mercury veins //lethe & jasper's wedding

[Rosetta]

[presto]

[/presto]

LETHE TURNER

He’s breathing oxygen
into your mercury veins
siphoning the poison
away from your heart
time traveling
to when you
were too
afraid to
pick flowers
and hurt yourself

Lethe was the bride, so the lizard got to stay.

“At least let me hold her,” her mother pleaded, but Lethe would hear none of it. Camalia would stay, as always, seated on her shoulder.

The wedding preparations took all morning. Lethe had been coerced out of sleep by her mother at six in the morning, despite a pounding headache, and immediately sent to shower. “You smell like alcohol,” her mother complained, taking a steady, but fierce look around the disheveled room. “Did that District Twelve boy visit you last night?” she asked beadily. “Arbor? I don’t like him.” Lethe hadn’t answered, but obediently dragged herself to the shower and thoroughly cleaned her body. She knew her mother would send her back if she found the slightest pinhead of dirt of her daughter’s skin.

Her hangover wasn’t much improved after the shower nor was her ability to remember the previous night (it was just flashes of color and shouting coupled with some frantic music), but there was hardly even time to delve in that because, just like her mother had a six, Lethe’s prep team flocked to her by seven and began, once more, to perfect Lethe Turner, Victor of the Fifty Eighth Hunger Games.

They even re-washed her, dipping her in some sweet-smelling substances and giving her body a thorough waxing. “Oh, honey, no husband wants to see that,” one of the stylists, Paprika, told her, referring to the soft downy hair under Lethe’s arms before she set herself to the task of waxing it all off. Submissively, Lethe winced to herself in reply and mused Jasper’s reaction to a whole tuft of black hair under her arms. What would he think of that? The answer came too readily: He’d probably make up something poetic about it.

After the waxing came her hair and dress. Up until this point, Lethe had been relatively numb, going through the motions of the day, chewing some tablets given to her to relieve the hangover, but now, once she heard the rustle of fabric, she felt as though someone had hit her in the stomach with an iron fist.

“Oh, Lethe, darling, close your eyes! We want to surprise you!”
That part was difficult. Closing her eyes conjured up images of her marriage. Jasper would be waiting at the altar. Her father would give her away to him. It was almost ironic. Her father didn’t give her away to death—why was he allowed to give her away to a husband, at the possibility of new life produced between the two?

In truth, Lethe had been given away all her life. But, never by herself.

The Capitol had given Lethe away to what otherwise would’ve been imminent death if she had not been as lucky. Eric, alcohol, lust had given Lethe away to motherhood. Her own mother had given Lethe away to engagement. And now, her father was giving her away to marriage. Never had Lethe given herself away willingly, soberly, in complete control of herself. Nor did she think she ever would.

“Alright, open them!”

Opening her eyes, she immediately gasped. They’d performed miracles on her before. They put her back together when she came out of the Arena. They’d removed any and all traces of stretch marks from her body after her pregnancy. Now, they’d made her a bride. Lethe was a puzzle and they knew just how to paint the pieces to make them look like they were in order.

She took a long time, looking down at herself (no mirrors, just as she requested), mouth wide. The dress was strapless, but supported her chest surprisingly well. There was a white sash just under her breasts and then the rest of the dress fell into a gentle skirt of white. Little off-white flowers dotted the skirt and it swished when she sashayed forward. “Heels!” Paprika exclaimed and Lethe’s mother rushed forward to hold her daughter’s hand as she stepped into little white heels. Her toes, newly painted a sweet pink, peeked out. She was beautiful and she knew it and it sent shivers up and down her spine. Her mother patted her shoulder, holding Camalia in one hand.

“You look gorgeous, let me hold—” Lethe ignored her and took the lizard from her mother’s hands. Back on her shoulder, Camalia sniffed the perfume on Lethe’s neck before hesitantly giving her a lick. “The wedding,” her mother sighed, continuing in her usual matter as if her daughter was not being blatantly disobedient, “is in a beautiful chapel in the City Circle. I saw it yesterday! They’ve decorated it most wonderfully.” Lethe had no doubt in her mind that her mother was thoroughly inspected it to see that everything was in order for her daughter’s wedding. There was a deepening pit in her stomach.

“Sounds great, Mother,” Lethe replied, obediently turning to her prep team so they could attend to her hair and make-up. Did they see right there and sense the apathy deep down somewhere? “Where’s Eden?”

