this stall is for crying —「snowspire.」
Dec 17, 2022 15:56:35 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Dec 17, 2022 15:56:35 GMT -5
↳ E R R A S
“Oh, great," I mutter. “The betrothed’s are coming.”
Dolly and Grant have been together for a bit of time now but it feels awfully close to forever, and when you are with a person for that amount of time, isn’t it sort of fucking tedious? I don’t know. If I was born in the Capitol, as I rightfully should have been, I would date a new boy every night and break his heart come morning light. They’d write about me in all the gossip papers and tabloids, call me names like ‘heart-eater’ and ‘sybarite’, and I’d laugh from the comfort of my bed with a ridiculously high thread count.
I sigh dreamily. Maybe it's a trauma response to A-word.
For now, I have my arm linked with Lovie’s, both of us shadowing the wake of Farah’s rebellion and my own. Screw being adopted. Screw that bitch Bailey. “Did you read the magazine I left in your room yesterday? Have you seen Cricket Antoinette’s 75th Hunger Games photoshoot?” I ask Lovie, my lips curling unbidden. “Deceased! Dead on the ground! She’s an icon, a legend, and she is the moment. Except for the murdering children part but, I mean, if I looked as good as her doing it, I’d also take up the mantle,” I shrug and let out a chuckle.
There are times when I say really fucked up things that I don't always mean. One time, between one of Pippa’s fledgling magic acts, I told her that she should perform the disappearing act on herself and save us all the trouble. Like, who says that? I have a meanness inside me, a sizzling acid. When I speak, I do it to corrode.
I am working on it, for the most part.
But why should I keep my thoughts to myself when they can be used for the benefit and growth of others? If you ask me, Pippa became a wonderful magician.
I look back over my shoulder and catch Coley smile as he talks to Alain. A pang, deep in the chest, is set off. Are they talking about me? Doubt it. And yet my eyes linger for a second too long, almost trying to read lips, before I turn back towards Pippa in front of us.
“Pip, where the fuck is Hanna? I asked her to see if she’d try out a few fits tomorrow and she, like, totally ghosted.” I even promised her I’d polish her violin strings. Seemed a fair trade. ”I hope she’s-” Farah opens the bathroom door, and voila, ”not dead.” I snicker. And I know the old dance, as we all do, that tension thick enough to be carved into a museum full of statues whenever Farah and Hanna are breathing the same air in a room.
“In the Capitol, they drink these things call 'champagne'. It’s supposed to make you look younger, I guess. That’s why every victor pushing thirty is drinking it.” I look at myself in the grimy bathroom mirror, face mask and everything. Don’t need a drop of champagne at all. ”So,” my eyes whirl around, joining the pairs already on Farah. “Where are the goods?” I grin.「 thread title © king mattio. 」