Stay with me, always.

Chapter 9. Reruns

There is in fact, *smut* in this chapter, it'll come after the *** so if you feel uncomfortable, don't feel pressured to read the whole thing!

It's a strange thing to see Soarynn perched on the sofa watching the television. When she first came to live with us she didn't even know what it was. We, of course, watch the Hunger Games every year together as a family, but other than that, the family room collects a lot of dust. Mother says everyone whose anyone has a family room, a space to 'come together' and bond. Because we're all about that in the Snow family. She's wearing one of my pullovers while absentmindedly petting Petunia as she watches the screen. 

Petunia, is her ugly, wretched cat that refuses to die. In order to placate Soarynn in her younger days, my Mother bought Soarynn a cat. Now kittens are adorable, so cute, and full of life. We all adored Petunia. Then she got old. She's of the Ragdoll breed if that means anything to you, and she certainly looks like a raggedy doll. Once she got older, she started hating anyone who wasn't Soarynn, but when Soarynn moved out, she took Petunia with her. I'm not against pets per se, I'd like a dog if my parents would let me. Pets are a sign of true wealth in the Capitol. If you can afford to feed, bathe and house another living creature that gives back nothing in return, then you'll know you've made it. It's late at night, and both my parents have retired to their room so it's just the two of us and the Avoxes, but who cares about them? Walking over I do my best to avoid eye contact with Petunia who's been known to take that as a challenge, as I sit next to Soarynn. "What're you watching?" I ask her, she's playing with her locket with her other hand and that elates me. "Oh just an old rerun of the Hunger Games," she says with a sigh. 

Although viewing the Games is mandatory in Panem while they take place, during the off-season old reruns are constantly replaying. You can even 'buy the whole set!' for your family to enjoy. "You know what we could be doing?" I ask, nervously shifting as Petunia begins to walk towards my end of the sofa, it's not that I don't trust her. It's just...I don't trust her. "Hmm, what could we be doing Coryo?" She says finally looking at me with those beautiful eyes. It takes me a minute to regain my cool after that but I recover smoothly, "We could be getting shit-faced off of Father's wine." I say playfully, wiggling my eyebrows. She breaks into a grin and puts a hissing Petunia on the floor. Petunia- 0 Me- 1. "It has been a while," she says wistfully, "and you never took me for my birthday," she says, giving me a look. I gasp, offended at her attack on my beautiful character, "Well, excuseee me, I was busy giving you your gift," I say, gesturing to the locket. Conceding defeat, she stands and offers me her hand which I gladly take.

The cellar is in the back of the house right by the servant's kitchen. It's old, dark, kind of smelly, and soundproof. I love it. I watch as Soarynn pads down the stairs when I begin to wonder if she's wearing shorts under my pullover or if she's throwing all caution to the wind tonight. She stops in front of one of the barrels we've secretly been drinking from, bouncing on her toes and looking around to make sure no monsters are lurking in the shadows. When we were little we would tell each other stories, her's were always about love and flowers. Boring. Mine were about monsters and trolls, and battles, good interesting stuff for the kids. I unintendedly planted a fear of shadow monsters into her head and they've lived there ever since. "There are no monsters down here coming to get you," I say, pulling her against my chest. The only monster as of now is my Father. I still can't get that conversation out of my head, so maybe blacking out will help. 

"Well now I have you to protect me," she murmurs into my chest. Grinning like an idiot, I walk over to the cabinet that stores the wine glasses and grab two, picking a barrel at random, I pour the beverage into the cup. I'm not a wine connoisseur by any means, but it all tastes the same when you're drunk. It takes a while to get us properly drunk, growing up we began to build our alcohol tolerance. Her's being substantially smaller than mine, but who's counting? It's when a light blush begins to creep over her face that I know she's gone off the deep end. "Has Father talked to you as of late?" I ask her. It's an innocent question really, no reason to ask. "Umm, not really, why? What did he say to you?" She asks, her blue-gray eyes searching mine for answers. "Oh nothing important," I say, picking at my nail as if to seem bored of this conversation already. She doesn't buy it. "Well, what about your mantra? I know he asked you to come up with one for this year's Games," she says pinning me on the spot. Curse her attentive nature.