The Peacekeeper Ball

[shrimp]

koriander himura
she/her | two | career & trainer | tribute sibling

Taking Sylvia's arm, she walks into the ball with her head held high, her smirk proud and dark. Recognition has finally been bestowed upon Two, after years of work, of solemn mourning and keeping their head down. One has its diamonds and its thrills. Four has its seaside charm. Even Twelve, Eleven, Six, has a rugged attraction that intrigues the Capitol. Nobody notices smooth stone. It is too pristine, too matte, but it is the foundation on which everything rests.

Heh, she chuckles and grabs a corsage. It's not like her to be patriotic.

She just wants whats due. And on an upswing, she will climb to the highest rung.

The studio has been under renovation: of body, of mind, of spirit. Her father was wrong. Anise was wrong. They are not just a Training Center, they are a Career center, for Careers and for careers: Peacekeeping is the second largest industry in Two; denying that training the next crop of Peacekeepers put food on their plate is Disrespectful. Pathetic. Useless.

So she scouts out the white frocks among the crowd, reaching for the stars. School's open.

charlie garnet
she/her | capitol | former gm | hg museum

This is the worst gala she's been to in a while.

If you could call it that; it may look like a snowstorm but it smells like a school gymnasium. And though she hasn't read up on the latest Capitol fashion trends, she knows enough about formalwear to not wear white socks with a suit. Some of these Peacekeepers seem to have scrounged up an ensemble in half an hour, with wrinkled dress shirts and scuffed shoes. Others have forgotten about their manners, chortling and laughing with their mouths full.

She grimaces, and takes a sip of her drink. It is cloyingly sweet, with an obnoxious punch of lemon-lime and electrolytes. But she pretends it's fine, raises a glass to Ursa as he passes with a gaggle of kids in tow.

Counting to ten, Charlie lets out a long breath. If they needed a Gamemaker presence at this ball, couldn't they at least have asked someone currently a Gamemaker?

She takes another second before she concludes: of course they did. But they could say no.

bette sublino
she/her | one | 80th tribute | restoration

There are too many Keepers here, the consequences of which could be advantageous. But she's not dying to find out. She just needs to check in, and check out.

"It might not be so bad," Aja had said. "Besides, you've been before."

She has been to Two before, even looks forward to the view of the mountaintop. But her last trip was full of stonework and strength, the minutiae of carving an iris in marble, the precision of creating a signet, the feeling that welled up in her chest when she saw Eon breathing and healing and even smiling, once in a while.

Here, it is a chess game that she has been drafted to play. They forget that she is a Grandmaster. She will not remind them.

Out of the corner of her eye she spots subtle movement, the shift of a glance, and immediately she wishes to curl her hand into a fist. She does not, instead drifting through the crowd at a languid pace, making the smallest of conversations with wealthy Capitolites and an insistent Peacekeeper, drunk on glory, who was determined to let her know each mistake in form during her finale. By the time she gets to him, it is impossible to know what he is up to.

"Larce," she says, bringing him in for a hug. "Where's your other half?"

Her eyes however, say something else.

ooc:
kori: open for plotting
charlie: open for plotting
bette: currently talking to larceny theft Arrows

[sbeeg]

Anxiety rises in my throat and no amount of swallowing or coughing can clear it. My fingers wind into the fabric of my skirt as yet another Peacekeeper passes too closely by. I knew what the night would entail, but I couldn't deny the Capitol their whims. Not when I was hanging on by the barest of threads.

In the pocket of my skirt the tiny grey rat Ansgar had given me stirred. I slipped my hand in the fabric, letting him crawl out into my palm. He nuzzled against my thumb and I brought my hand close to my shoulder. He jumped to my collarbone, tucking close to my neck hidden beneath brown hair.

The invitation never said no rats were invited.

I took a deep breath. Having a warm presence close was comforting.

Across the grand floor I see another wave of attendees arrive and the world filters down to a single person.

She's pulling Larceny Theft into a hug and even the simple gesture makes my chest tighten. Not from any kind of jealousy but from the idea that she's in the same room again. The same district.

Yet I can still feel her weight shifting as I shove her from the towering redwood.

As much as I want to run straight to her and tell her all the thoughts that have echoed inside my head since the last we met, I turn instead towards the bar and grab a glass.

I'm not even sure she wants to see me.

I think she does.

But everything felt so complicated.

The drink is sharp against my tongue, but not entirely unpleasant.

I'm nursing my drink when I realize I've wedged myself beside a Peacekeeper, and an especially large one at that. I tuck my drink close to my chest and begin to inch away.

table by tom
Temple pines in Bette's direction and then bumps into Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] Hook

[Tom]

When Silk's invitation came in, you had to not fall behind.

Whispers spread around your family like a wildfire, burning whoever touches the informations and part of you knew what Ridley Le Roux's victory meant for the family. A victor's blood runs through your veins now, the name of Le Roux shouted upon the loudest of speakers to the entirety of Panem. No one wanted an outcast with bad blood to win, but you saw the opportunity in her. The lavish exquisiteness that was your cousin who now carried a crown over the disastrous fours, she made for a perfect opportunity to push your own agenda forward. Beauty can only get a lion so far, some strength has to find a way to the surface and if you had any sort of strength, it was your complexity of a brain. The brain that carried you all the way to the ball with an invitation being sent to you personally.

