the first of a kind } { candace/glamour | avalon/kay

[Avalon]

C A N D A C E
L E P I D O P T E R A

| the aristocrat |


aristocrat

/ăr′ĭs′tə-krăt′/
noun
"anything regarded as the best, most elegant, or most stylish of its kind"

Downing almost a fifth of a bottle of the finest vodka, found throughout Panem. There was no hesitation in letting the cranberry, orange chaser find its way along the trotted path of a burning sensation. It licked the inside of my delicate throat and hissed like a serpent as it sizzled to nothing more than the bittersweet taste of one more when it came to follow.


It had been a little over a month since the 71st Head Game Makers had been revealed throughout the Capitol, and it hadn't been much of a surprise to me. Catching the headlines, full of undeserving-ness, the attention was brought onto no one other than Glamour Kinkade, and Dom Copperwood. Already seen in press interviews, and various commercials of disgusting propaganda, I couldn't help but sense that the world was taking more of a turn for the worst. Although, perhaps if someone, such as I, were given the spot, rather than Junior Game Maker I'd received all these years, then just maybe the bar would be raised just higher than what it is set to.


Just in time-
Impatient upon the wait of another serving of fresh wine, chilled, an avox wanders with clicking heels. My frosted eyes meet the woman's, and she is dismissed almost instantly, with only slight hesitation. No words were needed to be exchanged, to waste just another breathe could possibly lead to them being damned, more so than what their lives already are.


Leaning back in the chair, set at the end of the table, silence fills the air for only but a few moments. My eyes meet that of Glamour, focusing in on his very details, taking in all that is at fault. Shifting to the glass of deep, crimson red merlot, I place the fragile glass in between my fingers. Bringing it up to my lips, and taking a sip, I drink sips at a time, before twirling the wine between my fingertips to watch the legs of toxicity drip back from which they came.


It wouldn't necessarily take much to break the ice between two friends of a very long time. However, the envy in positions served was like a white elephant that just wouldn't budge from the concrete jungle promenade of the exclusive, high class restaurant. My time is like money, not meant to be wasted on things not considerable enough to grasp my utmost attention, there is a reason we came here.

"Congratulations on the position.

It must be such a thrill to-

Be back in the headlines

After such a while of...

More substantial things."

Words slipped past my lips like they were nothing, ease felt in the moment and I could get the sense that Glamour was smirking beneath his exterior. I lean fully back in my chair, crossing my right leg over my left, as I take yet another sip of the red wine.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

{ credit to: zoë }

THERE'S NO LIE
IN HER FIRE

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

a note from the desk of

gamemaker

Glamour Kinkade

i can hear the echo ringing in my head

Glamour is the King and Queen of every ball the Capitol has to offer. The only benefit of being paired with Cadence Fortissimo or Dom Copperview is that he has no competition for the spotlight. And with Anarcha... well, he ceded it gladly. He dismisses the ghost of a memory before it can sour his triumphant mood. He travels with an entourage, complete with body guard and avox, and some member of the press core. He's just wrapped up another interview and dismissed the young blogger when he spies Candace.

Glamour drops a kiss on each cheek even while she sips from her blood red wine. "It's been too long," he purrs, even though it's been the perfect amount of time. Why see one another when neither has need of the other? But now Candace definitely has need of him, and in a way, he of her. He strips off leather driving gloves - even though he'd never deign sit behind the wheel of a car - and tosses them onto the table. His avox is already scurrying to coordinate his preferred drinks and appetizers with the host. His hands won't be empty for long.

But so long as they are, he moves close to Candace, letting the forced praise - but praise nonetheless - wash over him. "Oh please," he says, nudging her long thigh with the back of his knuckles. "We don't have to lie to each other. Nothing's more substantial and than the Games." He lifts his hand, illustrating his point, and as it falls, it's suddenly full of a champagne flute. He tips against Candace's glass, eliciting a squeal of a toast. "To the best Games Panem has ever seen, hmm? With your help, of course," he's sipping tiny bubbles of champagne even as he makes the toast, even as he sets his trap.

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