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They know who she is, when they throw her in the cell. It’s hard not to--even among the people of the Capitol, Nott’s a freak. But she had been trying to bite that stupid woman’s hand off, and she was still drunk, so. Into a cell she goes, until someone from the training tower comes to collect her in the morning. (She hopes it’s not another Avox. Those people creep her out, and she knows they report every damn thing they see.)
It’s only surprising that the VIP drunk tank isn’t empty. The eyes they gave her see well in the dark, so even though the lamps are off she can see the slumped shape of a man on one of the padded benches. He’s looking at his hands, not paying any mind to her. And Nott’s still drunk, so she hops right up next to him.
“Who the hell are you?” she asks, paying no attention as he startles away. She’s used to that.
He freezes half up out of the bench, one hand braced on the wall, and with his eyes wide in the dark she recognizes him. A fellow Victor, Bren something-something. She remembers watching his Games--remembers mostly how strange and small he looked, in the Victor’s Throne afterwards, with all his hair burnt off.
“I think...you know me,” he says, each word choked out like a lump of broken concrete. “I certainly recognize you, Ve—”
“I’m Nott!” Immediately after the words leave her mouth she regrets them; pulls out a flask the pigs hadn’t bothered to search for and swallows a gulp to hide her nerves.
“Not what?” Bren asks, still not sitting down.
She’s never said this out loud before. “Call me Nott. With two T’s. Nott the Brave.” She takes another swig. It’d been a childhood nickname, something her brothers teased her with to make her go faster at her chores. Kids at school had loved it when they found out.
Nobody called her that anymore. Not since the Games. It wasn’t something she would ever share with the Capitol--they didn’t need more cruel nicknames. All she had to do was laugh first, is all.
“Alright, Nott.” The firebug slowly sank back onto the bench, still turned towards her. He mustn’t be able to see very well, but he made no move to turn on the light. She waited for the laugh, the twist. The joke.
But he only continued to relax, inch by inch, until he was once again slumped into the wall. And Nott was quickly growing nervous in the silence. “I could call you something,” she blurted, desperate to fill the air. As an extra gesture of peace she pushed the mostly-empty flask into his hand. “If you didn’t want to be...well.”
Bren took a drink, and she could see his hand shaking. He fumbled the little flask back into her hands, and for a second he held on to her like he was drowning. Before she could decide whether or not to return the grip, he’d let go. “Ja, I would...I would like that.”
He was quiet again for just long enough for her to start squirming. She’d actually just opened her mouth to speak when he said, “Caleb. You can...call me Caleb. If you like.”
“Caleb.” She tried it out, liking mostly that she didn’t cut her tongue on her own teeth. That was still happening more often than she wanted to admit, at least to Yeza. “I like it.”
He laughed, dry and bitter as sunburned blackberries. “It is just a first try. I could think of something different, if you want?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Good, even.” Nott patted his arm, and this time he didn’t even flinch. “Caleb....any last name?”
Again he was quiet, and the slow whoosh of his breath made her think he’d fallen asleep. She was starting to get tired herself, despite the hypervigilance that always accompanied her to the Capitol. She leaned against the wall opposite him--Caleb--letting her eyes stay shut more than they were open. Finally she heard him say, “No last name. For now.” And, half asleep, she only nodded and muttered something that was meant to be, ‘great yeah sure’ before sliding the rest of the way into dreams.