jezebels dream a - s t a t e - o f - m i n d

[cinder]

How can we know the dancer from the dance? (William Butler Yeats)

Dance is the only art of which we ourselves are the stuff of which it is made. (Ted Shawn)

Dance till the stars come down from the rafters
Dance, Dance, Dance till you drop. (W.H. Auden)

Feet pressed against the floor, touching scarcely enough ground to feel the cold jolts of cement on toes. Callused feet, for protection. Pain-saking stretches and forever watching what you eat. So was the way of the dance. Jezebel hardly would have traded this life for a million dollars and her once smooth, lovely feet. Feet were for shoes, why did it matter if... she glances down at her mangled toes and can't help but grimace at the sight. Yes, dance was certainly an art of beauty and perfection.

Fabrique clapped and stretching ended. It was time to dance the dance - although her mind was elsewhere. Winston`Strange was marveling at the last few minutes, at how simple yet delightful they had been, those cold-floored minutes of popping joints and extending her body to its longest. It had started with thoughts, much like anything else in the world. But these thoughts had been of the maddening, harsh reality of her misunderstood mind and the world it contained. Or perhaps these thoughts had started with the maddening, harsh reality of her misunderstanding of the world, and that mind of hers that it contained and restricted so.

But, like a painter who has been exposed to dangerous paint fumes for far too long, the dance can drive you mad. Jezebel knew a thing or two about that particular relationship. She knew that dance was an escape and a release from the tense moments life brought. But she also knew that her body was taught with the force of it, her toes strained beneath the weight of her heavy heart, and she was about to buckle.

Why? Well isn't it simple. Like any other young lady or gentleman dancing at Fabrique's studio, she was desperately in love with her tutor. But love was too strong a word, love was the compulsive, destructive emotion she felt for the dance itself, not her senior dancer. For Fabrique, Jezebel was a smitten little girl playing dress up in pointed, padded shoes so she could catch his eye. Even if all he ever did look at for long were her feet.

Running a hand over the smooth middle of her foots-palm, Jezebel sighed and stopped her stretches. Fabrique was nearing her spot against the mirrored wall, and Jez didn't feel like calling attention to herself today, especially the cuts and bruises on her feet. No matter how accustomed one grows to the dark side of dance, it really never becomes pretty and only the prettiest girl would become Fabrique's favorite. She leaned down and pressed her nose to her toes, peaking shyly toward the mirror in time to notice Fabrique assessing her pale, thin back for a moment. His eyes flitted down her vertebrae and he placed his hands behind his back, moving on. An exhaled breath she hadn't consciously kept to her mouth let Jezebel push her face even further, and her finger tips grazed new distances.

Fabrique noticed this, and the twenty-something year old son to a particularly well known danseuse glanced her way. He had smiled.

Moments later in the dance, Jezebel smiled herself. She didn't smile to herself, rather she smiled so that all the dancers and teachers and viewers could see how much she enjoyed the aching feeling of slipping her toes up in a small leap favored by the more traditional of dancers. Jezebel always favored tradition over new-fangled dance moves created by silly Capitol teachers who knew not a thing about the true pain of dance. The girls in the Capitol, with fat on their sides and jiggling thighs had specially created shoes to make en pointe seem like a walk in the park. Here, they had to make due with the old-fashioned. Jez liked it that way, it was real and pure. Concentrated.

Besides, the Capitol liked it better that way too. That's why clusters of girls crowded around the studio for days, auditioning to become part of a troop of girls who would one day visit the city of the rich and famous. About five girls from every District made it to the tippy-top of the ballet food-chain. This year, there was compensation for the District that brought in the most dancers. Seamlings and townfolk alike were curious and attracted to this offer of what they considered nearly "free" food. Dancing had never been regarded as anything difficult. Slightly foolish, possibly embarrassing, but nobody of the general public had known what a wild work it encompassed.

Except me. Jezebel had been training for years. Her pale ankles were stronger than the beginning girls. She never had to wait outside with the mass of wannabe - ballerinas, because Fabrique favored her. Yeah, me and all the other girls in here.. Her thoughts turned bitter as her feet slid in a small circle. 360 degrees - enough for her electric eyes to take in the dozens of girls crowded in the room, watching her (among others, of course. A bloody "waste of time" to dance a solo these days!)

She flipped and felt a sickening, familiar twist. Down fell the dancer, with her soul on her soles. She moaned and clutched her ankle as Fabrique's stony golden eyes stared sadly down at her and a doctor was called over to help her up. Tears fell in pools, brimming over the edges of her eyes as Jezebel pressed her face to her foot and sobbed. For some reason, a feeling was stirring inside of her. She wasn't going to have another chance at it, her dance was done and she was being pushed out of her limelight.

ooc- Jez was dancing, she fell. Feel free to be another dancer, the doctor, or somebody else c:

[Spesh]

Merlot Pinot Noir

Actions/Thoughts: 5b419c
Speaking: 8745a8
Drunken Voice In Head: 713f8a

---

Maybe it was odd that Merlot was just standing there, ignoring his Peacekeeper duties watching dance. The way that bodies made such seemingly impossible actions into beauty. It fascinated Merlot, he always loved arts, maybe it was his Capitol blood, but truly there was something magical about the art of dance. He did not really pay attention to nay single girl in particular, but they all were quite amazing, they way they danced, it was like they were working for something that meant the world to them. Merlot would never get anything like that though, he always seemed to get what he wanted now, as a Peacekeeper.