“She’s great ready with Daisy. They’re in little dresses like yours. You’re going to love it when you see them!” For the first time that day, Lethe felt her heart swell with pride. Every time she saw little Daisy clasped so contentedly in Klaus’s arms, she felt the same surge of joy spreading through her that she felt whenever she looked upon Eden. Klaus was a natural-born father, dragging Lethe through play dates, the two of them sipping tea at the table, Eden and Daisy running across the apartment, leaping into chairs, toes skimming the carpet, little cries and giggles and their parents’ urges of, “Baby, don’t run!”

Jasper was the same with Eden.

Once or twice, she witnessed him picking up her little girl and swinging her around as she squealed in delight and all the breath in Lethe’s lungs left and she had to turn away to hide the tears in her eyes. But, that wasn’t the worst of it. Before they left for the Capitol, there’d been a snow storm and Mother had let Jasper stay the night. Lethe had stepped lightly past Eden’s room because she heard him inside, reading her a fairy tale story and that night, Lethe had locked herself firmly in her room, despite Jasper’s soft knock sometime later (she’d never shared a bed with him before the night they spent on the train—but it had been a test and she hadn’t let her guard down).

Maybe that was the problem. The fairytales. The letters. The sweetness.

This fantasy romance.

“Oh, Lethe, you’re going to love this veil!” Lethe’s face had grown numb again as the silky, sheer veil fluttered against her skin, covering her face and flowing far down her back. It tickled her bare shoulders, but Lethe couldn’t find a smile in herself. Her stylist, Mel, had entered the room and was walking once, twice and three times around her charge: the bride, inspecting her. Goosebumps were rising up on Lethe’s arms because she might as well be under Jasper’s gaze: lacking any and all hints of judgment, taking Lethe as she was and nothing more.

“Roll back your shoulders, sweetie,” she advised and then she tapped Lethe’s make-up caked cheek. “Smile, love, you have a beautiful smile.”

You’ve turned me into a fairytale, Lethe thought, but she pleased her stylist, prep team, and mother with a small smile. “Gorgeous!” Mrs. Turner beamed, but once more, her eyes strayed to Camalia, contentedly tucked into the folds of Lethe’s veil. “Honey, just give me—”

Lethe ignored her mother yet again and turned to Mel. “Is it time to go to the chapel?” Her stylist grinned.

“The wedding is at twelve. We have about an hour.” Lethe knew, though, reporters would be flocking the scene and that hour would be easily swallowed up with camera flashes and shouted questions. Her face muscles would be sore before she even entered the chapel. Already, her shoulders were creeping up again, but Mel lent her a gentle hand.

“Relax. It’s going to be lovely!” Her stylist’s fingers lightly tapped her cheek and Lethe could feel the memory of the scratches once there, those that had been magically wiped clean from her skin. The real Lethe, replaced with a manufactured doll.

Her mother held her skirts carefully as they descended from Lethe’s apartments and out to a car. Lethe felt her veil fluttering behind her, pressing gently against her face, and she was grateful for it. Sweat was already beading on her upper lip.

Unfortunately, the car ride was quick and the chapel seemed to pop out of the ground, beautiful, tall and demeaning, so suddenly, Lethe could swear that all she did was blink and it was there. For once, she was grateful for the chauffer who helped her out of the car; her knees were weak.

I am a grown-up doll.

It took forever to finally get inside the chapel. Lethe must’ve smiled, shyly, just as she was told, for millions of pictures, before her mother, radiantly beaming, managed to usher her up the stone steps and through huge oak doors into a lobby, where she was almost immediately escorted into a side room to retouch her make-up, hair and smooth her dress as her prep team murmured over and over, “Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous…”

Lethe sat up straight in her seat, breathing shallowly (her corset was already digging into her torso, but she shivered to think of when it would be removed—in her bedroom, by Jasper later, she expected). Her mind was whirring with the story Jasper had been telling her daughter. It had been something silly about a princess lost in an eternal slumber, awoken by the kiss of a prince. Did Jasper fancy himself the prince? Waking Lethe up from her eternal slumber? A princess lost in her mind, a horrible thing only one man has found his in to. She was a Victor after all. The District Five men looked her up and down and she knew they’d fancy her company in several different ways, but for a deep conversation? Never. No one wanted to cross that border.

