He’d known about this trip since right after he won. What he’d been told to expect was three days to Nine, in and out, as part of one of Panem’s initiative encouraging “inter-District exchange.” It was bullshit, everyone in Seven knew it, it involved some experts from Seven and Two going out to another district every once in a while to “teach” people there how to build better, as if they weren’t doing a perfectly fine job. It was purely for appearances, Alder knew it, but as Seven’s newest Victor he had to come along as ambassador. He hadn’t anticipated fun. Agatha Moreau had been Two’s ambassador for the past few visits, apparently, and while he’d been warned up and down about her, and Alder felt he could tolerate a crotchety old woman that probably was not interested in him anyways. Two weeks before the trip, he got word she died. Her replacement: Maverick Montana. Alder’s stomach sank to his feet when he read that, panic rising again in his throat. He fucking hated him, and after the ball- what they’d done-- They met in Nine. Barely looking at one another, not acknowledging each other as they sat through meetings of experts from all three districts talk about architecture, structural integrity of buildings, all kinds of boring shit. Alder fidgeted under the table most of the time with the wooden slide-box in his pocket, opening it, closing it, spinning it around in his fingers. Not only was Maverick there, being back in Nine put him on edge. Last time, he’d broken down in front of the entire district talking about Star and Memphis, and it felt like he might again. Everything here reminded him of them- charming, kind people, simple lifestyles, even the sunny fields beyond the central town that opened into rolling fields of grain and farmhouses dotting the terrain as far as the land stretched seemed like them. As things closed out for the night, they were led to an inn for the evening. It was definitely one of the nicer ones in the central town of the District, and while the Two and Capitol members of their party scoffed at it, called it “rustic”, Alder thought it was perfect. It was country, reminded him a little of his smaller village back home. Not too much. He was ready to settle in happily for the evening, just collapse into bed after a long day, when he and Maverick were dropped at the same door. “Only so many rooms, everyone’s sharing,” the innkeeper said apologetically, pressing the key into Alder’s hand. They both went in, and Alder sat on the edge of one of the beds, staring at his feet and feeling sick to his stomach. Of course. Of fucking course they put them together. He said nothing, not about to be the one to break the silence between them after doing so well with avoiding each other all day.
@maverickmontana
