thecapitol | I'm the Gypsy, I'm guaranteed

It's been under a day since the mini Arena but longer than Albert had intended. In his defense, he wanted to get her the perfect flowers to express his get well wishes. True, he's uncomfortable about how her run in with Terezi went on the inside, but unfortunately that's the nature of the Games.

He knocks gently on the door frame, letting the actual barrier swing open to show the bouquet of bell flowers, each with a suspended permanent drop of water delicately placed as if the petals are weeping. He still leans on a cane, though he's very close to not needing it anymore. His grip on the bouquet, despite his metal hands, does nothing to threaten the flower stems. "How are you feeling, Fee?"

How was she doing? Well, that was relative wasn't it? She was alive, wasn't she? And generally speaking, she was in fine physical condition, or at least in a condition that was fully recoverable. But she felt awful, simply terrible. Run down. Beat. She was unlike herself and she hated it. And what's more, she didn't even recognize herself when she looked in the mirror. Instead, all she saw was an exhausted looking stranger.

But those flowers were lovely, beyond her wildest imagination. Those would surely brighten her day.

"Oh, Albert," she sighed, beckoning him come near as she rose to her feet to meet him at the door. "Oh, Albert, everything is horrible. I hate this place and everything about it. I want to go home. I want them to leave us alone."

"I know, sweetheart, I know." It should be Süßling and that's one more dig against them, but he keeps his displeasure to a mild twinge of his jaw and pulls Felicity into a hug instead. His arms are cold, offering no comforting warmth, but his chest is still honest flesh and his heartbeat can be heard if she rests her head there.

"I'm sorry, dear one."

The lack of warmth didn't matter so much to her as his heartbeat did. He might be cold, but he was alive. That was all that mattered now as she collapsed against him in a solid embrace. It took a lot out of her to be so strong all the time. Felicity would never give up, but she sure was feeling worn out.

"It was mayhem. The little ones, Albert. They've brought in such young ones lately. I am nearly twenty. I can handle this. But there's a boy in there, he can't be a day over ten." She shook her head against his chest, then pulled back to look at her friend. "And Punchy killed Sandy. He's my age and he had to kill a child to win. And me, I..."

She was suddenly ashamed of what she'd done to Terezi. She'd wanted to win, but what killing a younger child worth it?

"I know, they had us watch." His voice is so quiet and he swallows after as if in pain, but a smile forces its way onto his face. A small and sad one, but a smile nonetheless, meat to be comforting. "I think... the only way to get through this is to leave the Arena in the Arena."

He strokes her hair with his free hand, pausing for a second to notice that it's no longer her natural blonde but making no comment. That likely wasn't her choice either. "I know you tried to win this time..."

That must make it hurt worse to lose, to still be stuck in the cycle of death and violence, but he doesn't know what comfort to offer her. That victory isn't really winning? That it doesn't matter what they do, the Capitol will find ways to torture them for their own amusement and as incentive to keep the Districts in line? They're not things to state in front of the cameras and microphones that litter the Tower and they likely wouldn't help at any rate. So he just trails off, at a loss, even as he keeps holding her protectively.

"Yes," Fee answered bitterly. "I tried and I failed. There's no consolation for showing. I attacked those children. I was merciless. And what good has it done me? I'm no better off for it, and now I'm a monster too."

She'd killed before, in the Realms, but killing there was different. She was fighting demons, beasts who thrived on magic, wicked dark spirits who would take over her world, England and beyond if given the chance. Those creatures needed vanquishing. The poor mortal players of the Games, though? What had any of them done to deserve their fates?

"I want out of this. I want to stop. But even if I win, what would become of me? It never ends, does it?" Felicity clung to Albert, like she might sap some of his strength and incorporate it back into herself. She hated feeling so weak. She hated the doubt creeping over her. She was suppose to be strong. Lady Strength they'd said, in the Realms. What an ill fitting title that was proving to be.

