catriona Zarei isn't a superstitious being, yet believing that the havoc twins had some sort of telepathic draw to chaos was not that hard to believe.
… She decides that such a line of thought is no longer worth pursuing. Pursuing it further would only leave her in a spiral, and Catriona Zarei is certainly not about to allow two brats to incite a mental crisis in her.
"You do realise," she says, levelling a glare upon both havoc twins, inducing no little amount of coldness in her voice, "that my phone line to President Snow is not for recreational purposes."
Whatever Catriona Zarei was expecting, it certainly was not the giggle that erupted from Maeve's lips. It didn't matter that it was quickly shushed by Voitsekh's pull of her arm. It didn't matter, because just that movement had sent Catriona's temper beyond the point of no return.
"Are you even listening?" she snarls, and slams her other fist against the desk. It does cause both of them to flinch, which stirs no little amount of satisfaction within her. They're finally gazing back at her with terror in their eyes. The only sort of respect she asks for, and it had taken the entirety of a day to attain.
Catriona exhales, diverting her glare between the both of them. "Listen. You do not touch my office. Not even the doors. And you certainly do not enter my office. And you do not prank call President Snow and giggle about it like a pair of impetuous idiots."
It's then when Alcraiz raises her hand. Catriona doesn't even get to shut her down - don't be so insolent, I'm speaking, your sheer audacity is unbelievable, this is not classtime…! - before Alcraiz begins to babble.
"We just wanted to send our best regards to the President!"
"Yeah!" Nazeryan chimes in. "And we wanted to ask how he was doing! Just so he knows that, like, the people care about him!"
"Yknow, everyone asks where is Snow, why is Snow, but nobody asks how is Snow!"
"Yep, yep, exactly that!"
And suddenly any shreds of fear disappear from their faces, and instead they light up with no little amount of brightness lacking. Catriona pinches the bridge of her nose, and lets out an exhale. She can't even bring herself to look at either of them, because then her urge to throw her paperweight at their heads would be irresistible. As much as it would have been mentally therapeutic to her, Catriona enjoys her office without bloodsplatter upon the walls.
"Shut up." Catriona grits out, her fingers inching closer to the paperweight on her desk.
To her surprise, they do.
Catriona lets out an exhale. It doesn't do anything to relieve the exasperation livid in her skin, yet the action itself is… somewhat remeditative.
"Let me repeat. This is not an interrogation. This is discipline. This is punishment for your actions," Catriona says, and the vexation that seeps into her voice is all too evident. "If it were up to me, then the both of you would be rotting in jail. But Valerian's… talked to me. I don't know what you've both done to gain his favour, and I don't particularly care, but…"
She pushes back the sigh in her breath, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose tighter. "It's cleaning duties for the both of you. For all the blocks. Yes, before you ask, this includes the mutt containment cells. I specified that it should."
She opens her eyes, silently daring them to protest. As expected, Alcraiz's mouth opens. But Nazeryan tugs her hand a few more times, and her jaw snaps shut.
Catriona lets out a breath. "Go. Your work starts now. I'm losing my patience."
It takes far too long for the both of them to rise from their seats: with Nazeryan dragging a still half-protesting Alcraiz with him. Their footsteps plod along, practically dejected. Catriona still has half a mind to throw them into jail. All the better, for them - some off-the-books discipline could do these twin storms of chaos a lesson.
Perhaps another time.
Voitsekh Nazeryan is used to being a disappointment.
I mean, look at me. Five years a junkie, three years half-homeless and working my way between exes and rehab clinics and different people's couches, one year so far as an adult and haven't held down a job for more than a month. Daddy dearest must be so proud. It's pretty amazing I haven't been officially disowned yet, but hey, I guess university prob'ly won me a few checks in his book. Not anything of substance, but like enough. Enough to keep him from ousting me from the family entirely, and enough to get me a swanky gamemaking position. Which really should be a deterrent for complaints, but hey. What I monologue about in my own mind ain't nobody else's business anyhow.
... I mean, thoughtcrime isn't a thing in real life, right? Zarei isn't a telepath. Telepaths don't exist.
... or do they?
No, no. If they did, my ass woulda got booted out the door back on day one, and you know what? Today's day three. We're doing alright, actually. Totally fine. Not gonna lose this job by completely ruining things for myself again, not gonna ruin my chance at actually, I dunno, having a future that doesn't turn me into a rotting corpse lying in a ditch. I can do this. I can make this work. Maybe we're not off to a great start, but I got time. Maybe...
