Who | Atlas Fairweather and Quintus Falxvale
What | A conversation about how wonderful the Games are that turns really awkward.
Where | Peacekeeper Headquarters
When | Between Arenas, after Quintus leaves his job at the Tribute Center.
Warnings | Talk of violence, talk of Avoxes.

Atlas is here as he is every fourth Friday, leaning on the desk and waiting for the administrative assistant to return from the bowels of the building with his monthly pension permission. They know he's going to be here, and somehow it always takes them half an hour to bring him the go-ahead to transfer funds. You'd think they'd prepare it for him in advance by now, right? Scan it for him the day before instead of letting him lean here on his one good leg and wait.

Not that he minds overmuch. He's always happiest when he sees faces he knows here, and finds they have a moment to chat with him. Some of them are from back in his District days, other veterans transferred back to the Capitol after years of faithful service; some he's gotten to know since he came here, and have never known him without his limp.

Quintus' is a face he knows, and his own face will light up in recognition when he comes by. The man is still as much a reputation as a real acquaintance to him - they've spoken briefly, but always about work (beyond the normal Hope you're well, Thanks I'm fine courtesies. Quintus comes to Atlas' mind alongside words like faithful and loyal and competent. Maybe not the kind of guy he'd invite out for a beer - a little too reserved on a first impression - but not a bad guy.

"Heading back there?" Atlas calls out to Quintus in greeting. "If you see the desk man, give him directions back up here. I think he got lost back there somewhere."