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𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸 ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀɴᴇss ʙʀᴇᴇᴅs ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ
❦
The main room of the district seven victor's suite was empty as Cillian finally rolled from the elevator doors, dumping his suit jacket at the front. The quietness was almost deafening- the type of silence that came after a murder or at the end of the Games when only the sound of his own breath was left. Cillian paused and then slumped to the sitting area, throwing himself down on a lounge chair and pouring a drink from the crystal decanter that sat on the small table. Not even the avoxes were there with their almost soundless movements.
He must have nodded off- his head had certainly felt heavy enough to make it believable. It wasn't the light streaming through the glass walls that woke him either, rather the playful voice of a fellow victor.
"I didn't think you'd manage to get here so early."
In spite of his banging head, Cillian had to smile. From the smug look on her face, he was looking completely dishevelled. His shirt was half undone, pulled from his slim trousers and he didn't even want to know how many angles with which his hair stuck up. She herself looked fresh, her face bare of makeup and hair straight, natural aside from the red streak.
"What are you doing here, Johanna?" Cillian said as she sat down beside him, taking the drink from his hands as he let her kick her legs across his lap.
"They dragged me from the districts, I had to stay somewhere," she said with a shrug.
She turned her head to watch the changing screen that hung from the inner wall like a tapestry, forever changing into blurs of colours, forming images of blue waters and stretches of busy streets. It was hard to imagine that the concept of such a scene would have seemed impossible only three years ago. There was no ocean surrounding District Seven and nor was there a bustling city, enriched with colourful markets and lively people. The image switched to one of a forest- not a natural one with mossy bark and mottled, thriving grounds, but one of straight-lined trees, perfectly placed in ugly strips, the land killed by monoculture. If only the Capitol would take it as an example.
"Where's Eirlys?"
Johanna sighed and folded her arms. "Painting her face. I think the dye melted off under the lights last night," she said. Then, as she turned her head toward him, she laughed. "You look like you're going to start a war."
"Eiryls has a few things to explain after the interview with Caesar last night," he said, shaking his head, only making Johanna laugh more.
"Well, she won't take long. She has some very interesting information about the mentorship this year."
It was so easy to mock Eirlys with her high pitched voice and her distinct lack of grasp on the situation of the districts. Often, it would be argued whether it was stupidity and pure ignorance, or a blatant way of ignoring it all for her own enjoyment. Cillian would lean toward the first option: it wasn't too believable that she was smart enough to understand the indifference.