Cameras flash for you and you step into the sound with the expensive outfit that costed you a fortune to have tailored just right to your physique. The capitolites' eyes dance with your presence, soaking up the lavishing taste in fashion that you have. The finest of jewels and accents lingering over your nice suit as you enter the party, noticing your sister and plenty of your cousins there. Disappointing, but you've been to enough parties with plenty of them to not care. Instead, you send Silk the biggest smirk you can muster as you reach for the closest champagne flute. Your voice echoing a greeting to your sister.

"Wow! You're looking just as broody as ever, Silky!"

You don't stop for a reaction, instead looking for someone of interest to talk to. Silk Le Roux would be fine on her own. You've seen her kick enough people's asses to ignore the slight want of being a good sibling for once. Instead, you approach the party from the best way that you can, figuring out who would be the most entertaining to be around. A glance around the room shows too many white uniforms of boring officials, capitolites are always out of the question, and victors are too emotionally fucked up. A sigh from your lips as you finally land on a blonde who was currently taking a photo with some capitolite, and then immediately drinks from a glass. You notice the way he looks to someone that has to be his sister with his tongue out. Blonde. Handsome. You know what you had to do.

You move with a silence that's almost deadly, too quiet for the comfort of others. You can hear your cousins being complete messes around you, but you don't really care because when it comes to the Le Rouxs, you've always been better than the rest. A smirk fills your face as you approach the dashing blonde boy who was most likely your age or a year younger. An extra glass of champagne in your other hand as you approach letting yourself fall back into the charm and glitz of your usual presence.

"Hello there."

You stop in front of the blonde, letting yourself smile softly to the boy before you continue speaking.

"Aren't you easy on the eyes."

Confidently, you set the extra champagne flute down next to you as you confidently raise your hand up for a friendly handshake as you wink at the blonde.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Harper. Harper Le Roux."

You are the roar of a lion, loud and proud, but everyone knows;

You're the perfect hunter.

[Arrows]

Caged, like an animal. The train stopped moving hours ago, but they have been certain to keep me confined to my cell of a room. Only the sound of scattered radio chatter and boot steps breaks through the metal walls. Meanwhile I wait, I watch from my slatted window a world of strength and stone. A shard of some machine I've sharpened throughout the journey scrapes across the wall shrieking with defiance. Its cacophonous cry brings a sinister smirk to my lips. Steps sound by the door.

The door slides open, my shape surges from the shadows driving my make shift dagger forward. A fist finds my face and a knee my stomach. I crumple to the floor wreathing in pain but breaking with laughter. The shard is kicked free from my hand and I hiss in response. These assholes won't have a second of cooperation from me, from the boy their Serpent King seems so threatened by. However, they don't seem to care as a crew of dressers enters next and wraps me in the color of the king.

My escort continues all the way to the Academy, a single boy surrounded by a wall of white. Only once I walk through the door frame and into the hall do they dissipate. Why would they need to guard me here? What better place is there to keep tabs on Larceny Theft than a fucking Peacekeeper Ball?

Their mistake.

It's not hard to find a heater. To slice its tube and steal some of its gasoline. To hide it within a glass I carry so casually, a glass I've already taken the ring I hid on my toe and added just a touch of poison to. In fact, I'm almost to the punch bowl when she finds me. Her face is one of few from that time I actually turn to greet. My arms copy her's in a hug as I tenderly ensure the safety of my concoction.

"Back in Three," I say answering her question. "Apparently even with the escort here the Capitol doesn't quite like the idea of letting us both out of the District together."

ooc: Larceny is talking with Bette Sublino with a "drink" in hand shrimp

[Arrows]

The soft sounds of sleep had only just fallen over the kids when Kirito left yesterday for this place. The train ride had been fine, filled mostly with reading and thinking of new aspects to implement in his lessons. Only a single night of a sleep was needed this time aboard, unlike the two it usually takes to get to the Capitol. By the time Kirito had set foot into the station, cane and all, he was joined by a bustling crowd. Trains seemed to be filing in and out of every track as more and more bodies overran the decks. Kirito spent as little time as possible within the chaos, that could be reserved for tonight.

Once settled into one of the "inns" set up for the event, Kirito began preparing for the evening. He ironed his navy suit just as Finter and Oasis have showed him and combed his hair nicely. He may not be here in a District of Careers by choice, but at least this way he shouldn't stir any trouble. Two isn't Eleven, it isn't filled with same kind of thoughts for dear old President Snow.

By nightfall Kirito is among them, the "esteemed" within Panem. Dancing across marble floors beneath brilliantly burning candle-lit chandeliers, the elite of the elite embraced each other within their prosperous positions in life. Kirito nearly forgets he's within a District right now with the level of extravagance. To imagine such a sight like this in Eleven is impossible. Yet for District Two, not a single expense is spared for honoring the army of Snow. The lower district Victor can't even imagine how many of the Peacekeepers at this very ball actually come from this very place.

As the night carriers on, Kirito finds himself navigating from group to group. In one hand he holds his cane for support, and in another he holds a nice glass of red wine. Might as well make the evening bearable after all. While slipping past shapes, Kirito makes sight of several other Victors along the way. Teddy, Mackenzie, and Nico, all "newer" ones he still needs to reach out more towards. Perhaps tonight if he has a moment he can start, and if not he will make note of it for the upcoming Games. Kirito only stops moving again when he finds himself next to Kassandra.

