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[goldtoes]

[ He didn't even protest when the Peacekeepers came for him.

Leif, five feet tall and eighty-seven pounds precisely, had been sitting at the table tearing bread apart with his fingers and dipping it into olive oil with cracked pepper, an old comfort food, when they banged on the door. He stood, navigated calmly to it, and stared up at them with green eyes that were fearless mostly in defeat more than in bravery. Come with us.]

Do I have time to pack some things? [ Not disinterested, but unconcerned. ]

No.

All right. [ He picks up the bag he keeps by the door and follows them, flanked two by two, a quadrant of faceless danger. They bring him to the train. District 11 will never see him again, but it doesn't matter. He has no one here, anyway. So it doesn't matter. Nothing much does anymore.

He sits against the window though there's no reason to, really, and watches out the window as the rest of his life rolls past and away from him. His vision's good enough to navigate, to identify faces and places, but the fact is that his cornea are so scarred over by now that they look like puddles of heavy cream, just a spill, an accident, something that was never supposed to happen in the first place --

The Capitol comes sooner than he expects, and there was never magic in it in the first place - not before, not as a tribute, not now as a victor, either. Not led in unbuckled overalls and flannel and a plain white t-shirt, not with his quadrant of peacekeepers doubled to a formation of eight that brought him like a well-earned prize, delivered him like a gift. Leif says nothing. ]

Comments

pats tag that is as babby as leif

[gremyr]

[ That was, apparently, not the answer he'd been expecting to hear, because he's quiet. Confused- which is obvious in his voice (whenever he speaks again) and on his face, if Leif can even see well enough to make out the details. Rhys had heard that mortality rates in the poorer districts were high, so it shouldn't be a surprise. And yet... ] Who looks after you?

shh it's fine it gets the job done

[goldtoes]

[ Leif shrugs. ] My boss, mostly. [ Can he call them a boss? He's not sure. He assumes so, there are still things that have to work a certain way - there are still employment hierarchies, even in the way Panem works. ]

My boss, at the orchard, and the other workers. I mean, I was already working when my mom died, [ how old could he have been - three? four? ] so it wasn't that hard. They make sure I have food, things like that. Let me take things from the farm sometimes, if I really need it. Bread. Milk.

[gremyr]

[ It's a horrible story.

Rhys' face remains blank, despite the pinch he feels in his chest. If it were any other tribute, any other omega, then maybe he wouldn't care- but this one is his own. The injustice of him being alone is upsetting. His desire to protect kicks strong, and Rhys has to expend actual effort to keep himself in his seat.

He exhales, letting himself soften and calm. There's a lot of work to do here. ] All right.

[ One thing at a time... Maybe it would be easier to demonstrate. ]

Humor me for a second. [ He's not in his seat for much longer- he moves off the couch, crossing the space between the both of them in order to kneel directly in front of Leif. His forearms rest against the edge of the couch on either side of Leif's legs, though his fingers never touch them. Rhys is close enough for Leif to easily catch his scent, but makes an honest attempt to not smother or come across as threatening. ] Take a minute, then tell me what you can sense about me. What goes through your head?

[ Leif can take all the time he needs; Rhys doesn't mind staying rooted and admiring him from here. ] There are no wrong answers. You may not feel anything, since I'm sure you're still getting your shots, but try.

[goldtoes]

[ It doesn't seem to bother Leif as much, saying it, as it bothers Rhys to hear it - but then, at sixteen, he's had long enough to adjust to the fact of things. Rhys has just learned about it, here and now, and it's a lot to process even if the person telling you it doesn't belong to you. ]

All right. [ Parroted. He lets Rhys move in without protesting and uncrosses his legs, closing his eyes. He's pretty up close. Prettier, too, without his face spattered with blood and smudged with dirt, on the screens, from the arena - he's soft, with sharp, birdlike features and a permanent pout, dusted with freckles that you'd have to get this close to see. He hums, lazily, somewhere deep in his chest, but he's thinking about it. It shows on his face, mouth tugged a touch to one side. ] Hm.

