#eventideevent01

she had already known the answer to her complaint, yet she can not conceal the shudder that passes through her body, the grimace that can not leave her painted face. no matter how long it has been, how many cameras she has polished her smile for, it never stops being a horrifying ordeal to give herself like that. at home, she had been respected way before being a victor, for who she really was, but here, they did not respect her — they only wanted the bits of her they could consume, that was of their taste, and she had to give that to them, at snow's behest. katniss wonders if effie would ask this of them if she knew of the president's threats, if she understood how difficult this was. after a year, katniss wants to believe there is some affection between them, and sometimes it does sound like there is, when she catches peeta on the phone with their escort or when effie fusses and reassures her, like now, but katniss is not always great at knowing for sure with these things.

tightening the line her lips form, katniss' expression shifts from complete defeat to an attempt of determination, and she pays close attention to the avoid list. she can not always tell faces apart here, blinded by their shimmering appearances and different coloring, but there are some points she can pick apart to tell who's who, and she spends a moment trying to imprint them into her mind. "is peeta also receiving this much coaching? or our tributes?" maybe it's childish to ask when she knows the answer to this too — she was the one who could never seem to do things right, apparently. it's best she swallows her resentment for tonight, though. she's not here for herself, and all that she does reflects on others — her family, gale and his, even on haymitch and effie, too. still, she asks: “have you seen them? i should check up on them, before.” she had been all nerves before the chariot ride, and though they had been at the peril of being burned alive, katniss would have preferred that to this.

two crystal glasses fill her palms as annie makes her way around the gala. the cups have a weight to them, entirely too decadent for a party. and still, they littered the room. music and chatter drown out her own thoughts. it’s a temporary blessing. the victor has never faired well returning to the capitol. her trips have been sporadic and short, never totaling more than thirty-six hours at a time. ideally, the brunette could have skipped the festivities of the quarter quell entirely. it has never been wise to decline an invitation from the president though.    

it takes a few minutes but soon she sees a friendly face ; polly lovelace was one of the few positives when it came to visiting the capitol. a genuine smile spreads across her lips as she strides over. “ are we people watching ? ” it’s hardly a greeting ; yet with the implication of we, she’s inviting herself to polly’s company. she extends an arm out before wordlessly offering the second cocktail to her friend. ( feels like a bribe ! ) annie cresta has never had the knack for keeping busy by dazzling the room, after all.    

All Scarlett knew of Katniss Everdeen was what the Capitol had been feeding to the districts since her victory. From that skewed lens the young woman had been painted as a triumphant victor in love with her fellow winner, and now husband. Katniss and Peeta were so young, Scarlett couldn’t help but be skeptical that the wedding was a natural occurrence and not something forced upon them.

It wasn’t her business to ask, no matter how curious she may be, and she kept her speculations to herself, focusing on the question asked of her instead. Drinking wasn’t one of Scarlett’s usual vices, but if she was going to be dead soon and forced to endure all the Capitol bullshit in between she was going to make up for lost time.

“Not that I’m aware of. Some of the more well off families may have access, though that was never the case for me.” District 8 was fairly average when it came to being a wealthy or poor district, but it was certainly better off compared to 12. “I’m impressed you’re able to tolerate all of this with a clear head.” Scarlett admitted, noting that Katniss was not drinking alcohol.

.

they don't even get to know about the tributes. it doesn't matter, katniss supposes, when they're all cannon fodder, and getting to know these half - corpses would perhaps ruin the narrative that they're expendable — katniss certainly had not known much about her fellow tributes, not beyond rue, and the ignorance had made it easier to see them as just things standing in the way of getting home for prim. she had deluded herself about it then, but it doesn't work so well now. this woman had been a volunteer, much like herself. and she was not well off back home, much like herself, too. it's hard to desensitize. "you should take it easy, maybe. it can get to your head pretty quickly." what a stupid thing to say. this woman, for all of appearant similarities, was nothing like the twenty one year old katniss who had never even taken a sip of that clear drink from the hob — she's an adult with a whole life, and who the fuck is katniss to tell her to do anything? and why would she listen? katniss barely suppresses the urge to bite at her own mouth, stopping herself just a moment before doing that.