"It's frustrating right?" Kirito says looking out over the other ball guests. "The way they can just tear us away from our lives whenever they feel like. Whenever they're bored."

Kirito presses his glass to his lips and takes a small sip of the earthy red liquid.

"Or maybe you're here to support our valiant troops by choice."

A grin cracks across Kirito's face at the sarcasm and he pulls his glass up for another sip. 

^{[ DARS ]}

ooc: Kirito walks up and talks to Kassandra sbeeg

[cameron]

anarcha bentley

She stares at the invitation for forever, eyeing the intricate gold spirals and biting her lower lip. It’s been months since she’s left her loft, in the midst of a sort of hibernation she wasn’t ready to wake from, and Anarcha has been just fine, thank you. She’s spent her days sleeping and her nights drinking herself back to sleep. She’s listened again and again to the hologram message from her doctor. She’s dreamed of baskets of fruit growing inside her, bursting from her chest the same way her tumors crave.

She doesn’t want to go, but she’s never known Snow to ask.

Not a bone in her body wants to rattle along the train tracks to Two, or waltz across a dance floor surrounded by her “peers.” And she certainly doesn’t want to bump into Glamour, so of course she’ll bump into Glamour. She used to intimidate him; it’s funny how drastically their roles have reversed. But he doesn’t inspire trembling in her core the way she had all those years before. He inspires love, and she doesn’t know how to tell him the growth is too close to her heart to remove without risk. She doesn’t know how to let him down so hard, especially when things are going so well for him. His star-crossed marriage, his magnanimous success after his most recent quell, the faces he’s cemented as commonplace amongst the capitol.

Anarcha loves him too much to destroy him like that. She rides to Two in a car by herself, clutching the lumps along her sternum and willing her own fruit to rot.

-

It’s dull, but not like the clips of Eleven she’s seen in the news. The mountains cast shadows all around, and she walks into the ball in two blankets of black, her dress a draping dark velvet that billows around her hips like the river styx. Tiny silver stones first dotted the fabric, but she’d spent the last half hour of the trip plucking them away. She doesn’t want to sparkle; she doesn’t want to catch their eyes. Anarcha is there strictly on invitation, and she doesn’t plan to overstay her welcome. She isn’t the star of the ball. She isn’t Ridley Le Roux. She’s Anarcha Bentley, and no one will even remember her. She’s nothing anymore.

The blonde shimmies out of her shawl, a deep burgundy fur that once coated a few unlucky duowolves. She steps forward and lifts her head, dropping her shawl into the arms of the nearest avox coat check. He’s sickly, too thin for his own good, and not in the fashionable way. She gives him the slightest smile, “I won’t be long,” and traipses deeper into the ballroom.

She stops beside someone familiar, taking a swig from a vibrant green cocktail. She elbows the debutante and pulls a flask from her cuffs. “You too, huh?” In a show of solidarity, former Gamemakers forced into uncomfortable attendance, Anarcha holds the flask out to Charlie Garnet. “Don’t waste your time. They don’t know us like they think.”

anarcha enters the ball
drops off her shawl with assumed avox vasco izar
finds comfort in charlie garnet, offers her some strong shit

[sbeeg]

It's nice to see a familiar face show up beside her, and not the kind she only ever sees on television. Kirito, while someone might call him her colleague or peer, is her neighbor more than anything. The face she sees across the walk way. She doesn't remember much about his games, doesn't recognize the young face they slap on the screen whenever they talk about him. She knows him as he is now. Older. A father. Sick. Kass had been going through the channels on tv and stumbled across his games by accident. She only watched a few seconds before turning it off.

She didn't want to see him kill someone. She wanted him to still be Kirito the neighbor.

He cracks a joke, taking a sip of red wine. Kass had never had red wine but the smell of it was too much for her. As sharp and sour as the girl was she tended to lean more towards sweeter tastes.

"Oh, I love our boys in white," she said rolling her eyes and sipping her champagne. "Can't you tell?"

She broke into a smile and was grateful for it. She rarely smiled about anything anymore and yet Kirito knew which rib to poke at to earn one from her.

Of all the victors in Panem, Kass wad thankful for District Eleven's. She didn't see Katelyn much anymore, but the woman's words echoed in her mind nearly everyday. Harbinger and Kirito were kind and soft and everything she could have wanted for a mentor.

Maybe, if she wasn't dragged to events constantly and paraded around like a prized cow, she could be happy. However, in a sea of Peacekeepers and Panem seals, she could never feel safe enough to be happy.

"This whole things is such a..." Kass searched for the right word, thinking very carefully over her choice. "Circlejerk."

table by tom
sasses with Kirito Arrows

[WT]

You chose this, you remind yourself from time to time. You chose the uniform bright against your skin and the gun heavy against your hip, and the shadow that passes over even the handful of familiar faces from Eight if you move too sharply, and Alina's ghost at your heels. You never dare so no when official duty calls, but you have only yourself to blame for the call arriving.

