Chapter Sixty-One; Entirely Stupid
(Seneca's POV)
Seneca tore the earpiece out as Stephanie dropped to the stage in an unconscious slump.
"Damn!" he cursed under his breath, immediately standing.
This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought irritably. He thought she would have held her nerve long enough until the interview was over. Didn't the stupid girl know that she would never obtain sponsors now?! Fainting during an interview was sending a warning signal to all and any potential sponsors.
He stood frozen for a moment more, watching as she was lifted off stage, before he stormed out of the control room.
Seneca muttered darkly under his breath as he descended the stairs in a flash. He heard the commotion before he had even reached the corridor.
For a brief second he caught a glimpse of her unconscious form slumped in a burly guard's arms before she disappeared through a doorway.
A guard practically had to stop the onlookers that tried to crowd through the doorway after her – all with legitimate reasons for being there, of course.
Seneca paused, caught between doing what he wanted and what he knew was sensible.
Frustration singed at his nerves, his hands clenched in angry fists.
Scoffing irascibly he walked briskly down the corridor. He heard a few surprised gasps of recognition but nothing too alarming. Most were still much too concerned with the unconscious tribute and caught up in the chaos that had ensued.
Pushing through the crowd, he walked into the room, shutting the door firmly after him. The guard didn't even try to stop him, but set about quickly clearing the crowd from the door.
She lay on the bed unconscious, pale and generally looking a chaotic mess. He almost smirked.
The four pairs of eyes in the room, consisting of the medical doctor and his assistants immediately snapped up to face him.
Panicked recognition flickered across their expressions.
Seneca said nothing, just stalked over to the small bed with her prone form and stared down hard at her.
The doctor stood uncertainly, needle poised mid-air, as he glanced to his assistants for confirmation almost.
"Well, get on with it," Seneca barked harshly.
The doctor flinched, and nodded, moving towards Stephanie hesitantly.
Inches before the needle touched her arm, "Wait!" Seneca called sharply.
The doctor immediately froze as his assistants exchanged worried glances, wondering what in the hell the Head-Gamemaker was doing here for starters?!
"Wait outside a moment," Seneca ordered firmly.
The doctor and his assistants wasted no time, immediately scampering for the door and closing it after them.
Seneca blew out a long breath of air through his teeth as he studied Stephanie's face.
She looked peaceful, but not in the way one would as they dozed content in slumber but rather…she looked dead. A strange feeling tugged somewhat painfully somewhere in his chest, a chilling, sinking feeling in his stomach.
Seneca even went as far to seat himself beside her on the narrow bed, listening intently for her breathing and then scoffing at his own behaviour.
What the hell was he doing?
"Stupid girl," he muttered under his breath, glancing at her briefly.
He held his breath half-expecting her to suddenly wake and make some sharp retort, but she remained disturbingly still and a strange sense of cold disappointment filled him.
Why did he want her to wake?
She would no doubt start off with one of her proud and mighty acts, even though Seneca could tell within seconds that she was terrified.
Irritation still blazed in him but somehow out of his irascible mood there came another emotion.
Seneca gazed at Stephanie, his usually ice-cold, cerulean eyes clouded with something like worry. The gentler emotion on his face for a moment almost leant Seneca an expression of innocence.
"Why do you keep doing …this?" Seneca demanded exasperatedly, referencing vaguely to Stephanie's fainting, fully expecting no answer but asking all the same.
He arched a quizzical brow at her still, pale form but underneath another muttered, "Stupid tribute," worry gnawed at Seneca.
The emotion was strange at feeling concern for another being other than himself after so long. It also irked him a little bit.
Hesitantly Seneca took one of Stephanie's pale hands, frowning at how cold it felt against his own.
For an awkward moment he seemed almost confused with himself at the gentle gesture. Now what did he do? Ficen had been lucky if she received a simple kiss when she and Seneca had been briefly together.
Seneca cradled Stephanie's hand gingerly for a moment against his own, trying to impart some warmth into it at least.
