He can feel her watching him, but he doesn't look at her face, preferring instead to lift the napkin and gently peer at her wound. Not as bad as the blood would have him think.
"I know," he says, with an undertone of I agree. It isn't fair. It's just one more thing to add to their list of unfair things. He can't very well tell her out loud how little he asks of them, how he always says please and thank you. How he felt more connected to the ones who helped clean his space before his first Games than almost anyone else he'd met that week.
But when the avox returns with the bandages, he says a thank you and thinks Jyn might be able to figure some of that out anyway. She's also brought a balm, presumably to help with any bleeding, and a tiny vacuum to start sucking up the minuscule pieces. Only then does he glance at Jyn, surprised by how deeply she seems to be watching him, though there's no sign of that on his own face.
"Let me see," he says, and when she doesn't give any sign of disagreement, he opens up her palm and dabs at the cut with the napkin, gently wiping away at the blood. It's clotting, but he wipes that up too, using a wipe the avox brought too; presumably it's full of antibiotics or disinfectant.
The gesture is small, but Jyn touches her lips with her good hand and draws it toward the woman before she has a chance to move off again. Chainsaws and grinders and splitters are impossible to talk over, sign language is a necessary tool in Seven and the children learn early in case their vocation leads them into the physical logging industries.
The avox pauses before she dips her head in a nod and Jyn turns her attention back to Cassian to watch him care for her hand.
"Can it be saved, doctor?" It's at the base of her middle finger, the most important of fingers, but she isn't actually concerned.
He doesn't miss the sign, the silent thank you, he's far too close to her for that. He knows some of the avoxes speak with their hands, albeit quietly and in the shadows, hoping no one will see. Cassian sees because there's very little he misses anymore.
Her hand is wiped free of blood by the time Jyn turns back, though it hasn't quite stopped, already clotting again. He unscrews the balm and dips his own fingertip in.
"It was a very clean cut, and we have all the right supplies." He doesn't know where the teasing reply came from, mostly because he hadn't thought about it like he does with most conversations. It just... happened. Like it was easy. No angles to adhere to. He rubs the balm onto her hand, the sticky substance sealing over the wound. Hopefully it doesn't sting, but at least it seemingly helps staunch the bleeding. He unravels the bandage. "I think you are going to be fine."
Jyn can see why Cassian charmed the Capitol -- it seems to come so naturally to him, the witty banter. She makes a note to rewatch his interview with Caesar Flickerman, to see if that was his strategy from the start. Saw had told Jyn to lean into her diminutive height -- especially small compared to Codo who absolutely loomed over her -- and make herself seem small, not anyone the other tributes would need to worry about.
Caesar had helped, like he always does, by mentioning that her birthday would be spent in the arena. The crowd had briefly hushed and she knew on the day before her birthday the Capitol was anxiously waiting to see if she would even make it to sixteen. She wonders idly how much money people made on those bets. The odds were against her, whoever bet on her surely made a fortune.
"Good, it's my most used finger. Hate to suddenly become right-handed. How gauche."
He'd gone for charming and witty, and that combined with his score of ten had enabled him to form that temporary alliance with the Careers. Until he slaughtered them all. But it hasn't stopped him from putting up that same persona every time the cameras came around after the fact too.
His father had been more of the studious type, always working on machinery to make field work easier. His mother started telling him from a young age all the different ways tools could be used instead, but she hadn't quite prepared him for the snow. Both of them raised him to be resourceful, and that probably saved his life, even if in he end it got theirs taken away.
He starts to wrap up her hand, winding it in a way that still allows for a lot of movement in her fingers. "I am quite sure you could get a replacement. Maybe in any color you so pleased."
Cassian is still wrapping her hand, warm fingers careful to give her as much range of motion as possible, but Jyn's uninhibited brain is bouncing around through a million different thoughts and refuses to settle on just one.