After minutes of dancing Merlot spotted a girl who he found to be exceptional, she moved with the grace of a gazelle. The appreciation of her wonderful steps was without a doubt not lost on Merlot, surely he would approach her afterwards. And then the unthinkable happened, the girl, as graceful as a swan, fell like a chicken trying to fly. She fell down, for no reason at all, something was wrong about this. She was not supposed to fall, she was supposed to grace across with floor, glide with ease, not flounder to the ground. It was just not possible in Merlot's mind, the girl was too graceful to fall.

Ballet was not a forgiving world, Merlot knew that from his time in the Capitol. He always did enjoy the acts of girls from the districts coming once every year, he always managed to sober up enough to appreciate their true beauty. Clearly that is what these girls aspired to. Merlot always thought that nobody in District Twelve ever wanted to go to the Capitol, to them it always seemed like the eye candy landscape was a place of horrors. Though that was probably because of the Hunger Games, Merlot always felt that there was a negative connotation about the Capitol. Being that he was from there, he knew that it was not the truth, in fact he even detested that idea. Merlot never would exactly get the way that the people of District Twelve thought, and nor did he want to..

Even with her crushed desires and goals, Merlot found it amazing that the ballerina could still show immense forms of artistry. As one would normally cry into their hands, she was crying into her feet. Maybe not a sanitary way to express ones discontent, but nothing in District Twelve was that sanitary anyways. Merlot wanted to help the girl but he felt out of place; he probably was not even welcome in this place at all. The only reason he was allowed in this room for artists was his rank of Peacekeeper, not a joking rank at all. He was supposed to keep the peace, but really, his job in District Twelve was to not do anything stupid. It was not a bad life.

Seeing that nobody was helping up the ballerina, Merlot came to the conclusion to do what he thought was right. It really did not matter what these people thought of him anyways, they already knew he was a drunk. It did not matter if they considered his actions to help the girl in need as inappropriate, it was the right thing. Walking over to the girl was no easy task either, he had to navigate through all of the other girls practicing, the ones who thought that they had a chance, and they probably did, but still, Merlot would never get to see the ballet's again.

Sticking his hand out to the fallen ballerina he thought all eyes were trained on him, he was setting an example, obviously, he was a Peacekeeper. "You know, even in your failures you look quite amazing." Not exactly how Merlot would have planed it to come out, but it seemed fine to him. Merlot always had a tendency to hit on girls, even if he was not trying to. Yet, somewhere in his mind he was hitting on the girl. He still did not care exactly how this turned out, it felt odd for him to be off of the liquor that he drank so much. This was not normal to him, the ability to stand up straight almost made him lose his balance while bending over to see if the girl would take his hand.

[cinder]

Her feet were a safe place to hide, they'd never betrayed her before. Jezebels dancing toes had carried her all over the District, and she had seldom gotten into trouble, never very much. Even sitting drunk on a roof top, Jez could get to demi-pointe and leap all over the place without cracking her head open. Not even once! She cautiously wondered whether or not it was a good idea to lift her face and take a helping hand, whether or not she was ready to face the other dancers.

But then a throbbing pain took over, and Jezebel recoiled from her feet. That's right, they had betrayed her. Rather than landing gracefully in a small bundle of ginger-hair, lace, and tight material, she had fallen. Truly taken a tumble.

Uh yeah, sure, her mouth tried to say, but she struggled to make the words come out of her tight-lipped mouth. Jezebel simply took the hand being offered to her - by a Peacekeeper, if she knew the uniform well enough, and got up. She applied the slightest bit of pressure to her ankle, and hopelessly gazed at Fabrique. "I think I've only rolled it, Fabrique, sir. I'll be back to dance in a few days, if you'll have me," she uttered in a dry, whispery voice that cracked with pain. He gave her a glance of pity and shook his head.

"Better to wait another week, my little danseuse. It will heal though, with time and dedication. Don't let your other ankle grow weak while you wait," the teacher said mildly. They both pretended she was going to be okay, and Jez found herself clutching at the Peacekeepers arm. She found herself wondering what his name was, a sort of wine? That sounded right.

Nevertheless, not knowing his name did not stop Jezebel from using the Peacekeeper as a crutch. She clung to him and pressed herself shyly against his side, letting her red, long hair cover her shameful face. The other dancers expressions varied. One looked sick, another was feeling her own ankle with a sour look. A few smiled nicely at her and another seemed to be telling a few new arrivals what had just happened.

All in all, life went on for the girls. Jez had never been close to any of them, not even the oldies she had seen every day for years. Always focused on the dance, always with her head on cloud nine. That's the good part of dancing. You can have your head in the clouds just so long as your feet stay firmly in the dance.

Jezebel let herself be half-carried to the front door, only pausing long enough to nudge her helper and limp over to grab her duffel bag. She rejoined the Peacekeeper, silent and somber. As they made their way out the door cool gusts of wind sent goosebumps up and down her body. She regretted not pausing long enough to actually put her jacket on.

ooc- crabby patty post.

[Spesh]

Merlot Pinot Noir

Actions/Thoughts: 5b419c
Speaking: 8745a8
Drunken Voice In Head: 713f8a

---

Obviously the girl was hurt quite a bit more than Merlot had expected. Both the fallen dancer and her apparent teacher were trying to put on fake smiles and exchange hopeful lies. Clearly this girl would no longer be in any state to dance. Merlot could not help but wonder if she would ever be able to walk the same way. Even with a injury as simple as a broken bone, it was no sure thing that the injured would ever heal. The so-called doctors in twelve had nowhere near the expertise of the people from the Capitol, nor did they have as good supplies.

The fact that this girl would probably not ever dance again was quite saddening to Merlot. She, if not stunned, had probably concluded that she would never practice her art. She would end up as just another impoverished person in District Twelve. Someone who had such a gleaming future, someone with all their hopes and dreams right in their eyes, and then one ill step ruined it all. Merlot could not imagine quite how bad it must have been for that girl, never had he had to face the loss of his dreams. His forced lack of alcohol could not have been close to what this girl would sure face in the near future.

