bloodbuzz district 8 // { lex & denali | post-feast }

[aya]

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[attr="class","Lex1Title"]

stand up straight at the foot of your love, I
lift my shirt up

[attr="class","Lex1Content"]

Even the most uncomfortable gatherings of people under the most uncomfortable circumstances are made mundane with a sufficient amount to drink, and the Capitol hadn't exactly been stingy in that regard. With cameras eagerly awaiting each barbed line or heated condemnation, clearly hoping they'd be so lucky to capture thrown drinks and snatched accessories and vitriol spluttered through angry tears, there wasn't much reason to keep the teens — at least the older ones — who'd recently all murdered each other from drowning their inhibitions in champagne spritzes and fizzy gin drinks and cocktails in colors that shouldn't be potable filled with floral liqueurs that Lex couldn't name. Or in whiskey — at least, the peaty single malt was an option for those willing to put up with Denali's endless stream of dramatic complaints about the uninspired beverage. ("It's so boring! It's brown! And there's nothing in it! Not even an ice cube! After all the effort I went through to keep you fashionable during the Games, I can't believe you'd betray me like this, Lex Lionel!" "Uh-huh. Sure. Can't you, though?" "I'm formally revoking your rhinestone privileges, just so you know.")

It wasn't as if Denali had a monopoly on mischievous antagonism, either. Dinner arrived served with some sort of beet cultivar carved into perfect spheres, which was obviously better suited for ammunition than for sustenance. A catapult was quickly assembled out of silverware to test this hypothesis, and after a few practice shots — errant projectiles sailing well over Denali's head or striking an unsuspecting waiter or landing directly in Annie's drink — Lex finally strikes a perfect bullseye.

The beet hits Denali square on the sternum, a quarter inch right of the particularly gnarly scar leftover from getting stabbed in the chest during the bloodbath, and then disappears down the deep V of her suit jacket.

Lex makes a perfunctory attempt to stifle her cackle of victory over catapulting the vegetable into it's highest attainable calling, but really, trying to provoke a food fight at the hands-down fanciest and most-televised dinner she'd ever attended is about as far out of the realm of subtle as anything she's ever done.

Taking the utterly scandalized expression on Denali's face as a sign of encouragement, she launches several more projectiles in quick succession. Her spoon is summarily confiscated — which stops her for all of ninety seconds, until she can flag down a waiter and, casting a shithead smirk in Denali's direction, ask for another one.

Eventful or otherwise, the televised 80th Hunger Games Reunion Feast draws to a close, and the stragglers are unceremoniously booted from the venue. Underneath the layer of top-shelf whiskey, there's a twinge in Lex's chest tied to the sudden realization that this is certainly going to be the last time they're all together in the same room. She has no doubt the Reaping will see to it that it is, even if there are more compulsory evenings like this one in the future. But then again, it's not like any other sets of Tributes have ever been given the opportunity. And maybe it is some sort of privilege to know that the twenty-four of them won't be together all at once ever again. How many other groups gather for the last time without any idea that they won't all be getting back together again?

She glances around the small crowd shuffling out into the snow and wonders which faces will be the first to go missing. It could be any of them. She hopes it's not her.

Caught up in her head and caught up in the crowd, it doesn't occur to Lex that this doesn't have to be the end of the evening. Slinging an arm around Denali's shoulders and pulling her in for some hybrid of a goodbye headlock and a drunken hug, Lex holds the other girl close for longer than necessary, the way she wishes she would've refused to let go all those months ago on the train. "Merry Ratmas, Freckles. You have a good night, and I'll see you... around or something? Tomorrow?" Sooner is better, obviously, and it's a little funny that Lex is the one making demands about who should be initiating contact with whom, considering her six months of radio silence. "You better come find me before you go — I've got a Ratmas present for you."

bloodbuzz ohio the national
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[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali1Container"]

[attr="class","Denali1Title"]

feeling childish when you draw tattoos on my forearm
Pop bubblegum too loud

[attr="class","Denali1Content"]

"Can you keep a secret? Honestly," the last thing Denali can recall whispering at dinner — despite being unable to remember who it was whispered to — should have caused her to realize a lot of things about not only her night, but her entire life, "I'm not sure if my stylist forgot my shirt or if I did. I was too embarrassed to ask..." This confession came easily after a few bubbly pastel cocktails. Glancing down at her own bare chest, the wicked scar over her heart on full display thanks to the scandalous cut of a suit jacket that merely hints at modesty, she was giggling nonsensically when the first of Lex's attacks hit her. "Hey!" A splatter of red struck her exposed chest in an eerie reenactment of the original stab wound, vegetable shrapnel oozing down to her bellybutton. (So humiliating to clean up. Should she just ignore it? Go to the bathroom to get half-naked and try to wipe it off before someone barges in to pee? Maybe she could subtly shove a napkin down the front of her jacket without being too awkward abou—) The shocked reaction only goads Lex into a series of follow-up attacks, Denali unable to figure out what to do besides sit in frozen stillness, gaping in horror as it happens. And happens. And happens.

The line for the bathroom is long and the napkins are too silky to be good at anything besides looking pretty, so Denali orders two more drinks after her initial request is denied because: "Miss... how do you intend to carry fifteen drinks?" After being handed only one drink, she made a proud show of how hey! I totally have two hands again! I can use them now and everything! Don't insult my weird hands. Only I get to do that. Walking away with a fizzy elderflower cocktail in each hand, it wasn't long before she forgot about the gruesome red splotches staining her skin — as if they were no different than any of the other scars decorating her body. There's a hazy memory of planting a reckless kiss on Parson's cheek and exclaiming something like, "I don't hate youuu, you're just gross! That's not your fault. All boys are gross. Like, you're a little grosser than most, but... wait. Ew. Why did I do that —" Before catching Annie staring at the scene with the surprise it deserves and dropping everything to childishly hiss at her, holding her fingers out in a defensive sign of the cross. The power of Ripred compels you!

When Lex sneaks up on Denali and catches her in a headlock, it's for the best. "Merry Ratmas, Freckles." Oh! It's Lex! Hi, Lex! Merrrrrry Ratmas!!! The Lyons girl's smile is messy, but comes easily, forgetting that she was in full antagonistic shitkicker mode just a moment earlier. "You have a good night," there's a small giggle that roughly translates to: I am, why thank you for asking. My bestest friend Parson and I were just catching up an— "and I'll see you... around or something? Tomorrow? You better come find me before you go — I've got a Ratmas present for you." Denali nearly chokes on her strangled objection to the idea of leaving, her fingers prying at Lex's arm until she finally manages to wiggle free and catch the blonde in a headlock of her own.

"Noooooooo," Denali drawls in a tone that implies that Lex is being such a silly-billy, "you can't go home. You haven't been to the party yet! It's Ratmas Eve, Lex-y." There's an immediate deep scowl of protest, like for a moment Lex is rethinking their entire friendship. ("Lex," she corrects, grumbling under her breath about how the last person to call her Lexi lost teeth over it.) Denali doesn't notice, her concerns focused on other priorities. "We have to go to the party! Come on," she points one full arm dramatically into the distance, nothing ahead of them except the night, and takes a step forward, dragging Lex along before she has an opportunity to protest. "I know I'm a loser, but I'm your loser, so you can't start running away from me now."

Dragging Lex a few more steps towards the door, they're stopped by a coatcheck boy reminding them that gee, it sure is cold out and wouldn't it be a terrible thing to forget their coats? The pause in their journey provides just enough time for Denali to catch sight of a bottle of champagne left unattended on a nearby table. Despite her best efforts to be stealthy when stealing it, Fiona makes eye contact with her and Denali can't resist the impulse to shout a little too aggressively in response. "You!" Her voice is intensely factual, because this is not drunken nonsense, it's the undeniable truth and, by Ripred, she had better recognize that or else. "Your hair looks incredible, your skin is glowing, and you should donate your shoes to the nearest museum because they are art. Just! So! You! Know!" With a twirl, Denali marches off as if her mission at this event has been achieved, snatching her jacket out of the coatcheck boy's outstretched hand in the same smooth motion she links arms with Lex and guides them out the door.

"Where... did you get sunglasses from?" Lex asks, doing a double take at Denali's face as she pulls on an embroidered leather tribute to her battle jacket from the Games, clearly pretending she's living a real life slow motion movie scene. The Lyons girl merely shrugs in response, cheersing Lex with the pilfered bottle of champagne before taking a sip and pulling the aforementioned sunglasses down to smirk. For a fleeting second it could be easy to mistake her for someone legitimately cool, but then she ruins her own moment by bursting into snorting giggles and wheezing: "I—" Snort-giggle-snort-snort-giggle. "I don't know! Woah. Ohmygosh. Where did I get sunglasses from?" Taking advantage of her distracted confusion, Lex surreptitiously takes the champagne from her because — obviously — Denali doesn't need this thing.