"Your accent." There are District accents all across Panem, based on the peoples that had settled in the old North America before natural disasters and world wars had destroyed what was left before Panem was established, but travel is prohibited between Districts so Jyn only ever gets to hear them through the games. District Eleven is so huge that they have a number of regional dialects. Jyn's own is fairly distinct at home, learned from her mother's people and kept out of sheer stubbornness when Mama died.
"I am sure you could ask." The Capitol would probably get a kick out of it.
He has basic first aid, from his time in the Games and just from working in his District. It's not perfection, but he starts to wrap her hand neatly. It'll do for it's purpose, carefully moving her hand as he needs.
"Yes." As far as he knows, his family had largely stayed there, before Panem, during the Dark Days, after. He's the first one to leave, and it hadn't even been his choice. "Is it that obvious?"
Back to teasing, because he doesn't want to think about leaving his home behind. He might be in the same District, but Victor's Village is hardly a comfort.
Such a childish thing to say but the accents in Seven seem so harsh in comparison, even her own feels clipped. He's pretty. Why does she keep thinking that? Objectively she knows it is true but she doesn't know why the thought keeps flickering through her mind.
(Because he is very pretty.)
"Have you got a Mr or Mrs Victor back in Eleven?" Do Victors date? Saw had always been alone and Seven's other Victors had been single as far as she could remember, they'd died long ago.
She doesn't mean anything by it. She's very drunk and he knows his accent stands out sometimes. She means it more earnestly, rather than the whispers in the Capitol that make him want to vomit. But he still doesn't really know how to respond to it, so he just... doesn't, finishing up the wrap instead. The back of her hand in his palm, he pins the bandage in place. He doesn't have to say anything in this case. He doesn't have to flatter Jyn because she did it to him first.
"No. Very few of us ever get married." A few fall in love, he's sure, but with the lives they are forced to lead, it's difficult. Some of them fall further prey to the Capitol's whims, some of them fall to drink. Even winning the Games doesn't guarantee a happy future. It's hard to get married when half the people in the Capitol thrive on thinking they can have you one day. How would that look, their favorite Victors married?
He doesn't think marriage is on the table for him, nor even anything close to love to push him there.
No husband or wife or both to contend with is what Jyn's soggy brain takes from that statement and she nods slowly like she is absorbing the knowledge, like there will be a test later except the test is their lives.
She seems to be thoughtfully considering this when her hand rolls in his and she uses her new grip on him to pull herself forward to kiss him.
She acts without thinking, uninjured hand lifting to steady herself against his shoulder, so it isn't a very active kiss. A press of her lips to his, a little lopsided, not quite centered, but his mouth is warm and soft and her brain completely fuzzes out like a blackout during a winter storm -- soft and muted, insulated into quiet by the snow outside but flooded with heat from the fire inside.
Despite how much she's been staring at him, despite her compliments, when she leans in to kiss him, Cassian is surprised by it. It's a little sloppy, half from her inebriation and half from his lack of participation, because... because he doesn't know what to do.
There is a very small part of him that wants to kiss her back. She's warm, and he is so starved for attention that doesn't make him feel disgusted. His hand settles at her hip, mostly to keep her upright in the way she wobbles.
Despite himself, for a few moments he does kiss her too, mostly matching up their mouths so she doesn't slobber on his cheek. In response her hand tightens at his shoulder, and Cassian stiffens. Probably not what she'd hoped.
She's drunk. It's the anniversary of her first Games and she is wasted, and there is a tiny voice in the back of his head whispering at him it's pretty. He's pretty. That's all it is. It's his face. She just wants a distraction, which is fair, it's what they all ultimately want, but he knows he can't do this with her, for too many reasons. He pulls away, even though they're still very much in each other's space.
"Jyn." He barely resists the urge to press his forehead to hers. "Not tonight."
For a moment Jyn instinctively follows him, leaning in as he draws back, before her eyes snap open and she draws her hands back like she's been burned. Did she--? He'd cleaned and bandaged her hand and they had teased and flirted? Maybe..
Fuck.
