atop mount olympus // nessa & sampson

[Deleted]

s a m p s o n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

There's too much sound in the Capitol this time of year, all these noises that overlap and scratch the inside of Sampson's brain. They always request a window seat, reserving a patio dining in the uptown Cafe -- "yeah girl, I think I'm going to buy my own. Maybe that's the next thing, celebrity owned coffee shops." Besides, they were tired of leaving the house as often as they did. 

Twice a week is just too much for a creative like Sampson. 

It's in the notebook somewhere, first they want to buy out a hotel. Probably something with a view near the Stylist Center, but the catch is there's a shopping center in the hotel. Renovate it, maybe a donut shape with a garden growing between the floors in the center, "oh I'm still here. Jem stoppp," maybe they spend too much time on the phone. 

Ever since the flops of Sampson's career last year, they've had a hard time regaining their focus. Most of the recovery process has just been giving up luxuries like personal lents and being surprised when nothing sticks. It's been two hundred and forty four days since the last time they've showered with the lights on and that ain't fixed nothing yet. 

But a day don't pass where Sampson doesn't talk to Jem. There's work friends and family friends, other celebrities that they keep in touch with -- mostly just face value. Pretty faces make miracles happen, but Sampson's in the need for a new friend. Or, another friend. Victors don't count and neither does exe's; not too sure if Nico Thorne counts as both, they only dated in Sampson's mind. 

"I'll call you back, okay? I'm ordering whatever's got vodka in it."

"I don't care that it's a coffee shop, they've gotta have something," or whatever. So maybe they're a little hopeful about this Nessa girl. They've got a lot in common, obviously -- namely the taste in men. The same men. 

Alright, so either they walk away from this best friends or Sampson's gonna pay her to drop off the face of the earth. Honesty first, they've talked a little arranging this meet up but that was mostly just Sampson laying out the time and place. Could you imagine standing up a Crowe? Hasn't happened since Copper ghosted Sampson -- if they could have gotten away with murder back then, that boy would be dead news. 

"Oh, hey! I'll have four mimosas," they say to the host, crossing their ankles on the patio railing, "you'll figure that out for me. Right?" Export it if you have to, it'll be good for the economy. 

[sidney]

n e s s s a

She's nervous, which is unlike her honestly. And it's driving her crazy. Nessa changed her outfit six fucking times this morning, going through at least eight different designer's latest spring lines, trying to mix and match together the perfect look. Today was important. It had taken her nearly three weeks to get Sampson to even look in her direction. And now they'd finally agreed to meet. In person. For coffee, they'd said. It wasn't a meal, which could mean they weren't taking her inquiries serious. Maybe they wanted a quick out, a reason to cut it short. It didn't take long to drink a cup of coffee and then immediately excuse themselves away.

Stop it!

Nessa scolded herself sharply with a quick glare at herself in the mirror between applications of mascara. This was so unlike her. She didn't like feeling anxious. Her heart was racing and it felt like there was fireworks going off in her stomach. Why did it feel like everything was on the line? Like this was her only chance, her only opportunity to break into the world in which she wants to make a name for herself.

Because it was.

Twenty minutes and two more outfit changed later Nessa was walking out the front door of her apartment, heading toward the place Sampson had told her about. As she approaches, she squints ahead and frons a bit as she spots them. Casually sprawled out at the best table on the patio, browsing the menu. She glances down at her diamond speckled watch and scrunches her nose. What the fuck? She had given herself fifteen minutes to spare. How were they here first? She wanted to plan, to check the lighting at every table and pick the perfect one. She wanted to talk to the waiters beforehand and make sure they had impeccable service and that Sampson knew the bill was taken care of because it was the least she could do. Nessa wanted to get here first. This wasn't the plan. 

Her heart started to race again, breaths getting shallow and quicker paced. She didn't like not being in control, especially now when it felt like it was all or nothing. Now or never. The ball was in their court and Nessa hated it. Shoulders tense and nervous jitters causing her to fidget with her clutch, she approached awkwardly. At a bit of a jog in her heels, which wasn't a good look, but she tried to play it cool with a toss of her long locks and a smile at what she over heard. 

"Oh, I thought this was a coffee shop?" She pulled out a chair opposite of Sampson and plopped down, trying as best she could to relax and be herself. Even though she wasn't absolutely positive who that was, if they wanted to channel their best Dionysus at 11AM then who was Nessa to judge? Hell, she'd join them. "I'll have the same, thanks." 

She sets her clutch down atop the table and looks up to her brunch companion, hand to her chest apologetically. "Sorry I'm late? I must have got the time wrong." 

[Deleted]

s a m p s o n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

"Well yeah, darling," their eyes open upon seeing her for the first time, "there's not a place on earth worth a damn that don't serve something alcoholic."  

The only reason to leave the house is to drink at this point; Sampson doesn't think about it. It's work, to vodka, to work again, this is their life's passion, there shouldn't be a second guess to it. There's just an absence somewhere in their heart, Jade is dead -- Val is dead. Their two muses gone and Ridley's time in the spotlight has faded with the loss of the 86th. It's all about Cricket again, after twenty years the woman's finally gotten a victor. 

Congratu-fucking-lations. Sampson's just one good break through from being on top again. 

Spring sun feels good on their skin though, that much they have to admit. Too long has this Nessa-visit been put off - if they weren't a Crowe, maybe they'd feel a bit more embarrassed. Time is money, time is value; people of wealth don't trade coins, not silver or diamonds, but minutes. Seconds spent crossing their legs and mentally redressing the coffee host. 

She apologizes for being late, and they clutch their palms listening intently. "No, no, wrong mindset," waving their finger in jest, "you're never late, remember: it's not an event until we're here." They reach both palms across the terrace table, cool glass surface freezing their elbows. You think they'd be used to the feeling of ice on their skin, they look at Nessa like a child, someone so new to this world. 

Baby, baby girl, dove before flight, before a little bit of substance abuse, "we are the deadline, and if we want mimosas then we get some damn mimosas!" They watch Nessa's face as they speak to her, analyzing the way she reacts, the way her brain works, "your skin is so clear, transplant?" 

"Doesn't matter, I'm so pleased to meet you, Nessa." They speak to her softly, waiting to hold her palms. There's business to be had; they wait to see her backbone. 

Ask what you need, 

We'll see what responds.