boy wonders of ages new and old —「d⁷ train」

boy wonders of ages new and old —「d⁷ train」 Feb 15, 2022 23:14:11 GMT -5

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Feb 15, 2022 23:14:11 GMT -5

a little wicked
that's what he calls me
'cause that's at i am
that's what i am

The train ride was fine.

Quite tedious, actually, the tin of silver less a miracle and more a glittery, cheap-painted thing –

oh, how that description matches Mackenzie Pryce.

Rafael isn’t looking at the view; instead, his eyes slithered between the victor and his tribute partner, both awfully out of place amongst the opulence.

He hadn’t heard of Orville King, and gleaning the other, that was not much of a surprise. Orville made him feel as though he was in economy, not first class. But what brand would the other have? Rags to riches? Cliché, overdone, and oh so terribly tacky. It made his teeth gnash, fangs clicking together, all before Rafael allowed his jaw to ease.

He, too, had to be in control of his own narrative. The villainous rich boy was a trope long wielded by many before him and Rafael had no interest in repeating tales told tenfold. He was a minty breath of air, a much needed novelty, an ingénue. A career from Seven, what a lofty concept, but no one had seen his skillset before. That was how you got others to be drawn towards you: through deceit, through deceit, the tightrope-delicate act of crafting a myth so large and grandiose around yourself that they cannot separate him from legend to boy. Was he the one who carried the Salazar family’s dirty deeds, or was he their mouthpiece? Did he ruin the life of that one boy who pushed him in the playground once?

What was he? Who was he? What was he thinking?

It was important to keep everyone guessing, right on their toes where Rafael wanted them.

He cleared his throat and plastered on a smile.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” Rafael drawled in a low tone. “A Salazar, a King, and …" his smile deepened, “another Salazar.” His eyes gleamed towards Mackenzie at that, studious upon his reaction. His smile radiated charm but his eyes were a snake’s, intrigued by its prey, toying with it.

Rafael must confess that he did indeed have an interest in Mackenzie’s story – a boy of modesty means, shrouded by rumors and secrets, going on to become the Capitol’s heartthrob. But then he married Jacinta, made her soft, and everything went downhill from there. Still, there was a flicker of interest, an ember in the wind. How would a man such as Mackenzie Pryce fare in the darkness of the Salazar house?

His interest wavered then, towards Orville, and he made himself study the other even more closer. Strange boy. Quiet. He cried on the stage, and Rafael’s intels told of how his almost maddened whispers before he was reaped.

A heretic.

“So what advice do you have for me and King, here?” he asked, pushing his fingers up together in a soft steeple. “Any strategies? I am interested in the one you had for Whiskey Finch last games – it certainly made him get to finale.”

But then he died.

Surely Mackenzie remembered that.

no one calls you honey,
when you're sitting on a throne
no one calls you honey,
when you're sitting on a throne

lyrics: valerie broussard — a little wicked