Hadder had laughed in her face when she finally realized he was flirting with her, she can feel him laughing now imagining, stupidly, that Cassian's kindness counted as flirting too. Cassian could have anyone he wanted, why on Earth would be ever want her. She rolls back on her knees and straightens up quickly, standing with a wobble that threatens to keel her over again.
He hadn't meant it to be a full on rejection, but it's clear as the hurt on her face that's how she's taken it. She stumbles to her feet and looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.
He wants her to know that it isn't her. It's the intoxication, it's the Capitol propping him up on a pedestal because he's pretty, it's the emotional toil he knows she is going through her - which he realizes he may have now made worse.
But how can he say any of that aloud, here in the Capitol of all places? His expression turns apologetic, the most he can do. He could have anyone he wanted but he doesn't want to feel wanted sometimes. And right now he can't shake that.
Cassian climbs to his own feet, hands hovering in case she loses her balance. "You are very drunk, Jyn."
Defensive, snappish. She knows he is right, she's well past tipsy, her small frame unused to alcohol. She's never liked the fogginess and heaviness of being intoxicated, the way it made her feel weak and ineffectual the one time she had gotten drunk before now. After the Games she still avoided it but now she was desperate for anything to avoid these several weeks and for a while she had felt a nice shade of warm and fuzzy.
Now she feels cold and ill, unwanted again.
"You don't have to excuse it, I understand." Message clear, universe, what is the point in trying if they're only going to leave or die. Well this time she gets to leave. She gestures expansively, swaying on her feet with the momentum, as she backs away. "Enjoy... the couch."
It's the kind of drunk that will probably greet her with a hangover in the morning, and he's familiar with it, but she snaps at him, and instead of arguing he just... stiffens.
There's no point to arguing. She's belligerent out of rejection, out of alcohol, out of the Games. Fight or fuck, two very common reactions in between all the drinking. He doesn't know how to help her when he can barely help himself half the time.
"You being drunk is not an excuse. It is a fact." She can barely stand upright!
"I'm fine," Jyn decides, as if she can rewrite body chemistry, somehow breezy and determined.
Really she is simply shoving down this rejection into a pit so she won't have to feel like she's been abandoned by someone else, the sting is the same and she refuses to feel it so she won't. She will not. She'll find someone else who will drink with her.
Someone she didn't tell about her father so he would hate her. She shouldn't be surprised, she practically planned this herself. Idiot.
She keeps backing up, putting one hand behind her so she won't trip over a wayward chair or a person.
"Have a--" She can't say have a good night, his tributes were murdered. "...Later."
She is definitely not fine in more ways than one, but he's not about to point that out. Her tone alone makes it very clear, the up and down inflections in one simple word.
Trying to reason with someone on the first anniversary of their Hunger Games victory when they want to steep in the anger is pointless. He wants to, because there is something about Jyn that makes him want to both reassure and counteract, but fortunately self restraint is one of his strong points.
Maybe next time they speak they can be clearer. Both of them more sober. Though that's never a guarantee.
"Take care, Jyn." Take the couch, he's not about to stick around much longer either.
Part of her, the fighty, angry part of her, wants to tell Cassian he doesn't get to tell her to take care if he is rejecting her but instead she puffs out a breath of air and stomps out the door.
It's childish and petulant but she is unhappy so fuck everything.
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ohnofeelstho2018-12-08 12:59 am
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"I know," he says, with an undertone of I agree. It isn't fair. It's just one more thing to add to their list of unfair things. He can't very well tell her out loud how little he asks of them, how he always says please and thank you. How he felt more connected to the ones who helped clean his space before his first Games than almost anyone else he'd met that week.
But when the avox returns with the bandages, he says a thank you and thinks Jyn might be able to figure some of that out anyway. She's also brought a balm, presumably to help with any bleeding, and a tiny vacuum to start sucking up the minuscule pieces. Only then does he glance at Jyn, surprised by how deeply she seems to be watching him, though there's no sign of that on his own face.