Who am I kidding, I'm totally fucked. And Maeve's totally fucked. And the world is a giant sack of shit and everything's going to hell. Why can't anything ever work out, even just a little bit? Like, I get that I'm a moron, and an asshole, and - okay, well, I don't really have any redeeming qualities, but I'm trying, okay? Really, really, truly. That has to count for something. It has to mean something.
... or not. Let's be honest, here: I've never been anything but a waste of space. I shoulda just done everyone a favor and offed myself when I had the chance. Maybe then I wouldn't keep messing shit up for everyone else.
Voitsekh dejectedly plunges his mop back into the water bucket, then lifts it out to squeeze the excess water out of the fringed ends. He's always kind of hated cleaning things; not because it's grunt work (even though it is), but because it's just... monotonous. And more often than not, totally nasty. Hells, he's had to mop up his own vomit more than a few times with the amount of alcohol he imbibes on a daily basis, and that's bad enough, but mutt vomit? Talk about next level disgusting -
Bright side, keep thinking about vomit and maybe Maeve won't notice than you've been crying. Nothing kills an emo hour faster than the thought of staring at animal puke.
... bleck.
He shakes his head, dragging the mop over a conspicuous stain on the cement floor right in front of his feet. Puke, shit or blood? I'm not even sure which is worse. Why'd we have to mop the fucking mutt pens. Of all the jobs Zarei coulda stuck us with this has got to be the WORST. Not to mention I'm gonna smell like chemicals for the rest of the week. Talk about a turn off. Quinlan's gonna kick me out of -
Quinlan. Now there's a touchy subject. Voitsekh vaguely feels his lips curling downward into a frown, entirely not of his own accord. It's not like he asked to get dumped, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Changing the status on his Panemgram from in a relationship to single hurt more than it had any right to.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Maeve's singsong voice almost immediately jars Voitsekh from his reverie, and before he has a moment to react, his best friend's throwing her arms around his neck, half-jumping onto his back as she tackles him in some weird approximation of a hug. The mop handle immediately frees itself from his hand, and the entire stick clatters down against the floor, followed shortly thereafter by Voitsekh himself.
A rather undignified yelp escapes him as his chin smacks against the ground, and the entirety of Maeve's weight lands on his back, crushing the air from his lungs.
"Maeve, what the fuck?" The disgruntled almost-gamemaker complains, using one hand to push his body up from the floor, before turning to shove his bestie off of him (with no small amount of huffing). "I was busy!"
"No you weren't," Maeve protests. "Not mopping, you were moping! And bein' the absolutely amazing friend I am, I took it upon myself to knock some cheer into ya!"
"I wasn't moping, okay? I was thinking! Besides, that doesn't even make any -"
"Same diff! Thinking's dangerous, VoiVoi. If you do too much of it, your head's gonna get stuck somewhere it's not s'posed to be."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Voitsekh grumbles, somehow managing to wriggle his way out from a (surprisingly) heavy Maeve, leaning against the bars of a nearby cage. "You hear that from Maddie? Because I have on good authority that she's the one who should be getting the thinking lecture, not me -"
"Nope, Kiernan!"
"Okay, he's even worse. I mean, like, what is he, fourteen? And society's already started sucking the life outta him..." Voitsekh pauses. "Okay, admittedly I was also fourteen when I started to lose my soul, but like, that's different. What happens in District Two stays in District Two."
"Wait, who's sucking my brother? Because I'mma throw hands if they -"
"Some kid named Atlas, apparently, but that's beside the point."
"Oh, there's a point? 'Cause I think I missed it." Maeve hums, sitting back and crossing her legs. "But! You're not bein' all emo anymore so I count that as a win. All my superhero practice's finally paying off."
"Please," Voitsekh says, before he can stop himself, "as if you needed to practice."
Maeve's beam is far more gigantic than it has any right to be. But then again, it's Maeve, so who's really surprised? And besides, he supposes it does have some right to be that big. His bestie's all-too-happy in her own skin: too secure, too irreverent, too herself, and Voitsekh can't find cause to complain about that. He'll never say it to her face ('cause then she'll just act too giggly and rub it back in his own far too many times to count), but she's probably the only thing that's getting him through his breakup with Quinlan. Even if he won't admit it aloud, the point still stands.