"You're not a monster, Felicity." He runs a hand through her hair again, wondering if her stylist chose the color for her apparent change from sweet young girl to brutal killer. It's a silly change; she hasn't actually, not to his mind. She's still a sweet, precocious young girl who now has the burden of intentional violence on her soul.

"You did those things to survive, we're all just trying to survive." He presses a platonic kiss to the top of her head. "It's a burden, but so long as you don't enjoy it, that you know it's not what you would do given a choice, you're no more a monster than I am."

It's hard for him to say that, after he'd spilled to Venus all the reasons he'd been a monster previous, how he'd snapped and tried to take that which he held most dear with him into Hell. And that was even before Panem. He sighs quietly into her hair. "We all want out of this, Fe, but victory has a double edge."

"Victory is a trap." Her voice cracked a little, and it seemed to jar her back into herself again. She collected herself, wiping her eyes in an attempt at composure. It was as though hearing her own misery had plucked at something inside of her, causing her to fumbled back to life again. "Could you live with yourself if you won, Albert? I don't think I could. Not really. I hate to lose, I hate it so. But the price is so high... I wouldn't want to demean myself that way."

"It would depend on how I won." A non-answer and he's sure they both know it, but his real answer would come so close to sounding like condemnation and he doesn't feel that way at all. True, Felicity's actions don't sit will with him, but he can see where they come from, the desperation that's bred them. He wouldn't condemn her for wanting to be free.

But there's no freedom to be had, and she's found that out herself without him having to try and explain.

"I agree with you, though. It's a hard thing to find out, but now that you know... what will you do?"

She freezes up a moment, as though she's made of stone. If only she were. This would all be so much easier if she could simply become some lifeless thing and stop worrying over these life and death questions.

"I don't know. I can't simply lie down. I don't have it in me to give up." Her voice sounds cold, cold enough that she herself begins to shiver. "I hate losing. But I don't want to kill anyone else."

Not Terezi. Not Nasir. Not even that fool of a man, Marius Pontmercy.

"There are different sorts of losing and winning." He doesn't let her go entirely, but he does coax her to find a seat with him instead of standing in the doorway.

"Yes, there is the goal presented by the Capitol, to be the last one standing, but you have the ability to set your own conditions for personal victories too. As a example, I try to make as many allies as possible, only kill in self defense if even then." He's certain whatever powers that be that are watching know this of him already, just as they can see from the footage he can be driven to kill through other means too. It won't make a difference if he states it. "It may not be working towards what they want us fighting over, but i I can help even one person in the Arena, then I feel I've won in my own way."

He sighs a bit, pulling back to look at her and expecting to find an argument there. "I understand it's not as grand as a Crowning, but first and foremost we have to live with ourselves."

She sat down beside Albert, folding her hands in her lap delicately. Even upset and out of sorts from the Arena, she somehow managed to look feminine and regal much of the time. That queenliness, that longing for splendor teared at her now. How could she balance the desire for brilliance and perfection with the growing sense of compassion she'd come down with in Panem?

"I am sorry for hurting Terezi, Albert. I really am." She closed her eyes, willing that she wouldn't cry. That's the last thing she wanted to do. She felt if she cried, then the Capitol had somehow won.

"I don't think I'm the one who deserves that apology, but thank you." She should apologize to Terezi, if the girl is willing to hear it. He's not sure. Everyone who's killed Albert he's either avoided or - in Enjolras' case - never had the chance to confront. He's not certain what would happen if suddenly Pruna came up to him and expressed that she 'be being sorry' for drowning him in a bucket after sticking him repeatedly with his own blade.

"I'm going to the hospital to see her later. If you'd like, I can pass on the message."

"I'd like that very much." If Terezi would forgive her, she might begin to forgive herself. "I would tell her so right now, if I felt I were strong enough. It's so tiresome to be brave all the time. All I want to do is collapse. This place is so exhausting, Albert."