"Let me see," he says, and when she doesn't give any sign of disagreement, he opens up her palm and dabs at the cut with the napkin, gently wiping away at the blood. It's clotting, but he wipes that up too, using a wipe the avox brought too; presumably it's full of antibiotics or disinfectant.
no subject
The avox pauses before she dips her head in a nod and Jyn turns her attention back to Cassian to watch him care for her hand.
"Can it be saved, doctor?" It's at the base of her middle finger, the most important of fingers, but she isn't actually concerned.
no subject
Her hand is wiped free of blood by the time Jyn turns back, though it hasn't quite stopped, already clotting again. He unscrews the balm and dips his own fingertip in.
"It was a very clean cut, and we have all the right supplies." He doesn't know where the teasing reply came from, mostly because he hadn't thought about it like he does with most conversations. It just... happened. Like it was easy. No angles to adhere to. He rubs the balm onto her hand, the sticky substance sealing over the wound. Hopefully it doesn't sting, but at least it seemingly helps staunch the bleeding. He unravels the bandage. "I think you are going to be fine."
no subject
Caesar had helped, like he always does, by mentioning that her birthday would be spent in the arena. The crowd had briefly hushed and she knew on the day before her birthday the Capitol was anxiously waiting to see if she would even make it to sixteen. She wonders idly how much money people made on those bets. The odds were against her, whoever bet on her surely made a fortune.
"Good, it's my most used finger. Hate to suddenly become right-handed. How gauche."
no subject
His father had been more of the studious type, always working on machinery to make field work easier. His mother started telling him from a young age all the different ways tools could be used instead, but she hadn't quite prepared him for the snow. Both of them raised him to be resourceful, and that probably saved his life, even if in he end it got theirs taken away.
He starts to wrap up her hand, winding it in a way that still allows for a lot of movement in her fingers. "I am quite sure you could get a replacement. Maybe in any color you so pleased."
Can't have their Victors missing any limbs.
no subject
Flips them off with her home's industry.
Cassian is still wrapping her hand, warm fingers careful to give her as much range of motion as possible, but Jyn's uninhibited brain is bouncing around through a million different thoughts and refuses to settle on just one.
"Your accent." There are District accents all across Panem, based on the peoples that had settled in the old North America before natural disasters and world wars had destroyed what was left before Panem was established, but travel is prohibited between Districts so Jyn only ever gets to hear them through the games. District Eleven is so huge that they have a number of regional dialects. Jyn's own is fairly distinct at home, learned from her mother's people and kept out of sheer stubbornness when Mama died.
"Are you from the southern reaches?"
no subject
He has basic first aid, from his time in the Games and just from working in his District. It's not perfection, but he starts to wrap her hand neatly. It'll do for it's purpose, carefully moving her hand as he needs.
"Yes." As far as he knows, his family had largely stayed there, before Panem, during the Dark Days, after. He's the first one to leave, and it hadn't even been his choice. "Is it that obvious?"
Back to teasing, because he doesn't want to think about leaving his home behind. He might be in the same District, but Victor's Village is hardly a comfort.
no subject
Such a childish thing to say but the accents in Seven seem so harsh in comparison, even her own feels clipped. He's pretty. Why does she keep thinking that? Objectively she knows it is true but she doesn't know why the thought keeps flickering through her mind.
(Because he is very pretty.)
"Have you got a Mr or Mrs Victor back in Eleven?" Do Victors date? Saw had always been alone and Seven's other Victors had been single as far as she could remember, they'd died long ago.
no subject
"No. Very few of us ever get married." A few fall in love, he's sure, but with the lives they are forced to lead, it's difficult. Some of them fall further prey to the Capitol's whims, some of them fall to drink. Even winning the Games doesn't guarantee a happy future. It's hard to get married when half the people in the Capitol thrive on thinking they can have you one day. How would that look, their favorite Victors married?
He doesn't think marriage is on the table for him, nor even anything close to love to push him there.
no subject
She seems to be thoughtfully considering this when her hand rolls in his and she uses her new grip on him to pull herself forward to kiss him.