It's a mistake to give Denali two free hands and nothing to occupy her intoxication with, but Lex doesn't realize this until a snowball thwacks her in the face, leaving a red splotch of revenge in the center of her forehead. "That's for catapulting vegetables at my boobs all night!" Denali cackles, reaching down the front of her jacket to pull a piece of slightly dried out beet off her stomach and flicking it as a quick follow-up attack before scooping her red-tinged fingers back into the snow for her next piece of ammo. Readying her arm to throw, she stares Lex down from over the top of her sunglasses once more. "Surrender or die!"

school nights chappell roan

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[aya]

[attr="class","Lex2Container"]

[attr="class","Lex2Title"]

lay my head on the hood of your car, I
take it too far

[attr="class","Lex2Content"]

Wham! It takes Lex a full second to process the clump of snow as it bursts against her forehead. She blinks, brushing the last rogue frozen bits out of her hair. A wild, triumphant cackle claims the strike: "That's for catapulting vegetables at my boobs all night!" and Lex finds it impossible not to laugh along as she brings up a hand to deflect the wayward beet being returned to its sender. She sets the confiscated champagne down in the snow, lest it become a casualty in this very serious rematch.

"Surrender or die!" Denali demands, a second snowball cocked and aimed directly at her head. Even sauced to the stars, there's no missing at point-blank range like this. And yet the first rebuttal Lex can muster is a defiant "Never to you!", kicking a pile of snow in Denali's direction as the second projectile breaks against her cheek. "And what happened to ten paces?" she demands, scrambling to form some ammunition of her own. "Or fairly matched, alternating attacks?" Lopsided grin — equal measures goading and genuine — frozen on her face and an accusational finger pointed at Denali, she denounces the unseemly tactics. "You're breaking the rules, Lyons — that's not exactly honorable, even if —" Lex lobs her snowball in the other girl's direction; it hits her square in the chest, just left of center, on the beet-stained amateur stab-wound scar "— you're delusional to think you could kill me again."

She contemplates for a moment, failing to consider how all terrible ideas are born of some combination of ego and whiskey, then scoops up another fistful of snow. "Denali Lyons," shithead smile still half-cocked across her face, she packs the snow into a perfect, compact sphere, "I challenge you to a duel." The words are so deeply ingrained into her memory that Lex could recite them in her sleep, could lay out the terms for any similar affair of honor drunk to oblivion, will surely carry them with her to her grave a second time. "I propose this... inconspicuous side-street as the field of honor, and —" with a reprimanding click of her tongue, she lays out reminders: "— in case you've forgotten again, combat begins at ten paces with fairly matched, alternating attacks. And —" Lex tosses her snowball from one hand to the other, examining its density and aerodynamics "— I will be starting this time, thank you very much."

bloodbuzz ohio the national
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[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali2Container"]

[attr="class","Denali2Title"]

We got them preachin' that we're hell-bound
But I don't think we are unless you do

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"Not that infernal game again!" Denali slurs in response to Lex’s proposition, clapping and cackling like this is a super funny thing for them to joke about and not a reference to the worst time of their lives. "Wait, wait," she turns her face to the stars as if searching the sky for confirmation, "don’t tell me. I know this part!" (Why do you have to break my heart like that, Freckles? Lex’s voice echoes from her head to the pang in her heart, no moment too serious for a joke. Eloping was totally going to be my next plan —) Passing a snowball back and forth between her hands, the Lyons girl turns in a slow motion circle while gathering her memories before pointing dramatically at Lex as she comes to a stop. "No breaking my heart or else, because there will be eloping," she giggles, nose scrunching from the effort of trying and failing to maintain a serious expression as Lex shoots her finger guns and a cheesy grin. You got it, Freckles. It’s a lot to recall, considering the number of fizzy gin cocktails she’s had over the past few hours. There were so many rules... things that were pro-... prohib-... "No prohibition. There will be dumb throwing and it will be purposeful. And also! You are a dunce. That means that if you miss your first throw then you are dishonored forever. Okay? Good."

Looking proudly at Lex for validation that wow she sure is doing an amazing job remembering all the things, it's difficult to see her look of approval with the incredulous facepalming in the way. Shaking her head while quietly cracking up, Lex seems to be struggling to decide if she should be taking Denali seriously or not... which is ridiculous. Everything is dead serious right now, obviously. "If you say so, Freckles," she snickers, trying to hold her amusement in so as not to interrupt whatever this is that's happening. Giving Denali a wave of encouragement to continue embarrassing herself, it's — apparently — all the prompting she needs.

"No take backsies!" The intoxicated redhead immediately declares with her most authoritative voice, as if she were suddenly a captain barking orders to her ignorant subordinates. "No talking about grapes! No guilt! No apologies!" One by one she ticks memories of jumbled words off on her fingers, not pausing to breathe or allow for corrections. Ha! Corrections? As if she would mis-remember anything as important as this. "No laughing! No chew toys! No telling me that you will be the last thing I ever hear! No dress code!" Sucking in a melodramatic breath, her lungs burn from the sudden inhalation of freezing air. "Oh, and P.S. —" Leveling her gaze at Lex with the most stern, no-nonsense stare she can muster, Denali lays out her threat as fearsomely as she can, "No. Actual. Dying." Snorting with laughter once more, all of her attempts at being serious and very official dissolve into a shameless taunt because — oh right! — this is still a super funny thing for them to be joking about. "That means you, Lex."

school nights chappell roan

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[aya]

[attr="class","Lex3Container"]

[attr="class","Lex3Title"]

you've been sleeping for miles
so what did you see?

[attr="class","Lex3Content"]

By the time the outrageous terms are laid out, Lex is practically dizzy from all of the head-shaking and eye-rolling. Denali's getting everything wrong, but it's impossible to tell what's mixed up on purpose versus what's backwards because this time the duel isn't and the universe needs its balance. It's well within the realm of possibility that Lex is being messed with, of course, but the least complicated explanation is also the most likely: it's just because the redhead is d r u n k.

"No. Actual. Dying." The pointed demand should probably sound more like a threat than a jibe from the girl who murdered her, but it's hard to take seriously when the words are practically incomprehensible between the unrestrained snorting of Denali cracking herself up over her own dumb jokes as usual. Lex can't help grinning back, even as the callout becomes personal. "That means you, Lex."

"You don't have to tell me!" she protests, doing a terrible impression of her own indignation. Nothing in the world could possibly be irritating enough to cut through the giddy, drunken fun of gallivanting around the snowy markets on Ratmas Eve with Denali. Back home, in the middle of the night, Lex sometimes catches herself wondering if everything she thought she remembered about the girl who made her stint in hell bearable — and even sort of fun — had all been a lie her brain told her in desperation. If she'd needed to fabricate some softer, easier alternate reality than the ordeal she'd been put through last summer.

"Promised I wasn't gonna, not for another six months. Remember?" But even with a dozen districts all gathered here, with the entire denizenship of Panem in close proximity, with no credible threats to her life around for months and for miles, she wouldn't trade her present company for anyone. Stupid smile plastered on her face in proof that she had everything right the first time, she points another finger at Denali Lyons, as eager to rehash old grievances as she is to rehash old fights of other kinds.

"Then you called me a liar." She grabs the confiscated champagne bottle out of the snow and takes a big swig. Following whiskey after whiskey, the sparkling wine is tart and too-sweet on her palate. The first sip, she regrets (but not nearly as much as she will in the morning.) The second is tolerable; the third borders on enjoyable. Probably better for everyone if Denali doesn't get her hands on it again, anyway. "Which is absurd." Thumb over the wine bottle's aperture to keep the champagne contained, she winds up and looses the snowball she's smoothed to perfection. "I've been wrong before — only once or twice, mind you — but I don't lie." She hurls her snowball at Denali's head, and a second gauntlet at her feet: "Want me to prove it? Ask me anything."

snowball dice:
1 - hit
2 - hit
3 - miss

[pelts denali with a snowball]
FOt7AB54v61-3
[2 - hit]


empire line the national
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[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali3Container"]

[attr="class","Denali3Title"]

I wanna be a kid with you
talk slow on a school night

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"You don't have to tell me!" Denali giggles through the beginning of Lex's protests, the alcohol in her system numbing the stubborn twinges of pain in her once-wounded leg as she hops around happily in the snow, white puffs bursting into the air around her oxfords with each jump. "Promised I wasn't gonna," — die — "not for another six months." Heel, toe, and heart, she lands on the ground. Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, the redhead hastily pushes her stolen sunglasses up to hide the evidence that these jokes might not be so funny as she first thought. "Remember?"

She remembers.

