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The Career stepped out of the lift, wearing a strikingly gold suit not too dissimilar to a bard’s, or an old-style playwright’s - all puffy sleeves and padded chest, with intricate detailing. A small crown perched jauntily on his head, and his slightly parted lips had a golden shimmer to them. He was the epitome of District 1; luxurious and enviable - and yet, Simon found himself rather liking that about him. For all the luxury made him despise Johnny, and all the outfit made him seem ridiculous, it suited him, and made him look rather regal.
“And you say you aren’t a prince.” Simon said, slowly. The hallway wasn’t exactly large, with the lifts located opposite to a set of stairs that lead to a meeting room, and down to their left was the ballroom. The whole place felt Victorian in décor, and shimmered gold, like Johnny.
Johnny laughed, a beautiful, clear sound, matching his regality wonderfully. His stylists really did know what they were doing, Simon thought, quietly.
“I say many things, my friend.”
Johnny’s usually oddly rough voice was softer, lighter, much more gentle. It had a touch of allure in it, and reminded Simon of the honey breads back in District 12.
“I’m sure you do.” nodded the pauper.
Johnny laughed again, showing off his teeth, all sharp edges and a razor tongue, and Simon couldn’t help but let a smile grace his own lips for a split second.
“So, then,” said the pauper, “they say you’re my dance partner.”
Johnny automatically bowed, with the crown wobbling, and Simon found himself replacing the crown back in its perch once he’d straightened up again.
“At your service.” the prince answered.
Simon made a slightly dissatisfied sounding hum, which made Johnny blink a little. When Simon turned to look at the prince, the boy’s expression looked like that of a kicked puppy.
“There are far worse they could’ve paired you with, you know.” the prince’s voice was quiet, soft. A sense of hurt lingered in its undertones.
There was a long, quiet pause. Johnny narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head a little. Thankfully, this time, the crown stayed put.
“I can’t tell if you’re disgusted because I’m a guy, like you, or if you’re pining over someone.”
Simon’s gaze suddenly locked on to the other end of the hall, into the ballroom, and Johnny followed it, both pairs of eyes landing on Johnny’s District partner, Roze.
“Ah, I see.” the prince said.
His voice was quiet, and the softness was almost shocking.
“Both.”
He sighed, and turned away for a few moments. Simon’s head snapped over to where his - he hesitated to say ‘friend’ - was now sat on one of the stairs, staring gloomily over at Roze.
“What’s your point?” asked the pauper. His tone was hard, rough and accusing, and when Johnny looked up, he looked like he was about to cry.
Simon didn’t know a prince could show this level of sadness.
“That is. What is the point?” the prince asked. “You’re in love with a woman whose first instinct in that arena will be to tear your throat out, preferably with her own teeth, and feed it to the mutts.”
Simon blinked, and in surprise, Johnny did too.
“That might actually be the first time I’ve seen you blink.” the prince said, quietly amazed.
Simon blinked a few more times, to indulge him a little.
“How old are you, Johnny?” asked the pauper. A personal question, sure, but a necessary one. A dare, of sorts, to himself.
Johnny paused, and opened and closed his mouth a few times. A few rays of light bounced off the glittery shimmer on his lips, and just further enhanced the inane beauty. From this odd angle, if Simon looked back, he could see there was light gold dusting on the boy’s cheeks, too. Their stylists probably wanted to make them look like the Prince and the Pauper. And it was working, because that was how Simon had been thinking of them the entire time they’d been standing there.
“... 18. But I don’t see what relevance that has.” the prince said, sounding slightly farther away than he had.
Simon blinked back to reality - and, oh, there was the gold on Johnny’s cheeks.
“How old’s she?” asked the pauper, gesturing with his head over to Roze.
Johnny paused, thinking for a moment.
“Good question. Just turned 18, I think.”
Simon opened his mouth, and Johnny held up a hand, silencing the other almost immediately.
“I already know you’re 18. I saw it in your files.”
“You can see our files?” asked the pauper, something cold beginning to run through his blood.
Johnny smirked. It was one full of a deadly allure, malice hidden deep within. There were layers to this prince. There was danger to this prince, and that thought sent a little thrill down the pauper’s spine.
“I’m from District 1. The Capitol loves us. We get the files on absolutely everyone pretty much instantly. Height, weight, birthday, age, likes, dislikes, family, relationships, ailments, etcetera etcetera.” the prince began, something in his tone shifting.
He paused, and pulled out a file from his suit. It looked far too big to have been hidden, but Simon supposed the stylists could do some pretty fancy things with the suits for Careers - of which, one of them was, unfortunately enough, his pretty prince.
“For example…” the prince continued.
He flipped open the file, riffling through a page or two, and stopping, beginning to read.
“You have two siblings - an older brother and a younger sister. Sorry, that should say ‘had’ - your sister was reaped a few years back and died in the bloodbath. Your brother was murdered by Peacekeepers when you were 13. Your mother is terminally ill and there’s nothing anyone can do…” the prince paused, turning the page, and continuing to read. “... While you can do shit all about your father, who’s down the mines and probably dying too, if not already dead. You have a dog named Gary, who needs medicine for an injured leg, and you refuse to buy from Capitolian representatives.”
He looked up at Simon, who’d gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists.
“Need I continue?” the prince asked, infuriatingly calm.
Simon barked out a harsh noise.
“You’ve made your point.” said the pauper.
Johnny smiled, not quite normally, and tucked the file back into his suit. His face softened, looking sadder by the moment. Perhaps princes were humans too, Simon thought. As the boy spoke, something seemed so very vulnerable about him.
“All this information is at my disposal. I could’ve used it long ago. If I were truly as District 1 as everyone believes me to be, and therefore your sworn enemy, I would’ve used it long ago, to hurt you. I actually put an embargo on you, so Roze can’t actually hurt you or use your information against you until we all enter the arena.”
He exhaled sharply, and the unsettling smile was back, curving his lips in an almost unnatural way.
“But I bet you would’ve loved it if I had. It would mean you’d have a reason to kill me.”
He opened his arms in a grandiose motion, and twirled around a little.
“Because, really, what reason do you have to kill me other than the fact I’m another tribute standing in your way?”
Simon was about to answer with ‘that’s all the reason I need’, before realising Johnny was in fact right. It didn’t feel right to be killing him in a few days without a proper reason. There was something so toxic about how the prince was behaving. Something so intoxicating, in fact - addictive. There was a rush when he used those darker charms. Johnny offered out his hand.
“Come on, we’d better go dance, before the Peacekeepers realise something’s up.” the prince said, with a small smile, a more genuine one this time.
The pauper readjusted Johnny’s crown again, sighed, took the proffered hand, gave him a small smile of his own, and headed into the ballroom with him - but not without noticing the rigid Capitalion accent had slipped, ever so slightly, enough to convince him that the prince was indeed human. Human, with a devil’s heart.