Chapter Text
“You remind me of a painting.”
“Monet-like, almost. Just a tinge.”
It was unsolicited and an interruption of the silence he usually needed before the matches. It helped him focus. Prepare. Hone in on the hatred that he needed to complete the games. Edgar speaking to him as if he were some muse? That did not help him do any of the above. It was a distraction. Another thought that would later bother him because he had never even seen the painting. Why had Edgar so suddenly compared him to it? Naib raised an eyebrow at the man, though he only received a scoff.
“Of course, I had forgotten the likes of you would not know such a reference.”
Needless to say, it had thrown him off his game. It was no help that the Gamekeeper had been their hunter. Naib had done horribly. He let himself get chipped too early, and without Emily or even Demi to assist, he had quickly gotten downed after rescuing. At least he had been able to rescue… Edgar and Helena made an escape, but the Gamekeeper soon caught up to Patty and downed her and afterward chaired Naib. A tie. Despite all of Helena’s decoding (she later boasted about her 350% progress) and Patty’s flawless support, they had gotten a tie. Which, Edgar kindly reminded, was entirely his fault. The words would hurt if Naib was not so utterly sore. The hook the hunter used had clawed into his side and back, and if not for the bandages on his arms, he was sure he’d be leaking blood on the floor. No one paid it mind - not even Naib. He could be strong enough until he got to Emily’s.
Emily had scolded him, of course. He could never escape from the endless naggings. No matter how good the intent, he felt annoyed by it.
“It’s fine.”
“Naib, I don’t believe it is! You’re lucky you wrapped it when you did… You could have passed out.”
“But I didn’t, did I? I told you, I’m fine. Can barely even feel a thing.” A lie, made obvious by the fact he attempted to spring up and nearly toppled over.
“Stay the night in here, just so I can make sure your bandages are changed frequently. You may feel fine, but I assure you, you are not.”
A scowl brewed upon his forehead, but he did as he was asked. He made himself familiar once more with the bed in the very back of the room. When the curtain draped around it no one could see him and he could not see them. Emily insisted it was good for his relaxation. He dared not admit she was right. Between the cool air and the thin sheets, the sterile smell, and the quiet, he felt comfortable. Not everyone would think that of a doctor’s office - but Naib did. He hated the heat, hated anything dirty, hated the endless chatter he constantly had to endure. How long had he wished for such a simple thing as air conditioning? A clean room? A bedroom to himself… He knew the manor wasn’t perfect, but it was slightly better than the outside world. Instead of facing enemies on the battlefield, he fought the Hunters. Even they had good moods, so it wasn’t even a constant fight! They were almost as human as the survivors were.
Most.
Some were contorted in their figure, others in their personalities. There was one specific hunter that stood out to him, who looked so normal yet was as demented as he could imagine. He had never seen that man have a friendly match, much less anything under a tie. Naib might believe he was made to wield those knives if he thought upon it any further. Instead, he rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t do much other than lay on his back right now, and even the slight strain from moving his arms was beginning to hurt. Delayed damage even outside of matches, it seemed. Blessedly, Emily came a few moments later with her vials of medicine. Drugs which only Emily seemed to know the use of, as if memorized by their feel rather than effects. It would explain why everything went unlabeled. Theft prevention, or so one could not steal their own life. It explained the locked cupboard and the way Emily spoon-fed everyone their medicines. Just as she did now, a room-temperature spoon pressed to his mouth and a vile-looking liquid seeped in. A small glass of water tamed any lingering grossness from him but the effects remained no matter the aftertaste.
Sleep pooled over him as if he were in the ocean. Thoughts faded. No more distractions about the hunters or Edgar’s curious saying of how he was a painting. Was that not odd? He hadn’t even a clue who Monet was. Such a thought haunted him until he fell into sleep.
It was not until mid-afternoon he awoke to a rather annoyed-looking Edgar. Edgar, who, he really didn’t want to see upon waking up. It was far from the peaceful bliss of waking up alone, or at least with someone he enjoyed the company of. Edgar was not such a person.
“Morning.”
“Good morning. Emily is off fixing up dinner if you believe you are alive enough to do such.”
“How many times must I tell you all that I’m fine?”
“Frankly, I don’t care as long as you’re alive. It would be unsatisfactory if one of our rescuers died because he failed to eat. Or, you know, was killed for his stupidity in a match.”
They lulled into silence after that. Naib forewent any sense of appearance and flopped back onto the bed. It stung, but it made a point of how exasperated he felt around the man. Did he expect to cling to him like a plague?
“What did you mean yesterday? About the painting?”
“So you fail your match, and now you bother me with such? It was an offhand comment, Naib, not something for you to obsess over.”
He spoke as if he was not the one sitting on the guest chair by his bed. Edgar intended to force him to carry the conversation, and was rude when it trailed past pleasantries. How typical.
“If it doesn’t matter, then just tell me what you meant. Or do you want to stay here in awkward silence until Emily returns?”
“I meant to show you some sympathy for what occurred yesterday, do not snap at me!” He sighed once, vaguely waving his hand when Naib only glared at him. “His later works. They’re quite horrid - oh hush, let me finish - in a way that makes them beautiful. Monet was near-blind in his later years. While his paintings still represented something, no one knew except the creator. Of course, they had the titles and the letters, but only he had seen what he had seen. I am surprised he did not go mad. A man of such passion typically does.”
“I see you in the strokes. A lost scenery that not many can genuinely see. You are the wrong color, the wrong shape; at least to the common eye. You hide your meanings despite being so obvious. It is a curious thing.”
As if he had not said something worth any meaning at all, Edgar stood and lazily looked at the door.
“You won’t bleed out if I leave you, just wait for Emily by yourself.”