Still, Lex is grinning like remembering isn't actually the point, even as she dredges up one ache to follow another. "Then you called me a liar." Champagne in hand, the girl from Seven takes the kind of gulp that makes no secret of the need to numb her own wounds. For all the knives Denali threw, this is for something else. A second swig follows, to soothe her indignation. Maybe the third is to fuel her courage, so the words won't get stuck in her throat, clearly a little dry from the huffing and puffing. "Which is absurd." One corner of Denali's lips hitches itself back up because this — this? — of all things is the thing that Lex is angry at her about? Balling her hand into a fist and pressing her knuckles to her mouth as if threatening it to stay in check, it's all she can do not to burst out laughing. A few hushed squeaks sneak out anyhow, but Lex doesn't seem to notice it over the sound of her own outrage. "I've been wrong before — only once or twice, mind you — but I don't lie." Doing her best to nod appeasingly, the sunglasses tumble off the Lyons girl's face and into the snow, the truth of her expression ending up on full display despite her best efforts. Lex aims a snowball at Denali's ill timed amusement, smacking her right between the eyes. "Want me to prove it? Ask me anything."

Even Denali isn't too drunk or stupid to realize that the correct answer is obviously to scream I believe you! I believe you! I've always believed you! at the top of her lungs while ducking for cover... and yet. "You've never lied?" Awkwardly spitting out a mouthful of snow, there's a bright red spot in the middle of her forehead from the attack, but the the target of vulnerability Lex has presented her with is too tempting to resist teasing her over. "Liiiiiike... never ever? Never ever ever? Not one time in your whoooooole life?" Wiping the back of her hand over the spot where the snowball hit, she sighs and clicks her tongue in disbelief. "And you're definitely not lying to me right now about having never lied in your entire life? Mhm. Yeah. Mkay. I see, I see." Gathering up another handful of snow, her fingers press it into an awkward lump with far too many angles and corners for something that's supposed to be a ball. "Soooooo —"

Taking in a deep, dramatic breath, she knows she shouldn't say it, but she just... can't... resist.

"You definitely never broke one of your mom's good china plates while trying to find out if it would make a good frisbee and then tried to blame it on the dogs? You definitely also never put food coloring in your little sister's juice box so her teeth would be ugly for the afternoon because you were jealous that she looked prettier in a dress she borrowed from you than you ever did? And you definitely didn't pretend right to her face that you had no idea why her juice turned her mouth black and your juice was just fine? Yup. You never ever dropped your ice cream into the grand piano because you couldn't resist peeking in to see how stuff worked in there and then had to play stupid when the twins' spent the next week blaming each other for messing up the songs they were trying to practice when it was absolutely your fault things were sticking. You wouldn't tell your dad that the bruise on your arm was from falling during kickball because you were too embarrassed to admit that you got shoved inside your school locker. You would never keep telling your brother that Ripred personally delivers all the Ratmas presents for years and years after you saw your parents putting them under the tree that one time. You would also never do the same thing for the tooth fairy, the easter bunny, and like... general fairies and leprechauns and everything like that. Uh-huh." Her goading smile has been growing with every word as she stares Lex down defiantly. "You wouldn't have ever lied a lie like any of those lies. Nope. Only a Lie-ons could be that absurd," she winds her arm back for the throw, "never a Lie-onel."

There's a pause and a snort as her nose scrunches up with laughter, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. "Get it?" She giggles so hard she hiccups, nearly dropping her snowball. "Lie-onel. Lie!" Waving a hand in front of her, she desperately tries to clarify that she doesn't mean any offense, but is too proud of her terrible joke to convey any actual sense of remorse for her shameless baiting. "Not that I'm calling you a liar!" Another hiccup. "That would be absurd! Lex Lie-onel would never — not in her whole life." She crosses her heart like making a promise on Lex's behalf. (Hope to die.) Then she throws.

school nights chappell roan

snowball dice:
1 - hit
2 - hit
3 - miss

[ hurls a snowball at lex ]

tSASH4kfV_1-3

[ laughs too hard at her own stupid joke and throws it in entirely the wrong direction like a dumbass ]

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[aya]

[attr="class","Lex4Container"]

[attr="class","Lex4Title"]

here the sky's been falling white flowers
and there's ice in all the trees

[attr="class","Lex4Content"]

"That's not what —" Lex tries to protest, but Denali's one-track rambling makes it impossible to interject with corrections or snarky comments. She didn't say that she's never lied in her life, because that would be a lie and she doesn't, but that doesn't mean she hasn't. It's not even some moral code, not really. Maybe it's an extension of the way she makes good on her promises: even with every other freedom of choice taken from her, when the value of her life is only as much as the entertaining television provided by her death, her words are still worth something. They mean something, even when cowards behind screens have already decided that she does not.

But even before random chance decided to fuck with her sense of control, Lex wouldn't choose to be dishonest. No point, not when she doesn't care about most people enough to bother lying to them. And all the others she respects too much not to trust them with the truth.

"You definitely never broke one of your mom's good china plates while trying to find out if it would make a good frisbee and then tried to blame it on the dogs?"

"My —" she tries to cut in again, to no avail — mom is dead, asshole. And definitely did not own good china. She chuckles, trying to imagine what train of thought would deem dogs a plausible explanation for broken plates in the yard. Not thinking at all, maybe. Kid logic. Though, knowing Denali, that could've just as easily happened when she was six as when she was sixteen.

Denali runs through a list that doesn't even pretend to interrogate Lex over lies the blonde would never have told — about pranks and accidents, bullies and fairies. How Lex wouldn't lie out of regard for anyone's feelings, just the same as she wouldn't lie to cover the evidence of her own misdeeds. She shrugs. Not like Arthur would ever buy it if she tried to pass accidents and failures of foresight off onto someone else — with two people sharing a wood shop, it's painfully obvious who exactly chipped the bandsaw teeth running their ironwood through too fast. And anything else worth lying about was better left unsaid, or — ("Shame it's getting buried." "No it isn't.") — relegated to discussion by proxy.

Tapping her foot on a satisfyingly compact patch of snow, Lex waits for Denali to finish cracking herself up with genuinely terrible puns enough to lob a snowball, well, sort of in her direction. Between giddiness and gin, the projectile sails wiiiiiide and it's a good thing the redhead didn't successfully prohibit deloping this time because Ripred, that throw was dumb.

"Sounds like you've got too much family to lie to." She doesn't mean it like that — it's just that maybe with more people around, Lex wonders if she might be a more practiced liar, too — but despite the way her reflexive cringe tries to squeeze her whole face shut, the words are already out of her mouth. It's a hell of a thing to say to someone whose brother was speared through the face on national television. Who put her own life on the line to keep her sister from meeting the same end. Who, like Lex, would lie beneath hand-hewn fieldstone and a white oak sapling instead of to her loved ones, if not for the random circumstance of time that saw fit to have their graves undug and their caskets unburied.

Screwing up her face because it's easier that putting her foot in her mouth, she makes good on her promise:

"It was the table saw," she says at last, "not a piano. We got a new dado stack and I was trying to show it off to Commander Bacon, but I dropped her into the base and couldn't get her out." After a panicked moment of catching her sleeve on one of the chipper blades had her believing she'd be shackled to the scene of the crime and maybe sliced to bits, she'd given up on her rescue efforts. With a heavy heart, she'd left the stuffed pig at the bottom of the hungry machine. "Didn't want to tell Arthur cause I wasn't supposed to be messing with anything bigger than the scroll saw unsupervised when I was six. So I put the throat plate back on and pretended like nothing happened. He asked me about where she was — must've seen her when he was adjusting the blade height, in hindsight — but I lied that I didn't know, so he fired up the saw and —" she kicks a pile of snow in demonstration, a burst of powder filling the air like cotton stuffing thrown at a hundred miles per hour "— the execution was brutal."

That's the last time she can remember lying, at least on purpose. It had come with another workshop safety lecture — boobytrapped power tools are all but guaranteed to maim their operator, and if dishonesty carried the risk of being banned from using the saws, it wasn't worth the trouble.

