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Look Into My Eyes & I'll Own You // [GM Party]
Jun 4, 2015 16:24:05 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jun 4, 2015 16:24:05 GMT -5
Glamour Kinkade
your compliments look good on me
Glamour ran his pointed nails along the kitchen counter, tapping out a rapid rhythm. The flurry of servants - some avox, some perfectly able to interact with this guests - performed to the staccato clacking. For once, he was pleased with their progress. "Carry on," he commanded, lifting his highball above his head as he wove through the flurry.
The clanking of the spherical ice cube set a new, slower pace. Glamour positioned himself in front of the fountain in his foyer, ready to greet each of his personally. He fixed one leather trimmed cuff as his butler lifting his arm. The avoxes milling about came to attention, their spines straight, gazes sharp. Glamour quirked a smile and inclined his head.
The ornate double doors opened. "Happy Hunger Games," Glamour trilled as his avoxes presented trays of drinks filled with flutes of champagne and tumblers of whiskey. "Welcome to my home. Shall I give you the tour?" He offered, leaving his butler to gather the others. The main living room had been redesigned for the party. Along the four walls were holograms of this year's crop of tributes. He'd compiled the obvious biological data, and then gleaned what he could from the local gossips. Without training scores or interviews, it was a scant start, but it was enough. Beneath each, an electronic tablet had been placed, for the Gamemakers to begin their betting. On the first main screen, hung above the fireplace, recaps of the reapings played endlessly. Glamour had been especially impressed - an envious - of all the volunteers. "So many interesting possibilities," he murmured before moving to the balcony.
Silks of white and red billowed, hiding their party from the prying eyes of paparazzi below. Glamour would give them only the best photos, taken from his personal network of cameras. Another screen had been mounted where the cityscape would usually be. This one showed a livefeed of the training center, flickering between the weapons room, the dining hall, and various other facilities where they might find the current tributes and mentors. He might have lingered a second too long beneath the screen, impatient to spot one particular victor. He'd been warned that Leon Krigel would be short on time, what with mentoring his brother and all. But Glamour didn't have any siblings, and if any had been consigned to a slaughter house, he wouldn't have wasted his breath. He hoped Leon would be just as prudent, but as the boy had not yet been by to visit...
The next swallow of whiskey tasted sour. He flinched, turning back to his guests. Those sharpened nails clinked against his glass. "Shall we have a toast to the new Gamemakers? From one to the next?" His gaze glinted as he sought out Murdoch, Paul, Warren and Charlie in the crowd.
The clanking of the spherical ice cube set a new, slower pace. Glamour positioned himself in front of the fountain in his foyer, ready to greet each of his personally. He fixed one leather trimmed cuff as his butler lifting his arm. The avoxes milling about came to attention, their spines straight, gazes sharp. Glamour quirked a smile and inclined his head.
The ornate double doors opened. "Happy Hunger Games," Glamour trilled as his avoxes presented trays of drinks filled with flutes of champagne and tumblers of whiskey. "Welcome to my home. Shall I give you the tour?" He offered, leaving his butler to gather the others. The main living room had been redesigned for the party. Along the four walls were holograms of this year's crop of tributes. He'd compiled the obvious biological data, and then gleaned what he could from the local gossips. Without training scores or interviews, it was a scant start, but it was enough. Beneath each, an electronic tablet had been placed, for the Gamemakers to begin their betting. On the first main screen, hung above the fireplace, recaps of the reapings played endlessly. Glamour had been especially impressed - an envious - of all the volunteers. "So many interesting possibilities," he murmured before moving to the balcony.
Silks of white and red billowed, hiding their party from the prying eyes of paparazzi below. Glamour would give them only the best photos, taken from his personal network of cameras. Another screen had been mounted where the cityscape would usually be. This one showed a livefeed of the training center, flickering between the weapons room, the dining hall, and various other facilities where they might find the current tributes and mentors. He might have lingered a second too long beneath the screen, impatient to spot one particular victor. He'd been warned that Leon Krigel would be short on time, what with mentoring his brother and all. But Glamour didn't have any siblings, and if any had been consigned to a slaughter house, he wouldn't have wasted his breath. He hoped Leon would be just as prudent, but as the boy had not yet been by to visit...
The next swallow of whiskey tasted sour. He flinched, turning back to his guests. Those sharpened nails clinked against his glass. "Shall we have a toast to the new Gamemakers? From one to the next?" His gaze glinted as he sought out Murdoch, Paul, Warren and Charlie in the crowd.
