[ON HOLD] MASTERMIND ✷ Haymitch Abernathy

07.

✷ the overthorn
estate, the capitol

part 02/03

     Victoria met Reed Overthorn at an identical dinner party seven years before. Back then, she'd found Devis' study and holed up in there for some peace and quiet, but should've known that was a luxury Tributes didn't have.

It was only fitting that Reed was in the same place, playing the same game, sitting on the floor with his back to Devis' desk. Reed had long since traded his Academy uniform for a suit, but had the same smirk as he let the colored dice in his hand roll.

And more than seven years of friendship meant Pultarch Heavensbee was sitting right there with him. He was blond and wholly disinteresting. But, Pultarch and Reed came up through the Academy together, so Victoria had to indulge him more often than she liked.

It seemed like tonight was one of those times.

"That's twelve over zero," Pultarch remarked. "You have shit luck." He swept up all the dice in his hand. "You'd think Devis' kid would know to gamble."

Reed scowled, but it faded when he caught sight of Victoria in the doorway. "...I just have the misfortune of looking like him."

Pultarch followed his gaze to her, disgust rearing its head as he pocketed the dice. "You can't be here. You know that. If were talking about the Games—"

The contempt from him was a reminder of something Victoria came to forget after years of working in the Capitol, something Devis and Rowan and Reed couldn't change—she was not from there. She was the same girl they pulled from the arena years ago, bloodied and dirty and monstrous. No amount of scrubbing could lift 12 from her bones.

"Are you?" She challenged.

Pultarch squeezed his lips tight. "No," he said finally, as if it was a waste to draw breath in her presence. "...What is it, then?"

     The silence that followed dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Victoria looked at Reed and Reed looked at Victoria, and Reed made the mistake of looking at Pultarch.

"Oh, you're not serious." Pultarch clutched his metaphorical pearls as tightly as he could. He lowered his voice. "When you said you hooked up with someone at Snow's party, I thought she was at least a Crane...or a Dovecote."

Victoria should have expected as much. Like Reid, she wasn't much of a gambler. But, if she had to wager, the inside of Pultarch's mind was a golden palace with empty rooms.

     It wasn't entirely his fault. There was a Capitol inside the Capitol—the Founding Families of Panem. The Heavensbees were one. For some reason Pultarch deemed Reed to be an acceptation to the rule.

"Sorry to disappoint." Victoria stepped towards him, and Pultarch recoiled. It was evident on his face—fear. He'd seen her arena tapes, he knew what she was capable of, what she'd been capable and of.

As much as she liked watching Pultarch stumble, the look stung all the same.

He scoffed, brushing past her. "If Selma or anyone else finds out, I don't want any part in it. Being District is bad enough, but right now, being a Mentor is worse."

Victoria watched him go with a scowl, shutting the doors of Devis' study. She felt Reed's hands on her hips, guiding her to him. His fingers dug in a little, as if he were afraid she'd slip out of his grasp.

"He has a point." Reed's lips pressed against back of her neck, leaving a trail up to her hairline. "If a Mentor has any knowledge of arena, their Tributes gain an unfair advantage."

      The notion of 'fairness' when it came to the Games had always made her laugh—the thought that there was a level playing field, that kids like her from the Lower 6 didn't have to cheat to survive. As if she didn't have to claw and grasp at every opportunity she could get, even after the Games were over. She built her career by shedding the Districts like a second skin.

      "That hasn't stopped you yet. Though, you've been very mysterious about the whole thing."

      "Mm."

     Reed had a way of making the smallest, most intimate moments feel electric, like his fingertips were just brimming with it; something urgent. He closed the gap between them, same electric fingertips starting to undo the lacing of her dress—

"...Why now?" Victoria demanded suddenly.

"Nervous someone'll walk in on us?" Reed fiddled with the lace.

As much as she wanted to tell him she couldn't care less, there was a question that had nagged at her since the night of the President's Party.

     "No. I mean..." She nudged him off, which was a hard choice to make. She held her loosened dressed over his chest. "We've been skirting around each since we were eighteen, and it's been been meaningless, and then, that night, we..."

     "Need me to refresh your memory?" Reed smiled mischievously.

Victoria felt what she'd been trying to drive home wash away on a river of Reed's charm and tantalizing touch. "Seven years, and all of a sudden you have the courage. If you think that I—"

Reed seized her wrists, pulling her so she was close enough to feel his breath. "It's not a question of courage. Have you considered that I might be a bit drunk?"

That was like a piercing arrow through the heart. Victoria could feel the pieces shatter on impact, imbedded in her empty chest. The President's Party, she'd smelled it on him—not that she hadn't had a few drinks either—and tonight, well, that breath on her had notes of clear, strong, Capitol liquor.

"Well, now I have," Victoria yanked herself free of him, finding herself blinking back tears.

She was glad when Reid left, because it saved her the humiliation of anyone seeing her furiously wipe under her eyes. It was shocking, really, and she studied the wetness on the sides of her fingers. The last time she'd cried was on her Reaping Day.

She thought she'd lost that ability.

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