After being inside for quite a long time, Merlot was not quite prepared for the cold that awaited him. The chills that just were suffered in his mind transferred to his skin. Never had Merlot faced these harsh winters while in the Capitol. Even if the weather was cold outside there were always an abundance of heaters in any store one walked into. In District Twelve the only heaters one would find were in the Victors Village or in Peacekeepers residencies. Merlot came to wonder how they could live like this, he always felt that being cold was one of the worst feelings. Yes, he would complain about being hot, but the cold was to harsh to even complain about for Merlot.

With his mind preoccupied over the effects of this one, seemingly harmless fall, Merlot failed to notice that the girl he was helping did not have a jacket on. Merlot, like many of the Capitol people, normally would only care for his own well being, but for some uncharted reason, he felt for the girl right now. He wanted to help her, to comfort her, but he felt that there was an invisible barrier between the two, an unwritten rule per say. He could not show any feeling towards this girl, he would come across as weak, he knew that was not what a Peacekeeper should come across as. Instead of breaking the unwritten barrier Merlot resorted to simple small talk, "Aren't you cold miss? And I don't think I've gotten your name yet."

[cinder]

Jezebel cast an awkward side-glance in the Peacekeepers direction. It was one of those looks you give people when they do something out of the norm. Peacekeepers, especially those assigned to the barren wasteland of coal were often drunken idiots who cared little for the people they supposedly were keeping peace for. But Jez had grown up with a father who kept the peace, she had been the apple of his eye and had learned some people were not what they seemed. Here, limping in the snow stood a Peacekeeper in uniform who cared for an average citizen, and next to him was a girl in toe-shoes who could not dance. Appearances deceived.

What really got to her, wormed itself into her head and left Jezebel feeling awful was the way in which the Peacekeeper, Merlot, seemed slightly wary about asking her whether she was cold. He seemed utterly confused, and it left Jezebel bemused. Pondering what exactly to say, her shoulders shrugged automatically. "I can take care of myself, - sir. I think I've got a sweater in here, if you don't mind pausing." She leaned an arm against him for support while her other hand dug through her duffel. A pain-sakingly long time later the slender fingers were clutching at a silky scarf, gloves, hat, and a fuzzy sweater. Usually Jez left with a piping cup of coffee in her hand, it felt odd to be parting from her dance studio, actually feeling the cold air in her lungs and the goosebumps on her skin.

Next came the hard part, would she tell Merlot about her father or keep it to herself? Peacekeepers treated their own kind with respect, Jez was not of the Capitol but she was a shining, glittery product of a Capitolite son blending with an ashen, poor girl from District Twelve. If I were a Lady meeting the Queen, would I call myself Jez or Lady Jezebel? The analogy made sense to the quick, street-smart one. She let her lips pour out her full name, hell, almost her backstory. "The name is Jezebel Winston-Strange. My father was... one.. like you. A Peacekeeper by the name of Strange. He's not around anymore, but I still live near where you should be settled. D'you know where the traders shops are? Could we go there? Oh yeah, call me Jez." Many mish-moshed words and sentences later, Jez was taking a deep breath and focusing once more on her footing. Even hopping slowly alongside Merlot, she seemed to move very prettily, but that grace she had always displayed, ever since she was a small child flying into the arms of a strong, protective father. Well, it would never be recovered. She would get through this injury, as she had powered through the rest of what life had handed her, but Jez could no longer glide in six inch heels or walk on rooftops anymore without fearing for her life every single second.

"I'm sure Fabrique is having a doctor sent to my house anyways, if you'd care to accompany me?" she murmured as an after-thought. They were nearing her house, but the brisk wind blew snow into her eye-lashes and painted her red flag of hair a surrender-white. It was cold and even a few extra blocks might leave Merlot confused and dazed, he hadn't grown up here. It would be a shame for the only nice 'keeper she knew to die so soon. Besides, resetting bones was no painless task, she'd need somebody to hold her down when - when.

For once, Jez was thankful for cold air. It kept the tears forming in her eyes from spilling onto her pink cheeks.

ooc- gotta go now but this is the post, will code tomorrow (: go ahead and reply! sorry i didnt see you replied a few days ago...

[Spesh]

Merlot Pinot Noir

Actions/Thoughts: 5b419c
Speaking: 8745a8
Drunken Voice In Head: 713f8a

---

Simply putting it, it was cold outside. The mention of the girls house excited Merlot because of this. In fact, he was more than exciting. The cold outside was almost too much for Merlot, he was quite excited to just go inside. It was no big deal to go inside a dead peacekeepers house, was it? Either way he did not have a choice, he HAD to be professional about it. But his house was so far away.

Of course he would end up in this girls house, she did seem more than nice. It was not like he was hitting on her or anything of that nature. He was just trying to help her and get warm at the same time. Clearly, going to her house was the best candidate to do those things in a fast manner."Uhh, sure I'll go to your house, I wouldn't doubt that, what's his name again, sent you a doctor there..." The sad truth was that there probably was no doctor at her house, just emptiness. or the perpetual feeling of it. Merlot was not quite upset about having to go to her house though, maybe it was somewhat nice.

I'm sorry this was so short, Merlot muse escapes me as the games are about to begin and I want to see.

[cinder]

Oh my God.. please don't let this ever happen - a reply so late, please PM me If I ever make you wait so long again, Im going to summon the time to post tomorrow - it may be short though anyways... I have english homework now, ugh.

