Worth it | F.O.

XIV

The moment she had slunk out of her room of solidarity hours after their grand evaluation and into their shared apartment, the questions had never stopped or slowed. 

Olethia in particular bombarded her with inquiries into what exactly she had done in that spacious metal room, being viewed like an animal in a cage or, perhaps, a dog enslaved under its masters to fight another to the death no matter the injuries bestowed upon its once healthy coat. She was no dog, no slave, and she had made it clear. 

The game makers certainly hadn't expected her to be as good as any career or, even, better than some they had seen. Of course her performance hadn't been perfect, she had made sure of that, but in the skills she was best at she excelled above all else. They didn't understand it. They didn't understand any of the hows or whys, but she did and that was all that mattered. 

Those past careers may have pretended they were prepared to withstand anything for this chance at victory such as the torture, murder, and emotional anguish that came with it all, but they were frauds. Nivea, however, liked to believe that she was the real deal. The physical and emotional pain that had haunted her for years was only further proof of that and, if those dimwitted old men had taken the time to recognize this, she was sure they would have been afraid, very afraid. 

She was so much more than the girl from 11 now. She would stand victorious in the end, even if she had to sell her soul to the very devil to get there. 

Determination is a dangerous thing, after all. And the combination of these two dangers, her undying loyalty and determination to fulfill all trusted to her, made her unstoppable in the torment she would sow into others' lives up until she took her very last breath. 

To the questions demanded of her, however, Nivea only rolled her eyes and said, “Don't expect some insanely high score. I did decent at best.”

Chaff scoffed from his seat on a luxurious couch, his single remaining hand occupied with, as usual, a bottle of liquor. “Yeah, right. Who's ready to bet this little lady gets close to an eleven at best with her talent?”

Nivea rolled her eyes and settled down in a nearby chair with a striking resemblance to a certain inanimate stalker. She let her head fall to the side to rest on the back with her eyes trained on the ceiling once more as her legs slung over the armrest, not straying away even when a familiar voice joined them from the hall, “I'd say closer to a seven or nine.”

“You're on, Seeder. What'd you say the wager be?”

“We have too much money as it is so, if I win, you'll drop the drinking until at least after these games and-”

“Hey hey hey,” Chaff cut her off quickly and Nivea rolled her neck to get a glance at the tail end of his flailing hand and arms. “Let's not be too hasty here. Don't you think that's a lil' drastic?”

Seeder chuckled from wherever she stood. “Not at all. Besides, you never let me finish.”

“Oh, of course. Please, continue, your Highness.”

“And, if you win, I will personally replenish the supplies for your addiction for the next month.”

Chaff lit up like a damn lightbulb, whooping, “That's more like it!”

Seeder sighed and settled into a nearby chair nearest Nivea who eyed her warily. She asked, “So, we got a bet?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, voice excited at the prospect of the freedom to increase his laziness over the next month or so. “Just make sure it's that stuff from the districts, not any of the shitty Capitol shit.”