Silly District Five boy. Silly District Five girl. Silly tribute, silly, silly, little girl. Lethe once loved stories. She once loved fairytales. She told Camalia one. That was before she learned that fairytales were simply tales after all.

“Lethe, it’s time to go!” Her mother stood her up (at this point, Lethe was sure her own legs weren’t working anymore because almost immediately she was turned over to her father and she was sure without him she wouldn’t be able to walk). Her mother gave her a brief hug and for the first time, in a long time, Lethe felt a rush of warmth when she perched her chin on her mother’s shoulder and she shrugged into her mother’s body (she was holding a bouquet in her hands and couldn’t put her arms around her mother). For a split second in time, Lethe felt like a child again, enveloped in her mother’s warmth . So small. Her mother’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, sinking her soft hands into her daughter’s scarred skin and for the first time in a long time, Lethe wanted her mother’s touch to last, wanted it to melt several layers of her skin away, thaw her adult body into a child’s again, but it ended and Lethe gripped her father’s arm perhaps tighter than he was gripping hers and it was just Lethe and the oak doors before her, leading into the main chapel.

I am a grown-up doll.

She took a deep breath in and tried to exhale all of it out, but suddenly, that that had been building up inside her numb body all day struck her like razors across her face and she watched as Anya fell to the dusty ground, a little trickle of blood dribbling from her ear, and Saskia fled far from Lethe in a swarm of mosquitos no matter how hard she screamed and there was a flash of silver high above her head, but Razor stayed himself until the world was filled with bones and Lethe fell against the blood-soaked earth, gasping, crying out for life, pushing back against death, beating it back with her knives. She slashed up the stories she’d once told herself, she’d ripped her princess dress and cut off her hair. She told herself fantasy wasn’t real when twenty three children dropped dead and her mouth, hands, her empty eye socket filled with blood. When a child came forth from blood, sweat and lust, from the desire to feel something, anything, in a boy she wished she could discard, but was tattooed across the inside of her skull, Lethe knew fantasy wasn’t real. Romance couldn’t be either. Jasper was silly, reading his stories to her little girl.

The oak doors opened before her and there, miles away, he stood.

Lethe’s heart was racing, burning, trying to collect his storybook words, trying to fill her mouth with them, so she could spit them right back at him when the time came to say “I do,” but all she could taste was his voice: monotonous, lacking all feeling in the words he was reading to Eden. It wasn’t contempt, but it hadn’t been love. And Lethe surprised herself with entertaining the notion that he, too, didn’t believe in fantasy either.

And this was all real.

At her side, Lethe’s father gave his daughter a small nudge, but she didn’t need it. Her eyes were already widening, as Jasper’s blurred image suddenly appeared in sharper focus, and she was attracted to the trance. And so, Lethe Turner took a deep breath and stepped forward to begin the longest walk of her life.




*Poem from Tumblr
**Victors, Turner family and any Capitol members who would have a reason to be there are invited into the thread (PM me or Sam, Capitol people pleaseee), but please let Sam and I have two posts each before posting that means you better get a move on, Sam. Thanks<3
***taking place at the start of the 65th Games
****table made by the gorgeous Zoe!

[Wonder]

JASPER s o m e r s e t
∞

Dearest Lethe,

Our relationship started with a letter, and now I believe as we move to new steps, higher than ever, I must write this letter - to you. It isn't so dramatic as a declaration of love, nor as tragic as a breakup, it is, just simply, it exists as much as you or I, and I hope that someday you come to treasure it as our past, and the beginnings of our future. Perhaps in that sense, it is important to both of us but I won't give this to you until after the wedding, because if anything, this is just a ramble to pass the time.

See, I'm writing to you whilst we're both on the train right now. It's not as if we're two lovers long separated between Districts, or even death, no, you are one cart up ahead and I haven't seen you in a couple of hours. You've told me that if I need you for anything just to go ahead and find you, but see I feel rather uncomfortable in doing that. After all, that's where the tributes are staying and as adorable as they are I seldom think they have the chance. I don't understand that about you, Lethe. This large sort of facade that you carry, an air of indifference when it comes to such unintelligible human sacrifice. It makes you stronger than me, for sure. These kids - you've watched so many grow up so fast, this is your seventh pair as a mentor. Maybe you didn't want to be reminded of that fact at all, it just amazes me that despite this situation you stay so strong.