[ It takes a little while. He reaches down to grasp Rhys' wrist with his fingers, pressing his thumb to the vein, gentle and thoughtful. ] Butterflies, [ he says, finally. ]

[gremyr]

[ As lovely as Leif had been dirty and bloody, Rhys has to agree. He's much prettier this way... He gets caught up in counting the pale freckles dotting Leif's skin, until he speaks. Then Rhys is spellbound by the movement of Leif's mouth, desperately wishing he could touch plush lips with his own.

He refrains. If nothing else, his time as a Gamemaker has taught him patience. The necessity of waiting for the right time.

But having patience doesn't mean he's any less distracted. ] Butterflies? [ The word comes out muted, puzzled, though it draws a strange little smile out of him. Maybe he gives that impression from the way the pulse in his wrist jumps? It certainly does a lot of that when Leif is involved. ]

[goldtoes]

Mm. [ Leif is thoughtful, still. Is he supposed to feel something? Is this supposed to spark some kind of magical awakening in him? He feels very little of anything worldshaking, certainly. He thinks about whether or not he's somehow doing this wrong. ]

You asked what I felt. Is that not the right answer?

[gremyr]

I told you, there's no wrong answer. [ It was a cute one, that's all. And promising, perhaps... ] You'll learn to get a read on other people, your senses are just dulled. Once you're off your shots you'll see what I mean. Everyone you meet will be different, though. Sometimes it's positive. Friendly, romantic, familial, things like that. Other times, not so much. It all depends on hormones and such, and how your body harmonizes with the input it's getting.

[ Carefully, Rhys turns his wrist, mirroring the touch Leif had given to his pulse point. ] For me, you're pleasant. You're fresh and light, a little sweet, and that appeals to me. So you're a pull that I can feel in my chest. It makes me want to be near you and take care of you. [ ...To put it in the simplest, most mild terms. ]

It's a natural thing that happens between alphas and omegas- which you are. Your mother likely was, too.

[goldtoes]

[ Leif is silent and thoughtful, still. This seems to be his way of things, quiet and calculating, and maybe that's why he did so well in the Games regardless of Rhys' help - perceptive and evasive, he spent more of his time stepping silently through tree branches than anything else. The anonymous sponsor, of course, kept him fed and hydrated. Obviously. ]

I see. [ And then his brain puts the pieces together, and he twists his mouth in something not quite a frown. ] So that's why I lived. Because you weren't going to let me die.

[gremyr]

[ Rhys huffs in an amused way. ] I'd love to take all of the credit, but no. You weren't going to let yourself die. I did what I could through loopholes and environment manipulation, but otherwise my hands were tied. I couldn't interfere if you were to make a mistake on your own, or if someone came after you. [ Like the last competitor there at the end, the one who had rushed at Leif with all intentions of beating and burning him alive. He hadn't been able to stomach looking at the screens until that encounter was over. ]

If we'd been properly bonded, though, then yes. I'm sure I would have gotten myself killed because of you.

[goldtoes]

[ Leif considers this possibility, rolling it around in his head. He wonders how much input Rhys had, how much influence over his very survival. ] It was an accident. [ Winning, he means. He stayed far away and kept himself alive quietly and alone, until he suddenly couldn't anymore - when an alpha came at him baring teeth and snarling that he wasn't going to die before - well, before, and Leif had run him through like a hunter might an animal.

Then there's the matter of bonding to mull over, so he does that, too. ] Properly bonded.

[gremyr]

Accident or not, it's over now. And you're here. [ Rhys manages to make that sound entirely too god damn cheerful, unintentionally salting the wound with a reassuring pat to the side of Leif's knee, then he stands and wanders off.

He'll need to pour himself a drink from his pretentious little liquor cabinet before he even fucking begins to cover bonding. As of now, he simply responds with an mhm. ]

[goldtoes]

It's not really over, though, is it. Not for me. [ Because it isn't that simple. He's a baby, he's never even had a heat and he doesn't even know what they are and he's killed someone from his own district, and seen worse. He still sees it when he closes his eyes and he wakes up screaming and smelling gas and flame.