"it is not wise to be here without a clear head." her head tips gently, and she looks around them. here, snow's mansion. here, the capitol. there are no safe places in this city, she tries to convey, even without uttering the words. “besides,” she remembers, a beat too late, to smile, in that foolish way she must. “the bitterness will take away the divine taste of the food. they do it really well here, you know?” she wonders if effie would be proud, or if her display is just pathetic. maybe both things can be true. “you should go at it. gain some pounds. it all helps.” she’s not her tribute, but this is a piece of advice katniss can share. they’re not all expandable for her. “mingling… also helps.” it feels rotten to say it, but it’s not a lie. probably one of the few truths she’s spoken to strangers tonight, actually. “you have someone to go back home to, after all.”

the manor is ablaze. this is the season for it with the hunger games around the corner. a quarter quell, no less ! it's hours into the gala and no end is in sight. he gracefully retrieves two flutes from a tray of an avox ; the avox curtly bows their head as the president does so. he glides over to thea, in true spirit of him owning the place. it's no different from a python eying an unfortunate mouse in a field, the way he slithers over.

" ms. ellis, do me the honor of having a drink with me. " words politely leave him as he stretches out his left arm to offer her a glass. no threat of poison, yet. it's beneath him to openly express hostility. the two have not personally spoken in a short while. it's better that way. her madness was unsettling in its erraticness. when they don't need to converse, it's a sign that it's momentarily contained. he smiles fondly as though the two are amicable. " we have much to catch up on, i'm sure. "

a smile stretches across modified lips. is it fondness for the large crowd below ? pride over everything they've accomplished ? perhaps a mixture. even with guests from differing regions scattered in his home, it was still about the capitol's generosity. it's a binge ; gluttony is a possibility here through the symbiosis of the city and the districts. “ the great sacrifice that comes of the games unifies all of panem. with the quarter quell quickly approaching i’m positive it will be one that our citizens won’t forget. ”

katniss listens attentively, more than she has ever at school — because at school, learning about things you had to export from the capitol was not seen as necessary, while learning about coal was paramount. to learn of the things that actually grew around twelve, katniss had to follow her father, read from his book, actually pick at the roots that grow around the meadow and beyond it; they could be useful when you're in a pinch (like bark from trees, dandelions and katniss roots) and they could also be used in food, even in bread, as peeta has showed her, making aromatic loafs with rosemary, basil, dill. if they had oranges — or clementines, as annie explains — peeta could make a pastry just as nice as this one; they already had the honey, and that boy could do marvels with dough. "do you grow them at four, too? do you need special greenhouses for it?" katniss thought only eleven or maybe nine grew fruit, but that's silly, isn't it? even twelve had some wild berries and the mellarks had an apple tree in their backyard. and if four can grow citrics, then so could them; her eyes twinkle with the thought of the possibility, fetching one of the clementine tarts herself.

it is sweet, tooth aching sweet yes, but katniss doesn't mind. she hasn't had the opportunity to have many sweets — especially artificial ones like this — before the games, before having a baker for a neighbor and then husband. she picks another one for peeta, then, concealing it within the napkin. she doesn't linger, though, and despite the (comfortable) company, she plucks another tart, a chocolate one this time, which is always safe because katniss knows she loves chocolate (and the boxes she hoards at the ice box back home would tell). she's gobbled it down when annie speaks next, and maybe it's because she's happy to be munching on sweets, or because annie sounds genuine — in a manner you don't really get much around this city — or because even though the words are subintended, they pair well with what katniss thought, she gives the other victor a nod that is almost too enthused. she has the thought not to snort, however. "oh yeah. that's an understatement. though in here, happy and sad doesn’t have much difference when they dress it all in gold and frills, don't they? as long as it shimmers…" she's said too much, but the distaste for capitol opulence is like a fresh wound that will never heal because she keeps poking at it, because while people at twelve keep taking on tesserae not to starve, people here can have drinks to throw up and eat more. and this, this party, is nothing of consequence, is it? who cares if these tributes will all be dead by next month? katniss' appetite stills for a moment, and she puts the napkin inside her bag.