"You're right!" Maeve concedes, nodding along as if that was exactly what she was thinking all along. It does curl his lips upwards. Slightly. Because Maeve's little cheery divergence has brought his mind out of thoughts about Quinlan somewhat.
Somewhat being the key word.
Voitsekh bites his lips to stop a dramatic sigh from exiting his breath. Trust him, he's tried to keep his thoughts well and away from Quinlan - except that it's that sort of task which is a lot easier said than done. Because every time he isn't focused on something: whether it's reigning Maeve's antics in under control, counting the minutes of his sobriety, or keeping his gamemaking thoughts at hand, his mind just wanders right back to him. Seriously, Quinlain's induced some serious mental brainrot within him which he'd very much rather not have, thank you very much! Voitsekh's still waiting for his cure.
(It's also why the aforementioned "swanky gamemaking position" has turned out to be a blessing on more than one front. Being a Gamemaker means work. It means keeping his head up in the clouds, indulging in mutt dalliances and eureka moments and the deepest throes of fever dreams and fantastical trips. It means burying his worries, his stresses and tensions beneath blueprints, maps, beast designs and vibrant costuming. It means not thinking about Quinlan, not thinking about his ex-boyfriend (and he hates the sound of that term, "ex" - putting ex in front of Quinn's name just feels like stomping on an open wound) and certainly not thinking about how it's his fault their relationship went to shit, his fault that everything did, sure, maybe he did one thing right in getting this position, but now that's going to shit too. Like, literally. They are literally mopping shit up off the floor, and he can't -)
"—oh my god, look! It's—"
Voitsekh's eyes snap up.
Admittedly, he's learnt that it's always luck's coin toss when it comes to Maeve's ecstatic yells. Sometimes, it induces him with just as much glee as Maeve thrives in: like when she spots an ice-cream truck or discovers the phone line to Snow, two things that did indeed manage to bring him as much exhilaration as a haven dust high. But other times, Maeve's gleeful gasps generate nothing but disbelief and aghastness, a sentiment which is probably best characterised as its own definitive feeling: a feeling Voitsekh has named 'Maeve-what-the-fuck.'
This is one of those times.
He isn't sure what he expected to see once he'd raised his head. Some sort of reprieve from the agony of janitorial work, maybe something fun like a random sword lying about or a discarded bag of half smoked pot. Whatever he had in mind, it wasn't this. Not mutts. Not soulless, demonic, give-us-our-first-taste-of-human-meat mutts. And Maeve's excited about this? Seriously. Freaking flesh-eating mutts that are specifically-engineered to eat people in the Games, right here, right now, in the cell, with them, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck, he's gonna die in here, and like maybe he kinda sorta wouldn't mind, except also he's really young, and he's way too pretty to die, thank you -
"Holy fuck, Maeve, didn't they empty the containment cells before sending us in here—"
If Maeve hears him, then she doesn't notice, but honestly Voitsekh would prefer to think that she didn't hear him. Because if she did, it'd mean that her smile widens upon hearing his freak-out, which is borderline sociopathic (but also just classic Maeve)! As per usual, she doesn't even seem the slightest bit perturbed. Nor does she seem to have any regard for personal bodily safety whatsoever, which, okay, Voitsekh gets 'cause he spends too many nights getting wasted away and high off his ass, but this is different! Having some… what even are they, carnivorous hell spawn? … right in front of him is absolutely different, 'cause it's immediate danger to his anatomical safety, and Voitsekh would much rather keep himself in one piece, he's not getting ripped apart today, no siree, not if he's got anything to say about it!
(Granted they're a little cute. Just a little though. Doesn't make the situation any better, but watching the baby mutts hop around looking all fluffy and soft is…)
(Stop ogling the hellspawn, Voitsekh.)
"I'm so happy they didn't!" Maeve chirrups, her voice too jovial for the entire situation. And Voitsekh would admit that it's slightly comical, if not for the fact that hello, they might just die in here! Chances are, they will just die in here, mauled by mutts, he'll die and then his beautiful face'll be left unrecognisable - priorities, priorities, fuck my priorities - and what he'll get'll end up far worse than his lamentations about being left in here to rot for eternity—!