"I feel the same, believe me." He lets out a careful sigh, pulling her in close to him again and letting a little of his own exhaustion show. It isn't just the Arenas, it's the lack of autonomy, the simultaneous Capitol lauding of Tributes as celebrities while still looking on them as utterly inferior and subhuman, children sent to fight to the death and the adults made to watch. Exhausting hardly even covers it.

"We'll manage, though. Because we have to, we will." He presses his temple against hers gently, trying desperately to believe the words he speaks and confident that he at least sounds as if he does. "We're here for you too, Felicity, Jet and I and I know you have other friends too. We'll support each other and keep moving."

Felicity nodded, breath hitching in her throat as she inhaled. The Capitol had had its way with her, utterly. They'd broken her down, forced her to do things she thought impossible, exposed her soul to the world for consumption, threatened her home, tortured her with Pippa. What more could they do to her? How much more could a person break before her spirit renewed itself again?

"They'll send us all back to the Arena soon. It's been far too long since they killed us all, you know. They'll be crying for our blood again before we know it."

"Probably," there's nothing much he can say to make that fact better. Nothing he can do to prevent it. "If we find each other, I'll help you, if you still want to attempt a grab at victory, but I won't kill without being attacked first."

Defending himself and those under his care is one thing, but the last thing Albert will do is go on the offensive, not unless someone murders those he holds dear. It may be the way of the Arena, but even Albert has limits to his patience and good will.

"Winning would seem dirty." Felicity frowned, reaching to play with her newly dyed hair. "I think I should like to do something heroic. I think I shall try to save people instead of killing them. Would you help me, Albert? Would you help me defend people in there?"

"Of course," he smiles a little at her, glad she's come to what he feels to be the right decision. "It's generally what I end up doing anyway."

Rescuing others, preventing them from coming to harm as well as he can help it. There's the small voice at the back of his mind that has to wonder what the point is though, that everyone will end up dying regardless, that he's simply prolonging the inevitable. It had crossed his thoughts once to try and band all the Tributes together in a mutual suicide pact, to simply walk to the next Cornucopia as one, each take a weapon, and run themselves through, robbing the Capitol of their show. But he couldn't ask that of some, least of all Jet or the children, so he fights the losing battle each Arena and tells himself it's the only way to bide his time.

She was pleased with the plan, even if she couldn't quite articulate as much. It felt right to make this pact, like she might be acting unselfishly for once in her life. Perhaps she'd feel less dirty if she got a chance to be a hero.

"I'm going to run for the cornucopia again. Will you? We can pool our resources. If we work together, we can do better than we can on our own."

"I will, yes. And whatever we get we'll share alike." He doesn't just mean him, he means Jet as well. Usually Albert doesn't tempt fate by running for the bloodbath that violently erupts around the Cornucopia but he knows Jet does, and at this point what does it really matter if they die there or later? It all amounts to the same thing.

"Hopefully food or water." It's always his concern these days, the basic tenants of survival. Water, shelter, food, all before weapons. He and Jet can defend themselves and others even without weapons, but none of them can help anyone if they die of dehydration in the first week.

Food, water, and weapons too. All Felicity wanted was a sword to use, or a bow and a quiver full of arrows. One could survive with food and drink, but to fight at all, one must be properly equipped. But she didn't say as much, suspecting the Albert might chide her for her addiction to the violence.

"I will look for you and Jet. And we'll go together, us three. Whatever happens, you must look for me, and I will find you two."

"We will. In fact, there are quite a few people I think we'll be looking for." Sam, Venus, Terezi, Steve too if he's willing to team up, which would put them in a group with his superhero team and set them all well into being protected if they have each others backs. If Albert can convince them, perhaps they can even get Felicity out. Survive as long as they can as a group and then allow themselves to bow out until she or Terezi or Venus - someone who's had enough, or is too young - can claim Victory. It's one thing if Felicity killed he way to the top, it's another if they let her win.