It's not all bad. Iunia sounds happier than when you saw her last; she's still angling for a Capitol transfer, but she's settled comfortably into her position and she and Libi make a point of getting together at least every few weeks. The two of you manage to round the dance floor twice before she's called away for some introduction or another by the higher-ups from Two. She vanishes into the crowd again with an apologetic smile and a promise to catch you later that you both know she might be able to keep; then you're drifting again, trying not to look as lost as you feel, a farm boy dressed like the murderer you pretend not to be transplanted to a ball where you don't know the rules of engagement and holding a fruity drink you hate but can't figure out where to put down.

Two seconds with your eyes pointed the wrong way and a solid smack, and at least finding someone to take the drink off your hands isn't a problem anymore.

"Sh—I'm sorry—I can find you some water?" you sputter weakly to the Peacekeeper now wearing most of your drink in a bright red splotch across his uniform. Somehow, you suspect a rinse won't help. "I am so sorry."



one (1) pomegranate martini now splashed on Bruce Johnwayne

[kap]

[googlefont="Merienda:400"]Fable Adric

Fiona being invited to the Peacekeeper Ball meant that I should go, too, of course. Now, I'm certainly no fan of Peacekeepers, but I was going to support Fiona. I needed to be there for her. She'd been through so much in these last few years, that I knew I couldn't just let her go to some big event like this on her own if I was able to go with her, too. A Peacekeeper killed my father when I was in my early teen years, and since then, I've never completely forgiven Peacekeepers as a whole.

Of course, I know that not all Peacekeepers are like the man who killed my father, but that still doesn't mean that I would generally choose to spend time around Peacekeepers, especially when there were as many around as there were at the Peacekeeper Ball. I had to ignore my anger, my grief and my fear while I was here, though. I was here for Fiona.

Normally, I'd check in on my brother, Spencer, as well as our very ill, frail mother every couple of days to make sure they were doing alright. During the time of the Ball, however, with me being away, I would have to completely leave them on their own in District Nine. I just hoped that all would be well. Spencer assured me that he would take care of our mother, and I trusted that he would. If he weren't there to take care of our mother, I don't know what decision I would have made. Would I have gone with my dear fiancée to the Ball, or would I have stayed home and took care of my mother? I suppose that didn't matter now, though. That wasn't the situation at hand. It wasn't a decision I had to make. I was here with Fiona, and I was going to make sure that we both made the best out of this event.

---

Now, I didn't have a lot of options as for what to wear to the Ball, so I wore something very similar to what I had worn to the Eighty-Third reaping. It made me a bit uncomfortable to do that, though, as the clothes I was wearing felt to me as if they had bad luck tied to them. I was reaped in these clothes, after all. Even though that was the day that Fangor took my place, and he ended up dying instead, it didn't make me feel better. In fact, Fangor dying instead made me feel worse.

I'm wearing the same, tan-colored trousers that I had worn on reaping day, as well as the same black shoes. I even have on the same, cornflower blue, button-up shirt. The only real difference between what I wore to the reaping and what I was wearing now was that I had on a nice, silver-colored tie in addition to it all. The tie didn't make me feel any better, either, though. The only part of what I was wearing that made me feel safe… lucky… special… whatever word you want to use, was the ring that rested upon my finger. It was the ring that Fiona gave me when she proposed to me, and I knew I'd never take it off.

---

Actually arriving in District Two felt strange. I had never been outside of the District that I called home- District Nine, that is. When we got off the train, I could tell that so many things were similar to home, yet so many things were different. I tried to take it all in as we made our way to the exact location of the Ball in District Two, but I didn't have all that much time to revel in it.

When we got to the location of the event, I made sure that I stayed nearby Fiona the whole night. I couldn't let myself lose track of her, and I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or alone. Although, I felt pretty uncomfortable myself, being around all of these Peacekeepers.

As I observed the other people at the event, I tried to think of what we could do to have some fun. I felt out of place here, and I wanted to change that.

That's when the music changed from upbeat and dance party-ish to a slower, gentler song. It was something romantic that the two of us could dance to.

I looked to Fiona and offered her my arm.

"Care to dance, my love?"

word count: 739

[Fable Adric asks his fiancée, Fiona Zachariah, to dance with him.]
[tag: * ]

[shrimp]

bette sublino
she/her | one | 80th tribute | restoration

She laughs. Jests. "Hm, I can see that."

The smell is masked under the distinct sharpness of sweat, the alcohol that hangs stagnant in the air, the overly spiced meat (to make up for the dryness). But she's grown up with that smell: from the ticking of a grandfather clock to the axel on a wheelchair. If one looks for it, the presence is unmistakable.

It will be easy to turn back the clock, to rewind the tapes and see a boy with a terrible plan. He is older than Eon, older than Shy; but still, a boy, who's escaped Fate three times. He is not invincible, and she thinks that perhaps he knows this. All too well.

"I used to run, before the Games. Even went to those 'Olympics'." Bette takes the ladle, pours herself a hefty glass of punch. And, eyeing him, she moves to take a sip.