He sits and waits patiently, but allows himself, now, relaxed, to begin to unwind - to toe his boots off onto the floor and sit, crosslegged, on the couch, backing into the cushions rather than perched at the edge as if he was preparing to need to bolt, with his hands in his lap. He watches Rhys, too. ]

May I please have some water?

[gremyr]

[ How polite! It's absolutely precious. Rhys smirks mid-pour of his drink, something a wild sapphire-blue, before he prepares a water for Leif. He delivers it as well, handing the drink over the back of the couch to him. The water is likely cleaner than anything he's ever seen in 11, complete with chic little spheres of ice tinkling against the glass. ]

Of course it's over? [ Instead of returning to his place on the opposite couch, Rhys stays near Leif's. ] You've won. You'll spend the rest of your days in comfort. [ What else could there be? He thinks it over, sipping his blue-thing. ] Well, I suppose you'll be expected to mentor, but that's only once a year.

[goldtoes]

[ Water at home is tinged with a sort of pale golden-yellow, something about the minerals - he's not sure, it's always been that way, and usually taken from a hose poured into a canteen or sipped right from the nozzle, like children did in summer once upon a time. Before... well, before. He dips a finger into the glass to take a sphere of ice, turning it over in his fingers before popping it into his mouth. ]

Oh, so I get to watch more kids die? Cool. [ Rotten. But he's got a point. ] Looking forward to that, of course. It's not over. I think about it all the time. You go into the games but you never really come out.

[gremyr]

[ Rhys sighs in to his own tumbler, holding liquid in his mouth to prevent himself from giving Leif a scolding.

He has to remind himself that this is natural. He's bitter over the experience, and that's all right, but he'll come around with time. After swallowing, he says as much. ] The Games have barely finished. It's still fresh for you, that's all. You'll be just fine. [ Victors always are.

...Mostly. ]

[goldtoes]

[ Leif says nothing for several moments. He doesn't know enough to argue over whether or not this is correct, and the truth of it is that it probably doesn't much matter either way. If it gets better - great. If not - who'd have expected anything different. It is what it is. This is how Leif sees things.

Finally he holds up his glass to clarify that this next statement is not thanking Rhys for his reassurance, because he hasn't believed a goddamn word of it. ] Thank you. I forgot to say that. Sorry.

[gremyr]

[ He suspects this is why victory tours are scheduled half a year after a game is completed... And it's laughable, really. Rhys thinks he can handle the aftermath, but he's never had much contact with the victors immediately post-game, never actually seen how angry and broken they can be. In reality, he doesn't know shit. Doesn't realize that this isn't even the tip of the iceberg.

Based on the absolute nothing he's witnessed so far, he believes this is workable. Easy. Leif isn't all that bad. A little surly, and they certainly can't allow that sort of attitude during interviews, but it can be corrected. It's nothing more than a little bump in the road... otherwise, Leif is a gem- pretty and well-mannered.

Rhys circles around the couch, returning to his seat. ] You're welcome. If there's ever anything that you want, all you have to do is say so. Providing for you is my responsibility.

[goldtoes]

I have no idea what I want.

[ He pauses for a long moment, then, looking slightly puzzled.

Easy. Sure. A little bit surly, and not someone who'll startle at the slightest sound, the crack of branch or loud bang of trays and glasses dropped, of shouting. Not someone who'll fight and scream before he finds himself back on earth, someone that Rhys will have to restrain in a bear hug until he's grounded enough to realize when and where he is in the middle of the night. Just a little sulky. That's all.

Finally: ] Why'd you move away?

[gremyr]

[ Rhys doesn't seem troubled by Leif's indecision. Of course he doesn't know what he wants yet, he's only just arrived! He'll probably start to learn what he likes, dislikes, and wants whenever the newness of the situation wears off.

Leif's question, on the other hand, is what intrigues him. Did Rhys' moving away bother him? ] Oh- I was tired of standing. [ A brow arches, curiously... Perhaps there is something that he wants after all. ] I'd be glad to sit with you. Would you like me to?