He really should let the doctor come in and tend to her, Seneca thought distractedly, but he lingered still. Absent-mindedly he noted that the din outside the door had diminished considerably. The guards must have moved the crowd of eager spectators away – now would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, but for some reason Seneca stalled still.
Catching himself in his actions Seneca scowled darkly, and not for the first time by far asked himself; What the hell am I doing?
His actions it seemed, were becoming less and less discreet. At the photo-shoot he had made it paramount that his presence remained unknown, going as far as to take scenic routes about the building to remain undetected.
And now? Now he seemed to just barge through anyway – There had been a full crowd out there, and although they may not have had much time to try and identify another eager person pushing by them in the crowd, there were some that still had recognised him.
Was he really so heedless of his own safety now? Was this the effect that Stephanie had on him – to turn him into a reckless, walking disaster?
He almost jumped when the fingers of her hand he was holding twitched against his own; his breath hitching for just a moment before he scowled…again.
What am I, 15 years old?! He scoffed inwardly.
But all the same his hand tightened around hers almost imperceptibly for a moment.
He shifted up the bed a bit more, leaning over her so to better study her face.
His gaze scrutinised her features intently. She was clearly a mess that much was certain.
But the worry that bubbled up again in Seneca's chest was due to her sudden ashen complexion; a sickly pale colour evident despite the make-up.
Seneca sighed deeply, all of a sudden exhausted.
"You are entirely stupid…" he mumbled, as he released her hand, gently placing it by her side and rising from the bed.
Resolutely not taking a second look Seneca strode to the door, yanking it open harshly.
Without explanation he pushed past the few, including the medical team, that loitered outside the room.
Walking down the corridor, Seneca flexed his fingers that still tingled with the memory of Stephanie's cold hand and with it a brief twinge of worry surfaced.
"Yes…entirely stupid," Seneca muttered.
…
(POV)
Whistling inanely, interspersed with a few words he climbs the stairs, carelessly tapping the folder against his thigh in beat with his tune.
Reaching the by now familiar lobby, he adjusts his cap before sauntering up to the desk.
The blonde haired receptionist smiles demurely at him, her impossibly pink lips glistening under the lights.
"Is it another delivery?" she asks casually, knowing full well the answers. This isn't the first time anymore.
He flashes her a bright grin. "Yup, straight for the big man himself." He adds a conspiratorial wink to which she giggles girlishly.
"You shouldn't call him that! What if someone were to overhear?" she whispers, eyes bright and naïve, still believing that here in the Capitol she has some semblance of privacy.
He shrugs arrogantly, leaning up against the desk, folder clasped loosely in one hand.
She rolls her eyes at him before releasing another titter of laughter.
"Well then, give it here," she says, holding out one perfectly manicured hand expectantly.
After a moment of teasing he finally releases the plain brown folder into her grasp.
She twirls a strand of platinum blonde around her finger, looking at him through her long lilac lashes.
He loiters, a knowing grin on his face.
"So, anything interesting in it?" he remarks off-handed, intent on prolonging his need to be here.
She idly flips open the folder with a smug confidence, eager to impress.
She scans down the papers with a blue nail covered in tiny golden stars.
"Oh, here's something…" she begins. Somewhere nearby a door opens suddenly and the sharp rap of approaching footsteps on the marble floor echoes.
She shuts the folder immediately, cheeks flushing red and a flash of fear crossing her features.
The person does not appear in the foyer but all the same, she swallows nervously and pushes the folder away from her.
He, just as shaken as her at nearly being caught prying into what is meant to be secret documents, gives a nervous chuckle that turns into an awkward cough.
"I…I should get going," he stumbles over his words.
She nods jerkily in response.
"Don't know why they even need something like that for – though I'm glad they do, or else I wouldn't get to see your beautiful face." He gives her a toothy grin, some of his 'charm' returning to him in retreat.
She giggles again, checking around before answering.
"Well, I don't know why President Snow wants his son kept under twenty-four hour surveillance, but I'm glad too."