01 video.

[advising]

[ The feed flickers on, and the camera noisily jostles, the hands holding it trembling faintly, but not out of fear. The man that appears on the screen, ragged as he is, looks as far from fear as he can be. In fact, he's even mildly annoyed, instead, his face sporting a few bruises here and there. ]

Well, isn't this just cozy.

[ A rather unimpressed smirk twists over his lips. ]

Expected where I was going to be a lot less... formal. You know, the ritzy carpet here and the beds. Nice welcoming committee-- screaming ghost children. I think I like that one best. Really... authentic.

[ The styling of this place would make Effie Trinket sob. Even he finds it gaudy. He looks off screen for a moment, as if examining something (an empty flask), the clink of a metal lid being unscrewed, a scoff. As if he didn't both look and sound annoyed enough already. ]

I'm going to need to know a couple of things. One, has anyone gotten together any plans and information to get out of this place, or we all just going to sit and play patty-cake until something goes bump in the night? And two -- a drink. Something strong. I've run out, and I'm going to need another very soon, the way things are here.

[ Not that he would trust many (if any) of them, but better to use them for what they know now if it will help him and his get out of this place. Of course he's probably more concerned than he looks, but there's not a point in letting them see him sweat. Not when there doesn't appear to be any outright danger, but that is most concerning of all, of course. ]

Comments

[ingrantitude]

It's a weakness.

[He twists at that.] Hit.

That's not right though. That means dying alone after ripping someone's ribs out of their chest. It...

[The look on his face might be familiar. It's the vaguest look he might have seen on Katniss's face. On Peeta's. Perhaps even on his own. People who are used.]

That's propaganda damn it. It doesn't make sense. G-1.

[he doesn't realize that he's been shouting.]

[advising]

Can't afford to be weak. To show them those weaknesses.

[ He knows that look -- has seen it across too many faces -- Katniss, Peeta, the other tributes and victors -- his own. His own voice remains tight, calm; they're speaking the same language all the same. ]

And none of it is meant to be right. So you lose a loved one, a team mate, a friend -- so what?

None of it is supposed to be fair because at the end of the day, you're still alive and well and those people are gone because of you. No matter how many people you have to kill, no matter how you try to run from whatever it is they're telling you to do or not to do -- you'll always end up where you started. Blood on your hands, looking back and wondering how you come out the loser no matter how many times you play the game. We're designed to lose.

[ He downs the glass of water as though it were a shot, unrelenting until the glass is emptied. His voice is quiet, tense. ]

You've sunk one.

[ingrantitude]

You say "you sunk my battleship" and you get a chance to cheer.

[Man. this guy.] Sounds like you had a mentor.

[He doesn't really mean anything by it. He just closes his eyes and thinks of John. He thinks of John's training and the years he spent working for him. The fathering, the time he got sick and the older man took care of him...

He drags a hand over his face]

...Who am I kidding. We all do. now you take the ship off the board. G-9

[advising]

That's ridiculous. Miss. D-2.

[ But he removes the ship all the same. ]

A mentor? [ Excuse him as he laughs. A mentor, really? Haymitch had nothing but life in the mines before he was thrown head first into the Games -- no mentors or advisers. Twelve had no victors to help him, mentor him. ]

No, I went in blind. Makes it more fun that way.

[ Sort of, not really. ]

[ingrantitude]

Hit.

[This is interesting. Really interesting.] I have a feeling we're talking about variations on a theme here. Went in blind to what?

I mean if you feel like sharing. D-1

[advising]

Hit.

[ Does he even bother sharing? No one could really understand, and he doesn't want people getting too close, after all. But a good sob story made allies, and strangely enough, Grant Ward seems like someone he would much prefer have on his side than not. ]

There's a competition put on by the Capitol, The Hunger Games. [ He considers the game board. ] Twelve districts, two chosen at random to fight for their lives. Children, elders, anyone. The one who remains standing after it all, wins, becomes a Victor. Victors become mentors, teach their tributes how to play the game, how to stay alive. I didn't have a mentor. Went in blind.

[ He shrugs, leaning back into his chair, slouching even farther. ] D-3. The game's controlled by game makers, they manipulate the playing field, change things up.

[ingrantitude]

[Ward raises an eyebrow at that.]

I was a government spy recruited when I was 15.

[he rubs at his nose.] The guy who trained me worked for a rival spy organization.

[his throat works at that.] Hit. You sunk one.

[advising]

Get 'em while they're young.

[ He shrugs, but the news of a sunken battleship is small room for amusement. ]

I won my Games when I was 16. So we're even. [ Instead of calling another number, he sits back, rubbing furiously at the bridge of his nose. This hangover is turning into withdrawal, he can already feel the slight tremble in his fingertips and that's bad enough. ]

Aren't we both so damn lucky.