"Couldn't run long-distance, though. I didn't figure out how to pace myself correctly."

ooc:
koriander: open for plotting
bette: currently talking to larceny theft Arrows

[Arrows]

Not much surprises the thirty year old these days, but when the word circlejerk leaves the lips of Kass, the sip of wine he is taking nearly threatens to take flight. Staying composed, he has to force down the liquid while giving himself a moment to register Kass' words in their entirety. Personally he would have chosen quite a different term, but she has a point after all. Not to mention, given the affinity Ana has acquired for profanity these days it's far from the first time this one has graced Kirito's artificial ears. He opts to merely nod and take another, more peaceful, sip of his wine. 

"It always is, the stuff they drag us out for."

Kirito's fingers flutter against the handle of his cane as he looks out across the dance floor. He wonders how many people are like him and Kass, forced from home to attend something like this. He imagines, knowing President Snow, it's probably a vast majority of those here. However, no one will talk about it to anyone other than those they trust. That's the system of Panem after all, shared suffering in silence. The common knowledge of it doesn't matter when everyone is stuck under the same boot.

"There's something I wanted to tell you by the way."

Kirito says turning his eyes back to the young Victor. It's something important. It's something he can't remember if Katelyn had told him or if he had learned, but it helps none the less.

"You never feel like you do good when you're a mentor. Even if you bring one home, you still lose one."

Kirito's mind flashes. Annora Taylor. Jacob Fel.

"But for your first time, you did well. You did what you could, we all did. Milo and Asari, they fought and we didn't just leave them to fend for themselves."

Kirito finishes his wine and lets out a sigh. Even saying it aloud makes him sad, makes him angry, and he's had over a decade to get used to it. It's almost disgusting how normal taking a train with a body back in it feels like.

"Circlejerks and dead kids, a dream huh?"

^{[ DARS ]}

ooc: Kirito is still talking with Kassandra sbeeg

[kap]

[googlefont="Ma Shan Zheng:400"]Olympia Li-Mei

The man I'd approached agreed to my proposition of interviewing he and the woman he was with "if she's alright with it," which I suppose made sense. If the two were a package deal, I'd likely want permission from the both of them to begin an interview. It was part of professionalism to make sure that your subjects were actually willing to speak to you. Now, I wasn't always totally professional, but I certainly tried to be.

"I'm not that knowledgeable about style outside these uniforms." The man who appeared to be a Peacekeeper continued by explaining.

The young woman had greeted me with a "Good evening, miss," which was nice to hear, as not everyone in the Districts was all that polite to the people of the Capitol when it came to greeting them. A smile even crossed her face, which was nice to see, too, as it meant she likely wasn't too opposed to talking to me. It was either that, or she was going out of her way to sound polite when she didn't want to be. Either way, I was glad to hear the way that she was speaking to me.

“Wow, yeah. Max,” she said to the man. Then, she spoke to me again. “I’m okay with that. I think - uh, drinks are just over there. Join us, won’t you miss, Li-mei? Or do I call you Olympia?”

"Whichever you'd prefer to call me is fine with me, miss," I said to her with a smile in response. I looked to the male and spoke to him.

"Your name is Max, then, if I heard correctly?" I then spoke to his companion. "Might I ask how to address you, miss? It's a pleasure to meet you both."

When our newly-created trio reached one of the tables of refreshments, the woman spoke to me, motioning to the table as she did so.

“What would you like to address us about? What would you like?”

I glanced over the offerings at the table and swiftly yet gently picked up a glass of champagne. I gave a glinting smile to the two that I'd been speaking to, and answered the woman's question.

"Well, I do have a few questions that I've been wanting to ask some of you District folk," I explained. "I suppose I should start with asking, have you enjoyed what you've seen so far tonight? Of course, there's all the food, the dancing, the people... but have you taken notice at all of what people are wearing? How might you compare it to your own style?"

I had tried to lump most of my questions into one, as, of course, I wanted to give them time to enjoy the night outside of just speaking with me. I'd be trying to make this quick, yet still interesting.

word count: 462
[Olympia is interviewing/conversing with Maximilian Stahl and Sydney Faustus]

[kap]

[googlefont="Girassol:400"]Xantiago Ozlimario

Soldier keep on marchin' on
Head down 'til the work is done
Waiting on that morning sun
Soldier keep on marchin' on

It just wasn't possible, getting myself to find interest in a 'plus one' for this Peacekeeper Ball. The last time I approached the idea of love, it was taken away from me, so I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that again. That's why I ended up going to the Ball alone. Well, I suppose I wasn't alone if you really thought about it. There were people that I knew- other men and women who were stationed in District Six with me, as well as those that I'd trained with who ended up in other Districts. It wasn't like having a date with me, though. They were friends, acquaintances and coworkers.

I was dressed nicely when I arrived, as the other Keepers were. Upon my arrival, I greeted some familiar faces. The night ended up passing very slowly for me, however. For the first stretch of time while I was there, no one approached me. I'd gotten myself a glass of wine when it was offered to me shortly after I got there, followed by one more as the night went on. Sipping at my drink as I stood near the table of refreshments, I kindly spoke to those that came by, but not many acknowledged me with more than a "hello" or a "how ya doin', officer?" and it caused the night just to drag on more.

What did a man need to do to get a decent conversation in a room full of people that were supposedly just like him? It truly shouldn't be as difficult as it was proving to be. I didn't want to show myself as visibly bothered by this, though, so I continued to carry a smile- and a glass of wine- just to see if there was anyone who cared enough about ol' Tiago to communicate with him with more than just a greeting.

