#dante.threads

it was late--probably later than dante should have been up considering that he had to be up bright and early to help train this year's tributes. something that still left a bitter taste in his mouth, all things considered. in truth, he'd love nothing more than to tell the capitol to fuck off with that particular job assignment--but after the little display in the stables the other day?

it was better to keep his mouth shut.

things had calmed down since then, or at least calmed down as much as it could for this time of year. but despite that, those images still played in dante's head on a loop. he was self-aware enough to assume it was part of the reason he was still awake at this hour--aware enough to know it is why there was a strong drink in his hand. the center was quiet and he had assumed that most everyone had gone to sleep by now. but evidently not.

"no rest for the wicked?"

there was hardly a damn place to go where it was quiet -- for a manor this big, dante would've assumed there were at least a couple of places that weren't swarming with people. instead it took him the better part of ten minutes just to find a more secluded area of the gardens outside -- but for the first time in a long time, no amount of alcohol or pills had managed to make a dent in his nerves...and both were wearing off and leaving him annoyingly sober. a sharp exhale sends smoke spiraling into the night sky as dante catches sight of someone who also stumbled upon this quiet corner -- and dante had no doubt that pretty soon he could no longer use the word quiet to define this spot. "let me guess, max finally found you as insufferable as i do?" oh, the claws were out already -- dante's patience was currently non-existent and he fully expected atlas to test that. "all due respect, which is to say none -- the fuck do you want?"

poison. while it wasn't exactly dante's preferred method, but he'd be a rather poor assassin if he didn't at least know how to properly utilize it. some might think it would be a difficult matter - to poison the queen, but that hall was filled with countless people - fae and vampires among the crowd. it would have been all too easy to slip poison into a goblet unnoticed.

whoever it was, they appeared to be in the wind. no doubt lucien would have made a rather grand showing of the would-be assassin if he had caught them. everyone would be alert, on edge - it just meant dante would have to be that much more cautious. but he didn't seem to concerned about that now. no doubt the prince's guards would be extra attentive to their charge, but there were few dante could not sneak past if he didn't wish to. "you really should talk to your guards. i think one of them was practically sleeping." there's a light hint of humor to his words as he makes himself known, voice lowered as he steps from the shadows that had concealed him, a glance thrown to the door before he looks back to gabriel. "...are you okay?"

he had played the topic over and over in his head, considered every single angle—every outcome. a strategist through and through, even with this. nilani wasn't the only one who had been whispering in his ear, dante isn't an idiot...but she was among the most determined to sway him, it seemed.

he just hoped his little change of heart didn't come too late. finding nilani didn't take long with the elevators still broken, and a hand lightly grabs their arm, firm enough to get their attention, but gently enough to not raise any sort of alarms, his voice lowered to a whisper, "we need to talk. it's a conversation that i'm sure you'll agree is long overdue. you have time?"

dante stood out on the balcony, looking out over the skyline—the lights of the capitol, for once there isn't a cigarette in his hand. the elevators were just fixed but dante had yet to return to the district two apartment—it would just feel stifling. that arena loomed over him, it was like he was twelve again, far too young for what he volunteered for—far too optimistic and far too naive as to what the games truly were. it's like he's eighteen, new to the capitol and filled with too much grief—much anger with nowhere to put it. so he put it on everyone else—anyone else but the person responsible.

but he's not twelve and he's not eighteen and he's not naive and he knows where to direct that anger.

he's brought out of his thoughts by the realization that he isn't alone, eyes rolling as he starts to turn, "i don't have any cigarettes, so don't—oh." that annoyance is quick to slip from his expression and tone, fingers moving to tug at the ends of shirt sleeves, dante ducking his head as if it would hide the purple makeup on his face—the jewelry that adorned his fingers and ears. "...was that true? about rye?"

as soon as they were allowed back to the floor, dante had all but collapsed onto a couch in the district two suite, an arm thrown over his eyes—makeup be damned right now. he was exhausted and those bruises that dotted his body ached. there was medicine, of course. he was just too tired to get it right now. and laying down did wonders for the pain. he exhales slowly, a shakiness to it that was not often heard. the interviews were done. one less thing to worry about.

and one more sign that the arena was so close.

the sound of approaching footsteps has his arm moving, some barbed insult ready to fly out until he notices auggie, expression softening slightly. "...the purple was a hit again. you get lectured for it too?" he pauses. "it is better if they think it was my idea, you know that...right?"

there was a bark of laughter when dante's scored was revealed -- an honest to god laugh at that number that was so damning. a perfect score. there was a time when dante would have felt nothing but pride at seeing that twelve next to his face. but that was a long time ago -- now he was just bitter. how many years had he spent following their demands? those greedy hands and lips that felt like they branded his skin with their touch? how many years had he hated what he became? what they turned him into? that pretty little puppet? and this was his reward -- a death sentence. shots are swiftly knocked back and then he's gone as soon as he's able, disappearing into the gardens outside, ignoring those who wanted his time even more now -- made all the more desirable with that score latched to him. but one person persists, follows him outside and he is ready to snap on whoever it was -- (what more can they do?) -- only to freeze when he catches sight of those familiar blue eyes. "come to check on your favorite victor, darling?" there's another one of those laughs -- coming from somewhere even dante doesn't know. that previous bitterness is nowhere to be found -- he could never direct it at kaleb. "hope you didn't gamble too much on me -- hate to think of how much you'll lose when i--" he's fraying at the edges, trying to keep ahold of himself but he slips further and further away. "--works out for atlas though, doesn't it? he won't have to spend as much as he thought."

the gymnasium brought back memories. it had been almost twenty years since he had a real reason to set foot in it, a tribute who had volunteered for his games far too early. the rule-breaker who didn't belong. fast forward a week and he proved how wrong half of that statement was.

if he had known how high the price had been--would he have still gone through with it? would damon be alive if he hadn't? would darius be safe if he hadn't?

almost as soon as he thinks them, those thoughts are shoved right back to some dark corner of his mind. he glances at the peacekeepers that stand at an exit, debating finding a way to sneak past them when he spots kaleb--and his attention shifts rather quickly. "well, well, well, slumming it, are we, hieronymus?" he grins, "i don't think sponsors are supposed to be on this floor."