[cinder]

Jezebel was not shocked that Merlot had forgotten Fabrique's name, but she wondered idly if he should know it.Hadn't she seen him before? Hadn't he watched the dancers like a dog begging for scraps? Most Peacekeepers slipped into the dark corners and hollow spaces of the studio, watching the girls with hound's eyes and a consuming hunger no amount of prostitutes seemed able to satiate. Perhaps that was how the Capitol kept tabs on their darling servants: give them a hunger that ate away at their souls, a hunger that would reach a climax of agony if ever a Peacekeeper ran off into exile. There aren't many prostitutes and loose-moralled girls in the woods, Jez thinks, it would be too much of a bother for them to run off when they had gold, guns, glory, and girls.

Similarly, Jezebel feels tied down to her own life. As she carefully picks her way through the coal-dirty snow, tracks of miners coming home for the day clear in the waining light, she realizes everybody has their own chains to their "life." Jez could never leave her brother and sister, they had too often cared for her - as they would when they discovered her dance-crippling ankle wound. Aleksander would not leave his sisters because he had an unlimited supply of booze at their local shop, and the money to buy what he could not legally obtain from the shop. Anyandita, the elder sister, realized the wealth that came with being a Strange, and would not leave it for a world of uncertainty and unfulfilled high expectations.

Electric blue eyes cast are watchfully tracking the progress of clumsy, tingling feet. But also, there is a slow, heavy thought dragging through her mind. Was their love so simple that each sibling was bound by convenience and safety? Jez wonders if the snowflakes littering city streets had ever chosen to fall together, as a unified front of winter, did the tinkling, new addition Jezzy's foot had just smashed fallen with purpose so that it and the sooty one below could embrace each other while they wasted away into mud on the dirty street? A small comfort, Jez thinks, she would have liked to have chosen what molecules to be stuck with, it seems rather unromantic to think the snowflakes had no choice in who they would fall on. Is love a matter of convenience, or does love happen in the heart, stirring emotions and a need, not imprisonment and safety in numbers.

If Jez were to marry Merlot, or anyone for that matter (for she had only just met the Peacekeepers, oh, roughly half an hour ago) she would want the love to be pure as a snowflake's white. Her marriage and life would be out of what her heart told her, Jezebel decided this and twin tears fell from her eyes, one and two.

They landed with soft plops in the snow at her feet, and Jezebel did not notice how they fell together onto the same plot of ground for her eyes were on the radiant door to her shop, reading in scrawling letters "CLOSED" And she was happy enough, believing in the power of love that the universe had not seen fit to force her eyes to the ground for her visual support of love and free will's power. She sighed a happy sound as her finger's wrapped around a metal key she had hidden in the strap of her shirt, and Jezebel looked to Merlot with relief as they came home.

ooc- this post could have been something well executed, if not for my lack of experience these past few months, however I'm happy with where Jezebel's thoughts are and think I've set this post up well enough for her to make interesting remarks once inside

[Spesh]

HOLY GOD I FAIL. I was making the new post for you, and I wrote it in here, then I pressed modify without realizing so I lost the post that was supposed to be here. ((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

At least I have the post that was supposed to be the next reply.


I know at the end Merlot said, "is this it?"

gah, Im so sorry. It just leaves a blank spot in the thread .

[cinder]

I'm not asleep, I'm up for the fight
Into the magic
And I don't, want the concrete

Twin temptations take a seat on Jezebel's tongue. One to snidely declare no, it's not, and another to tell him thanks, I guess I'll see you around, and hope his hungers don't decide otherwise, because if he wants to see her around, he will. And who will stop him? Her brother is a drunk and her sister's depressed. If he wants to have his way with her, she can't stand up to him. Actually, she can't stand in the first place, so she finds her self hoping for the unlikely best. That is, if she reports him, he will at least get a few lashes for disrespecting the Strange family name.

He can't really disrespect her, don't you know. Families are all that count, individuals don't exist. What is she but a dancer? Even dancing. Jezebel is one of many and that is why she fell. She is different, her eyes don't settle one color and when she dances she flies higher than the rest. She was out of uniform and therefore had to be snipped away, not everyone can be like her. Not anyone can be like Jezebel. She is a unique being, a creation that doesn't fit the mold of her family. She is strange, not just a Strange. Now though, she recalls a line of the Panem constitution that others are forced to forget because it is dangerous, however it had stuck in her mind. Citizens shall pay homage not to the man in power, but his sacred and noble office Her wording is wrong, but Jezebel had been trying to invoke the formal, prompt tone of the legal document stating loyalty is for the office, not the current President of Panem. So if you disrespect a lowly daughter of a Peacekeeper, you aren't disrespecting her, Jezebel, but instead the Strange name and family honor. Jez wonders if this means that protesting against a Peacekeepers misuse of a young lady means you are paying disrespect to him or the institution of Peacekeeperhood? It would be a kind thing to know about if Jez ever got herself into a sticky situation. But the law always seems to change in favor of powerful men though, so she can't help but nod slowly within her own mind and decide she will put up with whatever Merlot wants to do. But she's going to need some wine if she is to survive it unscathed. Mentally.

"Please make yourself comfortable," Jezebel airily tells Merlot, and she hobbles over to a curtain behind the pay-stand. She holds it open a moment so that he can see the sitting room behind. It is not well decorated, but instead carries the years her family has toiled to make a living, convincing poorer people than themselves that they should buy a lamp to light their kitchen better in case a rat finds its darkness soothing, or the poor exterior convinces a homeless wanderer that their hut is abandoned. Jez's skill in convincing others of what they need knows no bounds, but there are items they have not sold over the years. A carpet with a stain that is red, it's wine of course but other mistaken it for blood merchandise. A carpet used to roll up the memories and happy times of a family wrecked by violence. Nobody wants a dead body ghost on their carpet. And there is a brilliantly jeweled candle-holder that not only glows with flames, but sends shards of fragmented jewel-light across a room in mystic patterns that scare the wary Seam people, and not just because of its hefty price. There is a small mirror with lace for a frame, and a kettle with another families name on it.