But it wouldn't help would it, and he has to remember that it's easier for 13 if they die in the Arena, according to Carlos, so is that really the best plan? Around again he goes in his head and finally resolves to pull someone aside later - likely Steve - into a blind spot to hash it out.

"It may be more difficult in the end with more people, but I think it's the best option."

Difficult odds didn't frighten her. If anything, she felt her determination and resolve strengthen. She couldn't forget the true enemy, could never forgive the Capitol for reducing her to a wrecked shell of herself. She was stronger than that. And next arena, the whole world would know. "Very good. Thank you, Albert. You are good to me."

"Well, you're my sister. Why shouldn't I be?" He runs a hand through her dark hair again, careful not to tangle or touch his cold fingers to her scalp.

"We'll make it through, dear one." It would have been in German that time too, but he lets it go. The thought is the same. She is dear to him, he would like her to know it.

It felt to Felicity as though there was nothing more to say. She simply smiled at him, beamed really, and wrapped both arms around him tight. She'd never had a brother before, never had someone to look out for her and protect her. How lucky she felt to have someone on her side, and how marvelous to have someone who needed her protection too.

Marco's skimming through one of the Capitol magazines, trying to figure out what he can about this bizarre place without making it too obvious that he's studying people for their weaknesses. Right now, that means trying to read between the lines of an article about how unibrows are coming back in style. He glances up when he sees an unfamiliar brunette waft through the suite common area like a ghost.

Unfortunately, Marco's pretty familiar with the expression on the girl's face. It's the haunted look of someone who understands that just because they aren't in the thick of it this exact moment doesn't mean they can take a break from planning for the next upheaval. He's seen that look in the mirror some nights when he's too tired to brush his teeth, toothpaste foam all over his lips, drooling into the sink and knowing that in three hours he has to get up and go to school and hope that aliens don't choose to wreck his life a little harder soon.

Marco's not a terribly nice person. Another kid might go up to this girl and, he doesn't know, tell her to chin up or offer to make her a hot cocoa or tell her it's going to be alright or something. Marco doesn't believe it's going to be alright and when he thinks of the words 'chin up', he thinks of turkeys that drown themselves in the rain.

"You pull an all-nighter or something?"

Somehow Felicity manages to not murder the boy with the daggers she's shooting at him with her eyes. He's young. So stupid, so young. She only has a shred of sympathy for the young and stupid, having been young and stupid quite recently herself, but somehow she manages to dredge up enough of it to speak in a semi-gentle tone.

"I just came from the Arena," she answers, nose wrinkling. "I take it you are new here.'

Marco had his suspicions, he's just not in the place to be dispensing sympathy. When the going gets hard - and it often gets hard - Marco's world shrinks down, his considerations shrunk to a tiny pinprick of humanity. Right now, the other people who would populate this peephole aren't in Panem, which means he has free reign to look out for just himself.

It's not all selfish. He's one of six people saving the Earth. It's kind of important that he gets back there and like. Does that.

He nods. "Just hopped on the Murder Express three days ago. You look pretty good for just rising from the dead."

"Do not get the impression that I am some Lady Lazarus," she answers, words clipped. "I wasn't killed. I left the Arena alive."

Which was new, even for her. She'd always done well in the Arenas, the previous two had seen her to the final days. Perhaps that's what makes her failure this time sting so badly. She's held victory so close she could taste it, only to have it escape in the last aching moments.

Not that this sorry little child would understand what that felt like.

"You arrived while we were away? How very lucky you were spared." She seems unenthused. "What is your name?"

"Marco." No last name in the Capitol profiles on him yet, although he really should come up with a nom de guerre before the Capitol gives him one. Maybe he can get a cool James Bond-ish name, or something dramatic and completely unbelievable like 'Blackheart' or 'Starkiller'.

"I haven't really caught up on the last Arena. I'm waiting for the reruns. Does that mean they're going to throw you a party?"

