Though Linden can't hear what she's muttered, it doesn't take an imaginative genius to piece together the general gist. Fortunately, as parts of him have wasted away and gotten brittle and frail, other parts have toughened and cultivated scaly, thick armor. He doesn't remember being sensitive to dismissive remarks even when he was a spacey factory kid in District 6, and since winning his Hunger Games and making it his apparent life's work to destroy himself as thoroughly as possible, he's only grown colder and more numb to it.
Though Jessica's pretty and has taken good care of herself on a superficial celebrity level, Linden has glimpsed enough tabloids and paid her the same cursory attention he gives to other Victors. Like Jessica, he recognizes them as kindred souls, people who get the horror behind the pageantry and President.
He shakes his head, squinting at the blonde; even things that remain motionless seem to flicker and sway when he's this hungover. "Hair of the dog," he insists, taking another quick sip after glancing over his shoulder for potentially disapproving escorts. "If I manage to work up a sweat, I'll consider your advice, but..."
The way he trails off says, pretty clearly, that anyone who expects him to even touch a machine is being foolishly optimistic.
"It has been awhile. I admit, I was kind of surprised I didn't see you in rehab," he confesses, tilting the flask toward her with raised eyebrows, as if offering her a drink.
no subject
Though Jessica's pretty and has taken good care of herself on a superficial celebrity level, Linden has glimpsed enough tabloids and paid her the same cursory attention he gives to other Victors. Like Jessica, he recognizes them as kindred souls, people who get the horror behind the pageantry and President.
He shakes his head, squinting at the blonde; even things that remain motionless seem to flicker and sway when he's this hungover. "Hair of the dog," he insists, taking another quick sip after glancing over his shoulder for potentially disapproving escorts. "If I manage to work up a sweat, I'll consider your advice, but..."
The way he trails off says, pretty clearly, that anyone who expects him to even touch a machine is being foolishly optimistic.
"It has been awhile. I admit, I was kind of surprised I didn't see you in rehab," he confesses, tilting the flask toward her with raised eyebrows, as if offering her a drink.