"Dontcha thinkthey're so adorable! They're so cute, just look at 'em! Their lil eyes and their fur, oh my gosh, how soft d'ya think it is? 'Cause I'm sure it's, like, feather-soft! Maybe even beyond—"
… okay, fine, Voitsekh will concede that the mutts are very tiny. But tiny doesn't mean they're not dangerous. Exhibit A: Maeve Alcraiz. And case in point: it's then when immediately, without warning, his BFF sets off towards the pair of mutts.
"Maeve, what the fuck are you doing—?"
"I'm goin' to pet em! To see just how soft they are!"
Voitsekh pushes back his groan. Great. Not only does he have to contemplate having an existential crisis, he also has to stop his BFF from getting absolutely ravaged by a pair of killer bunnies. What with the glowing red eyes and the fangs and all that. Kay, maybe he's stereotyping, but Voitsekh would call it an educated guess. 'Sides, he'd like to judge a book by its cover when it comes to mutts, thank you very much!
"—I think that one's a Freddy! An' the other one's a Jason. They look like Freddy's and Jason's to you, right, VoiVoi?"
Voitsekh shuts his eyes. A part of him just wants to just say fuck everything and book it, except that'd mean leaving his BFF to die a brutal and tragic death all on her lonesome, so he doesn't really have that option. Like, it's Maeve. So.
He sighs, and opens his eyes. To be immediately greeted with the sight of Maeve's outstretched hands, with something cupped in them, holding it out to the bunnies.
It takes a second for Voitseekh to realise what exactly's in them.
"Maeve, didn't you eat all of the candy that I'd given you?"
Maeve's response is too chirpy. "Nope! Gotta save 'em for special events! Special events like this one! You never know if there's a bunny that you needa shower some love an' affection an' food to! How long d'ya think it's been since they'd last ate—"
Voitsekh isn't sure what's worse: the fact that one of the bunnies - the one with the wonky red eye's Freddy, right? - is currently eating right out of Maeve's palm, or the fact that Jason's hopping over to the cell door, and oh fuck, oh no, it's gonna escape, it's gonna escape and our gamemaking careers are going to be absolutely ruined, oh fuck we're so fucked—
He lunges towards the door, in some vainglorious attempt at keeping Jason away from the restless grasp of freedom - I have to take one for the team, oh god, please don't maul me - but that's when Voitsekh slips.
His head knocks right against the padlock, and a groan escapes his lips…
… as the door locks shut with a quiet whirr.
A dreadful silence stirs in the room.
Until one giggle breaks through.
"Oops!"
"Maeve," Voitsekh half-groans, bowed over, as he frantically rubs his head. It doesn't matter that Jason's right next to him, because fuck, that hurt, it's going to leave a bruise on his forehead, which aside from being painful is absolutely unfashionable and ugly, he can't have that—! And that's without mentioning the fact that they're now stuck in mutt containment, which Voitsekh doesn't want to begin to contemplate—
It's then when the audible sound of footsteps clack across the hallway.
He can't make out who it is at first. All he can hear are a set of clackity-heeled boots tapping against the cement as their owner walks down the hall, blissfully unaware of anyone but the muttkeepers residing in the vicinity. Looks like someone's about to get a rude wakeup call. Voitsekh parts his lips, preparing to call out to their potential (hopeful?) savior, if only to save his currently unblemished skin from a ghastly mauling…!
"Quick," Maeve hisses to him before Voitsekh can so much as open his mouth. "Hide the children!"
As if on cue, Maeve picks Freddy up and steps forward to frantically deposit the killerbun into Voitsekh's arms, before swooping down to pull Jason up from the ground and into her own. She wraps her jacket around his (cute, undeniably cute) little form as the footsteps draw nearer to their door.
"What am I supposed to -"
"Bunny heist!" Maeve interrupts. "No time to question!"
… why, dear Capitol, why does he always get dragged into this sorta stuff?
Voitsekh closes his eyes and… slowly begins to tuck Freddy beneath the fabric of his own coat, the killerbun's face nuzzling against his shoulder. "Fine, but remember if I get partially eaten, you're paying for my hospital visit."
"Oh, don't be such a drama goth. You'll be fine!" Maeve claps him on the back, just as the boot clicking finally comes to a stop beside their cell. Their owner's head turns, not enough to actually look at them, but just enough to…
"Pitiful." A too-familiar voice says, and Voitsekh's heart leaps into his throat, his mind caught somewhere between hysteria, anger, glee and awe all at once. Seriously, of all the people that could've found them like this…
"... hey, Cel," he says, giving his most winsome grin (she may be blind but it's the thought that counts) as he tries to ignore the thump-thump-thump of his exhilarated heartbeat. A soft rouge settles over his cheeks as the resident ice queen frowns, pressing her mouth into a thin line as his voice registers, only a few seconds before…
"Strange, for a second there I thought I heard something. Maybe it's a draft?"
