"Evelyn Brinley, better known as Lady Red, victor of the 72nd Hunger Games. Won her games at 15."
"Why Lady Red?"
"Because she always wears red. Oh, and she won her games by burning the remaining tributes alive."
✮
"𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆? 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒄...
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SASHA NEVER REALIZED HOW MUCH HE RELIED ON ALCOHOL UNTIL DISTRICT 13. He understood their reason for banning drinks, but that didn't mean he liked it. He missed the feeling, or rather, lack of feeling when he was drunk. Or high. He pretty much missed everything District 13 hated. At least he wasn't Haymitch. Sasha hadn't seen the victor since they came to 13, but he heard about him. The prohibition laws were not treating him well.
None of the victors had been doing well since the quarter quell. Finnick had broken completely, Katniss was lying in her hospital bed, Beetee was paralyzed, and Sasha had done absolutely nothing. He wasn't in the hospital wing, but he still managed to get out of the mandatory work schedule 13 gave people.
By "get out of" he meant he completely refused to do it.
Cassandra was completely out of it. Sasha didn't know exactly how close she was with Evan, or how long they had 'been together', but it was longer than what they led on. There was no way she'd be affected this much if they had just been off and on for the last couple of years. They didn't even see each other that often. Sasha didn't understand how that relationship if that was what he could call it, came to be, but it wasn't like that mattered anymore.
Sasha could barely feel his legs as they led him to the cafeteria, and he took his usual seat next to Xanther and his son. He was rather fond of Xanther, the man had been his stylist during his own games, but he couldn't say the same for his son.
Apollo Young was a lot of things, but Sasha liked to use the word "infuriating" when describing him. District 3 probably begged to have his family moved to the Capitol because they couldn't stand the boy.
"Anything?" Xanther asked, looking at Sasha.
He already knew what the stylist meant by that. It was the same conversation every morning. Sasha shook his head, "Nope. Same thing as it has been for the last month. 'We'll help them when we have the chance.'"
"Shame," Xanther muttered under his breath, "I liked that girl."
"You say that like she's already dead."
The stylist was silent for a moment after hearing Sasha's words, and then he flashed him a sympathetic look that infuriated him. Maybe it wasn't just Apollo that was infuriating Sasha, perhaps it was just the world at the moment.
"Sasha, let's be honest with each other for a second. Even if she's still alive in the Capitol right now, she's most likely dead in some other way."
Apollo cut into the conversation before Sasha could respond, "You don't know that." He turned to look at Sasha, "I'm sure she's fine. I think the worst-case scenario is they torture her a bit, but that's about it."
"Thank you for the comfort Apollo," Xanther rolled his eyes and shot a stern look at his son, then turned back to Sasha. "I'm just saying Sash, I think you should prepare for the worst."