They're probably strong, those two kids, they do have you as a mentor after all, but who know - as you read this, they might be long gone and you might want to forget them. And who knows, if you read this twenty-five years from now, you may not even remember their names, and neither will I - so I won't bore you with those details or pain you with them either. Sorry. Your little sister is glaring at me from a side window, I haven't been able to tell if she's been doing it the whole train ride, or if it's just me still nervous about your family and such. Your mother is very warm, but the rest of your siblings - I'm sure that they're just looking out for your best interests and perhaps Jasmine isn't looking at me begrudgingly so much as trying to keep an eye out for what I might do - and my solution was grabbing a piece of paper and writing a letter to you.

I have one question for you Lethe, and take it as you will. I have asked you many "one questions" before, our relationship could be summed up in a series of one questions: would you like to meet? Will you marry me? And now I will simply ask this: what am I to you?

I do not mean this to be accusatory in any way shape or form, but I do worry sometimes. Not of you, of course. But the situation. Because here I am, on a speeding metallic train going faster than I could ever imagine, travelling to lands I have never even dreamt of seeing and yet I'm hunched over a mahogany table writing this letter to you. I'm sure the rest of your family has been admiring a quick peak into what the Districts actually are, but I just cannot seem to bear it as I'm wondering if the passing looks from your family are nothing more than snickers and intense judgements from something that I don't know about you.

That's the thing, I think. I wish to know more about you. Not in some creepy, stalker way. But in the way that each night when we go to bed, I want you to tell me about your day. I want to know your favourite colour and paint murals of your favourite horses, carve marble statues of your favourite people and most of all, I want to care for Eden alongside you.

Let me start this letter again because it's becoming too tragic for me.

Dear Lethe,

I love you and I can't wait to be married. I'll love you always.

Jasper.

He sealed the paper in a yellow envelope he had on hand on scribbled in the nicest way he could, Lethe across the front in bolded letters. This, he would hold on to, storing it inside of his silk black jacket and laid back on the velvet couches that were meant for tributes. These trains, after all, didn't carry many people in them besides those who'd risked death, those who were about to risk death, and Capitolites who ventured to and from the Districts on occasion. They were metal death boxes, and a sort of irony presided within him, the irony was unsettling that he rode death to his wedding and that did not escape Jasper one single bit.

Upon arriving at the Capitol, he was not prepared for the sort of greeting they received. A thousand cameras clicking away, the lights blinding, almost as blinding as the outfits of the photographers, this was not a place for a regular District kid, even the nephew of a mayor. Jasper couldn't see the Turner family behind him, yet he feared that they might be huddled together pushing along, yet he couldn't for the love of himself turn around to try and save them - this was a madness beyond which of any he'd experienced, the fame that came along with simply falling in love was devastating. A typhoon of light followed by piercing screams, "Here! Here! Mrs. Turner! Eden! You pretty little thing! Jasper, over here! Smile!" Succumbing to nausea, Jasper simply smiled and moved forward, step by step, in his head he counted how many it took between the train and the building. Two-hundred and twenty-six shuffles before exploding into the safe zone, that was all it took.

Lethe was already gone by the time he arrived, probably ushering the two children upstairs for their meetings, floor five, that's what he'd been told - he waited patiently for all of the Turner children to be escorted in before he made his way up the elevator, going up. One of the kids pushed the button for the fifth floor but he didn't take notice who, the glass skyscraper amazed him beyond anything he'd ever seen, such architecture was never seen in the likes of Five, this was all so extraordinary it felt almost as though he himself was in a fairy tale. Maybe the wedding wasn't real at all? What a weird dreamscape it would be, alongside Lethe's family.

Maybe any minute he would wake up, dressed in homeless rags, scratches all along his body from where the rats had bitten his fragile bones within the night time, perhaps all this education, this life style, writing letters and sticking them on walls, training to be a mayor - all of this was just a dream because the Capitol couldn't be real. There was no way that such a place, so extravagant, eccentric, incredible existed while all the other Districts wallowed in filth trudging through poverty and fighting in the streets for food. There was no way such greed existed, and all because they reign supreme. And yet despite all of this misbelief, the trickery and illusions before his eyes as he stared out the windows of the elevator, truly, the only thought wandering through Jasper Somerset's mind was: how do I get to live here?

