Chastity grew up like any normal Capitol girl, loving the Hunger Games and learning that she would want for nothing in the city streets of the centre of the universe. She soon began to crave fame though, leaning towards the limelight and becoming an outspoken personality on Capitol TV and Radio. She resides now in her own apartment where she hosts lavish yet bizarre parties for the Capitol’s underground artist community and when she isn’t howling at the moon in public for entertainment she takes up the mantle of District 3′s escort. She’s not one to care for rules but she knows all about how to present yourself in public, a trait that she likes to try and pass on to her wards.
at age twelve, with the bat of her eyelashes and a kiss on the cheek.
And to this day, Lorna will swear it wasn’t even hard. All it took was a little luck and a bit of persuading the career boy from two-- the only other kid her age. She’d kissed him and hugged him and they kept their innocent romance in the dark, bonding during training, until the time for arena came.
That was when he started protecting her. How easy it had been, to wrap poor Ky Volten around her finger. For him to fall head over heels to protect the girl he supposedly loved (never mind they were only twelve). Too damn easy, since him going into the games had been a fluke anyway. No career was sent in that early.
Yet, he would have won. With his natural ability and a lethal tomahawk, Ky cut down every opponent in their path. Everyone except Lorna. Rather than harm her when it came down to just them, Ky killed himself. Poisoned with a bite of nightlock.
And thus, secured Lorna June’s spot as the Victor of the 22nd annual Hunger Games.
How would your closest friends and family describe you?
Forty four degrees outside, and I have to rub his hands between mine--to get the blood flowing and rushing under his frozen skin. His frozen, cracking skin.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter. But my tone is too flat, and Keaton shakes his head, shoulders pinching together.
“I-I can’t help that I l-lost my gloves.”
He says it guarded, voice defensive. Pitches upward with the shake of his body and chatter of teeth. He’s so cold. So stupidly cold.
“I don’t have time to look for them today. Double check to make sure they’re not under your bathroom sink, though.”
“My bathroom sink?”
The boy blinks and his dark brows pull together, a small crease forming between the eyes. His hair is wild. The fog sticks to it, spider-webbing the strands, brushing the flush along his jaw. Such a carefully drawn jaw, angled face. If I weren’t lying to myself, Keaton is rather--
“Why in the w-world would they be there?” his voice breaks apart my thought.
“I have a hunch.”
“A-always a hunch, r-right?”
I don't reply.
Instead, I bring his hands up close to my mouth and blow hot breath onto his fingers, and hold fast when he almost pulls away in surprise. It’s only a last ditch effort to warm the poor boy up. That’s all.
“Isla, c-can’t you just come l-look for them?” he begs, “I don’t want to go to t-the w-warehouse without them. There’s n-no heat. And I don’t want to c-catch a c-cold, ‘cause if I c-catch a cold, I w-won’t be able to work and I’ll lose money and m-mom will--”
I bite back a sigh, lower his hands, stare up into those frightened, bambi bloodshot eyes. He’s terrified, as usual.
“Keaton.”
His rambling ceases.
"Keaton, I'm now going to miss a job because of you. Understand that."
I shift my gaze, and stare at the gritty brick framing his figure, concentrate on the lines as I deliver what needs to be said. Don't need to see his guilty, jutting lip.
"Well i-if you put it l-like that--"
"Keaton."
My voice bounces in the alley. I'm suddenly aware we stand too close. I'm suddenly seeing what other people would see if they shuffled in off the rock roads of three, if they were to take a moment's rest from their daily commute, and hope for a moment's peace and instead get two teenagers all but fucking against a wall. That’s not something I’d want to explain.
"Yes?"
"Don't. I’ll help. You’re fine.”
The boy looks down at me, nerves in his face giving way to a small smile.
“You make n-no sense, y’know?”
The comment brings me up short, and I’m so startled I look, quite literally, at anywhere but him. Stare at the sliver of smoke sky between these half-finished buildings, if I must. I don’t reply. Just listen careful to his chattering teeth. Then he opens his mouth as to explain more, to further elaborate on how I am dead-panned and unkind, but kind none the less. He’s told me as much before. It hurt. But, I can’t say that to him. It’s not like he’s wrong.
Good thing Keaton doesn’t realize my kindness is exclusive to him. And, of course, my dog.
“Don’t.” I huff, and then I’m taking eighty steps back from our bubble. Now I feel the cold.
“F-fine,” Keaton responds, then pauses. “Does t-that mean we c-can go n-now? I feel like s-someone is w-watching us.”
Now, I sigh aloud, let it hiss between my teeth because he knows that I know that there isn’t a soul in sight for at least a hundred foot radius. I just know.
