fan behavior ; tip your waitress
Jan 2, 2024 15:23:20 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Jan 2, 2024 15:23:20 GMT -5
c e d r i c
"Justice! I'm sneaking out!" Thoughtless words I hurl over my shoulder a few seconds before the door slams shut. If he hears them - if he has anything to say - I don't stick around to find out. I'll save him the guilt of realizing he's glad that I'm gone.
Things don't get better when secrets get gutted, it's just one more mess to clean. The Capitol could have pulled my name, instead it was Arcadia. It's weird to think that we're family in one way or another. Carrying the same cursed blood that marks us pawns in a political game. I've never known a name to feel so heavy.
Fray.
It's mine now. Tacked on after my dad's surname. It sits on my tongue every time I introduce myself, a tether to decades of glory and gore. I never manage to force it out, that feels a lot like admitting Justice is a part of me too. Neither of us want that. So instead, I'll reap the benefits of this royal bloodline and wander the streets of the Capitol for as long as I please.
Uncle Asher says it's a good way to clear your head when the anger starts seeping out your ears.
The Capitol's pristine polish doesn't make for a good subject, so I've made a habit of finding the places the Council missed. Daisies splitting through cracks in the alabaster sidewalk, a stray dog peering out of a darkened alleyway, or - most recently - a ruined dive bar a few blocks off main street.
Paint peels off the facade, smoky gray in stark contrast to the pastel of the buildings around it. Broken glass crunches underfoot as I step closer, pleasant alongside my camera's shutter as I catch a spider dangling off its flickering neon sign.RIOT
My eyebrows creep into my hairline. They really do let Capitolites get away with a lot - the peacekeepers would have stormed this place in less than a week back in One.
I had assumed a place in such a state of disrepair would be long abandoned, but as I near the entrance it thrums with life. The warmth of chatter and dance, music playing a steady pulse beneath it. And I know it's a bad idea, even before I step foot past the threshold.
First and foremost, I'm assaulted by the smell. A pungent cocktail of sweat and spoiled drink. It's dimly lit, interrupted only by the occasional light strobing in time with the performance on stage.
Two men shove past me on their way to the door, smoke curling out of the smiles as they whisper in the other's ear.
I'm not supposed to be here.
Panic pricks the base of my scalp as I find the nearest wall and press my back against it. I close my eyes, trying to remember the tips my father gave me.feel your feet upon the floor.
notice your hands, take them out of fists
breath in through -
I choke on another cloud of pungent smoke.