District five was far from a busting metropolis, far from distinguished, and intelligence levels had sunk below what he imagined to be what district ten was like. Oil riggers didn't need any information beyond what was needed in the industry, no professionalism, no need to learn to write or spell - the Capitol, this was an idea that perhaps someday Jasper could get used to. If only he was allowed to come here with lethe when she was mentoring, was there a way to bypass the rules and get that done, living three months a year here among the rich, the powerful, picking up tricks of the trade, make a growing economy out of district five. If anyone could do it, it was Jasper - he could change the district forever, make it rich and important, the one the the Capitol looked to and thought, "Yes, that is our favourite district." It could be done, if only he was mayor and if only he could stay here.

The sound of the elevator bell took him out of a trance, as a few murmurs of 'wow' could be heard under the breath of the Turner'. even under his own breath Jasper was amazed with the residence in which he would stay for the wedding. The Capitol sure didn't spare any expense on where the tributes would spend their last peaceful moments. But this, this place would be Jasper's own beginning, a memory that he would carry with himself forever. Everything was so extravagant and beautiful from the floors, to the counters, to the tables and the buffets that sat atop them - this was a life that anyone could get used to.

He planned on it.

Days passed, ceremonies continued. There was the chariots, which Jasper got to watch from the safety of the large screen TV that slid down in front of a wall in their living room, everything was so clear and crisp as if each pixel contained a thousand more pixels that made sure every colour was just so perfect. There was only a few times that Jasper actually got to watch the passing tributes and that was as they went and came from training - he tried to stay out of their way, his wedding celebration was probably far from any of their minds after all, this was their death sentence. The interviews happened the night after training ended, and yet again he cuddled up with a blanket and the warm tingly fire place and relaxed on the silk couches to watch. Every smirk and act that the poor children put on, it was sickening, yet necessary. He had to remind himself that everything done was so necessary.

It wasn't long before it was the night before the wedding and Jasper started getting impatient and antsy as he strode around the apartment complex. The sick fascination that he had procured with the Capitol had turned into a form of disgust as each Avox casually passed by and Jasper was reminded that these once were citizens - that thought kept him up at night, along with each and every doubt in his letter to Lethe. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't seen her in days that made him more worried about the wedding itself, but she had been busy after all, the tributes had launched into the Games, and she had to be in the mentor room and -

There was no more time to worry. As per some sort of tradition, Jasper stayed away from Lethe as this was the last time they would share different beds. It was kind of weird, he felt, but it was what it was. Jasper also knew that Lethe herself was going out to party, he'd brushed by a red-eyed Peridot Myler in the hallways and he was pretty sure that he wasn't crying, though any fact was contestable with the victors, they were an odd bunch after all. There was no bachelor party for Jasper, after all if he had the choice he wouldn't really have one anyways, he didn't fancy himself a people person to the extent of friendship. He would much prefer a glass of red wine by the fire reading a book, and that's what he did. On the last night before he was to be married, Jasper sat down and read a book of classic poems, like any classic poems, they were all about love.

It wasn't long before a waddling Eden came to his legs asking where her mother was, Jasper wasn't all that close to Eden yet - not for a lack of trying, that is. Perhaps it ran in the family to have the strongest poker face when it came to the public, but it kept him uneasy most of the time. Eden was the most adorable little girl in the world, and Jasper would promise that until the day he died he would take care of the precious little girl. Jasper, after all, knew quite a bit about the father, besides his name - and he felt it was his duty to take care of the little girl. "Out with Klaus, I believe. Are you and Daisy ready for tomorrow?"

"Yes," the little girls eyes sparkled as she climbed on the couch beside him. "What are you reading?"

Jasper smiled as he cozied up next to his future daughter-in-law and showed her the leather bound book. "100 Greatest Love Poems of our Time. Sounds tacky, I know, but they're sweet."

"Read me one?"

And so he did.

"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)"

The procession went by in a blur, a fury of stylists came in, plucked, prodded, waxed, touched up everything about Jasper that he had initially found to be completely alright about himself - this was the Capitol after all and perhaps he just wasn't to the standard that they needed - but one day.

Flash, suit, flash, moving, going, church, flash flash flash, everything was speeding by so quickly and before he knew it the oak doors were creaking open, Jasper knew not to turn, he had to wait until she was beside him and then he could see what she truly looked like today - more beautiful than any other day, he imagined. And yet in his mind, he couldn't imagine a more beautiful Lethe than the annoyed frustrated, kicking up a storm in the middle of a park Lethe that he had first met. The one with fire in her eyes and a lack of shamelessness for what she said aloud.