She pauses to look around the room at all the items of the dead and long forgotten. What? Did you think these were innocent imports from the richer, finer corners of the world? Jezebel doesn't sell those kinds of items. She sells ideas sewn and worked into metal and cloth, carved into the bones of an old chair or bed-frame. She sells the idea of a time when there were riches and if you owned a jeweled candle-holder you weren't calling out to thief's to come and take it away from you, but instead declaring your freedom and gluttonous wealth. Life. She sells to the soul and heart. And right now she feels her crafty mind working up an appeal to Merlot's heart. She hooks the curtain to the wall so that if anyone walking by the shop looks through the window, they'd be able to see anything going on behind the counter. It's a small protection which can be easily undone by Merlot, but Jezebel still feels its rightness, or rebelliousness. She is large and powerful now, knowing that Merlot - if he possesses any brain - must see her shamed and fearful eyes and know that... that... she.. I don't mean it when I say I want him to make himself comfortable because I don't know what that entails and I'm only sixteen and I want to choose the people I spend my.. time. With.

"I'm going to grab some wine, mind the carpets please? I can't sell something soiled. Nobody likes a damaged good." She smiles grimly. No, nobody likes a damaged good at all. And Jezebel fears if Merlot does his worse to her, she will never have the happy life and marriage she desires. Her brother and her sister will put her behind this curtain and keep her here with her sad, flecked eyes and scars and she will not be able to sell herself to any man because she is nothing more than a blood-stained carpet.

ooc- wtf am I even writing XD... ignore... ignore... but reply to?

[Spesh]

Merlot knew that that the father of this girl, Jezebel, was a Peacekeeper much like he was. Granted Merlot was not as efficient as Jezebel's dad was, but he was gone from District Twelve now. He had heard stories about her dad, but he never got to meet the man. It was quite a pity in Merlot's mind actually. He never was one to trust the way a man was described until he actually met them. Of course, he normally met those people while he was exceptionally drunk, but that was not really the point. Merlot never was one to trust others, he always liked to formulate his own opinions., but in the case of Peacekeeper Strange, he was forced to believe what others had told him; Merlot just wished that he knew more about the situation as a whole.

Even though Merlot was trying to be a gentlemen, he let his mind wander about these things. Before he could offer to help the girl out, he saw her already behind the counter lifting up a curtain that led presumably to where they lived. Merlot thought that once he brought Jezebel home there would have been an adult to take over; he had heard rumors that their were some issues within the family, but he had assumed that family member would at least cause some concern. Since nobody was there he assumed it was his duty, to take care of this girl until someone else did. He did not want someone to blame him for this girls injury, but that was only because this family was well known. If this girl was from a poor family he was sure that he would have not even bothered taking her home. The politics of Panem were not fair in many ways, but the fact that Merlot just ignored the poor was one of the worst behaviors taught to the kids of the Capitol.

He did not need to be told to come in, he assumed that the family would want to know what happened from the mouth of a Peacekeeper. What surprised Merlot was the girl telling him "Please make yourself comfortable." The fact that there was nobody there to take care of the girl inside their house made Merlot worried. Maybe there was something that the family was hiding. He had never been one to investigate these types of feelings, so he let the thought go from his mind.

Having taken a good look around the sitting room, Merlot was surprised to see that there really were not that many objects of great value. The Strange's had quite a bit of money, but it appeared that they did not live in the luxury that Merlot assumed they did. He had always thought that their house would have fancier items than his did, but judging from what he saw, his own house was decorated with superior objects to these. There was a couch though, which he is what he thought the girl wanted him to relax on, but that would not be doing his job. Jezebel could barely walk, yet she expected Merlot to sit and let her serve him. Even though this was not his house that was not something a gentleman would do. He could not let Jezebel risk further injury due to his lack of aptitude.

"Shouldn't you, um, sit down? If you need anything I'm sure I could help you out. If you'd like?" Chances are she would wave what he said aside. She would probably feel obligated to serve him something because he was an authority. The whole situation seemed messed up, he was the one helping her, not the other way around. He could order her to sit, but Merlot was not one to abuse his power like that. Being a Peacekeeper was not about having people obey you, it was about keeping the peace and sometimes scaring people. If he was to do anything like that it would go against his honor as a person.

Honor was not exactly something that Merlot had as a person, the only honorable thing about him was his job. Everyone in his profession who knew him knew that he was a drunk. They knew he came to work drunk, drank while on the job, and then drank after the job. Merlot was drunk pretty much all the time; the only time that Merlot remained sober was when he was appreciating the arts, such as ballet or dance. That was the only reason he was able to stay level headed while he entered the Strange household. He was able to keep his demeanor calm simply because he was not intoxicated at that moment.

"I'm going to grab some wine, mind the carpets please? I can't sell something soiled. Nobody likes a damaged good." Merlot instantly perked up quite a bit, wine was his favorite thing in the world. It was thousands of times better than the Hunger Games or any entertainment. One might even say that Merlot was infatuated with wine if they heard they way that he talked about it. Why would he have to wait for her to get it. He should try to get a drink quicker by offering to go get the wine himself. There was no way she would accept that offer though, as it was her house and Merlot had no clue how to get around. Still he wanted wine more than anything at that moment. He basically had to carry a girl home through the snow of District Twelve. It was not easy, he deserved a break, a little bit of time to relax, even if he still was on the job.