She shrugs, then stoops for another scoop of snow. Distraction comes even easier this time around with nothing on the line but the death of an ego. Beaning the second snowball at the redhead already feels perfunctory, the way that Lex would rather just swap stories and jibes. It's nice hearing about — "Hey! Wait a minute!" Rewinding her way through Denali's monologue, she settles on something else worth protesting: "What, you were just gonna lie to me while telling me about lies you told?" There's a beat of laughter that wants to be incredulous, but in reality is just dumb and drunk and gay. "Prettier? Sure, Freckles. I'll believe it when I see it."

snowball dice:
1 - hit
2 - hit
3 - miss

[pelts denali with a snowball]
FjlgjXAbdr1-3
[successful beaning, no dumb throwing here]


empire line the national
table template lalia

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[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali4Container"]

[attr="class","Denali4Title"]

You wanna win me over now?
Impress me like a school fight

[attr="class","Denali4Content"]

"Sounds like you've got too much family to lie to," Lex chides and all Denali can do is hit her with a look of bemused incredulity in the wake of her dramatic miss. Really? Her face says despite her mouth's temporary inability to articulate the actual word. Y'think we should make a few more cuts from the team? All of the reasons that was a dumb thing for Lex to say are as obvious as all of the reasons it was dumb for Denali to say... everything she just said to Lex. That the two of them can refrain from getting legitimately angry about it says at least as much as whatever voices in their heads told them these types of comments wouldn't start a fight to begin with.

Remembering how little family Lex has and wondering if she should apologize for being thoughtless for the millionth time, Denali sighs guiltily as Lex pulls a regretful face of her own and doubles back on the intent of the conversation before it swerves itself into a ditch of angst and sorrow. "It was a table saw," she confesses, "not a piano." Instantly, Denali's expression transforms into a smug ha! I knew it! as the girl from Seven continues on about — stacks of dodo birds? — and —

Commander Bacon.

It's easily the cutest name for a stuffed animal that Denali has ever heard and she immediately squeals over the mental image of Lex-I'm-So-Serious-You're-The-Ridiculous-One-Lionel excitedly giving tours of the woodshop to her favorite fluffy pink piggy. Biting her lip to physically prevent herself from exclaiming something about how precious it all is and risking Lex clamming up and refusing to finish the story, Denali wraps her arms around herself and does her best to resist the impulse to flail openly. It gets easier to contain herself as the story progresses from accidentally divulging what an endearing rugrat she used to be into a harrowing tale of danger and heartbreak. "He asked me about where she was — must've seen her when he was adjusting the blade height, in hindsight — but I lied that I didn't know, so he fired up the saw and —" By the time it hits her that the ending of this story isn't going to be anywhere as cute as the beginning, it takes all of Denali's effort to be subtle about her sniffling. Lex kicks the snow, filling the air with white fluff and the emotionally compromised redhead swallows back a whimper. "— the execution was brutal."

Lex shrugs and begins smoothing another snowball between her hands. Denali spreads her arms wide to embrace the hit, like a penance for goading her into talking about old — adorable — wounds. The frigid chill of it thwacking her in the chest causes her to scream-giggle her way back into a feel good mood. "Hey! Wait a minute!" Lex cries out and Denali abruptly looks up from trying to shake the snow out from the inside of her suit jacket, caught off guard enough by the tone to look guilty before the grievance has even been aired. "What, you were just gonna lie to me while telling me about lies you told?" That... is... uhhhhh... Puffing her cheeks out in confusion, Denali tries to think back and figure out what stupid thing she's gone and said THIS time. Ummmm... definitely... mayyyybe? It's a relief when Lex bursts with laughter and Denali can oh-so-smoothly join in as if she totally knows what they're talking about right now. "Prettier?" Lex guffaws, "Sure, Freckles. I'll believe it when I see it."

Dropping her head back to sigh in exasperation at the sky, as if oh, yeah, right, now she knows what this conversation is on about, Denali shrugs awkwardly. "Ugh, don't worry," she mumbles in a drone of slurred half-sarcasm, "Seville is gonna be there tonight and you can see for yourself exactly how pretty she is." Rolling her eyes, she gives her head a small shake and crouches down to gather more snow. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've been the middleman for people passing her love letters — like I get it, she's got super pretty blue eyes and hair like... like... mine, but way better, and her mouth is all stupidly perfect and stuff." Except for that one time it looked all black and rotted and gross. Ha. "She puts the letters she gets up on a wall in her room like achievement awards," because she doesn't know what else to do with them, "and Ginny and Lulu score them all — five! seven! two! — now that they've given up on trying to convince her to actually respond to any of them." She levels her gaze knowingly at Lex. "Sevy is gorgeous, but — trust me — she's twice as weird as I am and," the snowball soars through the air with a jubilant shriek, "half as fun!"

school nights chappell roan

snowball dice:
1 - hit
2 - hit
3 - miss

[ hurls a snowball at lex ]

8RiEQK5foR1-3

[ lol ]

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[aya]

[attr="class","Lex5Container"]

[attr="class","Lex5Title"]

i've been tapping the table
i've been hoping to drink

[attr="class","Lex5Content"]

Denali's clear exasperation — like she thought maybe she'd be free of these shameless lines when she'd murdered the one trying them on her, or like maybe the reality of Lex making good on her promise to haunt her is more trying than she'd imagined back in the vineyard — only kicks off a second round of snickering that's rebuffed with an awkward shrug. To be fair, this can hardly count as teasing when Lex means it just as much as she's meant every other thing she's ever said to Denali since she threatened to rip her heart right out of her chest a lifetime ago.

Groaning and grumbling, Denali chooses to ignore the obvious come-on in favor of responding to the remark at face-value. "Seville is gonna be there tonight and you can see for yourself exactly how pretty she is." The annoyed eye roll is twice as funny with the context that this is the sister that she stepped up to die for — not that there should be any reason why petty childhood pranks should preclude that sort of non-negotiable love. And not that Lex is the expert, but it still sounds like normal sibling stuff, and that can only be a good thing considering what one sister went through on behalf of the other. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've been the middleman for people passing her love letters —" Oh, right.

Caught up in this nonsense, it had been so easy to forget that they were actually heading somewhere. With the right company, aimless wandering is as comfortable as anything else, and it's not like the two of them had ever put much thought into where they wound up before. You could die next to a tide pool or a tar pool just as easily as you could die in a vineyard, and for as much as there is to be said for the scenery, it isn't the part about bleeding out that you'd still be thinking about six months down the road. Maybe at this point, it's worth having a scale for locales to die in, too, the way people rank breakfast meats and promises and — love letters, apparently.

Denali winds up, still on a tangent that ends with "but — trust me — she's twice as weird as I am and —" and Lex laughs, because as much as she does trust the girl who's pelting her with snow, that's basically impossible to believe "— half as fun!"

The snowball clips her leg, just left of the wound that proved itself fatal this past summer, either in an uncanny accident of aim or in an impish threat. "Uh-huh," she agrees, despite having never met the younger Lyons. From the get-go, it's always been fun with Denali — more of a genuine good time than the Hunger Games has any right to be — and it's impossible to imagine anyone else being quite as receptive to all of Lex's bullshit. She can't think of many other people willing to laugh off a severed hand dropped in their lap with nothing more than the — extremely fair — observation that "You're fucked up!" Or anyone else who'd find these hijinks more hilarious than horrifying.

With other destinations in mind and secure in the knowledge that, two hits to one, she's ahead and would absolutely destroy Denali at this no matter how long they went, Lex calls for a ceasefire. "Hold up." She strays from her line, marching toward the girl on the other side of the alley, ignoring the repeated requests of "Surrender? Surrender?"

"We've got other places to be, remember?" She catches Denali by the wrist before the drunk redhead can lob another snowball in protest at this obvious cheating and totally unfair end of the duel. Ignoring the snowy munition as it's petulantly smashed into her forehead, Lex finds the magic words: "C'mon Freckles, don't you want your Ratmas presents?"

empire line the national
table template lalia

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[L△LIA]

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[attr="class","Denali5Title"]

And I triple-dog dare you
To pinky promise that you'll never lie

[attr="class","Denali5Content"]

"Hold up," Lex says without explanation, suddenly closing the designated dueling paces between them.

"Oh ho ho!" Denali bellows an exaggerated laugh of victory, eyebrows raised and eyes ablaze as she points at the blonde with one hand while 'threateningly' waving a fresh snowball around with the other. "You surrender?!" Lex doesn't respond and just continues walking toward her, even as Denali begins hopping on her toes like an anxious boxer prepping to make their next hit. "Surrender!" She screeches, voice laced with equal parts chaotic amusement and certainty that this is not — "Surrender?"

Catching Denali by the wrist, Lex doesn't flinch as the redhead laugh-screams and flails like she's the most ticklish person alive and this small touch is too much to handle. "We've got other places to be, remember?" Unable to hear anything over her own shrieking, Denali attempts to whirl herself free, wrestling against the other girl's grasp until she finally twists around enough to smash her snowball directly against Lex's face. Holding the snow in place, fingers splayed into snarled blonde locks and thumb pressed to her temple, it softens and begins turning to slush between their skin as yet another round of drunken giggles soar from Denali's throat. She's about to lean in with a flourish of petty goading to ask one more time if Lex surrenders now when Lex offers her something new to fixate on. "C'mon Freckles, don't you want your Ratmas presents?"