But like most times, he was proved wrong yet again. As he turned to meet his soon to be wife, he gasped, taking everything about her in - she looked more amazing, more beautiful more -

"Since the day we met, I've wondered what it would be like to stand like this. Perhaps not in the Capitol, but just next to you, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and promise everything I possibly can. There is not much that you haven't faced in this lifetime, but now I ask that you share whatever burden you can, weigh it on me. I promise to be your Atlas, carrying everything on my shoulders, to take care of you and Eden and most importantly, I promise to love you for the rest of my life."

Do you, Jasper Somerset -

"I do."

poem by ee cummings yo
this is badassery right here gettin married and shiz

[Rosetta]

[presto]

[/presto]

LETHE TURNER

Before the Games, Lethe's mother's biggest concern was finding a suitor for her daughter. One who would care for her. But Lethe couldn't stand the thought of waking up beside someone she couldn't recognize in the morning nor could she shake the feeling that her mother was trying to pass her off to someone else so she wouldn't have to be responsible for her. So, she resisted at all costs.

She could still recall those hours she spent, riding her horses, jumping over fences and lying her head on her favorite colts' soft bellies. One day, she spent hours, on her side in the grass, studying one green blade, believing that if she memorized it, she'd recognize it, until one of her brothers came to fetch her.

After the Games, things were quiet for a while as her mother watched her try to patch up the wounds, but Eden, though a blessing, came a little too soon.

After that, as far as Mrs. Turner was concerned, Lethe had no excuse to not have a husband. Her mother insisted she needed a man in her life because Lethe was obviously incapable of managing herself and Lethe, a weary mother, felt herself fade into the woodwork on her mother's elaborate plan, watching suitor after suitor be paraded before her. Her headaches increased and she started seeing double on some nights. Did he have two heads? Four mustaches? How old was he?

Compared to some of the suitors who had dined with the Turner family (some Lethe suspected of only coming to get a nice dinner and warm seat), Jasper was a child while in reality he was only a couple of years younger than her. Not old enough to be married, but neither was she.

Lethe would have been perfectly content with a life without love, without marriage (though she did not truly believe that marriage always came with love), but her life had grown accustomed to unexpected twists at this point so it did not come as a surprise when she finished her long trek down the aisle and found herself face to face with the man she was to spend the rest of her life with.

She wasn't immediately sure what to do with her hands. They'd be clasped around the bouquet she was holding, but now they weren't; Eden had taken them and handed them to Klaus, who, because she wasn't sure which female sibling to pick for her Maid of Honor, was serving as her male version of. She was vaguely aware that Jasper seemed to be waiting for something...her hands? No one was speaking and all down the chapel, the guests were standing and staring. Some were even crying. She saw her stylist, Mel, dotting at the corners of her eyes with a lavish, pink napkin which was only expected; she hadn't ever thought in a million years she'd see Lethe alive let alone see her married. Some people she didn't even know where crying and feeling slightly sick, Lethe turned back to the groom and obediently took his hands, his smooth, cool ones, in her clammy ones, and the ceremony resumed like a sigh.

Lethe's mind guiltily flitted to Eric as the ceremony went on and on in a typical long, overdone Capitol style. Was he here? Could he even be at the very reception, serving like he had been the night they'd conceived Eden. No, she felt off-balance. That was years. Surely, by now, he no longer needed to resort to such petty jobs for money. He must've graduated by now. He must have a life by now.

He might even be married.

A chill went down Lethe's spine. The Capitol hadn't figured at a way to read minds, right? Did they know of the guilty girl on that altar, holding her future husband's hands, imagining the life of a one-night stand, even feeling a little jealous of the girl who surely shared his bed nowadays? Because that girl wasn't so easily forgotten...

And Lethe, too, a forgetful one, a guilty one, because the vows came and Jasper stepped forward.

“There is not much that you haven't faced in this lifetime, but now I ask that you share whatever burden you can, weigh it on me. I promise to be your Atlas, carrying everything on my shoulders, to take care of you and Eden and most importantly, I promise to love you for the rest of my life."
Her cheeks burned and she prayed that it wasn't obvious through the copious amounts of make-up slathered across her face. Of course he wrote his own vows. What more did she expect? Those smooth eloquent words had probably melted the audience, but Lethe was too embarrassed to look because her mind had gone blank. Lethe, you awful, awful girl.