Did Jezebel know that Merlot was a drunkard who loved wine? It seemed unlikely to Merlot that she did. Rumors found there way through the Peacekeeper ranks, but rarely did they escape from that group of people. It was not preferable to have the masses know about the secrets of their enforcers. The masses would be able to take advantage of the Peacekeepers if they knew their weaknesses. Was Jezebel trying to take advantage of him right now? Merlot let the question sit within his mind for just a mere moment before letting it go. She clearly did not, nobody would betray their fellow Peacekeeper like that, it was against the unwritten rules of being a Peacekeeper.

"Don't you think I should help you get the wine? You have a bad ankle right now and I would want you to stumble and stain anything with wine. As you said, nobody likes damaged goods."

His offer really was more about him getting to the wine faster than anything else. Yet somewhere deep down in his concious he honestly did not want the wares of the Strange family to get damaged for reasons other than his own standing. He was risking something by accepting to drink wine, and Merlot would have realized this if he was not so intrigued by the prospect of drinking. If Jezebel was trying to make Merlot do something he did not want to do, she was succeeding so far.

[cinder]

I am in love,
With what we are,
Not what we should be.

Predispositioned towards revolt, as per her god-sewn constellation, Jezebel smirks privately as she turns to the wine cabinet with trembling fingers and hands, because of course she still fears, but she is amused. What gentleman is this? There would be more chance to find a humble hero in a thieving, sniveling rat by the corner side with beady red eyes. At least those creatures were true to their nature, not like Merlot who sits in the skin of a Peacekeeper, but folds his hands and crinkles his eyes like a real man treating a lady with respect. He sounds helpful, but she isn't so sure. You see, Jezebel construes two possible meanings from his final words, she sees the term damaged goods as referring to her injured self, naturally, and she sees the hunger and concern for the glossy bottle in the palms of her hands. His eyes tell her he wants something, but his so far kind-hearted nature tells her nothing regarding his desires to protect her, or become irreversibly inebriated for the rest of this fine evening, until one of her siblings (let it be noted Jezebel preferred her brother, Aleksander, with fine muscles and street-smart eyes to his morphling, paranoid twin, Anyandita) returned home from a night of gallivanting on the town and being up to absolutely no good.

Most Peacekeepers were addicted to something, or more than one thing. Where her father was addicted to love and cigars, others preferred wine, sex, drugs, violence, music, dancing, anything. But mostly of the first four, the last were obscure and hardly found, except in the rare cases of a female Peacekeeper who did not feel she had an extra-something to prove to her co-workers by habitually assaulting perfectly gentle young Seam-men and chain-smoking expensive cigarettes with cologned, black smoke (for effect.)

And I am,
I am starstruck.
With every part,
Of this whole story.

Then again, this wasn't a nature specifically observed in the peculiar race of Capitolites Who Live In The Filthy Districts. Most people had something that they leaned on in times of great need or anguish. Jezebel had had her dancing. Now all she had left was her stained items and bottles of moonshine and wine. And company for the evening at least, although she was hardly addicted to his shifty glances and awkward presence among the poor litter of items kept behind the counter. She debated silently the ramifications of taking the wine out front. Potential customers might see the sixteen year old heiress to the shop rubbing elbows with a notoriously ignorant drunken. This drunk may knock over her fine silvers and china in a stupefied haze, which would just leave her with more useless and damaged goods. But then again, out front, the chances of his assault dramatically decreased, and even if he managed to stay sober enough to get his arms around her, she had a variety of weapons assorted in easily dismissed locations. The pretty china dishes? There were equally pretty, decorative knives lying complacently beside them, smug with their concealed weaponry functions.

Jez had seen Anya ones thrown one dead-on at an ex boyfriend, and nail him in the back. Luckily his pack was filled to the brim with stolen metal-work he had taken from a smith down the road, protecting him from harm and the Winston-Strange household from a small, but humiliating, punishment at the hands of their former Head ` of ` House's dear friends at the local Peacekeeping Center, down the opposite side of the path, but equally distant as the smith was. (Peacekeepers were in abundance in this neighborhood, especially those who had married or kept whores - either willing or held captive - as a little, sole entertainment in the otherwise boring and lavish, by District standards, comfort of their private homes. What a mouthful!)

So if it's just tonight,
The animal inside,
Let it live and die.

And if they were out front, Merlot would feel more relaxed by the presence of unblemished corners of the Winston-Strange shop. She paused and decided, of course, that as much as he had done for her Jezebel was unwilling to play gracious host tonight, so she kept him in the confines of the cluttered back store-room. If she took him out in the shop, she might as well have taken him up to their private quarters and told him "I'm wealthy and undefended by any adult guardians! Take what you want, take me even!" It was better to keep him drunk and disorderly where nobody could see him and he could hurl all over things Jezebel didn't care for, and also keep him as close to the door as possible in case either of them were required to make a hasty exit. Jez was not above fleeing her own home in order to preserve herself, if he became drunk, disorderly, and defected in a violent sort of way.

"I-I'm fine, thank you. I wanted to take a swig of this wine before I take it back to you. A large and unlady-like one, for the pain of course, but you've found me out." She smiles winningly, but doesn't think he cares much. The wine occupies much of his brain now, or whatever brain cells he ought to have left after years of damaging binge-drinking. She grimaces. Maybe he'll die in her backroom, and Jezebel will be beaten and whipped because she supposedly murdered him rather than his own ignorant and capricious habits being the root of the issue. The Cause of Death.

Like it's the end of time,
Like everything inside,
Let it live and die.