Gasping like a child, Denali's entire face lights up, all giddy excitement and a smile far larger than her mouth should logically be capable of. "Ratmas presents?" She asks breathlessly, having completely forgotten where they came from and where they're going, living moment to moment in a sweetly floral gin haze. Ruffling the snow loose that she'd petulantly smashed into Lex's hair, she pulls her hand back for just long enough to clap happily before reaching out once more and tugging at Lex's sleeve. "What'd you get me?" Attempting to guess before an answer can be given, she only pauses long enough between potential gifts to scrutinize Lex's reactions for hints — flinching, a twitch of the mouth, suspiciously fast blinking, suspiciously slow blinking. "A pony? A unicorn? A treehouse? A new set of battle drums? Ten thousand million sequins?!" There's a sudden pause, her eye's narrowing as a blurry memory about a sled flashes through her mind. "...it's not something I have to build myself, right?"

Gasping melodramatically as Lex's lips move to say something in response to the onslaught of questions, Denali presses her hand over the other girl's mouth in a complete panic. "No! You can't actually tell me!" When her palm is licked — the blonde's impetuous sniggering muffled, but obvious — Denali still refuses to drop her hand until she finishes laying down the law, doing her best to maintain a solemn expression. "Don't you dare ruin my surprise, Lex Lionel." It's a shockingly no-nonsense voice considering the conversation, but then again, there are few things the Lyons girl takes as seriously as Ratmas. Ratmas! The word is a glittering confetti cannon in her mind, bursting to cover everything in sparkles as she hooks her arm into Lex's and attempts to skip off together in entirely the wrong direction until Lex patiently redirects them towards the Lionel market booth. "Okay, okay, but... it's not actually a unicorn, right? Like, don't tell me, but also maybe tell me. You could tell me. I mean, don't. But... maybe just a little hint?"

school nights chappell roan

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[aya]

[attr="class","Lex6Container"]

[attr="class","Lex6Title"]

there's a line that goes all the way
from my childhood to you

[attr="class","Lex6Content"]

Straining slightly against their interlocked elbows, as if she still thinks she knows where they're going, Denali fires off guess after guess about what she ought to be expecting for Ratmas. Taking mental notes — tree houses and battle drums aren't beyond feasible, after all — Lex is too preoccupied to react to any of the ridiculous guesses, not until she's asked about the gift's amount of interactivity. "It's not something I have to build myself, right?"

She opens her mouth to snark about exactly how well she thought that would go, but she's immediately cut short as a hand dramatically covers her mouth. "No! You can't actually tell me!" Not even licking Denali's palm is enough to cut through the extremely serious warning, the implicit threat of "Don't you dare ruin my surprise, Lex Lionel." on par with "No telling each other we deserve this."

When Denali drops her hand and doubles back on the demand not to have her present spoiled, Lex refuses to share so much as a hint. "Nuh-uh. Not telling. Don't need to give you any reasons to murder me again."

Gas lamps tied with bows guide the way back to the Lionel's market booth, where all of the presents Lex made for her friends are stashed under the counter. Like tiny galaxies, a light dusting of snowflakes drifts downward from the dark sky, contributing to the feelings of peak festivity. Drunken footing unsure on the icy ground, she clings a little too tightly to the girl on her arm. She leans her head against Denali's, her forehead still tingling from the snow, or maybe from the light touch of having her hair ruffled. When they finally make it to their intermediate destination, it's too tempting to walk past the locked up stall and keep strolling into the night, but Lex summons the willpower to admit that they've made it, and lets Denali go right under the lamp across the street.

With no keys to the booth, she's resigned to picking the lock — which is not a huge problem, actually. None of the accessories her stylist has saddled her with are particularly useful; she gets about halfway through scrutinizing Denali's hair in search of a bobby pin before her eyes land on the particularly stabby-looking earrings driven through her ears. "Need to pick the lock," she hastily explains. "Can I borrow —?" Brain completely wiped of ordinary vocabulary, Lex settles for tapping the sterling bars instead.

Armed, the lock submits to her will without much struggle, and she pushes her way into the small pine chipboard room stacked with all of the small wooden wares she and Arthur have been selling. When she spies the log they've been using as a doorstop, the temptation to mess with the girl who's giddily bouncing on her toes at the prospect of presents is too strong to resist. It's just the sawn-off bottom of one of the firs that have been decked for the festival, removed to allow the dying tree to drink and to dry more slowly, but presented in earnest it seems possible to pass it off as a genuine present. With a sincere smile and an enthusiastic "Merry Ratmas!" Lex hands the log to Denali.

For her part, Denali does a plausible impression of someone who's excited about the obviously terrible gift in her hands. "OOOOoooohhh... a log! Wow! I... hardly know what to say. It's so... thoughtful! It's very... you. So I will... um. Definitely think of you! Every time I —" Lex's smile cracks into her trademark shithead smirk while the other girl falls into clear confusion about what use she might even have for a fir log. "— look at it? Err... in my fireplace? Without burning it of course! I mean, I definitely don't want to burn your gift that'snotwhatImeantbecauseIwouldnever. I —" The awkward laughter is almost enough to make her wave the whole 'gift' away, but it's also too much diabolical fun to watch the Lyons girl struggle to be grateful for such a terrible present, clearly wishing she could take back the earlier comment about not having to build her present. "Wow! So great. Pretty bark. Such a nice brown. Brown goes with everything. Oh, gee. Yup. This is definitely the nicest log I've ever been given."

Adding her wholehearted laughter to the awkward chuckling and embarrassed babbling, Lex ducks back into the Lionel market booth to fetch the actual present she made for the other girl. While Denali stares at the log, struggling to muster further complements — "Smells... Ratmas-y. Yep. Good, uh, sap." — she hangs the elaborate knife block from Denali's shoulder. She's been working on it in her free time since before the festival was even announced. Kingwood, shipped in from District 11, its heartwood a vivid tiger-striped violet in striking contrast to the pale yellow sapwood that borders it. Durable and dense, Lex had to sharpen her chisels four times cutting out the recesses for the intricate inlays that decorate the back: twenty-four skulls stacked into a mountain, a lion roaring knives, a scythe stuck through one of the eye sockets. It's an unmistakable wooden rendition of the iconic scene stitched onto the back of Denali's battle jacket. A shallow dado runs along the perimeter, a groove for the leather strap slung over Denali's shoulder.

Undeniably, this is a huge improvement over that laminated bamboo monstrosity that someone saw fit to send her.

Based on the shriek of excitement that leaves one of Lex's ears ringing, the redhead seems to think so too. Beaming and blushing, Lex gives the other girl a moment to incoherently enthuse about her craftsmanship before she starts calling out the details. She points at the inlay. "Maple, ebony, cedar — which is kinda like redwood but I couldn't get my hands on any of that. Sort of a bitch to work with, for me anyway, mostly cause it's a little toxic and makes me sneeze. It's finished now so it should be fine, but, uh... maybe don't lick it." One skull stands out, signed with the jagged LEX she burns into each of her pieces. "And that one's a black walnut off-cut —" from the casket Arthur made for her "— since yellow woods aren't quite as nice looking. They're not very me."

Now that she's done rambling, Lex runs a hand through her hair, a little unused to this level of unrestrained enthusiasm about any of her work. "Sorry there aren't any knives to go with — I, uh, meant to do that too, but —" she pulls up her left sleeve to reveal the small burn scars striping up her hand, the pale remnants of her most recent foray into metalworking "— I'm a little too impatient to work with anything that gets too hot to touch." It's a shame, too; she'd had grand plans for segmented handles that matched the block precisely, with black rivets matching the banded steel blades.

"Oh, and this —" She ducks back into the booth, reemerging with the box built of maple ply, mahogany rails and stiles that meet in three-way miters at each corner. A tiny lock keeps the lid secured to its body. Inside, it's packed full of letters, arranged in mostly-chronological order, each starting with Hey Freckles and signed off with a self-aware Yours, Lex. "Told you I had letters for you." Each stray thought she's had within reach of a pen and some paper is memorialized between the laminated maple. "And this —" She pulls one of the long chains off of her neck, a key that matches the box's hardware dangling from the necklace. "Arthur acts like he's allergic to other people's personal business but lately if I leave things lying around he uses it as an excuse to be nosey. So, y'know... lock."

empire line the national
table template lalia

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[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali6Container"]

[attr="class","Denali6Title"]

We light firecrackers in the middle of the street
You hear them yelling at us, but you listen to me

[attr="class","Denali6Content"]

The walk to the Lionel's booth is a loop of Lex shaking her head and smirking at Denali pleading for hints she swore she didn't want, only to ask more insistently each time a request is rebuffed. Maybe Lex knows that giving in would only result in a wail of anguish and a stern reminder that Denali definitely said not to tell her anything. Maybe Lex knows that the only reason the other girl continues to ask despite that is because she trusts Lex to understand that she truly doesn't want to be told, it's just that pestering is half the fun. Or maybe Lex simply enjoys a melodic refrain of petty badgering.

