something casual of course // justice & sampson

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One rose, layin' on your grave 'cause
You pushed everyone away, but
My mausoleum, pretty like Versailles
And I played it out, 'bout a thousand times, yeah

Just say I'm perfection, get it out your system. 

Sampson stands at the gates of hell, as one often does, and they fix their baby curls in the hand mirror. This heat is eating their make up alive, it's a good thing they've got a few fans blowing. Ever since the word got to Sampson, they've dedicated their entire life (of the last few months) to planning Justice and Elara's future together. It's the final moment, it's like a coronation. 

The day a man becomes a husband. 

And the day Elara becomes relevant too, they guess. Justice and his kids are every bit of family, Sardonyx has raised those things alongside Sampson themself, it's a bit of pride to be able to plan the entire event. And, really, who better to ask but Sampson goddamn Crowe? Beg their pardon, but their entire existence is centered around throwing the best events. 

To look so damn good, that you're embarrassed it's not your party. That's the ideal vibe, Sampson checks their lipstick, "oh, where is this man?" They see Justice almost like an uncle, Sampson was only a few years old when he had won, killed who he had to right where Sampson stands today. A man who made Bambi's career, he deserves his own day. 

A whiteboard filled with ideas, designs for a suit with a train, the flower child drops petals that disintegrate in ash, floating lights! The arrangements can be dried, edible fried squids catering, of course, calamari and caviar, blacks and reds, laced java cakes, they'll melt in your mouth like hellfire -- "oh, oh I like that." Sampson's eyes get wide, skirting from the mirror to the board to jot that down. Slogans and pitches, a pressure plate that shoots a jet of lava: bam! 

Show stopper. Effortless, it's a good thing, Justice will love this, of course he will. Sampson missed out on Katelyn and Opal's wedding, they declined all wants for a service and they had never been so offended -- that's why Justice doesn't get a choice, by the way. There's no need to ask, Sampson will simply make this too good to turn down. 

Look at me, say no if you can, really. 

After losing Silk, this is just the momentum Sampson needs to bring life back to their career. The passion, some love. 

And of course, "smells... like... cinnabar." 

A lot of fire. 

"Oh. My. Justice!" Sampson can't even hold their grin back, holding their hands out palms up for Mr. Fray to receive, "welcome to hell, killer, we're so glad to have you." There's no such thing as being late when you're this successful, really; Sampson holds his breath looking at Justice's jawline. What a sight to behold -- he's from district one, of course he looks so good. 

That is the closest you can get to the Capitol, of course. 

"Now, before we get into the ex-trav-a-gan-za tell me, what's more eternal than hell?" Than death, than the end of all ends. Burning, melting, iron drips onto the skin for a torture longer than death itself. 

Sampson takes their palms back, twisting at the hip to face Justice with just their shoulder. 

"Love! Ugh," and we love love.
 
 

(table inspired by: rook)