Jezebel does as she promised, she uncorks the bottle and pours a large gulp of it down her tender, raw throat without a second glance at the year of the wine or the musty, dusty outsides now pressed to her hands and rubbing filth all over her sweaty, white palms. She feels a burning, lovely sensation and thinks for a moment that to die by wine would be a wonderful way to die, with the sensations and pulsations running up and down one's throat, and the bottle pressed to lips, stinging insides and burning free everything that wishes to pour out of Jezebel. She thinks the wine is trying to burn her so all that is left is her mind and her weaponry of words, things she'd like to say to Merlot and others who have harmed or will harm her. The truth shall set ye free. The wine is the key to unlocking all those secrets and freeing Jezebel's heart and soul so she can glide up on her dancers toes to heaven and regret nothing, be content with the entirety of her existence.

But wine doesn't burn on contact, it takes months and days and years to slowly bring out the best and worst in a person and make them who they really were meant to be. Merlot was on his way to freeing himself. His gentleman skins and his Peacekeeper disguise had offered no protection to shield the animal hunger in his eyes for the bottle in her hands. He was a hunter, and although she shrank away from his strength, she admired his tendency to become and live out the spontaneity of what was really stirring up inside his breast. Jez took another slow, swirling sip and breathed a sigh of relief as the bold, fearless thing inside of her reared its head and threw her energies into her witch-blue eyes.

This is our last chance,
Give me your hands.
'Cause our world is spinning at the speed of light.
The night is fading, heart is racing.
Now just come and love me like we're gonna die.

Come hither, trouble. I am ready her slurred and slow thought began, and Jezebel though that it was a marvelous thing to be small and drunk so soon, because she couldn't have bared another moment of being the injured, frail, and shaking-hands girl that every day presented itself to the world. She was okay with being an animal of unconventional activities and harsh words tonight. Screw it all.

I'm not asleep, I'm up for the fight
Into the magic.
And I don't, want the concrete.
I am alive.
Comes with the tragic.

[Spesh]

It was surprising to Merlot when he heard no answers from Jezebel, even though it was her house Merlot was sure that she still would have respected his status as a Peacekeeper. At that particular moment though, he could not have cared less. There was going to be wine within his grasp in no more than a minute. It preoccupied the Peacekeepers thoughts, the thought of wine almost had him in a trance. He would do his best not to harm anyone, but when there was wine involved, Merlot Pinot Noir could not assure the safety of anyone else. He knew that his obsession with wine was bad in more than a few ways, but he did not care. Merlot was sure that it was best for him to enjoy life as it was, and if it was shorter due to him making a few bad —or in his opinion good— decisions, then so be it.

Instead of speaking up he had kept his mouth quiet, just following the girl through her house, anything that would get him drinking wine faster. He had been told that his obsession was bad for his health, but he had not listened. Being a Peacekeeper was somewhat stressful, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, so it seemed to Merlot that there was no problem in him drinking a bit to relax. After all, liking wine was not the only reason that he drank; he also wanted to relax. That was not such a crime. Merlot was only deluding his thoughts though, he was addicted to wine, he could not stop himself from loving it ever. Even if he had the day off he would still drink a whole bottle of it.

"I-I'm fine, thank you. I wanted to take a swig of this wine before I take it back to you. A large and unlady-like one, for the pain of course, but you've found me out." Merlot could swear that the girl was rather young for wine, and he was not sure why she was saying the things she was. Why would any proper young lady admit that they were going to do something unlady-like? And what on earth did Jezebel mean by found her out? Merlot was just confused about what was going through this girls head, it seemed as if she was trying to convince him of something. Why would he need convincing though, everything that he wanted was right there in front of him. And why did the girl have to take a gulp out of it, the wine was for him, not her. She was taking away from his enjoyment as a guest, that was not something that a host should do.

"Aren't you a little young for wine, Miss Strange?" He was sure that Jezebel did not listen to a word he was saying, it was almost as if she was trying to impress Merlot with her actions. He did not think that she was trying to seduce him, especially with the way that she took a massive gulp of wine right from the bottle. But it was still all so odd to Merlot that a girl of her stature in District Twelve would act like such a poor person. He was sure that she had manners, but she did not show them at all. Though to that, it did not matter as he would not be showing the best manners once he got his hands on that bottle of precious wine.

Once the girl was done with her ill-showing of manners, Merlot snagged the bottle from her. He did not mean to be rude, but it waiting out her gulp took a tole on him, it was much better for him and for the house that he just waited for the girl to finish. Once he got his hands on the bottle, he instantaneously brought it up to his mouth, taking in as much as he could before bringing it down.

"Pardon my manners, Miss Strange. Do you have any wine glasses that I could use. It is only courteous that I don't act like an animal in your house." Hopefully Jezebel did not take that as Merlot calling her an animal, because she was not. The only thing was that Merlot wanted to act like a proper person within someone else's house. He had been taught how to act as child in the Capitol by his parents, he would make them proud with his actions here, even if they had long since forgotten about their failure of a son.

[cinder]

"This" tap-tap-ratta-tap-tap on the bottle, her trimmed fingernails still making noises against the glass of it. "Is what I need, excuse me, I'm usually suuuuch a lady, but you see I'm drunk, I'm hurt, I'm angry, and I'm po-si-ti-ve-lym.." deep breath, a gulp larger than the wine swishing around her stomach. "Useless, now."

She hadn't let it sink through her barriers yet. Jezebel had an emotional core thick enough to compete with the callouses on her feet. She wore it like a second skin to protect herself from the trite effects of an unstable psyche. Didn't matter when you didn't feel anything, didn't matter once you'd forgotten the vulnerable, the young, and the ignorant inside of you. Give away your innocence! Shed your reputation as the nice girl, the pretty girl, the one who never ever ever ever evereverever got into any trouble at all, whatsoever.

