all my armor comes from you :: [ denali + oliver ]

[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali6Container"]

[attr="class","Denali6Title"]

[attr="class","Denali6Content"]

^{WE HAVE TO THANK THEM, PLEASE}
_{strength means blessed with an enemy}

"Have you seen one of those trays of tiny shrimp-puff-food-of-the-gods-things walk by recently? At least that’s what I think they were... puffs... besides, you know, being — oh my Ripred — so delicious. Like wow," Denali enthuses at the bartender refilling her drink. The glass is filled with something else she can’t fully identify, but definitely approves of: bubbly and pale lavender in color with a sprig of mint added for no discernible purpose other than her joy at how delightful it looks, some pulverized fruit of one kind or another swirled in, and a precious little rosebud dotted with gold leaf floating on top. When the drink is held out to her, she claps in excitement for a moment before taking it. So pretty! "This is art." She’s not yet tipsy enough as to cause concern to anyone keeping an eye on her, but her guard is definitely lower than when she first arrived, a fact not overlooked by a certain Capitolite gossip queen who has seemed quite content to spend the evening prying for details about Denali and Lex’s friendship. It’s kind of nice for someone to be so interested, but it’s also a little confusing. It’s not as if there’s some big secret hiding there or whatever.

"I bet Ex knows where the shrimp puffs disappeared to," Denali mutters to herself, pulling herself up on tiptoes in an attempt to peer over the crowd in search of the petite blonde. "She seems like she knows basically everything." For the first time tonight she’s nowhere to be seen and Denali is left sipping her drink unaccompanied. "Maybe she got bored of me..." Whatever answers Ex was looking for to her questions, Denali didn’t seem to be getting them correct. It’s like Ex was saying one thing and Denali was hearing another, both of them repeating their comments as if saying things twice would bring clarity. Kinda weird, honestly. Still, she and Stella have been super nice all night and they’re both so ridiculously cool and good-looking and interesting that Denali doesn’t really care why they deigned to talk to her, she just wants to be instant-friends because suddenly her new dream in life is to be just like them. If only she knew how.

"Oh! Hey, hey, hey! I want what you have there, pretty please!" Denali practically hurls herself at the server carrying a tray of the puffs she’s been searching for like a madwoman. Her hand shoots out too quickly to put much thought into things like other people who might also be reaching for this thing, hands colliding awkwardly in a moment of single-minded gluttony. It’s only the sudden surprise of near-handholding that causes her to pay attention to her surroundings once more. When she looks up, as if blinking away a temporary fog, Oliver Wren looks back at her. "Uhhhh," she drawls in a moment of pure eloquence, "you, um, right. Yeah. Here. Of course. I’m... here... too. Cool. I, uh, yup, totally know stuff. That stuff. Exactly. Wow. So, that’s, like —" It’s a failed sentence that she didn’t know how to start, much less finish, and so Denali impulsively stuffs half a dozen shrimp puffs into her mouth as quickly as is humanly possible in order to cut her own stammering nonsense off. It’s definitely not the smoothest move of her life and she very nearly chokes on a deadly combination of hors d'oeuvre, panic, and embarrassment.

It requires a lot of unflattering coughing to save herself, as well as some insistent handwaving and a few pained smiles that beg please don't try to help me or I'll die for real, but — don't worry — I've got this. I'm... oh geez, I'm pretty sure I've got this. Fidgeting with the cuff of her embroidered velvet suit jacket, Denali clears her throat and winces at her own accidental dramatics. "Sooo..." She rasps meekly, hoarse and trying to sip her drink as if nothing out of the ordinary just occurred — as if it isn't painfully obvious that this is an encounter she was completely unprepared for. "I haven't seen you since —" Since that time we were trying to murder each other and you told me I deserved it and then somebody's head exploded and I had a really cute mental breakdown while you ran off to get killed by something even more wicked than me. Ah, memories. "— that one time," she chickens out, uninterested in throwing a gauntlet down again like she did back then when rage and frustration unleashed her honesty with reckless abandon. "Hi, I guess." This is punctuated with finger guns, accentuating just how not-casual this attempt at small talk actually sounds, regardless of her attempts to keep her tone of voice lighthearted and playful. "Watch out for... the shrimp puffs. They'll getcha." Again.

armor sara bareilles

[newclass=".Denali6Container"]width:450px; height:450px; background-position:center; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding:20px;[/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali6Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:0px; margin-bottom:0px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali6Content"]width:250px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.9; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; margin-top:-34px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali6Container:hover .Denali6Content"]height:230px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]

[kap]

"Can't undo the scars
All up and down our hearts
Can't forget how it felt when it all fell apart."

The idea of the all of the tributes from the Eightieth Hunger Games gathering together in my home District of Eight wasn't the most pleasurable thing. Sure, I'd get to see Faux, Carmen and Fiona, but I felt awkward enough around other District Eight citizens when I limped around with my crutch, displaying to them that no, I'm not okay, and that the Games aren't something you just forget about. The mental and physical pain I had endured from the Games wouldn't be going away. At least, I didn't imagine they would, and if they did, it wouldn't be any time soon.

On top of that, now, I might have to see some people that didn't like me. That was almost guaranteed, even if there only seemed to be a couple of those from the arena. Like Denali, and, I assumed, Lex. Those were the two people from the Eightieth Games that I would have absolutely no surprise if they hated me. I'd told Denali she'd deserved to feel pain, and, frankly, that made me an asshole. It was a perfect reason to hate me. Admittedly, I did feel a bit of guilt for how I'd treated her, now that I knew what pain felt like myself from fighting that giant muttation that took me out in the arena, shattering my knee and battering my skull to the point where neither of those things would be quite the same again.

Regardless of what or who I was going to encounter at this event that felt like it was invading my home District, I tried to push it out of my mind. Using my crutch to support me, I made my way around to the various foods and beverages that were available to us. No one seemed to mind that I'd had an alcoholic drink at the mere age of fifteen, but perhaps it was because it hadn't been enough to have a real effect on me. Limping my way around and trying my best to be careful not to collide with anyone, I approached a server who had shrimp puffs on a platter, reaching for a few. It was then that my hand met that of someone that I had truly hoped not to encounter here. Denali Lyons. She'd shot quickly toward the food, as if she were frantically trying to get some before it were all gone, despite there being plenty left.

"Uhhhh," Denali is clearly uncertain of how to say things right then. "you, um, right. Yeah. Here. Of course. I’m... here... too. Cool. I, uh, yup, totally know stuff. That stuff. Exactly. Wow. So, that’s, like —"

She fumbles over her words, awkwardness painting each syllable of speech that emerged from her lips. Clearly, she didn't know what to say, caught off guard by seeing my face. I wouldn't say that I wasn't caught off guard, too, but at least I didn't have a speaking malfunction like she did right then.

I accidentally let slip out a slight laugh in response to how she speaks.

"I haven't seen you since —" It seems like there's something she wants to say. "— that one time." It also seems like she doesn't quite know how to say whatever it is.

"Hi, I guess." She says this with the motion of finger guns with her hands, and I can't help but let a stupid grin cross my face. "Watch out for... the shrimp puffs. They'll getcha."

"Yeah," I said to her. "Hey,"

I needed to say it.

I was sorry.

I needed to apologize.

How would I do that, though.

Before she has the chance to walk away, I speak again, quickly.

"Oh, uh, Denali? Can I talk to you about something?" I hope she'll let me, even though I know she hates me.

It was the one chance I had to be able to make things right.

634 words
lyrics: "Get Well II" by Icon For Hire