Warning! This chapter contains not-so-mild swearing at the end. Just a heads-up.
For the next few days, every day seems to blend into one another. Cherry knocks on my door, I hurl a shoe at it, I discover new functions that the shower has, breakfast, Training, dinner, with a weird look from the Avox every single time, and then bed, and it all starts over again. I know that this is most likely my last week on earth, and so I should be making the most of it, but I just seem to be going through the motions. Luckily, whilst those motions are tedious and repetitive, they do contain a lot of information, and I think I have retained enough of that information to keep myself and Ig alive in the Arena. At least, assuming that we don't get attacked, from wild animals, tributes or gamemakers. Before I know it, it's the night before the private training sessions. And I am terrified.
"What are you going to do?" I snap out of my reverie, blinking very slowly as I ponder the question. And I realise I have no idea. As I gaze out across the small sitting area me and Iggy are occupying, I think about how all of my talents are for nothing. Not that they won't achieve anything, but that they will make me, myself, non-existent. And you don't get points for not existing. I sigh and reach for Iggy's hand.
I don't know. Maybe just random stuff- I don't really want a high score anyway. Too noticeable, I'd become a target. You? I drop his hand and start to slowly swirl my finger in small circles on the patterned arm of my armchair.
"I don't know. Burn some stuff." A smile forms on my face before I realise he's not joking.
Like, seriously? I sigh slowly, and let my head fall back onto the back of the loveseat. An Avox sidles into the room and starts to clear away the dust from in front of the fire. He shoots me some supposedly inconspicuous glances, and I trail my thumb absently over the scar running across my neck. I jump to my feet. I can't stand the Avoxes- I know it's not their fault, and they're just more people the Capitol are abusing, but that doesn't mean they need to keep giving the scars on my neck and around Iggy's face such weird looks.
Speaking of weird looks, Iggy has his head cocked to one side, his expression curious, even with his cloudy eyes. I think back to that first day, on the train, when we made up a load of signals for everything from "yes" to "Go back!". I recall the tune we designated for come here, and whistle the notes. It's simple and easy to remember, and it only takes a second for Iggy to get what I mean and follow me out of the room. I can tell he's following my footsteps, which must be hard for him as my feet sink almost soundlessly into the plush carpet. I consciously make my steps a little louder as I walk towards the elevator.
I push the button for the roof, then sink to the floor, squatting on my haunches as I watch the Capitol whiz by through the glass walls. Iggy seems to know I'm freaking out a little, and he keeps quiet. It's only a few seconds before we hit the roof.
Papillio told me how to get here a few days ago. He said it was his favourite part of his own building and I can see why. The Capitol skyline stretches for miles in every direction, like a tiny city made from matchboxes. With the orange sun setting behind the buildings and turning them into midnight silhouettes the Capitol looks like a painting, and for all their creepy-ass flaws, you gotta give the Capitol guys credit- they really know how to build a city.
My gaze grazes the rooftop. It's like a little garden, with trees and benches and flowers. I settle myself against the bumpy trunk of an Oak, plucking the petals from a daisy and trying to work out how they got a freaking Oak tree to grow on a roof. Needless to say, I pull a blank. Ig settles himself beside me, his long, gangly legs sprawling across the floor, and listens to the birds singing around us. I suspect it's a recording, but I think again as a brilliant green hummingbird flashes before me. Iggy finally breaks the silence.
"So? What was that all about?" I exhale loudly and reach for his hand.
Just… They creep me out. The avoxes. Not because they can't speak- I'm not a hypocrite. But they constantly stare at our scars. And I don't like it. It's freaking bad enough already.
Iggy frowns slightly.
"they stare at our scars? Cherry would be annoyed. No manners." And, despite the fact that only two minutes ago I was having a slight freak out, I laugh, loudly. Yet again, my damaged vocal chords make it sound like I am choking, but I can deal.
Suddenly, I hear the whooshing of the elevator. I jump to my feet and pull Iggy with me to hide behind a bush. The doors slide open, and the male Aryan twin steps out. His eyes flick warily around, sliding right over our hiding place, then he walks quietly over to a tree near to the oak we were sitting under only moments before. Iggy gives a slight frown as the boys feet tap on the stone floor.
He slumps into a position that could be taken as sitting, with a certain stretch of imagination, his legs lying askew on the floor and his blonde hair flopping into his eyes. It doesn't matter, they're closed anyway. I blink slowly, checking that he won't open his eyes again, and stand up quietly, tapping Iggys hand twice. He follows suit.
Aryan twin, 3 o'clock. We can get out without him noticing if we're quiet.
"Can't we stay? We were here first!" he breathes. I shake my head slightly, my hair rippling with the motion.
No attention drawn, remember? He rolls his eyes, and murmurs "yeah, cause that's likely", but takes a few quiet steps back towards the lift anyway. I start to lead him back, weaving between the bright flowers. We're almost there when his hand brushes a shrub. The leaves rustle, and my breath hitches. The boys eyes snap open, and as I look into his gaze I see something, maybe fearful, in them.
He's seen us. Game's up. I tell Iggy, and he nods almost imperceptibly. I drag my eyes away from the boys, and pull a flower from a bush, skewering it on Iggy's shirt.
"what are you doing?" he whispers.
Gotta make it look like we weren't spying on him. I reply, lacing my fingers with his. He smiles a little, and reaches out to feel for another flower. This one he spears into my hair, behind my ear, and I'm reminded of that first day, on the chariots, when he stuck a rose thrown at us behind my ear. My throat tightens as I realise that, in a few days, we could both be lying in boxes, being shipped back to 9.
The boys eyes follow us, watching like a hawk as we slip through the plants. I make sure to rustle the leaves a bit. My silence is my best defence, and I can't let the careers know that. We reach the lift, and the doors glide open. Iggy takes a step in, and I twist round to take a last look at the career. He's still watching, and I raise one hand a little. The corners of his mouth twitch up slightly, and I turn back to Iggy again. The doors swoosh closed, and the elevator jerks a little under our feet before moving swiftly downward.
"well, that as weird" Iggy says, and I tap his hand twice in agreement. The lift jerks to a halt again, and we walk out into the hallway. I see a small crowd of careers gossiping at the end, and wonder why the boy was up on the roof, not down there.
Pack of careers, end of the hallway. I inform Iggy, and a mischevious grin spreads across his face. Before I can protest, he says loudly
"See you at dinner, Angel", then leans in and kisses me on the cheek. He speedwalks away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while the careers stare and whisper and I glare at his withdrawing form. Only one thought is going through my head.
What part of fucking lay low does this eejit not understand?
A/N: I was doing a little research into pet names for the end of this, wanna know my favourite? "Holy crap I can't believe I ever married your worthless butt!". Made all the funnier because it was just tagged onto the end of a bunch of useful suggestions! Another I found funny was "Woman". Not the most affectionate, but hey. Whatever floats your boat.
Also, do you lovely Americans have eejit, or is that a Briticism?
Have I done this yet? Now, I know this will come as a big shock to some of you, but I don't actually own most of this. *le gasp from anyone reading this* yes, yes, I know. A revelation. Aside from the storyline, Calamtity, prep team, escort and victor, and also the absurd notion that District 9 produces funky pets, when it is common knowledge that 9 is grain (Oh, well. It's not canon), everything is either under the ownership of Suzanne Collins of James Patterson.
Reviews are, as always, eagerly hoped for and most unquestionably appreciated. Don't be afraid to criticise, and even a few words are valued! Anon accepted, too