IT WASN’T THE pressure. Robyn had assumed, and they had assumed incorrectly, had missed the mark entirely. Virgo had seen this, had smiled almost sadly in fact, as if it could’ve been that, as if Robyn’s guess had been a good one, a valiant effort, but it just couldn’t quite hit the spot. They remember how the news had come to them. The day the trains moved again, lurching forward without warning and surprising each and every one inside it in all their varying states of languishment, the intercom had clicked on with Snow’s voice, clear as day and no less frightening, crackling through from the other side. The rebels had been eradicated, and the trains were finally ready to take them all back to the Capitol; unfortunately, in the scuffle ( a fabrication — absolutely nothing of the sort could have happened ), Tiberius Farlock had died, presumably from “defending the train from the rebels.” Robyn had wagered not a lot of people had bought it, but they didn’t speak of it to anyone. Sudden death outside of the Games isn’t a topic you want to bring up so easily.
As soon as Virgo finishes speaking, Robyn’s first instinct is to shush them, to step forward, but nothing happens. Their mouth opens, and no sound comes out, their body dares lean forward, and does nothing more. Their breathing quickens before they notice it, and once they do, the rest of their body follows suit: palms sweating, throat seizing, heart palpitating, a ringing in their ears, and they shake their head. They’re no fool, they know what that means, what Virgo’s trying to tell them, but they refuse to believe it. How could they possibly? None of it is making sense to Robyn, none of it is connecting. They’re trying to grasp for memories of Tiberius, a terrible person overall, someone they’d tried their best to avoid personally, despite his ties with Diose, and they’re trying to find the thread, the line he could have crossed that pushed Virgo, a child raised in the Capitol, to do something they’d likely only ever seen on television…
Robyn shakes their head again. “You’re… You can’t be serious,” they say, voice firm, insistent, as if this couldn’t be exactly what they think it is. “You can’t possibly be serious.” They need to get out of here, now. “I’m — I’m leaving, Virgo, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t know what it is I’ve done to deserve any of this from you, but I…” They’ve lost their eloquence, panic coming in to replace it instead. It takes all the strength they have in them to push their legs forward.
“This… this conversation is over.”
Virgo nods. They don’t know how to make themselves clearer, a sick feeling in the pit of their stomach says Robyn must know this isn’t a joke. They have to or it’s--it’s all for nothing. The risk. Robyn turns it into an accusation, as if they think Virgo so cruel as to spin such a dangerous lie to salt an open wound. What good would that do? No more, they’d wager, than a fumbled attempt at apology that leaves them grasping so desperately for anything but the truth.
“If something happens, you have to fight back.” They never meant to be a cautionary tale, nor do they think they make a particularly good one. Clutching at straws, searching for the meaning in any of this, it’s sheer luck they’ve made it this far. They aren’t disposable. None of them. They don’t have to take this. “You’re allowed to fight back.” With that, Virgo turns. They’ve said their piece and know that to look at Robyn a moment longer would likely provoke them into desperation. They think, perhaps, they’ll stay up here a while. They’ve a lot to figure out.