312 words

lyrics: "Soldier" by Fleurie

[Tiago is standing near the refreshments by himself with a glass of wine. Feel free to strike up conversation or whatever!]

[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Denali1Container"]

[attr="class","Denali1Title"]

fuck it if they talk, fuck it if they try to get to us
i'd rather go blind than let you down

[attr="class","Denali1Content"]

It never mattered what she thought of the event itself, of the white uniforms and whether or not they deserve to be honored. Perhaps Denali Lyons, survivor of the Eightieth Games, could have had an opinion, but Denali Lyons, daughter and representative of Lyons Oil Corporation, certainly doesn't have that luxury. Years back she made the mistake of believing otherwise and throwing the kinds of tantrums over her brother's reaping in the Seventy-Ninth that damaged both Capitol property and her family's political connections, but in the end the crime wasn't worth the punishment. When her sister's name was called and Denali took her place, she knew it wasn't a coincidence. It was payback.

The invitation to the Peacekeeper's Ball was never going to be optional for her and so she didn't waste so much as a futile sigh over it. Besides. It has been months since she's seen Lex and she's more than shameless enough to throw both her ethics and her politics out the window for an excuse to see her girlfriend after all this time.

Ducking her face to giggle into her drink, it doesn't matter that it's been two years since they finally got together. "Girlfriend," she giddily whispers to the candy colored gin, as if still in disbelief over it. The distance, the endless pining, the perpetual excitement of finding an excuse to see one another — somehow every visit still feels like the first time. She chews anxiously on the end of her straw and spins in a circle, trying to distract herself with an awkward excuse for dancing or whatever the people side-eyeing her are describing it as in their heads. She doesn't care. Not about them. Only about —

A stomach full of butterflies, Denali's head turns at every shift in the crowd in hopes that the next face she sees will be the one she traveled all this way for. More than once she's caught the eye of one of her fellow former tributes, sharing a quick wave before they got pulled into a sudden conversation with people she doesn't recognize enough to interrupt. The only actual conversation she has managed so far was with a Capitolite who had worn one of Denali's custom battle jackets to the ball, a surreal exchange of gushing compliments traded for the Lyons girl's genuine surprise. It was so flattering that she forgot to care about how the only reason they like her is because they probably gambled on her life years ago, turning her into some kind of D list celebrity.

Still. It's not all bad. Maybe it's supposed to be, but instead of feeling trapped in an unwanted cycle of attention carefully orchestrated to make her miserable forever she keeps finding... Ripred, she keeps finding happiness. It's the most bizarre thing and all she can do is try not to think too deeply about any of it for fear that it all might fall apart upon closer inspection. She got so many telephone calls from Capitolite fanatics trying to commission custom battle jackets that a boutique contacted her this past Summer, requesting regular stock. Then came the inquiry for expansion. Could she make anything else? She didn't know. She began babbling so nonsensically in response that her sister Peregrine pulled the phone right out of her hands and answered for her: Absolutely — there will be new designs for the new year. It felt impossible and yet here Denali stands wearing a dress she made herself and it's not even falling apart, it's just kinda designed to look that way.

Upon first sight Peregrine declared the gown totally morbid, but grinned and clapped when she said it so the words sounded more like praise than anything else. Tallulah took one look at the messy webs of blood red thread adorning it and complimented Denali's creativity. Brutally honest, Seville declared it to be ugly-pretty, but in a marketable way. Those words were proved true enough when Denali's stylists for the evening took one look at her creation and began screeching with delight. One of them even uttered the word genius, although the applause was difficult to remember after walking onto the ballroom floor and having the first District citizen to lay eyes on her gasp in horror. "That's so fucked up of them to put you in that," the woman whispered in Denali's ear, scandalized that someone would force her to wear a dress that looked awfully like it was decorated in veins, as if Denali's body had been turned inside out and twisted all around for the sake of spectacle once more.

Obviously that had been the point of the dress to begin with and the woman's implications were the exact kinds of thoughts that must have been going through her head at some point during the crafting process, but sooner or later she got distracted by the abstraction of it. Tiny carmine jewels glitter on the most delicate of threads while others are gathered or twisted just so. It became hers. All of it. Eying the woman sharply, Denali forced a laugh and the flow of air was enough to help her reclaim the moment, to reclaim all those terrible things that happened to her. "I made this dress," she replied boldly, chin held high as she walked away and left her self-conscious worries with that stunned stranger. She truly doesn't care what any of these people think, not of her fashion therapy choices or the giddy circles she spins in each time Lex's face flashes through her thoughts.

It's the sight of Angel moving through the crowd that makes her put her drink down, half of the glass's contents sloshing out onto her knuckles as she moves too quickly. "They're here," she says out loud to herself, more than one person turning to stare as she begins craning her neck to attempt to see beyond the surrounding bustle of white uniforms and Capitol diplomats. Her stomach twists and her heart begins pestering her ribs with messages too erratic to be useful. Hey! Hey ribs! Are you ready?! It's happening! Hey! This is happening! Ribs! Hey! Hey, Ribs! Hey! Hey! "She must be —"

She's mid-sentence and mid-step when she sees Lex. It's one of those moments where time feels like it should freeze, giving her head enough time to catch up with her heart, but either time isn't in the mood to pause for her or it simply has better things to do. Lacking that precious thinking time, there is only impulsiveness so sudden that she kicks off her shoes to run faster. Heels abandoned on the dance floor, she practically leaps as she flings her arms around Lex's shoulders with enough momentum that it's a wonder they don't both tumble to the floor. Somehow Lex keeps the two of them steady, the way she has since the very beginning.

