among royalty {justice's dinner}

[Python]

VENUS AZRAEL

relapse
the stress of the matter
when i shatter like glass

Everyone tuned in to the finale; it was tradition. Even if one didn’t know a single name on the list of twenty-four tributes, the finale would decide which of the final two (or four, on rare occasion) would become the Capitol’s next groundbreaking celebrity. As a former Gamemaker, this was important. How would it compare to his own finale? Two underdogs at each other’s necks in a spring running red with blood. It was an easy fix – simply add a career with a famous name, then pair him with an underdog only the odd fanatics would root for. Of course, Gamemakers didn’t get to hand-pick who would rise above the rest, but he was certain they were not complaining.

Justice was not his sister. He was a tad more obnoxious and a lot less cruel. Most of his infamous attitude appeared to be a façade, but that didn’t stop Venus from feeling a bit uneasy at his victory. Scout had been the worst of the worst – a waster of lives, a sadist with no human motives. Demons were old news and a boring cliche. He didn’t like the idea of the Fray name crawling out of the shadows, but one bad apple didn’t ensure a rotten tree. Justice had potential.

And so it was decided very quickly that new and old recent Gamemakers would schedule a dinner. It was customary to mingle, especially with a victor at present. Justice would sit across from the two men that murdered his sister, and Venus would sit across from the brother of that disgusting murderer. He didn’t care how Justice perceived him. What he cared about was how worthy of a victor he was. Another waste of Capitol space was not what he wanted to see, and there were too many of those already. Weaklings and luck-stained victors whom people labeled “underdogs.” Iris would’ve been among that bundle, but her luck ran dry when she was finally faced with her reckoning. Sometimes, a career was all it took.

They were due at seven, so he arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. Cameras were poised outside, ready to flash for the newest victor and capture him at his best angle. Venus ducked his head and vanished behind the doors. There would be three other guests besides himself and Justice; Ambrosia, one of the 73rd Gamemakers, Vepar, his twin brother and previous Gamemaker, then Petelia, one of his top biologists. Normally he wouldn’t request another plus one, but Petelia was very interested in this Justuce Fray. She also remained one of his closest friends outside the workplace. Working with her was an honor. Sun had her to thank for his new pink lion.

He sat down and ordered a glass of wine. People expected Venus and Vepar to be inseparable, but their schedules were so wildly different that they rarely arrived together. Vepar was most likely at home, making sure Sun and his new pet had everything they needed. The lion was a bit of a handful – as expected – but he was forever grateful to Petelia for offering such a gift. She was a special light in Sun’s life that Venus would never forget. He had yet to truly thank Petelia for this, so a dinner invitation was in order.

The waitress brought him his wine before he could contemplate the menu. He could hear a ruckus outside; somebody had arrived.

Here’s to an interesting night.

He took a sip.

[[nyte]]

I'm fucked. The world spins beneath numb fingertips, smile sewn to rosy cheeks and laughter leaving lips sucked dry by stress. Hours spent splicing molecules and rearranging genetic code does little for the soul- and the medication that has been systematically shoved down my throat does even less. Admittedly my quality of life has improved, reality remains trapped between clasped palms but I'll be damned if fun has been out of the picture for far too long.

I don't want to think about what happened the last time I drank and so with every shot I take I try to forget. And when it doesn't work I take another.

Anyone who knows me knows that self-control has never been my strong suit. That I am a glutton to rival even Snow, have I enough toxins trapped within. And people who know only my brother are shocked to see that his other half is so...

manic.

The word sends shivers down my spine, sends teeth into the flesh of my cheek and its all I can to ignore the truth dug into my shoulder like a vulture's talons. I'm not right in the head, and I'm sure they all can tell Vepar Azrael has always been bit off. It was he who had two innocent children whipped in retaliation for an Avox's death, it is he whose fingers are always clad in dark leather to hide the shame upon his wrists.

I will never be the perfect man my brother is. Straight-laced and put together, never a toe out of line and always professional.

"Fuck it." I murmur, taking another shot and hoping that it stops the world's spinning or gets me smashed enough not to care. This whole drinking thing isn't nearly as fun as I remember- there is a vague whispering in the back of my mind, a kind of incessant tugging as persistent as an itch that is forbidden to scratch. That of a label with tiny black script, directions scrawled beneath the bolded letters of some poor bastard's name.

Do not take medication with alcohol.

Oops.

There's no point dwelling on past mistakes, I have somewhere to be after all. I stumble when I stand, smiling nonetheless because they all probably think I've forgotten, like the irresponsible piece of shit I am. They're only half right.

"Turn that fucking thing off!" I fumble with the lock on my phone, tapping frantically upon the screen to stop its ringing.

"Sorry!"

The night's breeze is a palm across my cheek, only vaguely painful as I stumble through familiar streets. My fingers take to catching upon brick foundation, guiding a weary body through the hustle and bustle of the Capitol's nightlife.

By the time I reach the table (which is nothing short of a miracle) Venus is already there. Of course. It's not that I resent my brother, I don't think I could, I resent the way the world compares us. Expects me to be as perfect as him because of the blood we share.

They don't know my blood has been tainted by razor blades and brandy.

"Shit Venus, almos' forgot 'bout this!" I fall into the seat next to my twin and rest my head upon the table's cloth. "How'd ya get here so early?"

But I know the answer.

I just don't remember.

