Zeph realizes the music just have stopped at some point. Almost a pity, really. Her voice is quiet and even when she asks her question.

"What would you do if this was real? If you thought this was real?" 

If?

...if.

Don't be stupid.

...of course she doesn't believe in magic.

"I'd... I was thinking of trying to—" she looks over her shoulder "—find somewhere to sleep in here, skip exams entirely and come out after the cleansing's run."

"Why?" Zeph's voice is full of surprise, and curiosity, and something new, makeshift, untrained, that... might be an attempt at hope? "Like, you'll still only probably die, right, what have you got there that's worth taking the wager?"

"Instead of, what, trying to stay here forever?"

"It can't be worse, can it?" 

Somewhere halfway through the snarky remark turns into an actual question. Can it?

"It - I doubt we're allowed, it said—" She picks up the napkins again, that said about 'journeys' and 'removed by security'.

Bar, being somewhat addressed, responds to the conversation with a new napkin—

—that Basira immediately puts the old napkins down on top of.

That's... not clear-cut, actually. Maybe—but you can't just sit in a pub forever. Can you?

She can't imagine it.

"I... don't know." She takes a sip and that's it, that's the end of her drink, nothing left. "What would you do? If you were actually sure this is real?"

"I mean, stay as long as I can, obviously. I guess it's a magic bar, I don't know if it needs employees, but maybe I could talk it into something? If not... I mean, if I come out now, I almost certainly lose the games. If I live on Christmas beverages for a while and come out later when the games are over, I'm Capitol's problem. If I stay here, I..." She slows down, bites the inside of her cheek. "Like, if I had a job I would have food, and probably there's people sometimes?" She looks around the currently empty room. The next sentence feels a little shaky. "'s not too bad."

It's a room. Larger than a corridor, smaller than the library, with prettier decorations and fewer books.

No mals, though, unless it is one. She really does think it's not.

"I guess." She tries, really tries, to picture it. "Nothing to kill you, if you can sort the food, and... there's got to be bathrooms somewhere."

That gets Basira a weak chuckle from Zeph. She's looking... thoughtful.

"I mean, it's not that different from-" From the life she expected before she ended up in the games. (From the life she sometimes, in the few seconds when she felt just how easily her knife sinks into people's throats, dared to expect during the games, and never once asked herself if it's even worth it.)

"Hey bar? Is there anything alcoholic that counts as festive?"

Oh, many! I can do mulled wine in over two dozen flavors, hot punch, lumumba, space cacti milk...

Zeph taps her fingers on the counter.

"Can you do two shots in the lumumba? ...three?"

It can. There's a small mug, red with golden stars pattern, on the counter now.

Thoughtfully, it's drinking temperature.

"If this was acting, you did a pretty good job," Zeph says to Basira before chugging the drink. It tastes kind of terrible. (No worse than blood, her brain suggests snarkily. She ignores it.)

Basira looks up from considering whether to order a "space cacti milk".

"Sorry, what?"

Zeph stands up and then pauses for a moment, trying to figure out if she feels different. Not really?

She killed like six people goddamit, this shouldn't be scary.

Deep breath.

...another.

Her mind slips into wondering what she's expecting, what she *prefers*, whether she wants proof or just to go out with a bang or—

That's what tips her over, thinking about it is worse.

"Hey!" She says to the ceiling, already burning from embarrassment, but not letting it stop her. "If you're still watching this, somewhere in a pathetic little district house you hate, barely standing from work and either starving or eating something you bought by making your child slightly more likely to get murdered on TV, if you're there watching your child get murdered on TV, you-"

She just has to keep talking, she's not going to inspire anyone, obviously she sucks at this, she just needs to see if they will-

"-you are hopefully wondering the same thing as me, namely what the hell kind of life is being stuck in this place till you die an appealing alternative to. This," she gestures around as she starts pacing the room, "is nothing, it's four walls, maybe some people to talk to if I'm lucky, food, same thing over and over and over until I die. It's not worth it, it's not a real life.