[goldtoes]

Oh. [ Leif sips his water, apparently quite content to take all the time in the world doing anything or answering anything or being, in fact, at all useful to anybody at all.

In fairness, now that he knows Rhys worked to keep him alive, as much as he was able to do so, and that he's decided Leif belongs to him - well, he's got no reason to put on a polite face and pretend like he's a sweet, bubbly little thing (not that he was doing this in the first place, to be fair.) ]

Yes, I think I'd like that.

[gremyr]

[ Patience. Always patience, with Rhys. There's no way for him to know what's going on in Leif's head, what exactly the little victor thinks of him. Whatever it is, it must be in his favor, because there it is- the invitation.

Looking pleased as punch, Rhys relocates again. This time he settles next to Leif, close enough that their legs share the barest hint of contact. ] Thank you for speaking up. I want you to communicate with me, even if it's something as simple as that. [ His input is valuable. Rhys needs to do the best that he can for Leif, failing isn't an option. ] Is there anything else? Questions, maybe?

[goldtoes]

[ Leif - it's subtle, barely there, but he shifts so that their legs are pressed together. He's warm, for someone so tiny, radiates coziness and comfort off him even though his demeanor is sharp and chilly. ]

I'll try. But I'm not very good at it. [ He sips his water again, gazing at nothing in particular. He has a lot of questions and, rather than be patient, he says several of them at once. ]

You said properly bonded. What is that. How does that work. Why me, is that just - not about me, specifically, it wasn't my personality or anything that drew you to me, right? How much do you know about the districts? Do you care?

[gremyr]

[ Rhys leans back in to the quicksand-softness of the couch, relaxing- and subtle as the touch is, he notices. He doesn't dare disturb it, either.

Not on purpose, anyhow. The sudden laugh that he barks out may sour Leif enough to draw away. ] Hold- hold on, let me catch up. [ He's not laughing at him or making fun of him, honest! He hadn't expected to be hit with an avalanche, that's all. ]

Ah, let's see... [ Where can he even start. Might as well go in order? Or as in order as he can remember. ] Well, bonding is... Like a marriage, I suppose. It's when a pair accepts each other as mates, and it's a very serious connection. Life-long. [ He pauses to reflect, fingers tapping against the side of the glass still in his hand. ] So, it's done through intimacy. Sex, in other words. There's some biting and marking involved, but it's not as unpleasant as you might think. [ He's had to have seen the neck bruises of a fresh bond, or the silvery sheen of a healed bite. Hasn't he? ]

I've heard the best time to bond is during an omega's heat, but that's not required.

[ Rhys shrugs, making the whole thing sound casual enough. Then pauses again. ] What was next?

[goldtoes]

[ It's not intentional by any means, but purely a matter of weight and gravity that when Rhys leans back, Leif kind of comes with him, resting against his arm. He doesn't seem tremendously inclined to move, though, and he leaves it as it is. ]

I see. I don't know what heat is, but I guess I'll figure it out. [ Casual enough, sure. Leif, too. Like he's simply accepted this as The Way Things Are, now, and in his defense what's he going to do about it, if it isn't something he wanted? Onto the next question, though. ] Why me. It wasn't my personality or anything, I imagine.

[gremyr]

Aren't you from a farm? [ Okay, this time, maybe he is poking a little bit of fun... But it's all in good nature? He's smiling, not in a cruel way, and reaches across himself to smooth his fingers over Leif's messily secured hair as he continues giving answers. ]

I'm not sure why it was you, to be honest, but it was instant. I was already attached before any of us learned anything about you. [ Near Leif's temple, there's a curl just barely contained by his bun. Rhys tugs it free, twirls it around his fingers idly. ] People think it happens because there's such a strong genetic compatibility that you instinctually lock on. It makes a bit of sense. Our goal as a species is to continue on as successfully as we can... There's no better way to do that than to create healthy children.

[ No pressure or anything, right, Leif? ]

I do like what I've seen of your personality so far, though.