Forehead mashed against forehead, Denali's giggling is out of control, happiness bubbling out of her with no regard for anyone but the blonde she's latched onto. There's a kiss for the tip of Lex's nose and two for each of her cheeks before she presses her lips to one of Lex's eyebrows and again to her jaw, again to the corner of her grinning mouth, again to her temple, again to a mole just outside the lines of her smile. "I—" There's a pause, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, as Denali squeezes her eyes shut so tightly that goosebumps dance down her arms. "— missed you so much. It's stupid how much I missed you." When she kisses Lex, fully and truly, she forgets to take a breath first or maybe it just feels that way, everything dizzy and soft in a way that she's all too eager to fall into.

There might be peacekeepers all around them, hands reflexively clutching the hilts of their dress sabers from the shock of a known murderess launching herself so suddenly at one of her historic victims, but that doesn't matter. This is worth it. This is worth all of it.

cocoon catfish and the bottlemen

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"You couldn't pay me enough — there's not enough money in the world — to go stand in a room full of drunken peacekeepers — honoring them — in some district I don't know too well. No way. Not going." Lex had sworn that up and down — to Arthur, when the invitation had arrived for her, to Mackenzie when he'd asked her about it, to anyone else who mentioned it in passing. She'd meant it, too: nothing sounded worse than the entire set of the state police belligerent and hammered, ready to pick fights and start dragging people off to black sites on a whim. The last thing she needed was to get arrested for real this time, or to have more peacekeepers stopping by the woodshop to keep an eye on things, or to have the rest of her travel permits permanently denied. It seemed safer and easier just to avoid the whole situation.

As it turned out, Lex wouldn't be payed at all, and the only thing it actually took to get her to relent was half an excited sentence in one phone call: Denali enthusing about how nice it was gonna be to finally see each other again. No handwringing about the specifics of the event itself. No deliberating about whether or not it made sense to even go. Of course it made sense. They'd be together. What made more sense than that?

There's something suspicious about being treated like a guest instead of a resource, the cushioned seat in a passenger train car about as far from the rides in boxcars — or one terrifying trip on a bulkhead flatcar halfway stacked with lumber — Lex has grown accustomed to. There are windows, and that's nice, but traveling in relative luxury has ended well for the Lionel girl just as often as it's ended with her death. While the ride itself is more comfortable, the feeling is decidedly not. Her crew is starting another job in two days — reflooring a bowling alley in District One — which, annoyingly, requires a return trip to Seven in between for tools and materials. Turns out no one was too enthusiastic about the prospect of a bunch of saws and other sharp things being brought to an event filled with groups of people who'd happily kill one another in the throes of a riot. But what? She's gonna get the whitecoats to cooperate enough to run 'em on her table saw?

Definitely not if she's wearing a tie. Ties and table saws are a bad combo, unless the goal is accidentally getting pulled into the blade yourself.

The slim black tie itself was a compromise. She'd worn a newer flannel shirt, one that was free of stains and holes (or at least if there were any varnish spots, they were well concealed by the big black and red checks) but on its own is apparently not fancy enough to wear to a ball. The way Denali had talked about the gown she was making for the event had convinced Lex that she ought to make some sort of effort without being told, if only so she wouldn't look entirely out of place hanging off of Denali's arm.

And so a burgundy sport coat was added to the ensemble. The jacket is reminiscent of the one that she'd worn for the bloodbath, that had quickly turned into a makeshift blanket, that remained in the arena for longer than Lex had, a rumpled reminder of a picnic that had been abandoned for graver matters. Maybe it's morbid to take styling tips from the way that she'd been dressed to go fight for her life, but a) there was no denying that she'd looked damn good in that suit, and b) there was no pretending she didn't still wear the battle jacket that had seen her through the Games with some regularity.

Poking out of the breast pocket is a folded square of black fabric decorated with a haphazard mosaic of teeny embroidered axes, some unusually precise in their stitching and some decidedly wonky. It had been a test swatch — or something like it — that Denali had handed over for her inspection the last time that Lex visited District Five; the Lionel girl had examined the thread hatchets before assessing "Yeah. You know what axes look like." and cramming it in her pocket, like a polaroid, a paring knife, a Ratmas cookie, or any other small object she values enough to keep next to her heart. Denali, being more knowledgeable about fashion and accessories and style, adjusted it into a tulip shape and declared it a pocket square.

