An Honor/|/A Curse {Tom}
Apr 9, 2021 14:32:26 GMT -5
Post by ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ on Apr 9, 2021 14:32:26 GMT -5
[ ♕ ]
“It is an honor.”
Of course those were the words she spoke when she received the news that she had been selected to be a head Gamemaker for the 88th Games, but inside, she felt jubilation of receiving the honor to return for a 3rd Games. She had not been certain that they would have let her come back for after the 82nd Games, but Snow was gone and a council now ruled where he had been. Whether the High Council viewed her in a positive light or not was not something she had discerned, but they hadn’t asked for her head or her position.
Callienta gathered up the vibrant fabrics of her robe and inclined her head as she left for her office. There would be much work to do, and she hadn’t even found out who were co-heads would be. Surely, they were receiving a courier with a message as well, and news did spread quickly in the Capitol. However, the grand announcement—if it even really counted as one—would not be until one of the tributes in the grungy 87th arena had a crown atop their head. Then, it would be a year of building, breaking, harvesting, and experimenting before the next set of 24 fought for their lives.
There was so much time, and yet so little of it as well. Back in her office, she tried to put pen to paper, but found herself hesitating just a breadth before contact. Getting more and more frustrated—and it was bad enough the tea had no effect—Callie finally slammed the pen on the table and knew she had to be somewhere else. She would not take the robe with her as she went out—it would have been too bulky for where she was going—and she slammed the door behind her with steam forcefully exhaled from her nostrils. “I’m taking a break. Don’t bother finding me for the next few hours. I will let you know when I’m ready again,” she barked at her assistant who was gaping at her. “Close your mouth or speak your mind. I have no use of a fish for an assistant.”
“Wi—will you need your robe?” Callie flicked her hand back toward her assistant. “I’m capable of knowing how I want to dress. If sitting around here is going to bother you so much, just take the rest of the day off and go home.” She snorted quietly with laughter at the image of her dumbfounded assistant, still new in her training.
There was nothing for her to hide, but it was also prudent for herself that no eyes lingered as she walked through the streets of the Capitol, so she walked briskly to her favorite spot: the bar. But it wasn’t just any bar with their bright strobing lights, tomfoolery, and wild concoctions. No, this bar was Matias’ bar, where the bartender knew everyone’s name and what drink they wanted that day, even if you hadn’t decided what you were feeling as you slipped into the bar stool. It was difficult to say if Callie considered Matias a friend, but the bartender had an acuity that Callie appreciated and it helped that he was always willing to lend an ear.
But he had never been forced to hear the boring drivel of planning and stress and slight paranoia that the government leaders may want to dispose of her head if the Games failed to excite. Callie entered the bar and saw that a few usuals had already settled into place. She gave a nod to the ones she had spoken to before—it took many trips before she even tried to talk to anyone else—and went straight to the bar, leaning deeply into it as if it would absorb all of her stress and frustration.
“Matias,” she called out, hoping to get his attention. “Looks like I had to make a trip out here a little earlier than I planned.” She smiled at Matias before placing a hand on the bar as she boosted herself onto a stool. “What can you offer today that is light, but will take the edge off of an unproductive day?”
Of course those were the words she spoke when she received the news that she had been selected to be a head Gamemaker for the 88th Games, but inside, she felt jubilation of receiving the honor to return for a 3rd Games. She had not been certain that they would have let her come back for after the 82nd Games, but Snow was gone and a council now ruled where he had been. Whether the High Council viewed her in a positive light or not was not something she had discerned, but they hadn’t asked for her head or her position.
Callienta gathered up the vibrant fabrics of her robe and inclined her head as she left for her office. There would be much work to do, and she hadn’t even found out who were co-heads would be. Surely, they were receiving a courier with a message as well, and news did spread quickly in the Capitol. However, the grand announcement—if it even really counted as one—would not be until one of the tributes in the grungy 87th arena had a crown atop their head. Then, it would be a year of building, breaking, harvesting, and experimenting before the next set of 24 fought for their lives.
There was so much time, and yet so little of it as well. Back in her office, she tried to put pen to paper, but found herself hesitating just a breadth before contact. Getting more and more frustrated—and it was bad enough the tea had no effect—Callie finally slammed the pen on the table and knew she had to be somewhere else. She would not take the robe with her as she went out—it would have been too bulky for where she was going—and she slammed the door behind her with steam forcefully exhaled from her nostrils. “I’m taking a break. Don’t bother finding me for the next few hours. I will let you know when I’m ready again,” she barked at her assistant who was gaping at her. “Close your mouth or speak your mind. I have no use of a fish for an assistant.”
“Wi—will you need your robe?” Callie flicked her hand back toward her assistant. “I’m capable of knowing how I want to dress. If sitting around here is going to bother you so much, just take the rest of the day off and go home.” She snorted quietly with laughter at the image of her dumbfounded assistant, still new in her training.
There was nothing for her to hide, but it was also prudent for herself that no eyes lingered as she walked through the streets of the Capitol, so she walked briskly to her favorite spot: the bar. But it wasn’t just any bar with their bright strobing lights, tomfoolery, and wild concoctions. No, this bar was Matias’ bar, where the bartender knew everyone’s name and what drink they wanted that day, even if you hadn’t decided what you were feeling as you slipped into the bar stool. It was difficult to say if Callie considered Matias a friend, but the bartender had an acuity that Callie appreciated and it helped that he was always willing to lend an ear.
But he had never been forced to hear the boring drivel of planning and stress and slight paranoia that the government leaders may want to dispose of her head if the Games failed to excite. Callie entered the bar and saw that a few usuals had already settled into place. She gave a nod to the ones she had spoken to before—it took many trips before she even tried to talk to anyone else—and went straight to the bar, leaning deeply into it as if it would absorb all of her stress and frustration.
“Matias,” she called out, hoping to get his attention. “Looks like I had to make a trip out here a little earlier than I planned.” She smiled at Matias before placing a hand on the bar as she boosted herself onto a stool. “What can you offer today that is light, but will take the edge off of an unproductive day?”
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{ Table credit: foxships }
{ Table credit: foxships }
