"A guy can dream." It was probably too much to ask for someone to dress his sixteen year old appropriately. Scott wasn't sure if the wardrobe choices being made for her were part of his punishment, but it certainly felt like it, given that he'd never have allowed her out in something so revealing. And that was the problem, wasn't it? What he would and would not have allowed didn't matter, because he wasn't the one raising her. Whether Stane had intended for this to be punishment was irrelevant. It was.
Possibly just as much as her participation this evening. The dust storm that had almost knocked Clint off those ropes, she'd done that. It had, for all intents and purposes, been a success, and Scott was willing to bet that if she wasn't so preoccupied with her outfit, Cassie would have taken some time to be proud of herself - as she always did with academic accomplishment. Scott could remember Fridays back in Twelve, that last year before she'd been whisked away for Capitol schooling, when she'd rush home to show him the big "100%" penned in red ink at the top of her spelling tests. His kitchen had been covered in them. These events, and the Hunger Games.. they'd be her new spelling tests.
At least he couldn't hang them on his fridge.
"They are." Because I fucked up. Scott managed to keep his frown at bay. There was nothing to be done for the way Stane was doggedly reminding him to stay in line except what he was already doing. He just had to stay the course. Play the part. Bide his time. And keep busy, because if he let himself think about it too deeply, he was going to lose his mind. "I'm gonna see if I can find her again, say goodbye. If I don't see you again tonight, take care, Buck, all right? We'll talk soon."