[Deleted]

I'm late -- ah shit, I'm late as hell. The train ride rattles my teeth and my migraine is killing me and I'm still bubbly and laughing to myself; a girl's funky hat, this guy's receding hairline, a photo of a cute dog, I can't s t o p. I've been up way too damn long, I've been sleeping way too little preparing interviews, my goddamn pigmy pink powdered puffed pademelons escaped and I'm hungover from the crowning viewing and ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 

I can't stop LAUGHING. 

Like, the composure? It's just not happening; I can barely hear my own thoughts over the sound of a jazz remix of the panem tune echoing in my brain -- when was the last time I even fuckin listened to that song. Just, damn. I'm trynna piece together a reason why I'm as late as Snow's funer- I can't say that can I? Shit, HA, whoops. But seriously, what am I even supposed to say; "sorry I'm late admirable head gamemakers! I got fuckin wasted last night."

I'd actually like to work again I think.

It's only been one year since I worked and I'm already a mess. A giggling m e s s; oh boy my heads are gonna be there huh. Venus & Vepar, fuck meeee -- I wrap my robe further around me as if they're watching me from across the goddamn capitol (and I wouldn't doubt it either).

The train comes to a halt and I stumble on my way out, grabbing onto the seat handles as I go; I'm cryin. I'm near crying, or something. I don't even know I'm just feeling a lot of emotions, mostly hunger.   It's a short walk from the station and I only cried once at a tiny pet store on the way that had my bred sanguine salamanders in the window -- I couldn't help it. For a second I nearly fell asleep on a bench on the way; I swear I'mma die in this dinner.

It's not too late to go home, right? 

"Hey heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnyyyyyyyyyy," I giggle, clapping my hands together once before taking my seat. "Is it just me or am I seein DOUBLE."

Damn I'm hungry.

[arx!!]

JUSTICE
FRAY

Have dinner with the people who tried to kill me?

"Of course."

And with the brothers who killed my sister?

"I'd be honored."

It has never been more difficult wearing a smile. I understand that this is procedure, but who the fuck decided that? As much as I-- enjoy Ambrosia, I'd really rather not have to see her. It was a piece of her brilliant mind that went into the Arena design, the mutts, the fights. Every nightmare I have, she's part of the reason it exists. Hazel, Kyle, and Ambrosia are beyond demons in my book. And never having to look at them again? I wouldn't mind one bit.

And the Azraels?

I'm no fool. I never liked Scout, but I know damn well she was more talented than the 3 they gave her. Killing was her thing—what sort of Gamemakers don't appreciate that? Then again, to get a victor like Atticus, I guess you must have strange tastes.

They've likely watched all my footage. Odds are they know I'm nothing like my sister by now, at least not in the way of blood lust—though I suppose my kill count doesn't reflect my distaste for murder.

Whatever. As if I actually care what these assholes think of me. They're the reason my parents made training so much more rigorous. They're the reason that Scout is dead and that my life went from parties every night to training until I passed out from overexertion. They think they created Scout's own personal hell? As if. Scout rules in hell. And though I wake up screaming every night because of what the minds of Kyle, Hazel, and Ambrosia stitched together, I've never enjoyed my life because of what Venus and Vepar dreamed up.

My only solace is knowing that Petelia will be there. I can ask her about that pink lion she promised me.

I wish I could bring a plus one. I'd ask Opal in a heartbeat, though I'm sure she isn't one for fancy dinners with Gamemakers either. Probably more up Leon's alley, though I'm definitely not his favorite since--

"You ready, Mr. Fray?"

I stare at myself in the mirror, my eyes seeing something a thousand miles away. I blink away the memory before anyone can see. I straighten my pink polka-dotted bow tie and flip a few stray pieces of hair back into place before twirling with a bow and a smile toward my stylist.

"What do you think?"

With a smile and a skillful hand to straighten out my collar I get a nod of agreement.

Let's get this shit show over with.

No one ever really tells you just how disorienting the flash of camera bulbs are. The instant I step out of the car I’m bombarded by journalists and photographers, all of them pointing microphones or pieces of paper in my direction. It takes me a moment to regain my composure as another flash blinds me.

Someone screams my name.

I smile.

The whole experience lasted maybe ten minutes and all I remember of it was getting to sign a really nice pair of breasts. If this is what it's like all the time then by all means bring on the insufferable dinners.

When I step through the door I feel chipper, drunk on the lavish liquid life that the Capitol has to offer. I count three heads, two of which look exactly the same. You know, except one of them has their face in the tablecloth and the other is sitting with his back as straight as an arrow. I always heard they were polar opposites, but I figured that's just what everyone said about twins. Kaiser and Scout sure weren't much different...

Petelia giggles and I already feel so much more comfortable knowing she's here. I don't hesitate in greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Looking just as lovely as the last time we spoke," I say with a grin, catching a glimpse of my own reflection in the shiny center piece on the table. I lean in closer with a chuckle, wiping away the bright red, sparkly lipstick stain from my cheek.

"You guys really should wear nametags or something, damn!" I say, looking between the two of them with an uncomfortable mixture of sarcasm, amusement, and disgust. I'm not sure how it reads on my face, but I pray to Ripred it comes off as 'smug bastard.'

I take a seat, gesturing to whichever fucking twin it was that smelled like he'd actually bathed in liquor—Veeeee-par? Yeah, that's right.

"I'll have what he's having," I say with a smile and a shake of my head. I mutter the rest of my words under my breath. "Preferably before Ambrosia gets here..."

[   v i c t o r y   ]