Garlands and string lights are wrapped around the branches of leafless trees and wreaths are hung on nearly every booth they pass by. Bonfires crackle down paths they don't take, the distant sound of songs and other celebrations filling the air. Snowflakes drift down from above, bright and glittering even in the dark as Denali tries to catch them on her tongue while stumbling against Lex's side, their weight tucked into each other without care for how one misstep from either girl could send them both falling. It's not a night for worries and so they don't.

It's not any more surprising that Lex knows how to pick locks than it is that she didn't bother to obtain a set of keys to her own booth, casually breaking in as if that requires less effort. Armed with the hooked bars of Denali's diamond encrusted earrings — backup weapons from her stylist, in case the ornate claw-like jewelry on her left hand wasn't enough to discourage the kids she'd killed from coming for revenge during tonight's feast — it only takes a few moments for the door to creak open. Inside are stacks of carvings and other wooden goods, Denali's eyes greedily scanning the tidy piles as she wonders which one is hers. Wrapping paper doesn't seem like Lex's style and so the odds feel high that whatever they're here for is just sitting out in the open until —

"Merry Ratmas!" Lex exclaims brightly, hoisting a log at Denali. Blinking at the hunk of wood and the earnest expression of the girl gifting it to her, the blush of Denali's embarrassment comes half a heartbeat before her voice finds itself. "OOOOoooohhh... a log! Wow! I... hardly know what to say. It's so... thoughtful! It's very... you. So I will... um. Definitely think of you! Every time I —" It's not so much that she's disappointed as it is that she feels awkward and guilty for her over-the-top rambling on the way here. She tries to focus on coming up with the right things to say to compensate for accidentally belittling Lex's gift for the past ten or twenty minutes. "— look at it? Err... in my fireplace? Without burning it of course! I mean, I definitely don't want to burn your gift that'snotwhatImeantbecauseIwouldnever. I —" Self-conscious laughter bumbles her words as she dies a small death, unable to look Lex in the eyes until she figures out how to prove her appreciation enough to then follow up with an apology for saying thoughtless things. Again. And again. And again. "Wow! So great. Pretty bark. Such a nice brown. Brown goes with everything. Oh, gee. Yup. This is definitely the nicest log I've ever been given." To be fair... it does seem like a nice log? She guesses? She doesn't know how to tell a good log from a bad log, honestly, but she trusts that Lex has excellent taste in stuff like that. "Smells... Ratmas-y. Yep. Good, uh, sap —"

By the time Lex's actual present for her is dropped onto her shoulder, Denali is breathless from her panicked rambling and so the dramatic gasp that follows the grand reveal is one part awe and one part her being long overdue for taking a breath. The first thing she sees is the rich color of the wood and she knows without asking that it's not coincidence that it's purple. Her favorite. Looking down at the empty spaces waiting for knives to be tucked in safely skips her heart back to the last time she'd gathered up her knives in the arena and put them all back into place, except for the paring knife tucked within Lex's pocket. Maybe it should feel a little fucked up to be given a knife block after everything, but... that's not how this feels at all. She doesn't know why. Instead a different feeling, far more difficult to name, swells in its place.

Not knowing what to say, Denali screeches in delight, setting the log down on the counter so she can lift the knife block up to examine the intricate inlays. Running her fingertips over the lion's mane and soaring knives, she traces a thumb over each different type of wood used for the mountain of skulls, her jaw hanging open, absolutely stunned at the detail — of Lex's workmanship; of Lex's memory for Denali's own. "Maple, ebony, cedar — which is kinda like redwood but I couldn't get my hands on any of that," she leans in to point out each component of the inlay, genuinely proud and blushing over Denali's thunderstruck reaction. "Sort of a bitch to work with, for me anyway, mostly cause it's a little toxic and makes me sneeze." Denali swallows and holds her breath for a moment, imaging Lex stubbornly working through sneezes. There's something funny about it and she should laugh, but that's also not what she feels right now.

"It's finished now so it should be fine, but, uh... maybe don't lick it." Rolling her eyes, Denali tries to shoot Lex a look that says lick it? Who do you think I am? before realizing that Lex knows exactly who she is or she wouldn't have said that. Noted. "And that one's a black walnut off-cut since yellow woods aren't quite as nice looking. They're not very me." There's a snort over the idea of certain types of wood not being pretty enough to do justice to a lock of Lex's hair, but it's not as if Denali can argue. The dark patch of woodgrain certainly is nice looking and so in that way it doesn't feel incorrect.

Running a hand through her hair, Lex looks momentarily lost for words as she watches Denali tracing the jagged LEX signature with her finger. The redhead's awe is louder than her scream and it's a few more seconds before Lex interrupts it again. "Sorry there aren't any knives to go with — I, uh, meant to do that too, but —" Denali isn't sorry not to be carrying knives around anymore, but explaining that part of her likes the woodblock being empty sounds too dumb in her head to say out loud. The only time her knives ever did anything good were when they were in Lex's hands. "— I'm a little too impatient to work with anything that gets too hot to touch."

"So that's why it was such a struggle to put up with me," Denali quips with a smirk, laughing to herself over the obvious ridiculousness of being too hot for anyone to handle, before looking up to see the burn scars running up Lex's hand. Stomach twisting at the pale stripes, her expression shifts to concern tinged with guilt over being responsible for yet more injuries.

If Lex notices the distress on Denali's face, she doesn't acknowledge it. Instead she pokes Denali in the side and opts to respond to the joke. "Something like that." All Denali can do is sigh and shake her head, trying to push her concern down if it's not something Lex wants to get into right now. "Oh, and this —" The blonde ducks back into the booth for a moment, only to reemerge with a wooden box and a suspiciously casual smile. "Told you I had letters for you." As per usual when it comes to anything a Lionel has made, the box is both beautiful and considered in its simplicity, but it's the word letters that really turns the corners of Denali's mouth back up. "And this —" Pulling a long chain off of her neck, a tiny key dangles between them. "Arthur acts like he's allergic to other people's personal business but lately if I leave things lying around he uses it as an excuse to be nosey. So, y'know... lock."

"You don't have keys to the door, but you've been carrying this one around everywhere you go?" Denali teases with a laugh, chewing on her lip to try to reign in the flutter of excitement in her stomach that's telling her to snatch the key, open the box, and read everything immediately.

Giving her an unapologetic shrug, Lex seems unruffled by the callout. "Guess you can tell where my head's at." The response hardly registers, Denali's fingers distractedly tightening against the box in time with her curiosity and unspoken hopes for true validation.

After so many months without Lex so much as acknowledging Denali's attempts at communication, she had begun to think that she'd imagined... so many things. Watching the version of their Games that had been nationally broadcast was surreal enough — three hour long conversations edited down to a few sparse minutes, uneventful yoga sessions on mute, polaroid photoshoots entirely missing in action. Even considering the obvious ways her worst moments had been emphasized and villainized, the most shocking thing was still the way all of the moments she remembered most were just gone. She'd tried explaining to her parents and her sisters, but the more upset she had gotten the more they looked at her with the kind of pitying looks she remembered being given after Zion died, particularly in the days leading up to being institutionalized. It wasn't that her family didn't believe that the things Denali was saying had actually happened — Peregrine in particular always made certain to hear her out, reassuring her that she didn't sound crazy at all, that everything Denali said made the television's version of events make more sense — it was that she so desperately wanted someone to reassure her that: yes, I remember that too. That definitely happened. End of conversation.

The silence on the other end of the telephone line had been enough to cause her to second-guess the already bizarre and complicated feeling that Hell itself hadn't been all bad. Maybe it really had only been murder and hatred and a week's worth of rotting in their own filth. Maybe the Capitol's version of Denali was the same thing as Lex's version of Denali. Maybe Lex wanted to forget Denali existed. Maybe Denali was stupid and crazy and —

The key to the box is in her hand and in the lock before Denali even realizes she reached out for it to begin with. It turns far more smoothly than her thoughts, the lid lifting effortlessly. Within is a dense collection of mismatched papers of different sizes and colors — meticulously organized chaos. It smells like oiled wood and daydreams of a workshop she's never seen, a capsule of words that don't make sense when spoken out loud the same way they do on paper. The crinkled edges look like all of the times Denali woke up in the middle of the night, breathing through cold sweats and curled up beneath a pile of blankets with a flashlight in hand, writing down confessions about how it still feels weird when the night is too quiet. How she wishes the stars snored and the shadows drooled and the crickets in the backyard punched things in their dreams. The varied colors of paper look like ghosts of the stains on her hands after days spent dyeing sewing thread with slightly spoiled food, foraged plants, and tar. The sheer quantity looks like the ravaged skin on the inside of her cheeks, nervously chewed every time Denali set one of her own letters in a box, wondering if they'd be any more welcome than her rejected telephone calls.

