in best interest ♢ jaci&val [92nd]

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Valentino had one rule in life: they go low, he goes lower. 

It had been years since his eldest had spoken to him - if there was one thing she was good for, it was her word. Jacinta had been threatening it for a half a decade before she finally cut him out entirely, and that's fine, truly, it is. Valentino had no use of her anymore and she became far too high profile to risk staying in close contact with, he had ordered Elena and Sebastien to drop ties as much as they could as well. They're normally do what they're told, it's nice to know not all his children hate him so. 

If he were such a bad dad, he wouldn't have any kids that respected him. Far from the case, it actually sparked an idea he had been wanting to act on for a while now. Losing his grasp on Jacinta was one thing, a failure he was able to accept over time after the burn wore off, but losing his first and only grandchild? 

It felt like the beginnings of war, there was a rage that accumulated by the day as each attempt to reach out again was disrespected, ignored and rejected altogether. So, it was with great attention he forged his next letter, this time coming from Elena rather than himself. He knew her well enough - he refused to let her see that Pryce boy, she refused to listen on that accord. Very well, she rode that bike from here to the Victor Village and he tried his best to pretend he didn't notice. 

Insolent children. 

But everything comes with a purpose, and so with a serpent seal he enclosed the letter and handed it to his youngest. Elena would deliver it as she visited Jacinta's neighbors, and Valentino would wait, which he was becoming worse at by the day. But wait he shall, with his legs crossed at the helm of the grand foyer of his mansion, patiently expecting the sight of his grandchild for the first time yet. 

Besides, it is what Elena requested. 

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

j a c i n t a   s a l a z a r .

Yesterday afternoon, a letter arrived at Jacinta's Victor's Village home. It was from her favorite sister — favorite living sister, anyway — Elena. She had questioned, but only for a moment, why Elena hadn't just come and knocked on her door, but she figured that Elena had tried when she wasn't home and so she resorted to leaving a letter.

The letter requested Jacinta to come to the Salazar mansion the next day, where Elena still resided, with Violet. She had brought her daughter there before, but only when her parents had not been present. Marina and Valentino — she still could not decide which one she loathed more.

It was a brisk spring day in District Seven. She wore a beige trench coat and black leather boots, with large sunglasses to obscure her face. It did little to hide her identity, especially with her young daughter in tow. Jacinta dressed Violet every morning. She had never been the kind of girl who played with dolls as a child — her parents mandated that it was knives instead — nor did she envision herself as a maternal woman. But every day when Violet was finished with her breakfast, Jacinta would take her into her walk-in closet, which was filled with an assortment of shoes, dresses, coats, skirts, and accessories, and pick out an outfit for her daughter to wear that day.

Today, it was a pink cape coat with a white dress underneath, matching tights, and patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Jacinta had done Violet's hair in double braids with white ribbons tied into bows at the ends.

When Jacinta arrived to the Salazar mansion, she paused for a moment. She seldom came here, but when she did, she was filled with bitter nostalgia. Jacinta was loathe to admit that she had happy memories in this house. As much as it stung, she preferred to think of throwing a knife at her father after her victory in the Hunger Games than her fond ones with him.

She looked through the window, where she could see the living room dimly lit by an ornate lampshade. Her father had taught her how to dance, right there, on the dark green rug by the coffee table, when she was Violet's age — six years old. The windows had been frosted that day. Snow was falling, the first of winter.

Jacinta opened the creaking gate and ascended the steps to the door with Violet. She rang the doorbell, and approaching footsteps quickly followed.

It was not Elena who answered. It was Valentino.

She blinked a few times before her gaze hardened into a glare. Her grip on Violet's hand tightened, pulling her daughter closer to her side.

"Why are you here?" she said sharply.

table by elegant