She acts without thinking, uninjured hand lifting to steady herself against his shoulder, so it isn't a very active kiss. A press of her lips to his, a little lopsided, not quite centered, but his mouth is warm and soft and her brain completely fuzzes out like a blackout during a winter storm -- soft and muted, insulated into quiet by the snow outside but flooded with heat from the fire inside.
no subject
There is a very small part of him that wants to kiss her back. She's warm, and he is so starved for attention that doesn't make him feel disgusted. His hand settles at her hip, mostly to keep her upright in the way she wobbles.
Despite himself, for a few moments he does kiss her too, mostly matching up their mouths so she doesn't slobber on his cheek. In response her hand tightens at his shoulder, and Cassian stiffens. Probably not what she'd hoped.
She's drunk. It's the anniversary of her first Games and she is wasted, and there is a tiny voice in the back of his head whispering at him it's pretty. He's pretty. That's all it is. It's his face. She just wants a distraction, which is fair, it's what they all ultimately want, but he knows he can't do this with her, for too many reasons. He pulls away, even though they're still very much in each other's space.
"Jyn." He barely resists the urge to press his forehead to hers. "Not tonight."
no subject
Fuck.
Hadder had laughed in her face when she finally realized he was flirting with her, she can feel him laughing now imagining, stupidly, that Cassian's kindness counted as flirting too. Cassian could have anyone he wanted, why on Earth would be ever want her. She rolls back on her knees and straightens up quickly, standing with a wobble that threatens to keel her over again.
"Right, yeah."
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He wants her to know that it isn't her. It's the intoxication, it's the Capitol propping him up on a pedestal because he's pretty, it's the emotional toil he knows she is going through her - which he realizes he may have now made worse.
But how can he say any of that aloud, here in the Capitol of all places? His expression turns apologetic, the most he can do. He could have anyone he wanted but he doesn't want to feel wanted sometimes. And right now he can't shake that.
Cassian climbs to his own feet, hands hovering in case she loses her balance. "You are very drunk, Jyn."
no subject
Defensive, snappish. She knows he is right, she's well past tipsy, her small frame unused to alcohol. She's never liked the fogginess and heaviness of being intoxicated, the way it made her feel weak and ineffectual the one time she had gotten drunk before now. After the Games she still avoided it but now she was desperate for anything to avoid these several weeks and for a while she had felt a nice shade of warm and fuzzy.
Now she feels cold and ill, unwanted again.
"You don't have to excuse it, I understand." Message clear, universe, what is the point in trying if they're only going to leave or die. Well this time she gets to leave. She gestures expansively, swaying on her feet with the momentum, as she backs away. "Enjoy... the couch."
Yeah. Nailed it. He has it all to himself now.
no subject
There's no point to arguing. She's belligerent out of rejection, out of alcohol, out of the Games. Fight or fuck, two very common reactions in between all the drinking. He doesn't know how to help her when he can barely help himself half the time.
"You being drunk is not an excuse. It is a fact." She can barely stand upright!
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Really she is simply shoving down this rejection into a pit so she won't have to feel like she's been abandoned by someone else, the sting is the same and she refuses to feel it so she won't. She will not. She'll find someone else who will drink with her.
Someone she didn't tell about her father so he would hate her. She shouldn't be surprised, she practically planned this herself. Idiot.
She keeps backing up, putting one hand behind her so she won't trip over a wayward chair or a person.
"Have a--" She can't say have a good night, his tributes were murdered. "...Later."
no subject
Trying to reason with someone on the first anniversary of their Hunger Games victory when they want to steep in the anger is pointless. He wants to, because there is something about Jyn that makes him want to both reassure and counteract, but fortunately self restraint is one of his strong points.
Maybe next time they speak they can be clearer. Both of them more sober. Though that's never a guarantee.
"Take care, Jyn." Take the couch, he's not about to stick around much longer either.
no subject
It's childish and petulant but she is unhappy so fuck everything.
Maybe Lando will braid her hair again.