prying eyes —「rafael &. sierra.」
Feb 16, 2022 1:33:59 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Feb 16, 2022 1:33:59 GMT -5
↳ RAFAEL SALAZAR
He was right: he belonged in the Capitol.
In the opulence, the twinkling of champagne glasses, the aureate glow of chandeliers, and the inky, pitiless darkness full of rumors and secrets.
It was just the right amount of darkness for him.
The secrets spilled from everywhere: stylists, training center staffs, people he’d charm and kiss and then take back to his room, a sprawling mass of whispering mouths that told and told and told. And Rafael sat there and listened. He took them all in because he knew that wise men in this world valued knowledge and knew how to use it expertly like a trump card, like a royal flush.
Like a well-placed dagger.
But on top of this, he observed, too. The Elevens were an interesting pair, one a murderer and the other ... in a predicament. The careers, an slew of shiny names, piqued his interest as well, particularly the Le Roux and the Bellisario, an intoxicating combo the public speculated plenty about. He planned to leech off their glow later. As he entered the sterile hall of the training center, his eyes meandered around in a light study, absorbing everything until …
Until he felt it, that is. Another set of eyes on him. It wasn't supposed to be surprising; he'd grown accustomed to all the stares and camera flashes, but these were stealthy. The girl from Three was watching him from the outskirts of her vision, as if he were a clue to be solved.
How fascinating. He returned her gaze, a sly smirk dancing across his lips as he flexed, putting on a small show. Rafael knew her, too. Sierra Bordeaux was a name that glided off the tongue. A voluntold with a keen observation, he had seen her watching everything as if the world were a puzzle in front of her eyes, begging to be solved. And Rafael, who prided himself on being unknowable, was curious about how talented this girl was.
He slipped away as her interest wavered for a moment, moving through rows of weapons, his eyes intent on his target all the while. He was quiet when he got near her, and far enough for some distance between their bodies but close enough to mutter from behind:
“What have you noticed, Miss Bordeaux?”
His smile flashed amicably. “I loved playing detective when I was a kid, but I was really never good at it. There is no win in such a game, no victory for effort,” he mused. A pause. “But you,” he drawled next, now moving around Sierra to look at her up close, “you’re a fan of it, aren’t right?”