"Oh, come on! You're just going to ignore the voices coming from the mutt pens, like a fucking -"
"I really should talk to Catriona about the ventilation down here. There's quite a bit of noise, and it just won't seem to stop. Perhaps when I get back to the office…"
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Have fun in jail," Cel says, her voice never raising above the typical robotic pitch it carries back in the office, not a single hint of regret or - stars forbid - empathy hidden in her words. She resumes her casual stride from before, walking right past the mutt cages and over to the doorway that leads back into the stairwell, not wasting any time in either opening the door or letting it slam shut behind her.
Voitsekh blinks.
"Snow's ass, I can't believe I ever found you attractive." And even worse, I can't believe I still find you attractive! What are those Vin Hale lyrics? Ow, I got it bad, so bad, so bad.
"You what?" Maeve questions, and right on cue, all the blood in Voitsekh's body rushes to his face.
"Nothing! You heard nothing. I absolutely, one hundred and fifty percent, do not find Cel Perdanez attractive. I don't find anyone attractive. Quinn left me and I'm going stag. Playing the field. Bit of both. I'm a strong, independent queen and I don't need no man, woman, or gender non-conforming person holding me back from living my life. And, come on, Cel? We're like, so incompatible it's ridiculous, I mean, what is wrong with you, why would you even ask something like that, I - I think I'm gonna vomit."
His hands go to his throat, and Voitsekh fakes a few gagging noises for good measure. But not even his world-class Panem-winning act is enough for Maeve, because Maeve's eyes widen with every passing words of his, and Voitsekh shuts his eyes, oh god, Maeve, just believe me for one moment, please, you've believed me when I told you that Snow was serving free chocolate ice-cream in the ice-cream truck and you've spent a day looking for him in Panem U, please please please just believe this—
Maeve's gasp of realisation dashes any dream of his into dust.
"Waitwaitwaitasec, you like Cel? Like, like LIKE her?!"
Voitsekh's hands fall from his throat. He crosses his arms, and gives Maeve a pointed look (not that it discourages her any, but hey, it was worth a shot).
"No, I don't! Have you seen her, Maeve? She's literally so cold, like, I'm not surprised if all that's under her skin is metal bolts and wire. Okay, fine, callousness is pretty sexy, but—but that doesn't mean anything in the context of Cel!"
Maeve just raises an eyebrow, bouncing her knee (which Jason's currently balanced on, looking still so illegally cute for a mutt). It certainly doesn't comfort Voitsekh. Especially not with the forming grin on Maeve's lips.
"Sure it doesn't—"
"—also, she's literally so rude, because she's rolled her eyes at me seventy-three times already in just the last three days, I've been keeping count! Which isn't to say that I don't like it, like, I do like the attention, but it just means she's a mean ice queen."
"So, like, your type?"
"— so, nope. I do not like her. At all. Not her meanness and her stone-cold scowls, all imposing and grandiose, not how she's so frustratingly perfect in that untouchable, uncriticisable way, ugh, I hate her!"
Maeve gazes at him for a long, long time, until Voitsekh's pretty sure that she's trying to give her a diagnosis. He turns his attention onto Jason because honestly, a mauling is far preferable to the interrogation that's about to come.
(—is he snuggling his cute little head into Maeve's lap? Oh my gosh, he's trying to sleep, that's so adorable—)
"So you're attracted to an emotionally distant salmon?" Maeve tugs at his arm a few times, as if she's trying to rouse his attention away from Jason (and it does work, for one disorienting moment). "VoiVoi, I love ya, but Cel?!"
And thus, Operation Convince-Maeve-That-You Certainly-Do-Not-Have-A-Crush-On-Cel-Perdanez… is an official failure.
Voitsekh sighs, and he finally levels his eyes to meet Maeve's. "Okay, maybe a little crush. But it's just your classic TV show tropey workplace crush! It doesn't mean anything. Emphasis on tiny."
"Voitsekh, it's Cel! Cel-you-to-Satan-for-a-black-coffee Cel!"