But now she feels hollow, like a dead tree in the midst of a brutal winter. Diseased, she kills off all of her surrounding companions. Moist, she is no use to the hunters and foragers looking for warmth while they fight for their lives. She is beautiful, rest assured she will never lose the touch of gold and honey left over from an autumn of musty winds and scraped up, dead leaves.

Being a dead and hollow thing, Jezebel can't help but wonder whether she is in a dream, because she feels foggy, maybe the pain should be greater, or exit her now before she starts to believe the unbelievable. Her profession as a dancer, over? This is a truly cruel and unwanted statement, the kind of thing you plug your ears and sing lalalala the block out the vibrations of truth being told. She feels, however, that this would make Jezebel look ridiculous, so instead she simply buries her face in the bottle of wine, glaring icy daggers at Merlot as her fingers fumble for a wine glass, one with dirt and lipstick staining the rim, making filth and breeding disease when cupped to his red, chapped lips.

She wants the putrid Peacekeeper to suffer like she does, feel that there is no salvation, not from within or without. Not here, nor there, nor any-freaking-where. Very bitter thoughts coursing through her head and electric curls of bright red hair. Worthy of the taste of the wine, rubbed raw and clean like acid against her insides, making Jez smack her lips and wrinkle her nose. Emotion can do that to you, it can make your body think that it is sick with love, with hate, with sorrow and boredom. It's not just the wine that gets you drunk, its the pressure that forced you to drink, that can make you go wild.

Her hands lock on a cup, miraculously she finds the strength to hobble back across the room without smashing up the skin of her hands or throwing the glass at Merlot's face. She sets it down like a born and bred lady, then shuffles away to another seat. Her legs go up, cross-legged, while her arm falls down into a crooked position to support her sleepy, throbbing head. Somehow, Jezebel manages to keep her bleary eyes open wide enough to trick Merlot into thinking she is still awake and up for the night and for the good times. Or she hopes, but Jezebel can't be sure of what her body is doing now, not when her mind aches, her ankle is still twisted up, and her dreams are shattered.

This is a moment to quietly cry onto the shoulder of her junkie sister, her dealing brother. She shouldn't be sitting with a guy, in her house, on her turf, trying to make conversation just because he had the decency to half drag her home. Scum. Peacekeepers always think civvies are the lower class citizens, they're right about that, but they don't know what scum they truly are. Frigging savages. Her thoughts drip with animosity while her face just lets a bit of boredom seep through, keeping her opinions and true self a secret from Merlot, trying to be "polite," now. Enough abuse for the night, wouldn't you agree?

"Help yourself," her lips say with only the barest hint of a dry, sarcastic tone. Well, now, the word "dry" maybe isn't right to describe her tone, considering her words are rolling together and Jezebel is absolutely drunk as a skunk.

But lets roll with it anyways, dry humor. Ha-ha-ha ha-ha.

[Spesh]

By no means was Merlot drunk yet, but by no means was he sober. To Merlot's relief, the alcohol was starting to work its way into his bloodstream. The slight daze that comes with being drunk is welcomed with open arms by Merlot, yet he continues to drink more and more. Most of the time Merlot is not one to pass out from drinking, but being tipsy is never enough for the man named after wine grapes. If there was a way for him to get help for his addiction out in District Twelve, he was sure that he would. But that option was sadly impossible, even if there were places where he could find help, he would not be allowed any time off to do so.

It was pathetic that his addiction was so bad he was drinking in the house of a teenage girl. An onlooker would probably find Merlot to be a pedo, but that was not the case. He was simply trying to do the right thing, but all of that changed once the bottle of wine was taken out. If he was not blinded by the wine, then maybe he would be more suspicious about the way that Jezebel was acting. Maybe he would be able to tell the girl to stop; but maybe was not going to happen. Merlot Noir was lost in a world of drinking, one that nobody was going to take him out of.

Obviously, Merlot's companion was drunk, even without experience around people who drink anyone would be able to figure that much out. The fact that Jezebel was slurring her words and saying more than she needed were just the obvious facts. She had every right to tell Merlot off, and he would have no problem with that as long as she let him keep the wine. If he was not drinking, Merlot would probably see this as a trap to get him in trouble by other Peacekeepers, but he would doubt that to be true. Merlot was not becoming paranoid about anything, but he did have reason to watch out, at least slightly.

Even though the wine was calling to him, he felt obligated to give this girl some hope. She was clearly upset and getting down on herself about it, and for some reason, that was hurting Merlot. Normally he would not let these types of things affect him, but this was different. Maybe it was the fact that this girl would probably have no more chances in life to do what she loved. The temptation to think about what life would be like for him without wine enticed him to forget about Jezebel's worries, but he used all of his mental strength and pushed the idea from his mind. It was not normal for Merlot to think about people other than himself, yet at that moment it seemed like the right thing to do.

"You are absolutely, by no means, useless Miss Strange. Don't ever think that." The words that Merlot spoke took a long time for him to form. The fact that he was drinking so much in such a short time was getting to him. He chuckled, "But Iam very suree you're very intoxica--- drunk... Imight be too..." Why was the feeling coming so fast? Merlot was sure he did not have that much to drink. Could the wine Jezebel is giving Merlot be drugged? He doubted that. Her family was respected in District Twelve, there was not a chance they were doing things on the black market.

But the way that Jezebel was acting would not make one think she came from a respected family. Drinking wine from a bottle was not something that the rich did; Merlot doubted that the poor did that either. He was the exception in his mind, as he finished bottles of wine on his own. It was still disgusting, but somehow the idea became okay in Merlot's mind through the habit of drinking so much. Once the girl told him to 'help' himself, he quickly forgot about caring about the girl, snatching the bottle from her hand and taking a gulp before thinking twice.

ooc: i was thinking maybe they black out soon, or something? just an idea