"oh." her eyes follow annie's, and katniss' heart leaps, as it has become accustomed to doing whenever she's particularly concerned, especially about peeta. she likes having him in sight, feel his warmth to remind her he is all right, but it's a party and they're under orders to get sponsors, and peeta would never come into harm's way under the president's own roof — that would be too obvious. right? right, she tells herself. "it's okay." she decides, though the shrug she offers is not as effective when her body still holds tension. "we have a way of finding each other, even if it takes a little while." this is more reassuring, because it's true. she can't run away from peeta, and she hasn't wanted to for a while now — if anything, she's become rather eager to seek him out, more and more by the day. "and you're better company than juventus sickle." whom she had abandoned, claiming the need to search for peeta (which was true, too) because she missed him so bad (not untrue, either).

the mention of haymitch does bring a furrow to her brows. katniss had never considered not coming to every game because with her being the only female victor of her district, she couldn't just abstain, like others could. and it came without saying that peeta would follow her, and she him. the furrow dies, as she thinks that the president would never allow them to stay away; he needs them to be compliant and love-sick in front of the cameras, always sticking to the script. katniss hopes her features are not as despondent as she feels. "it's not so bad, i guess. at least it's something to do." with the fence wired on, she didn't have much to do at all so the options were to be driven mad by boredom or by seeing her helpless tributes die in front of her — it's not like she has a choice, anyways. she stifles a sigh.

When: July 6th, 75 ATT

Who: Open to anyone — @eventidestarters

“What did you do to it?” Alessandro, Fletcher’s uppity stylist, asked in a tone laced with accusation.

“Dashed it,” Fletcher answered curtly, taking the last swig from his glass.

His response was met with an indignant, wounded scoff. The words struck the stylist hard in the gut.

“That headpiece took weeks to make. Hundreds of thousands of beads and pearls. Hand-sewn! I got carpal tunnel from all that work.”

“Listen, I wouldn’t care if you accidentally sewed your hand to your ass, I’m not wearing that shit,” Fletcher declared with a single shake of the head to express finality. The insanely wealthy had already robbed him of his personal autonomy the moment District 4’s escort pulled his name out of that glass bowl; he refused to let them do the same to his dignity.

“It’s what ties the whole ensemble together,” Alessandro said as if that fact should be glaringly obvious. “Where is it? I know…”

Fletcher tuned out his nagging, allowing himself to get lost in the cacophony of voices and music that swelled within the acoustic walls of President Snow’s estate. He listened as a woman wearing a tower of a wig laughed at an unfunny joke so as not to damage a powerful man’s ego. His gaze then caught a glimpse of another Capitolite invading a fellow tribute’s personal space by placing his liver-spotted hand on the small of her back. With a hopeless defiance to him, Fletcher took a stance against pandering to the elite. There would be no bending down and kissing their feet, even if it meant costing him an advantage in the arena.

“Are you even listening?” Alessandro asked, breaking through Fletcher’s lapse in concentration. The stylist, shimmering with glitter, leaned in to keep his attention, enough for him to get a whiff of his breath. “You reek of whiskey. You know, you should be out there making an impression. Not lingering by the open bar. What would your daughter think? You, mphf—”

At the touchy subject of Annie, Fletcher shut him up by shoving his palm onto his face and withdrew himself from the one-sided conversation. He decided he had enough of Alessandro’s lecture on trivial matters, especially when his time was limited. Ignoring the consequences, he sought the company of someone who didn’t have the same plummy lilt to their accent that was characteristic of Capitolites, but mostly he searched for another drink. A clink sounded as he grabbed a cocktail from a tray an Avox was holding, sighing before taking a sip. He turned to the person nearest to him.

the seventy-fourth hunger games was the first annie had truly watched since johanna mason’s triumph. it’s still tender to her, like rubbing salt in a wound. she has to imagine most in the districts have a hard time consuming it, but it’s different after surviving the games. katniss everdeen and peeta mellark quickly became names of notoriety in the career district she called her home. 

she isn’t sure why she feels compelled to approach the recent victor at one of the plentiful, appetizer tables. annie had spent most of the party on the sideline, making conversation here and there. she lucked out that most of it was with familiar faces. she remembers rather unfondly how capitolites gush over the shiny, new toys of their adoration. and even tonight, she’s heard more than her fair share of whispers of excitement to see district twelve’s it couple. 

it’s as she begins filling a fancy plate with puff pastries that she finally speaks. “ congratulations on the wedding. people in four talked about it for weeks, ” she confesses. it’s hardly a lie either. many looked up to the newlywed couple ; cresta is slowly piecing together that respect comes from differing points of view as well, even if she’s clueless to the rebellion brewing. “ i’m annie, ” she informally introduces herself with a small smile.