Don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's not.

[the_marshal]

WHO| Wyatt & Sigma
WHAT| Wyatt vs Sigma
WHERE| Tribute Tower
WHEN| One night after the aliens, after this and this. Before the Arena.
Notes/Warnings| Round 3 of Wyatt and Sigma's spat regarding Max so possible language, likely mentions of death and violence and injury.



Wyatt spent as much time as he could with Max, filling as many of the man's trapped hours as he could. Card games, conversation (silly plans they'd likely never live to see made real)... sometimes just company. The silent reminder, and promise, that Max wasn't alone. Wouldn't be, so long as Wyatt had a say in it.

But, for all his intentions, he couldn't always stay. The nurses came like clockwork to remind Wyatt that his visiting time was up for the day.

So, after giving his word to return, he walked back to the Tribute's Tower, stopping at the bar for a drink before heading back up to his floor.

District 10 was colder than the hospital these days.

Putting it off was no big strain.

Comments

[the_marshal]

"Honestly, Doc? I don't give a damn whether ya are er not. This ain't my world, an' it ain't yers. It's a violent, bloody place with nothin' but shitty choices for us all." He shook his head, mouth pursed as his shoulders rose and fell. "I've apologized as best as I can, accept it an' we'll put this behind us, er don't."

Wyatt's anger was a fast burning match, a hot, blazing flare when struck, and then gone. His heart left black and cold.

He'd said his piece, more than once now. He obviously wasn't going to make the man see reason.

"You wanna believe you've got the right to cast the stone, fine, but I know better. Some of us are still jus' men, doin' the best we can with the hand we've been dealt."

[futilecycle]

Sigma shook his head, ready to launch into another angry rant when he found himself no longer able to suppress the cold he had been ignoring all night. He bent forward had to brace himself on the wall as he coughed violently into his hands. Embarrassed, he raised his hand to show he was fine, before another fit seized him and he stayed down.

As he recovered from the bout, he shook his head wildly, and cleared his throat - he was fine! Do not dare try and use his health as an excuse to leave! His voice was cracked and strained when he spoke at last and he could no longer shout. "-As if you know anything about the world I came from. As I told you before, I am not unfamiliar with these games. And allow me to tell you something else, Mr. Earp: I won. I did not have to be violent. I did not have to hurt those around me. My life may have been on the line, but not once did I take another's as so many of the other competitors did. What I was able to do was recognize that my enemy was not my fellow competitors."

It was a dangerous statement to make, but in his cold-addled mind, he did not care. "You contributed to her death, Mr. Earp, and you cannot justify it. Men who bend to wicked rule are not men. That is my final word."

He coughed again and leaned against the wall, the night wearing down on him. "Unless you change your mind, I... I am done speaking with you." Permanently.

[the_marshal]

He would have offered help, to get the man a drink, somethin'... but they were past that now. Too much bad blood to allow them to be anything by sharply civil.

He waited for the fit to end, mouth working, tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek and his gaze turning down, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat, as he shook his head.

"I wasn't tryin' to justify anythin', Doc. I was jus' hopin' ya could see past yer own self-righteousness to see where I was comin' from." His weight shifted, head tilting back and slightly to the side. "But I was obviously wrong. You've gone an' made yer choice."

A pause. Then he pushed a breath through his nose and nodded, a sharp, neat bob of his head.

Done and dust.

"So be it."

[futilecycle]

Sigma stared at Wyatt, long and hard, through eyes bloodshot from coughing most of the day. Then he nodded and immediately turned away, still braced against the wall. As far as he was concerned, Wyatt did not exist, until he or one of his friends touched Eponine or Howard.

Sigma's cheeks burned with fever and frustration. He had not planned to meet with Wyatt only as a method to vent his rage - internally, he had hoped Wyatt would come to see things his way. It had not panned out, and Sigma felt alone, again, alienated by people who might have been his friends for trying to do what he believed was right. Exhausted, Sigma slinked towards his room, forehead burning, stifling another coughing fit.

Though disappointed, Sigma could live with ignoring Wyatt in the Arena and outside of it. But if it so happened that there came a day when Eponine did not come back, gone forever without burial when she could have had a chance to win in a past Arena had Maximus not killed her... well, he did not know if he could handle losing another child to their games. If it came to that, he worried he might lose himself, as well. He realized with fear that he had grown more attached to Eponine than he had ever intended, that he had only just had a chance to know her before she burrowed into his heart and would kill him if she left.

Sigma had covered his face before the door to his room shut behind him.