Marco knows a bit more than he lets on, but people give better information when you play a little clueless with them. That or they get fed up and tell you to buzz off.

"No," Felicity answers bitterly. "I don't get a party because I didn't win."

It's all so unfair, she can hardly stand it. If she wasn't going to win, the least the Capitol could do was kill her off and not let her suffer the humiliation of it all.

"Man, they're really inconsistent with these game rules, aren't they?" Multiple winners? He really needs to catch up on the last Arena's rerun. His strategy right now, having realized this, is to latch himself to someone more capable of surviving without superpowers and hope that they can tagteam their way to the end.

Which is, you know. An embarrassing strategy, but. It's better than the previous strategy, which was hiding behind a bush or something.

"Sorry you lost."

She tosses her dyed black hair over her shoulders in a show of defiance. "The Gamemakers can change the rules whenever they like. We play at their prerogative. If anyone tells you otherwise, they are surely lying to you. And thank you. It's a great disappointment to have it all end this way."

"Well, yeah, it's their prerogative. It doesn't sound like they have anyone to answer to." Marco doesn't quite pronounce the word 'prerogative' right, but he's just going to blame that on being thrown off by this pretty, cranky teenager's British accent. He wonders about her brain in there, inside her skull - is it wrapped in alien tissue or is this bitter stranger the actual human?

Those concerns are so constant for Marco that they've become white noise. He doesn't pay them more than cursory attention, like adjusting his behavior to look both ways before crossing the road.

"You don't sound all that excited for another chance."

"I'm not excited. I'm livid." Her words seem to lack any emotion at all, however. She doesn't sound angry, instead she sounds numb. Slowly though, her volume intensifies until by the end, she's nearly shouting. "There is no winning at their Game. Winning only entrenches you further, as the Victors must serve the Districts as mentors. I'm sure you've met Torin and Billy. Training us is their prize for staying alive. There is no escape, not for them, or me, or you, or anybody. The whole bloody thing makes me want to scream."

By contrast, Marco doesn't get loud, even as Felicity increases in volume like someone's turning a dial up inside her. He keeps calm, almost too calm, his voice level and casual.

Hey, he can't blame her. He's flipped his shit in the past too, and at least she isn't violent (yet). It's best to just let them yell it out, usually. Scream into a pillow. Punch a mattress or an enemy. Cry.

Keep going because hope doesn't give a shit about logic.

"Now I know why they say the English aren't very cheerful." He smiles. It's meant to be a joke, not an insult. "I'm guessing you've been here a long time."

Her whole body quakes as she exhales her words, "Ten months. Ten bleeding months."

And what has she gained in that time? A broken heart, a broken spirit, and nearly broken hands. But he's right, she's English. And the English never give in when they're backed up. She's got some fight in her yet. Now all she must do is re-channel it.

"If you do not loathe this place and the people here, give it another week or so and you will, Marco. You will."

He whistles. He doesn't know that there's words he can say. It's a sound of weariness and awe all at once. And fear.

"Well, they already got off on the wrong foot with pitting me in a fight to the death with actual superheroes, so..." He makes a 'welp' gesture with both his hands and mouth. "Congrats on holding up ten months, I guess."

"Yes. Only ten months to break me." But not entirely. She won't say as much, but even in this exercise of purging emotions, she feels a sense of renewal. She isn't down for the count. Not yet, not ever. "Good luck in the arena."

"You're out of bed. That counts for something." He knows that some days that's the hardest part, even without factoring in the exhaustion. If it weren't for the fact that flunking out would totally blow his cover and his stepmom's his math teacher, he just wouldn't leave his bedroom for anything short of total chaos.

"You too," he says. He doesn't know if he means it, but it seems right to say. If she wins, it'll mean he's lost. But it might be okay to get along with his roommates.

Especially because if they've been here ten months, they might know a thing or two about this place.

I'm the Gypsy, I'm guaranteed

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