Running her fingers over the jagged edges of the letters, it's all she can do not to burst out crying. When Lex had mentioned letters yesterday morning, Denali had barely dared to hope that really did mean multiple. Two. Three, maybe. Four or five if she was really lucky. Doing her best to hide a sniffle, she swipes her nose against the cuff of her coat while pretending to scratch a nonexistent itch on her cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice coming out at half the volume she'd intended. "Unicorns are lame. This is way better." Swallowing a lump in her throat, she blinks sheepishly at Lex, knowing she's doing a terrible job at playing it cool, but not actually caring that it's obvious she's been turned into a sentimental pile of mush. "I love it."

Everything is so quiet, just unspoken reassurance standing in the snow.

"Said I'd miss you," Lex shrugs as if it should go without saying and maybe it should. It's easy not to doubt a girl who'd break her own bones before breaking her word, but it's so much harder for Denali not to doubt herself. Being so many miles and months away from the only person who knew the truth about what really happened to them and what it felt like to know that unstopping their hearts didn't undo anything, no matter how many people wanted to pretend otherwise...

Denali can't find the words, but Lex hugs her anyway. Tucking her head into the blonde's shoulder, she 'scratches an itch on her cheek' once more against the collar of Lex's coat. "You should know," Denali murmurs, desperately trying not to be a complete sap, "the box I made is way cooler than yours. So don't be too embarrassed to be outdone by such a visionary." Playfully jabbing her with an elbow, Denali grins brightly before locking the box and pulling the key's chain over her head. With the leather strap of the knife block slung securely over her shoulder and the box of letters in hand, she reaches over to stack the log on top of the box's widest side.

"That's," Lex flails slightly at the log, somewhat taken aback when Denali possessively turns to ensure it remains safely out of her grasp, "uh, just a piece of scrap we've been using as a doorstop, not an actual —"



"Are you trying to take back the present you gave me?" Denali gasps, only half-mocking. The other half of her is perfectly serious. In the Lyons home doorstops generally take the shape of whimsical brass animals or small, abstract marble sculptures, all polished to gleam brightly against the ornately carved doors being propped open, but Denali supposes this one isn't so bad either. "I'm keeping it," her voice is matter-of-fact and leaves no room for argument. "If you didn't want me to take it then you should have thought about that before giving it to me."

Turning to sort out which direction the Lyons' Ratmas market booth is in before Lex has an opportunity to object further, Denali has to peek around a few corners and makes one or two wrong turns before they come across an unmistakeable trail of pine needles, glitter, and cookie crumbs in the snow. Sheepishly blushing, she points it out before Lex can second-guess her sense of direction any further. "That's definitely from my dress yesterday," she says as if Lex might have forgotten the ridiculous Ratmas tree get-up. It's easy enough to follow the ornaments that fell off her outfit whenever Denali must have turned a corner too quickly, but after a few minutes they could locate their destination by sound alone. Music and laughter echo over the small rooftops of the market ahead, far more raucous than anywhere else. Catching Lex's eye as a maniacal scream cuts through the song of a clarinet, a ukulele, and what must be a handful of instruments played by neighbors, Denali grins. "Yup. That one is definitely mine."

school nights chappell roan

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[aya]

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i've been talking 'bout you to myself
cause there's nobody else and I want what I want

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She tries not to flinch as Denali sets the sawn-off fir trunk on top of the maple box, precariously wobbling around on the lid, sap and the remnants of branches threatening the finish. Talking the other girl out of keeping the joke gift is plainly futile so Lex doesn't bother to try; even her efforts to convince Denali to at least let her hold the scrap piece go poorly. "I'll carry that for you." Suspicion in her eyes, Denali defensively pulls the tree stump closer to her. "I'm not gonna — look, I'll give it back if you wanna keep it. It's literally garbage, I don't want it." Sighing in exasperation over just how badly her joke backfired, Lex gestures for the log again.

"Are you insulting my present, Lex Lionel?" Surely she deserves this for trying to tease Denali with a fake gift. The other girl may have killed her once, and Lex might be responsible for Denali's limp, but there's nothing more serious than Ratmas. "Nope. Not an insult, just the truth." Linking her arm through Denali's again, Lex tries to coax her into relinquishing her hold on the log and the conversation. "Now c'mon, let me carry your garbage for you. Just so it doesn't ruin the finish of the letterbox. You'll get it back."

Whether out of trust or just impatience, Denali finally relents and the two set off into the night. Lex doesn't know where they're going; Denali seems to think she does, but the number of times they've doubled-back and the number of circles they've gone in tell a different story. Grinning to herself, every bit as unsubtle as the not-so-discreet glances that the redhead shoots down every other side street in search of the right path, Lex revels in the meandering journey, shameless in her quiet enjoyment of Denali's inability to navigate to her own party. Once or twice she wonders if she should point out the plume of smoke billowing from a festive bonfire in the distance, or the smashed ornaments and loose pine needles and broken cookies still decorating the snowdrift they tumbled into the day before, or a street sign they've passed three times before. Not even poking fun at her dubious sense of direction would feel quite as nice as wandering arm-in-arm through the quiet of the night.

Lex Lionel has never been the type to give much weight to concepts like fate or fortune or destiny. All of that stuff supposes that everything happens for some reason or another, and she's never known a plan that didn't go off the rails eventually. Worrying about things beyond the scope of her control — even the shitty things — has always been a waste of time. It's why she sat up into a second life in the vault beneath the training center and unquestioningly accepted everything that happened. Knowing the universe to be chaotic and unforgiving just makes the things that were never supposed to happen that much sweeter to savor. Six months ago, the result of a lost lottery took Lex on a train to her death. By all logic she shouldn't be standing here, in a festival in the snow and somewhere outside the barbed wire borders of District Seven, because she shouldn't be standing at all. She shouldn't be huddled into the girl who murdered her, who was intended to be an enemy and turned out to be a lifelong friend instead, because lifelong ought to have meant seven days at that point. They weren't supposed to see each other again. Not after Lex died in the vineyard. Not after Denali disembarked in her district. And yet by some bizarre chain of improbabilities, they're back together again, and Lex Lionel doesn't need to believe in luck to know that she's been lucky.

The atmospheric shift is sudden, a cacophony swelling as they approach their destination. Even the blanket of snow isn't enough to dampen the devilish shrieks and raucous laughter intercut with clarinet runs and clapping and toasting and hooting. When she catches Lex's eyes, Denali beams, proudly declaring that this racket is definitely hers. There's no denying the sonic family resemblance between this crowd and the official battle-drum major of the RLS Trolley Problem as a wave of delighted shrieks herald the Lyons daughter's arrival. Unsure of how to comprehend what's happening, let alone what to do with any of it, Lex shuffles herself slightly behind Denali, actually willing to make a human shield out of the other girl this time.

empire line the national
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[L△LIA]

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as I pour my voice in your soul you say
"goddamn let's never get old," and i agree

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Outside of the Lyons family market booth a bonfire crackles in the night, an excessively pretty redhead slow-blinking at the man sitting on a crate across from her. His jaw hanging slack, he can't tell if he's more dumbfounded over Seville's face or how mercilessly she's destroying him in any given card game they've played. One after another, he's tried every variation of poker, rummy, and hearts he knows. Now they're playing war. She clearly has no interest in taking prisoners, be it him or any of the other opponents who've come and gone throughout the night. "Double or nothing," he mutters as if he didn't run out of money to bet an hour ago. She shrugs; either she's bored or she has the world's most incredible poker face. Maybe both. Ripred, he can't help thinking, even as she threatens to take him for everything he's got, her face —

Denali automatically angles herself to block Seville from view, not noticing the way Lex happily allows herself to be further shielded from... everything. It's futile on both their parts. As if on cue, the card game's audience — a handful of strangers, an uncle dressed as some kind of festive showgirl (utilizing it seems, far more scandalously, a few remnants from Denali's tree outfit the day before), and a blatantly underage cousin who's gotten into enough of the mulled wine to have regrets for days to come — whoops and roars as the Lyons girl remains undefeated and the man begs for six out of ten! Or... or eleven out of twenty! Everyone has lost count of everything, except for the twins, who keep perfect time as they tap out the beat of the music with their feet.

Peregrine plays clarinet while Tallulah strums a ukulele — it's a strange mix of resonate jazz runs with bright little starry plucking and yet somehow it doesn't feel out of place with the company they keep. People from neighboring booths have joined in on the embellished carols with harmonica and vocals, while Grimgram meanders through the crowd shaking the piles of bracelets on her wrists as if they're maracas. Although she isn't exactly on beat, she's as perfectly offbeat as always and no one so much as side-eyes her for it, not even her perfectionist granddaughters. All around there is dancing and excited chattering as people make toasts and celebrate.