Voitsekh crosses his arms tighter. He'd come back with a witty remark, except that his mind's completely blanking. "I can't blame her! Black coffee's nice."
Maeve straight-up groans, bouncing on her crossed legs, as she pulls his arm a few more times as if with that, she'll pull Voitsekh back into his senses. "Voits, you were literally decryin' black coffee three days ago! What's gotten into your head—oh my god, you've got it bad, you've got it so bad, VoiVoi!"
"Please don't remind me."
It's as if Maeve pointedly ignores his remark… because she does. She runs her fingers through Jason's fur like he's her comfort bunny, and her eyes are so big and concerned that Voitsekh's almost touched, but they're also so… manic.
"We gotta talk 'bout your taste in partners! An' we also gotta talk 'bout how your taste buds in general, cause if you start drinking black coffee for Cel I think I gotta disown you as BFF-in-crime, not because you're not my BFF-in-crime, because you are, but just cause you need a wake-up-call! I don't wanna go without your orders in P-bucks, I've memorised it! Venti frappuccino, iced with extra sugar, caramel drizzle, extra cream, and chocolate sauce, all doused in vodka. Who's gonna order my rainbow frappe with me if ya start going all boring on me with black coffee?"
"Hey, just because I might have the tiniest crush on Cel doesn't mean that I'm gonna switch up my coffee order!"
"Okay, good." Maeve tilts her head to-and-fro a few times, like she's swaying to an imaginary beat. Suddenly, her eyes snap right back at Voitsekh's. "Okay, but taste! What's up with that?"
It's then when she pats the ground right by her side, and looks at him eagerly. Slowly, warily, Voitsekh gets up and drops by Maeve's side. He eases himself in a cross-legged position, because he has a faint idea of what Maeve's got in mind, and he really doesn't like where this is going—
"Maeve, what are you doing?"
"I'm havin' a talk with you, that's what!" Maeve announces, with no small amount of gaiety and determination in her voice. Somehow, she's manifested a stick - wait how did she get that, is she using their mops? - which she's tapping on the floor. She already has her head cocked at Voitsekh's, and she's looking right at him like he's the only person that matters in the room.
It's then when it sinks in.
"MaeMae, you're not my therapist!"
"Yeah, but you don't have one right now, so I wanna be one for ya! Here—" and suddenly, she grabs Jason and thrusts him at Voitsekh. "—for emotional support!"
When had he asked for two mutts? But he takes Jason in his hands anyway, because god forbid Jason fall - he's too cute to fall. And, oh wow, Maeve's not wrong when she said that their fur was soft, they're beyond feather-soft…
"So. Now that we're all set an' the patient's comfortable!" Maeve grins, too happy in herself, and tilts her head at him. "VoiVoi, how've you been feelin' lately?"
… Might as well indulge Maeve. It's not as if he's got anything better to do.
"I'm…" Voitsekh chuckles. He'd run his fingers over his curly hair, if he wasn't cradling Freddy and Jason in both his hands, so instead, he scratches their backs a little. "... too sober?"
Maeve nods, too many times, to a point where Voitsekh's wondering if she's reenacting a bobblehead. He has a distinct feeling that Maeve thinks that's what a therapist is.
"An' how d'ya feel about that?"
He shrugs, forcing a grin up on his lips. "Like I should get less sober?"
"Mmm," Maeve says. She pushes her stick forward on the floor, and Voitsekh watches as she draws shapes and… words, he realises, as if she's writing notes down. He squints, but there's obviously nothing, because not only is Maeve's writing imaginary but forever ineligible.
"An' why didja turn to crushing on emotionally unavailable salmon as a solution? VoiVoi, just sayin' that's not how ya get over Quinn!"
Thankfully, there's more than one stick in their cell. Voitsekh hits her with the end of his mop, just as the words leave her lips, and Maeve yelps.
"Hey!" She says, practically at the same time Voitsekh retorts with a sassy "Hey, yourself," practically daring her to retaliate.
… as expected, Maeve immediately smacks him with her own stick, any therapist pretences long deserted.
He thwacks her right back, and she swats him once again. Voitsekh rises to his feet, as she rises to hers, and he readies his stance and refreshes his mind on all their childhood swordfighting lessons out behind the local 7Eleven - 'cause sure, they might not have swords but they do have sticks! - until the noise of footsteps sound once more.
