Wild Card || Levi x Reader

five - when I've shut down the band

A twelve.

You scored a goddamn motherfucking twelve.

No one gets a twelve. You think you've maybe seen one person in your lifetime get a twelve, a District 1 boy that was built like an ox and could wield a sword like he was born swinging that thing around. He didn't win- he was killed by a younger boy who perfectly prepared an electric trap that electrocuted him. A twelve doesn't guarantee victory: it's simply a matter of odds.

You really did nothing in the past three days that screamed I'm going to crush everyone here. The only reason you think you got that twelve is because the Capitol wants you dead, and the gamemakers think this is the easiest way to do it. Make you the biggest target.

Does it freak you out? Kind of.

But does it mean that you've got the Capitol's attention? Yes, it fucking does. 

They're watching you. They're watching, and they want you dead. Oh, how it makes you laugh- they feel threatened by you. You. Okay, maybe not, but they feel threatened enough that they're trying to expedite your death. Giving some of the other tributes incentive to kill you.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Well, so much for trying to win. That's going to be out of the question. The only thing left between now and the games is the interview.

Hm. How can you fuck up the interview as much as possible? What kind of shit can you say? Should you open with hi, my parents are dead and it's the Capitol's fault? That might be fun.

"Alright, hello!" You look up as your district escort waltzes into the nice, formerly-quiet living room. "Time for some of our interview prep!"

You frown. "I told you I didn't want interview prep."

"Well, you certainly are in dire need of some," she says with a huff, sitting down in the seat across from you. 

"I already have plans for the day," you say, which is a total lie- today's a break day between training and the interviews. You've got nothing. But you were going to spend the day- one of your last days alive, probably- lounging and enjoying the sun. Or something to that effect. "I'm good."

Your district escort titters. "Nonsense! You've done so well: made a splash in the parade, secured a brilliant training score. All that's left is your interview to cement your place in everyone's hearts!"

"Nah. I'm good."

"Alright. Well, let's begin with how you're supposed to sit. Like a lady," she insists. "Cross your legs, like this."

Sapphire Lady folds one leg over the other, then settles both hands on her knee, smiling daintily. You slouch down in your chair, letting your legs dangle in front of you.

Her smile becomes painfully forced. "Well- well, we can at least give it a shot. Can't we?"

"We can't," you say pleasantly.

You wonder how long she can keep up this affable personality around you. You have to be pissing her off, right? Judging by how strained her smile is and how her right eye keeps twitching, you definitely are.

"Perhaps we can focus on something else," she suggests weakly. "Maybe learning to speak politely is in your metaphorical wheelhouse?"

The thinly veiled insult makes your lips pinch into a fake smile. "It's in the wheelhouse," you agree, "locked up in a box in the cellar. Lost the key."

She sighs and stands up again, clearly frustrated. "Why do I even bother," she mutters as she marches away, heels click-clacking against the floor.

"I didn't ask you to," you call after her as she leaves.