Sincerely yours, [the Victors]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

______________________

I’m a reckless mistake
I’m a cold night’s intake

Tonight, the alcohol oozes into my veins and fills my heart with a feeling of power, setting my default mindset to something more secure, something I can manage. In truth, my stylist gave me a couple shots even before the party started, and as much as I dislike Lepitera for all of her criticism (including her constant vigilance in reminding me that I tend to look like shit whenever it comes time to dress me up) I wholly appreciated the gesture. She sent me off to the Big Fancy Party with a wry look on her face and a buzz flowing through my veins, and I don’t have to remind myself to push my shoulders back and stand up tall. This happens on its own, and I’m pacing through President Snow’s party with a boldness that I didn’t even know I possessed.

These past two days have been a whirlwind of activity, and there hasn’t been a single second to wrap my mind around everything. My thoughts spin and spin with the alcohol and the little curiosities poking at my awareness, jumping from awe at the vast scale of the party to hope, because I’m wondering if this is the kind of party Cordelia Eaglebrooke would find a way into. As far as I can tell, everyone at this party is vaguely famous and very rich, and I don’t know if she’s either of those things.

Hell, I don’t know anything about her.

Waking up this morning to the realization that there was nothing left for us to do but say goodbye was a difficult thing in itself, because I’m a total idiot and I got my hopes up. A small part of me thought.. I don’t know, that she wouldn’t want to leave? In the very least, I thought we might make plans to see each other again, but we basically left with a promise to see each other around, and as much as I don’t want to read into that.. it sounds like that was the end of that.

The Capitol’s a pretty big place, after all. So big that our paths won’t cross again by accident.

Among the crowd of Capitolites celebrating the Games’ Final 8 tributes (the girl from my District not among them), I search for a familiar face, but the Victors are dispersed around the building. I resort to wandering around and looking for waiters holding drink trays, and every chance I get I take a new one and down it in a gulp, stumbling along until I find people – Capitolites, Victors, I don’t care anymore – who look even marginally friendly. A random mustachioed man shakes my hand and introduces himself, but I’ve already forgotten his name by the time that I hold my chin up and look interested enough to say hello. I walk on, and suddenly I’m approached by a tall woman in a slinky black dress, holding a champagne glass in her fingers and reaching for my collar unceremoniously. The woman drags me towards her and whispers something in my ear that I can’t repeat without blushing, and she gives me a kiss on the cheek for good measure before I finally tug away.

My only solace from the madness of the party is that a man finds me in the crowd and tells me I’m being ordered to a room for an announcement with the other victors, and I willingly follow along – albeit stumbling into various Capitolites as I go – and in a matter of a minute I’m being nudged through a doorway.

Many of the other victors have already arrived, but I can tell by the number that a few are still wandering about the party, about to be summoned. Their presence – though not entirely warm - is the only familiar thing I’ve experienced this entire time, and I smile like a goof when my eyes pass over their faces. I recognize the few that I’ve spoken with before, but their names escape my drunken train-of-thought in a matter of seconds.

”Some party,” I say loudly to nobody in particular, throwing my head up to look at the vaulted ceiling and the intricate design of gold inlaid into the woodwork. ”Fancy as hell. How many of these do you think he owns?” I ask with a big smile, fumbling for a knife tinted with gold on its hilt where it sits next to a tray of luxurious Capitol snacks.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,
that's when you feel my kind of love

Life had settled into a very distinct routine for Mace. Coralee had added a bit of color and the sleepless nights stacked quickly. But that was inconvenience, not pain as he had known for so long. He didn't even have Olive to snark at; some young thing named Blue ushered Saffron and himself into the limo. They wouldn't be sharing with Julian; he had other engagements and after would watch over their trio of children. That, too, had become normal enough to make Mace wonder.

A bottle of champagne had been left for them. He eyed the orange label suspiciously. "They must really want us to put on a performance tonight." The words came out formal, tainted by his time in the Capitol. Immediately his lips puckered in disgust. "Reckon I'll wait for the food. You, uhm, you want any?" His fingers reached, hesitating in a semicircle around a flute. It was only polite to offer, and Saffron was certainly old enough now to drink. The distance between them bloomed in that small moment. He'd hardly seen her since their arrival. He still couldn't remember if he'd said anything wrong (probably) or if she had finally found someone better suited to her. The thought was a shard of ice in his spine, his fingers trembling as he withdrew them.

At the President's house, he opened up his cramped palm to her. They exited the limousine as one, Mace looking more disgruntled than usual for the cameras. The bulbs flashed ghostly pale over his face as he ducked his chin to whisper to her, "don't have too much fun." Once inside the party they were instantly separated by Capitolites. A cluster of them surrounded Saffron, still a favorite after five long years. Mace was far less interesting these days, especially lacking his husband and children.

A man a decade his senior boasted about the money he'd won betting on Mace, which he gathered was meant to be a compliment. He mumbled something, his mouth full of the passed hors d'ouevres, which satisfied his faux patron. Every time a silver platter came within arm's reach, Mace shifted, dancing around his conversational partner, to scoop up another morsel. Calamari with spicy red sauce, caviar on bellinis, proscuitto wrapped around mozzarella. He'd eaten a full meal before dinner and he was just getting started. Even with his ears buzzing and mouth full, he kept his flat grey gaze moving through the crowd. He wanted to keep track of Saffron, true, but mostly he didn't want to be startled by any ghosts. If Sundra wanted to visit him again, he was at least going to have the balls to see her coming.

So when a butler demanded that he attend an announcement, he was caught completely off guard. He choked for a second on his vegetarian won ton, clearing his throat. The donor waved him off, dismissing him. Mace growled, wiping his greasy hands down the front of his tuxedo. The stains joined a bit of baby formula from feeding Coralee before he departed. He'd never given a shit about being fashionable or clean; the further he walked from victory, the more no one else cared either.

"Some party. Fancy as hell. How many of these do you think he owns?" Colgate's chattering as he stalked into the room. Mace's flat gaze skittered over him to the food. He didn't bother with a plate, heaping little morsels into his palm. He wasn't sure Colgate had been speaking to him, but with the promise of more food, he was feeling bold. "Enough to kill us all." He's still thinking about the delicate appetizers when he registers what he's just said. His smile is thin as he tilts his chin up to meet Colgate's eyes. He motions at the chips on the far platter. "But he probably won't. Tuna?"