"I know you're from Seven," Rio appears in a puff of snow sparkling in the air around her, casually chewing on a piece of ham as if absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary, "but don't you think it's a little weird to carry a log around everywhere you go? Like," ducking around Denali, she leans in to poke at the hunk of dented wood in Lex's arms, "what're you gonna do with that?" It's whispered in a slow tone that implies the words are for consideration more than a taunt, as if she's bestowing a small gem of wisdom. Before Lex can actually answer, Rio bursts into haphazard laughter over some type of follow-up joke in her own head and shoves another piece of ham in her mouth before abruptly skipping away. Sputtering, Denali desperately tries to swallow down her own amusement and nearly chokes on the effort of it all. The only thing she can do when Lex turns to shoot her an accusatory look is to shrug. You started it.

"Lex!" A singsong screech of joy from Birdie Lyons breaks their stare, the log in question tumbling out of Lex's grip as the older woman grabs her by the arm to pull her into a hug that quickly turns into a twirl, as if Lex asked to cut in and have this dance. She did not, but that hardly seems relevant to the part where it's definitely happening anyway. Denali's father swoops down to catch the log — just barely — fumbling with it for a few moments before grinning sheepishly at his daughter over the giveaway as to exactly how tipsy he is at the moment. Very.

"Thanks for catching my garbage," Denali snorts, leaning in to kiss his scruffy cheek before carefully setting the box of letters down on a nearby countertop and nodding for the log to be placed beside it. Craning her neck to search the crowd for Lex, she finally spots the Lionel girl's panicked face being whirled around the room. "That's my mom!" She calls out, hands cupped around her mouth as if that might help her voice to carry across the noisy crowd. It's hard to tell if it helps, but the explanation probably isn't necessary either way. A slightly manic-looking redhead with too much enthusiasm for holiday festivities? Yeah, Lex can work that one out. "Merry Ratmas, Lex!"

The entire crowd cheers in response, "Merry Ratmas!"

school nights chappell roan

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[aya]

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and I want everything
can you find a way?

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Last time she checked — and granted it's been six months since this information has been relevant — human shields were decidedly not supposed to shove you into the path of danger you were very clearly trying to avoid. And yet Lex still finds herself unceremoniously handed off to the strange woman who's just shrieked her name with a level of genuine enthusiasm that's never before been expressed at the prospect of seeing the Lionel girl. Tugged into an impromptu waltz, the log and her jaw both dropping in pure bafflement, Lex has no idea what's happening, much less how to respond to it. "Nice to, um —" her hand strains against the impulse to offer itself up to shake as an alternative "— meet you?"

A cheer of "Merry Ratmas!" carries over the crowd and she's released somewhere between a half-carved leg of ham on a stand and a tray of cheese logs rolled in herbs and fruit and nuts and some squishy orange pearls she can't quite identify. Then someone hands her a mug of mulled wine and the rest of the night passes too quickly, a series of short conversations glued together with charcuterie and more wine:

✥

"Which time?" she deadpans, sliding another couple of coins into the pile at the center of the table. That quip usually elicits an embarrassed chuckle and enough regret for asking a question as personal as what did dying feel like? that the subject is dropped, but Seville just shrugs. "Compare and contrast," she suggests, flipping over two cards in the center of the table. Caught off-guard by the straightforwardness of the request, Lex laughs even as the younger Lyons sister sweeps the jackpot into the much larger pile of coins and bills and small trinkets on the table next to her, apparently having won the most recent hand of... whatever they're supposed to be playing.

"I dunno. Cold, mostly." Another set of cards are dealt and Lex checks her hand even though she doesn't know the rules and definitely doesn't know which cards are valuable. "Bleeding out was way better than drowning." She fishes around in her pocket for another fistful of change to buy into the hand, but finds only a half-finished whittling. "By a long shot. Mostly because breathing, but..." The carving goes on the table; Seville appraises the rough mahogany lion and matches it with a corncob pipe. "Hey!" Bristling at the undervaluation, Lex points at the treasure pile, accidentally knocking over a mug in the process. "The brooch too, at least."

✥

It's too hard to contain herself, even though there's the faintest voice in the back of her mind murmuring that maybe this isn't the sort of advice she ought to be giving. It's not her fault. Doing something incorrectly in Lex Lionel's presence is an implicit request for a tutorial. Even if said skill is lock picking and said lock is the one she'd added to the maple box herself. "You need another pick," she mumbles aloud to herself, two tables away from where Peregrine is bent over the letter box, haphazardly stabbing a bent hairpin into its lock, "for tension. If you're trying to rake the pins like that."

It's Tallulah that glances over, throwing her hands up as though to divorce herself from the clear trouble her twin just got caught making. Lex takes it as an invitation to intervene, strolling over and claiming the empty seat on the twins' left, fondness of mischief drunkenly overriding her sense of privacy. Besides, she doubts there's a lock or a hinge that would keep any of Denali's sisters out forever if they're bent on prying. "It's like this —" Miming the subtle motions involved in picking a lock does little to convey the finesse, but it's easier than trying to articulate what's involved. "Like... scratch the top — there's only three pins in this one — and twist from the bottom. Yeah."

✥

Someone tops off the mug of mulled wine.

"Nuh-uh. You —" she links her arm through Denali's before the other girl can slip away back into the crowd "— can't get rid of me now. Until the wine's gone, but —" a hiccup escapes her throat, poorly disguised as a cough half a second after the fact "— also forever at this point if we're being honest here." Locking her eyes on Denali's she brings her mug up to her lips and starts guzzling. It's hard to say if there's a second challenge in her tone beyond the chugging contest. Finishing her drink first, she leaves her arm twined but continues the tangent.

"Which I am, obviously, because that's just me. Especially cause I promised to haunt you, remember that?" Remember the last thing Lex had said before bleeding out in the grass?

"Hate to break it to you, Freckles," When she pulls her lips back in an earnest grin, she can feel the wine staining her teeth burgundy. "But you're stuck with me. Better get used to it."

✥

They find a corner inside of one of the Lyons's market stalls. She doesn't know who sits down first, only that sitting is great and she's probably been up for close to a full day at this point. Heavy with sleep, her head rests on Denali's shoulder, wearily blinking up and no longer being sure she isn't dreaming. A jagged mark on the plywood roof panel catches her eye. "Hey," she murmurs, drifting off, "I made this one."

✥

The sunlight streams in through the counter window and shoves itself directly through her eye socket, a steak knife or a broken wine bottle burrowing into her brain. She squints through her mind's haze, last night's questionable drinking decisions filling up her head with sawdust or sludge poured out like cup after cup of regret. And yet, tucked into Denali's side, the makeshift blanket of her coat thrown over both of them, Lex wouldn't do anything differently. Hangover be damned.

It doesn't matter that the liquid courage has made it out of her system and left only a vengeful hangover in its stead; somewhere between the second dram of whiskey and the last mug of wine, she made herself a promise to ask for what she wants. Some minutes — maybe hours — later, Denali stirs. Eager and anxious, Lex sits up far too quickly, beaming relentlessly despite the way the room swoops and dives in her swimming head.

"Morning, Freckles. Merry Ratmas. Hey," she's thought about what she might say in this moment too many times to sound casual, "Denali. I was thinking, um, wondering —" Maybe after everything this is too awkward. Maybe the miles between their homes makes this too impractical. Maybe Denali still means everything she'd said that first night in the Arena, the same way that Lex means everything that she's said since. "Would you want to go out with me?" Her heart thrums so loud against her ribs that she'd be self-conscious about the giveaway if she wasn't ready to reach in herself and leave it still beating on the floorboards.

"There's, uh... some market stuff that looked kinda nifty —" dying inside too much to even process her use of the word nifty, nervous enthusiasm carries the rest of the ramble on a single breath "— and the rest of District Eight, too. Like there's a great sled hill, past one of the stands with the big rotating cone of roast meat, I think kinda near the petting zoo. And I saw this table where you can put together gingerbread houses, made me think of you."

Finally capable of bringing herself to look, Lex squints one eye at Denali, trying to read any sort of reaction. Impatient, she offers a sheepish grin and doubles down on the question. "Yeah. So, uh. What d'you say?"

empire line the national
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[newclass=".Lex8Container"]width:450px; height:450px; background-position:center; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding:20px;[/newclass]
[newclass=".Lex8Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:65px; margin-bottom:1px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Lex8Content"]width:300px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.90; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass][newclass=".Lex8Container:hover .Lex8Content"]height:250px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]