She'd fallen asleep shortly after, because that's how their time together in District Five was often spent as of late. Lex, too tired after ten- and twelve-hour days laboring to do much of anything useful, sprawled out on Denali's bed and quickly crashed; Denali, up against a seemingly-endless stream of deadlines, hunched over on the floor, aggressively embroidering jackets on the floor to the melodic drone of Lex's snoring. Then Lex would be up before the sun and the birds, kiss her girlfriend on the forehead and whichever cheek wasn't buried in the nest of pillows, and tiptoe out of the Lyons manor and off to work. Her crew had left Five right from the job site last time; she hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

It makes this stupid ball for the stupid peacekeepers all the more worth it, even with its stupid turnaround time and its stupid rules. Back-to-back ten-hour train rides are worth it. Sleeping in shifts — like somehow something is gonna try to shank them in the night again this many years later — is worth it. Months of pacing and phone calls, of waiting and anticipation — all of it is worth it. She knows this five minutes before she enters the ballroom, a dumb, eager smile making a permanent home on her face while her whole body buzzes like she swallowed an orbital sander. She knows this five seconds after she files into the ballroom and catches a glimpse of a crimson blur out of the corner of her eye, her heart stopping to hold its breath and everything else moving too quickly to process.

Denali leaps at Lex, unfettered enthusiasm threatening to send them sprawling in a heap like it usually does. At this point they've had enough practice at these impatient reunions to get the better of gravity — greetings only end up on the ground about half the time. Lex has just enough time to take a half step back, planting her foot to pivot when Denali crashes into her, letting momentum take them in a full circle. Her hands wrapped around Denali's waist and Denali's around her neck, they spin around once like some sort ballroom dance with all of the elegance removed.

Faces pressed together, the entire world becomes Denali: giddy laughter filling the beats between each of the kisses that cover her face, smiling so broadly it's hard to see. Denali relents for a moment, pulling Lex's face in even closer. "I —" Denali finds the words first, Lex's brain still looping through white noise, something in her chest wound so tightly it's hard to focus on anything else. "— missed you so much. It's stupid how much I missed you." Still smiling when they kiss, Lex's mumbled agreement is cut off by another round of her head emptying itself of coherent thoughts, no longer conscious of anything that isn't her lips against Denali's, her hands wrapped around Denali's waist, Denali's thrown around her shoulders, together, together, together.

"Having to miss you this much is stupid," she murmurs, "and how long it's been is stupid. But —" Cutting herself off with a soft grin, Lex tries to keep the present about the present. No reason why they ought to be spending the short evening they have together bemoaning the long months since their most recent visit or worrying about how long it'll be until they can see each other again. She leans back in and kisses Denali again, as if this is a complete thought that contrasts stupid concepts like distance and missing and being apart. "There's that."

A few rogue strands of red hair hang in between their faces. Whether they'd been neatly tucked away and then bust free from the mad dash to close the distance between the two of them or whether something about Denali needs to be slightly messy at all times, it's hard to say. Bringing her hand up to brush them aside, Lex is unceremoniously caught, the buttons on her sleeve shackling her arm to the back of Denali's gown. "Uhh..." Her grin turns sheepish. "I'm snagged on the back of your dress," she announces, pulling her girlfriend in a little closer in attempts to free herself from the web of threads that spring from the back of the garment. It's futile. With her head craned to look over Denali's shoulder, her smirking mouth is already right next to Denali's ear when she whispers, "Might need you to take it off."

Despite the way Lex can feel her going beet red, Denali impressively manages to pull off an almost-smooth return quip. "I'm stuck," she says, not even stammering the way that she might've once, "Might need you to take it off for me." It's a bold choice, and even if it wasn't meant as a dare, the Lyons girl ought to know better than anyone that Lex Lionel doesn't change course from a challenge.

Grin bright and earnest, Lex happily agrees to the request. "Sure thing, Freckles. Hold please." She shimmies out of her jacket, loosely balling up everything besides the caught sleeve, and handing the wad of burgundy fabric to her girlfriend before circling around to assess the tangled mess on her back. The second her fingers find the snarled strands, Denali begins to backpedal, somehow turning even redder. "I didn't mean... there are people..." The mortified stammering is punctuated by a halfhearted attempt to swat at Lex from over her shoulder. "lots of... Lex!"

The ploy for her attention doesn't work, the Lionel girl quietly chuckling to herself as she works each button out of the crimson knots that have them hostage. There's two... "We can't! Not in front of your mom!" Whether it was actually Mom that tipped him off or not, Mackenzie makes eye contact with Lex from across the room, mildly confused, mildly concerned, and understandably wary of getting implicated in whatever bullshit is happening here. Lex shrugs at him. Nothing to worry about.

She frees the snagged sleeve and circles back around, taking the wadded up jacket back from Denali and draping it over her arm, smiling like she's pleased with herself the whole while. She plants a kiss on Denali's cheek. "Count on it later." She offers an elbow and waits for Denali to take her arm.

The crowd is a peculiar mix. There are old friends and enemies; kids who'd tried to murder them and Capitolites who'd bet that they would or wouldn't succeed; Peacekeepers and Gamemakers — those who'd tried to drag her from her home and those who'd succeeded; people she trusts: Mom, his sister, his friends; people she doesn't: Glamour Kinkade, whitecoats, careers and would-be victor-hopefuls. People she likes, people she doesn't. She'll be expected to socialize with too many of them, to keep her head around people who've already called for hers. Doesn't matter. "Shall we?" Doesn't matter. Lex has a full fourteen hours to spend with the girl on her arm. They've stood side-by-side through worse. They've waited through worse. For fourteen more hours, she has Denali Lyons. Everything else can eat it.

dark side of the gym the national
table template lalia

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