will to life {victors - harbinger's party}
Dec 22, 2015 19:29:15 GMT -5
Post by rook on Dec 22, 2015 19:29:15 GMT -5
patricia valfierno
I can't stomach Snow's mansion. Like everything in the Capitol, it's too much to take in. The deep, rich colors of the furniture, the thousand-diamond-piece ornamants, the gold-leaf wallpapers. I've been in and out of the Capitol enough times to see the extent of it's extravagance, but Snow's mansion is on a whole new level. The President of life as we know it - It's apt that he has the most expensive and luxurious house of all. It's mad to think that one person lives in a place so big, but the venue lends to itself. Party after party, year after year, and this is one of many.
What's weird is that I've gotten used to it. I never thought I would, but after being forced to come to Katelyn's Victory Party two years ago despite my unstable mental health and overwhelming anxiety, it became easier. Kirito's was a little easier. I didn't touch a drop of alcohol during either, and the thought of any food made my stomach leap. I managed to get through them by either hiding away in a corner somewhere or hanging close to Leon.
It's no secret that I'm not liked by many of the other Victors. That's okay, I don't like many of them either. Most are liars - Either lying to others to keep a false persona, or lying to themselves. I may be a little hard to digest, but at least my words, whilst sharp, are true.
Leon gets that. He's known that since before I was a Victor, back when I was that foolish, brash kid in the Training Center, hoping he'd do me a favor so that my Personal Training Session would be one last "Fuck you" to the Capitol. That all came crashing down on my naive little head. At least he was there for me, at least Leon understood that I was against the system, and he was willing to give me what I wanted in my dying days. It would have all been so perfect if I had just died. No, not perfect. Picturesque. I may not be much of an artist, but at least I'm not dead. That makes me think of Pearl, so I decide that tonight I'm going to get some alcohol.
This isn't my natural environment, but I'm more comfortable here now than I used to be. I know that people don't want my neck anymore - There are newer, more interesting Victors for people to play with than me. I've been told on many occasions that I'm no fun, but I don't give a flying fuck about the opinions of any cotton-candy-haired Capitolites. They can have their fun with the District Eleven Trio, they're far more exciting than a brash redhead from Five.
Harbinger Rhodes. He's somewhat different to Katelyn and Kirito, I'll give him that. For one, he's an absolute behemoth - Built like a two-ton tank and primed like one too. He was brutal, putting on a Career-like performance in the outland hills Arena of the Seventy-First Hunger Games. I hope he's holding up okay. The tall silent types are usually the ones to be most fragile, despite looking and acting like the complete opposite.
I wander over to the drinks section, bypassing anything bubbly in search of something with more clout. I grab a vial of whiskey and pour myself a tumbler of rich brown liquor.
They make us dress up for this shit. The Capitol press are always trying to cram me into a dress, and they've succeeded on very few occasions. My Games interview, Victor presentation, and these dumb-ass parties are the only occasions where I've been plastered in make-up and had my hair styled like someone who isn't me. My dress tonight is blue and floral, it reminds me so very much of Lethe, the thought of which makes me take a swig of my drink. Ripred, I can't even remember the last time I got drunk. Has it even been this side of my Games? I don't think it has. What a sad thought.
I'm joined by a slim figure at the drinks table. I rest one hand on the table and hunch in a very unladylike pose in my ridiculous dress, eyeing up Kirito Miristioma. District 11's second-of-three Victors has obviously escaped the copious amount of photo opportunities he's been forced to partake in. Everyone wants a shot of the trio. These sort of things only happen once a century, they tell me. Three Victors from the same District in three consecutive years. I smile. District Eleven, no less. I guess it's the little victories in life that keep us going, and I can't help but feel a little bit happy for Eleven. The winters are harsh in those lower Districts, and less people will die this year because of their Victors.
I raise my hands, still holding my drink in my right.
"You caught me," I smirk, before taking a swig, "Don't fucking tell my sister."