when: night before the quarter quell

who: thalia & annie (@caardews)

annie doesn't mean to stare. it's not right to. besides, she'd felt prying eyes in the city before, and felt the personal wave of anxiety wash over her like the saltwater ones back home. is the other woman from around here ? it's hard to tell. from features to attire, there's a grandness that rings of a capitolite. such a thing isn't the be all, end all. put cecelia whitvale or her fiancé in materials as striking as them, and there's an unfortunate, chameleon survival tactic that offers either minimal solace. thalia could be just the same.

Cressida was looking forward to the end of the games. Of course it was going to bring in a whole new different lot of issues. But she wouldn't be filming any innocent deaths. And well, that was certainly going to make her feel a lot better. People might not truly understand what she was doing here. Why a Captiolite would want to end the games. She had grown up in Luxury. She'd never had to really work for anything in her life. But her more recent filming had really opened her eyes to the imbalance across their world. Cress wanted to make it better.

"I did." She confirmed with a nod. "Certainly was a whirlwind filming experience." But had given her some ideas when it had come to this years games. Filming underwater, and within different tropical climates was challenging. But Cress liked a challenge. "I did a bit of both." She murmured with a nod. "Most of my filming was Katniss and Peeta. The whole star crossed lovers thing." It had been what the Capitol had wanted apparently. "Then I did a lot of filming on the victory tour"

Cressida didn't mean her warning to sound like a threat. But she was a Capitolite, she had the accent. And a lot of her fellow peers probably would have made it like a threat. That wasn't Cress. She mostly didn't get involved in conversations like this. More recently it was to protect herself. What she as involved it was technically treason. She could lose her life because of it. And boy did she know that Snow was not above execution. Cress quite liked her life too, and so she wasn't going to be doing anything to put it in any more danger that it already was in. Afterall being a rebel was rather dangerous in the first place.

"Indeed." Was all the woman said. She didn't quite know how they did it. Whilst she understood cameras, the technology behind the listening devices confused her a little. She really should spend some more time with those. But she wasn't really into listening in on people. Maybe she would just stick to her cameras.

"Mm. I bet." She mused with a shrug. "But anyway. Good luck in the games."

Whispers envelope the halls of the museum, the ceilings so high that it's almost like an echo. They start before the lights flicker back on but, once the broadcast is over, they only intensify. Brutus says nothing, just glances around at the Capitolites and victors alike as they discuss what they just saw. He may be more about strength, but he's not stupid, either.

He doesn't really know what's going on in the districts, but even the Capitol can't hide everything from someone who lives here just as much as he does at his own something. Darkness is brewing somewhere and he doesn't want to be caught in the crossfires. Wants to know what he's supposed to say before he tries to say anything at all.

Which is maybe why, when he's finally ready to talk, he turns to the first safe victor he sees. Xiomara, from his own district, trustworthy enough. A good starting point as he gathers information. "Have you heard what the fuck that was yet?"

There are too many sad faces here tonight, Brutus decides after spending several hours trying to get victors into conversation only to be met with big, somber gazes and wistful sighs. It's like no one can get over the Games - as though they don't know what this all entails, year after year. Even Thea is more miserable than useful, staring at their tribute with that melancholy loss all because the man wanted a bit of glory.

Which is why, when Brutus spots the tribute from Four, he doesn't hesitate to approach her. She, at least, had seemed happy to volunteer during the reaping. He can remember watching the recording and thinking to himself - now there's a girl who wants to win.

So he's smiling when he sidles up next to her and introduces himself. Even if he'll have to get her killed eventually, at least he can enjoy the right spirit for now. "I'd say good luck," he tells her with that wicked grin. "But that'd be going against my own district." He lowers his voice to a stage whisper for affect. "You understand."

He'd come to the after party as both a means to keep an eye on Natalia and to possibly garner information about the tribute's first hand. He was looking over a display when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His gaze turned to the side and he paused, watching her for a moment. Rosmarinus. He'd only seen her in passing in the last twentysome years - catching glimpses of her along the beach in Four - respecting Natalia's wishes and keeping his distance. But this very well could be his last chance at getting to know her herself, past the stories and praises Natalia had sang over their child over the last two decades.

He stepped away from the display and towards Rose. "It's... it's Rosmarinus right?" He questions despite knowing exactly who she is, despite having a picture shoved behind the identification card in his wallet - a picture of he, Natalia and Rose when she was just a few months old. "A ten, that's pretty impressive." Recalling her training score, it was something he'd bring up with any other tribute.

amara feels like a deer caught by headlights. she feels like one of the more feral strays they feed at home -- an unkown human has just swung a door open and rattled a dish of food and her back is arched and her fur is standing on end as she hisses. to say she's been on edge is an understatement. she can't forget that she's going into the games tomorrow. every face she looks into is someone she needs as a sponsor or someone she'll need to kill. if she's lucky, twenty-three people die of natural causes far away from her, and she doesn't have to deal with any of it, and she comes back home safe. but she's not lucky at all.

someone raises a toast somewhere behind her, and she flinches at the otherwise innocent sound of a couple cheers and clinking glasses, as if it was a cannon sound. her hand shoots out to grip yazmin's wrist in alarm, before she's aware of her own overreaction a moment later, and then she sighs heavily. "sorry, shit," her voice is a murmur and she shakes her head, brushing off her fleeting moment of panic. "i shouldn't be like this." relax, she tells herself.

this might be the last chance she has of being by her wife's side like this, she should be enjoying it. one last chance to pretend this isn't their reality, that they'll wake up back in their home at six, any time soon. amara's eyes soften, and the hand that had gotten yazmin's arm in fear slips down to intertwine their fingers together, instead. her eyebrows raise. "that was pretty smooth of me," she hopes the humor isn't too heavy-handed for tonight. it's not the worst of the coping mechanisms, she thinks -- downing a bunch of those champagne flutes would be much worse. "am i wooing you successfully? i'm going for a... super stressed dead woman walking thing, but in a cute way." 

who: cadie kentwell & ezra klair ( @ofxcadences )

it hurts that cadie hasn't been able to stay at the tribute center since the preparations for the games. that small part of him that worries about death, knows that extra time with the woman who had become like his daughter would have meant everything. he knows he's chosen this. cadie hasn't however, and it feels unfair for her. she doesn't get turned away by staff however, but he knows cadence will soon have to go back to her hotel. alone.

but for now, they're in his room. the walls show a landscape of mountains. for a brief moment, it feels like they're elsewhere. strong arms pull cadie in for a hug. they haven't been able to hug since leaving district two. guilt does ravage him there. she looks at him like a father ; in the last week, he's been an exceptionally poor one. " i'm sorry, cadie, " three words but they hold a heavy weight on his chest.