It was her turn and she moved ever so slightly closer to Jasper. She could smell the sweetness of his hair, the smoothness of his cheeks (he'd so freshly shaved). She couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. He'd taken the time to write his own vows. She knew they were his owns. They were soft and gentle and they seeped through Lethe's hard skin and right down to her softness inside. When he could've settled for ordinary, an equally heart-melting speech written for him by the Capitol, he'd settled for her, for pleasing her. While she thought of Eric...

"I..." her voice trailed off. It sounded weak, barely filling the chapel that now fell deafeningly quiet. "I don't...have anything to add." Her eyes met Jasper and in their quiet, she only saw affection. "I am ready to spend my life with you, Jasper. I am prepared to give everything to you that you have given to me." And what was that? Patience? Love? A genuine feeling where all others had just seen a Victor? The list was endless, but Lethe was counting when she was asked the question.

"Do you Lethe Turner take Jasper Somerset to be your lawfully-wedding husband?"

"I do."

This time, she kissed him hard enough to rattle Eric from her brain.

*Thank you again to Zoe for this beautiful template!
**This thread is now open to anyone except I'd like Rade to post first as he is Mama Turner. I welcome Capitol people, Victors and the Turner family

[charade]

After a long struggle of pushing and prodding, the moment had finally arrived. This was what was best for all involved. No illegitimate grandchildren for Clara, and stability for Lethe and Eden. Her daughter and granddaughter needed someone to take care of them, love them, and above all else, keep them safe. Surely Lethe understood that? Was she trying to wind up like some of the other victors? (The thought of which happened to remind Clara that she needed to have another talk with Lethe about consorting with that Arbor Halt.) And yet, a myriad of potential mistakes filtered through Clara’s mind as the ceremony wore on. Lethe had a tendency to say or do the worst thing and the most inconvenient times, and worse, she rarely seemed remorseful about it. Everything could be undone in an instant, all the favors called in, all the dealings kept secret from her children, the careful weeks of talking Lethe up in front of people, the “convincing” Jasper to propose. All of it. So when she heard her daughter utter those two little words she felt relieved to no end. They kissed and the clapping started, a crescendo that seemed to rise forever before stopping as quickly as it had begun. Clara exhaled sharply, before reminding those in attendance that there was a schedule to keep. Which meant that it was time for the reception; yet another extravagantly done room, an elegant hall done up in all manner of decorations.

This, this was Clara’s calling, the sort of thing she was best at; making sure people remembered. The whole room was done in greens and blues, with stained glass windows picturing different areas from a certain arena. Why, that’s why the catered food was mostly imported from district four. There was a long buffet table set along the far wall, with several avoxes attending to certain dishes. Plates of roasted crab, pots of clam chowder, dozens and dozens of different types of fish. Sauces, appetizers, the list went on. Of course there were also the garnishes, all edible of course, but even more magnificent than the food that was meant to be eaten right away. Clara wasn’t sure if the three foot watermelon carving of camilia or the frosted ice sculpture of the hound was more eye-catching, heck, for all she knew everyone would be focused on the platters of sauteed radish earrings instead. And she would be remiss in not casting a grateful eye on the wedding cake; a twenty-four tier monstrosity that very nearly reached the ceiling, with each tier of cake containing a different flavor of filling ranging from chocolate fudge to creme brulee. But then she thought she might have heard some of the guests commenting on how the avoxes were dressed.

All of the help was male, and Clara had specifically requested ones that bore at least passing resemblances to the departed district two and four tributes from Lethe’s hunger games, going so far as to get them all wearing the arena uniform, (quite a good deal from a shop owned by a woman named Poria something.) Perhaps it was a little gauche, but the more memorable the reception the better. After all, gossip was almost second nature to the Turner matron and it paid to keep up with the latest. Especially with victors. They usually got up into all kind of trouble, be it substance abuse, or an unwillingness to keep it in their pants. But...those were the victors that stayed in the public eye. The victors that didn’t? Clara knew all about the ones that were handed back and forth between the richest capitolites and damn but she wished she could forget some of the things she had heard. Not her daughter. No. It was one of the few things that Lethe either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. Being a victor was a full-time job and the merest slip-up could cost a person everything. Still, the status quo was being maintained, or so Clara felt. One costly marriage in the Capitol, one charming son-in-law, and one victor daughter off the market and away from prying claws.

Maybe, dammit, just maybe, Lethe would be safe from the Capitol now.

A mother could only hope.