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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
the interviews.
volume one; before
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
By the time Elora had returned to the district four dressing room to watch the interviews unfold Cato was almost finished. She noticed a distinct lack of gleaming gold on his wrist almost immediately. Caesar had not yet noticed it, she knew the second he laid eyes on it any semblance of privacy in their practically non-existent relationship would be gone. She could anticipate the reaction from the Capitol, the screams of excitement, perhaps some them would even faint.
Elora has to remind herself she had given him permission to do this. She should have known he would take the chance to show the world she was his. The Games may be tomorrow but that was too long for him to wait. He had waited this long for them to even be on speaking terms, and Cato was not known to be a patient person. He was proud of Elora, even more proud that he could finally announce she was his, he would not wait another minute.
Coral spots it too. The bare wrist and the ink that marks it. Her eyebrows raise in surprise but she makes no comment. Elora was entitled to happiness, even if all she got was one night of it, before her soulmate was battling to the death. She had sacrificed so much for Coral, for her success in the Games, there was no way she would hold a grudge against her mentor for allowing herself this one night.
Finnick notices in what should be the final moments of the interview. He was too swept up with giving Beckett last minute advice to pay his full attention to the interview. He wonders if Elora had allowed him to do this, or if he had decided to do it anyway. She struggles enough with the beginning of the games and the bloodbath, adding constant media attention to the list would not be wise.
Caesar catches site of the mark last. The district four citizens can trace the exact moment he lays eyes on it. His jaw slackens and his blue eyebrows raise so high they practically become part of his hair line. He grasps Cato's hand between his own. Without pulling up his sleeve and inspecting the ink it is near impossible to decipher the name.
"Tell me, Cato. I wasn't aware you had found your soulmate? Who are they? And how does this affect your games?"
He may have been raised a warrior, a fighter, but his entire being softens at the mere mention of her. The crowd notices too, because soft crooning replaces the initial shouts of excitement.