Immediately, his heart drops to his stomach. For the love of all things Capitol, please don't let it be another asshole, I'm not sure if I can take another asshole. A groan rises to his lips, only seconds before the clacking stops.
"Really, Cel, come to rub it in again?"
"... Hello?"
It… isn't Cel. That voice is too soft. Not to mention that he can't even see the person it's coming from, which means she's short, and completely not Cel-height at all.
That voice continues. "Oh—I'm, I'm sorry. Were you looking for Cel? I'm, um, I'm not her, but I can go get her—"
"No, no, please don't." Voitsekh starts, then pauses, licking his lips. "Actually wait a moment, can we talk? Please? Please. Just stay right there, don't move." He drops the mop back onto the floor and casually saunters over to lean against the bars of their effective jail cell, blocking the newcomer's view of the inside as Maeve tries to wrangle up the killerbuns. Their potential rescuer just blinks, her hair messy around her face, her eyes wide as he draws closer to the door - and the hallway beyond. She looks anxious. Not very typical for a gamemaker, but hey, they come in all forms right? Voitsekh bites his lower lip, grabbing one of the cell bars and pressing his face against it, unabashedly playful in his moment of utter humiliation.
"So, first things first… who exactly are you?"
There's an audible swallow, before the woman shifts her feet, bracing one hand around the other wrist as she raises her eyes just enough to meet his. "I'm… Daria. Daria Makrain."
"Daria! That's cute," Maeve says from somewhere in the pen behind them, and Voitsekh takes a moment to mull it over before giving a decisive nod.
"Definitely better than the monstrosity that's my name. So, Daria, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? That's not a pickup by the way, I'm actually asking. I feel like I'm in prison right now."
A soft aura of pink lights Daria's cheeks.
"Ah… I'm one of the mutt caretakers, actually. It's not - well, I know it's not a glamorous job like most of the others in this building, but I like it." She pauses, looking down to her feet. "Sorry if this is rude, but… what are you doing in there?"
"Nothing!" Maeve chirps, just a bit too cheery to be believable. "Well, nothing but mopping and moping and broomfighting, which is like swordfighting, but less deadly! Haven't even seen a mutt."
Daria frowns. "But aren't there a couple of -"
Voitsekh starts to laugh maniacally before she can finish speaking, and Maeve quickly bundles the bunnies back in under her clothes, hiding them from Daria's sight. Score one for the bunny thieves.
"Basically, we got waylaid by a pair of baby bloodsuckers and laughed at by a demon. Just another Wednesday, I guess." Voitsekh shrugs, shifting slightly on his feet and tucking one of his hands into his pocket. Gotta maintain the facade of nonchalance he's got going or Maeve's bunny heist might not have a chance of working out. Which would be sad, because bunnies. Sure, maybe they're a little evil, but they are really fluffy, and Snow's arse, yes, he is warming up to them actually, it's been years since he's considered having a pet. Mostly because his father probably would've killed anything he brought home to stop him from getting too soft, but hey, he's an adult now, he does what he wants!
But first thing's first - we gotta convince Daria to jailbreak our asses before Zarei finds out we got stuck down here. Turn on the charm, turn on the charm...
He smiles. "Don't suppose you have a key to this cage or anything, do you? Because as much as I'm enjoying this conversation I'd sorta prefer to have it not locked in a mutt pen…"
Daria's flush deepens. "Yeah, um, let me grab it." Her hand slips into her pocket, and Voitsekh hasn't been more relieved to hear the jangle of keys. Like, ever.
"I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier, if I'd, um, r-realised you were both here, then..." Daria pauses, as she tucks the key into the lock.
"Oh, don't even worry 'bout it!" Maeve grins from behind him. "We've had a fun time bein' here!"
"If by 'fun' you mean anxiety inducing and painful, sure."
"Oh, details." Maeve waves her hand to brush aside the comment with flair. Voitsekh just sighs, and turns back to Daria, because as much as he enjoys being coked out with Maeve (on occasion), sometimes it's nice to chat with someone a little less manic and a little closer to sane.
"And, well, don't worry! It's not your fault or anything for not coming sooner. Technically, someone did come along, but she'd just straight-up walked out. And that was after she'd seen us in here, too! Honestly, it was so rude. Told us to rot in jail an' all, which was just, like, not only mean but also pretty unnecessary."
"That's... not very nice of her." Daria murmurs, as she fiddles with the lock. "Who was it?"
"Oh, just this girl. Dunno if you know her - she's not exactly the friendly sort - but I think her name's Cecilia Perdanez? Goes by Cel?"
Suddenly, Daria stops. Her face turns into an interesting mix of colours: red and pinks, like a flower about to bloom. "Oh."
"So you do know her."
For some reason, the colouring on Daria's cheeks deepen further. "Yeah, um, you could say that."
Is that affection in her tone? How suspicious. But Voitsekh doesn't have the luxury of questioning a near-stranger's vocal intonations given his current position, so he just laughs and brushes it aside. He's probably just reading into things too much again. One of the problems that comes from having a hyperactive imagination. Yeah, that's got to be it. It's been a long day.
"But anyways, yes, her. I can't stand her." Voitsekh says, rolling his eyes. "Is she a robot? A brick wall? A literal ice queen with nothing in her heart but freezing air and bitter snowflakes? Like, I thought Zarei was bad, but next to Cel? She's sweet as candy."
Is that a smile on Daria's lips?
Voitsekh blinks. Daria tilts her head back down, as she jams the key back into the lock. A few more jiggles, and then -
The cell door opens.
Freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. Oh, Voitsekh could practically cry. He thumbs the ends of his eyes, dramatically, and exhales. He'd never thought he'd see the day. It feels like an eternity's passedsince they got stuck in this godforsaken cell, but now, at long last, there's a light glowing at the end of the tunnel. They're saved!
He steps out of the cell. He steps out of the cell, and Voitsekh already knows that he'll never forget this memory, never forget this day. He'll be retelling this tale to his children once he's old and gray, if he ever gets to that stage. Because it's done. The hell trials are over, and they're never coming back here, ever again.
… he's the only person that steps out of the cell.
Voitsekh would be lying if he said he was surprised that his BFF's still in the cell. Still sitting there, still cooing conspicuously at Freddy and Jason under her clothes, and he's pretty sure that Daria's giving puzzled looks at her, and shit, we need to get outta here right now—
"Maeve, don't dally! It's time to head out!"
Maeve's pout remains on her face, along with her puppy-dog eyes, but soon, gradually, she rises and moves over to the cell door. And Voitsekh doesn't hold his breath till she's out (with both Freddy and Jason hidden in her clothes), and until the cell door clicks shut, this time without the both of them in there.
It's then that he turns to look at their savior. Somehow, Daria seems even more shy now than she did before.
"So, our blessed hero and gracious savior, is there anything we can do to repay your efforts? We would've been dead, rotting mutt meat without you. What are you feeling? Ooh, we could all go for a drink downtown? There's this place me and Maeve go a lot—it's called Underworld? They always stock the best vodka, I swear!"
Daria smiles back at them. "Oh, um, thank you, but it's okay! I don't need anything—"
"Oh, please! C'mon, we can't let you go without at least a little thank you. It's no worry! Come along with us. It's going to be a fun time, promise."
Maeve nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! I'll tell ya all 'bout the best drinks there, and I'll tell you 'bout the secret menus too! Only me an' Voits know the secret menu, but it's 'bout time we got a third! An' we'll put the orders in and pay for ya, too. How's that sound?"
Daria looks between them. There's a certain amount of surprise, but also gratitude in her expression. Voitsekh has a feeling that nobody's been as persistent in trying to initiate a friendship with Daria as him and Maeve, but then again, they're pretty persistent in general!
"Um, can I bring my girlfriend along? I don't, um, usually go to new places without her. If that's okay, 'course, I don't want to be a bother—"
Voitsekh nods, a grin curling his lips "Course! The more the merrier!"
They'll be in for a treat, if Daria's girlfriend is anywhere as sweet as Daria is. Going down to Underworld, saying hi to Vay and Vion, and kicking back and relaxing for the rest of their night. Voitsekh's looking forward to it. After a long, trying, and completely shitty week, it's only fair they get some time to wind down!
What's the worst that can happen?
A/N: Hi all! It's us again, back with a new chapter and finally a jailbreak, not unlike Maevoits's this chapter! We've really missed the havoc duo, as you can probably tell by the length of this chapter: we did have so much fun writing this. Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to let us know what you've thought - about Catriona's frustration? About Voitsekh's lamentations? What of Freddy and Jason, mutts out of captivity? Or about what'll go down in The Underworld, all things considered?
Until the next!
Haiden & Dawn.