#eventidestart

Calista had always thought that District Two was one of the most glamorous places that you could find in Panem. She had been so wrong. It was laughable, the thought that District Two could hold a candle to the opulence of the Capitol. She had thought that she knew what the Capitol looked like, but viewing it through a screen was a lie. An illusion. Everything seemed brighter and larger and she found the effect to be rather dizzying. How...did these people manage this every day?

She had followed the crowd to the After-Party, unsure of what she was really doing there. It was filled with strangers, and all she wanted was to find a familiar face. She would have even accepted a friendly face. Being from the Districts she felt almost like...a pet that some of the Capitol people found amusing. She didn't like the feeling.

It was a relief to find a decently empty room, but in the next breath, she realized what the room was. On display were the outfits that the tributes wore...and right in front of her was an outfit that she knew very well. Cato's. Her feet seemed to guide themselves and within moments she found herself standing in front of it. She reached out to touch the glass.

"Cato," she whispered, tears burning in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. A noise behind her startled her, and she whipped around. "Can you give me a minute?" She snapped.

The whole sordid affair between the stylists from District Twelve and their spectacular fall from favor was the kind of gossip that the readers of Capitolite Glamour wanted to read about, but Eris had been in this business long enough to know better. It was a shame, though, she thought. Perhaps a word in President Snow's ear could get her the green light. She would have to send out some feelers to see what was approved.

It was disappointing, really, but what better way to distract from a disappointment than shopping? Eris needed some new dresses, all of hers were so last Hunger Games season, so it was time for a change. And you never knew what you might hear at one of the shops, anyway. People just loved to gossip amongst the racks of clothes.

Spotting a familiar face amongst the racks, a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh, darling! It's been too long, how are you?" She paused, eyeing the garment in the other's hand. "You're not thinking about getting that are you?" Eris looked doubtful for a moment before her smile returned. "It's so last season, you see. But for you, I like it."

who: coriolanus snow & anyone in the capitol

the quarter quell is behind them, even if the abruptness of it all was less than desired. the rebels showed prowess that the president hadn't entirely expected. the arena going up in flames was a pleasant touch, if not also infuriating. they struck when the iron was hot, but how will they fair now that it's cool ? uprisings were not an unknown annoyance of coriolanus snow. he has suffocated threats in the past. if a war is what those ungrateful pests of the districts desired, fine. their offspring will have to deal with the embarrassing legacy of their loved ones failing miserably. district twelve being smoking shambles was merely inevitable, perhaps the first of many.

the president sits calmly in his luxurious, open study however, looking not the least bit out of place. his features are pleasant, offering a slight smile to his company. " i appreciate you meeting with me at such short notice. " even now declining an invitation from snow was rather foolish.

constantinus can barely remember the last quell — he had been seven and something, and his mother was pregnant, so he had been dragged around between her room (free of all things of the games, because at the very least the capitol doctors knew the images could be disturbing for an expecting mother) and his grandparents' mansion, where the images of the beautiful forest and the forty - eight tributes were constant. if he squints, he can see blood coating the wings of the stuffed muttation that once had been the very thing to kill one of the kids from twelve (he had gasped and cried himself to sleep that night, getting rid of his own parakeet, as if the thing was anything like the mutts that killed maysilee donner).

filled with a wave of nausea, he tosses his pink drink on the carpet floor and kicks his feet against it, moving on to the next room. no, he did not care for the warning of no consumption around the exhibition rooms — he's been here a thousand times and has always made a scene of eating whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and it would be no different now; like then, he is not stopped either. in fact, he gives a bright sneering smile to the peacekeeper at the door as he walks in another room, taking out a flask from inside his jacket and pouring in the glass he had just emptied a few moments ago. before he can take a sip, however, someone comes in his line of vision, and the blond halts his step.

"if you could have anything from this room. anything at all," he makes a motion with his glass, towards all of the artifacts from all times of panem, some perhaps even older than the treaty of treason itself. "what would it be?" constantinus gives a tilt of his head to his interlocutor. "and what would you do with it?"

Amber whiskey swirled absentmindedly in a glass as Sterling's mind seemed to be anywhere but focused on what was in front of him. He pondered why he hadn't heard from his contacts in the underground. Eyes lingered on the the piano abandoned by the lounge singer and her accompaniment some 30 minutes ago, remembering years past when his own fingers would stroll across the keys. They moved over the screen, showing mostly sleeping tributes. And they lingered on the rich men of the capitol, leaving him to wonder if they knew his wife.

But mostly, his mind was occupied by the stewing pit of anger in his gut, and he was trying to figure out the las time he wasn't angry. Even time spent with his children and his wife, it was there, festering under his skin. All he had to do is think about the injustices they had or would face, and there it was again, brought to the surface for him to pick and worry at, never letting the wound heal.

He knew he was placed on the precarious edge of drinking to relax and drinking to forget. He knew he should finish his drink, and retreat back to his hotel room where he'd find his wife spending quality time with their young ones. But he couldn't bring himself to do that yet, both for himself, and for them. But he knew he should be doing something other than stewing.

Despite this, it didn't stop himself from speaking up as someone slid into the barstool next to him., despite others being open. "Trust me, you don't want me as company tonight."

Delly had never felt so lost.

It had only been a few days since she had left the Capitol and even fewer days since she had learned that Twelve and her parents were gone and Peeta was missing and yet it felt like it had been a year. Every time Dirk looked at her he expected her to know what to do or what to say to make everything better, but Delly couldn't make this better. She had never had to be a parent to her brother and she hadn't realized how hard it would be. One moment Dirk was fine, following Gale around in a way that made her almost smile, and the next he was sobbing in her arms. Delly refused to cry in front of Dirk, she wasn't going to burden him with her own grief.

She had been quick to volunteer herself to help out everywhere, it seemed that that was what they expected of them in Thirteen, but secretly she was glad to have something to keep her mind off of everything that had happened. It was especially hard for her when her thoughts went to Peeta. Peeta...how did this happen? How had they left him behind? Delly felt so angry and sad and she didn't know what to do or who to hit or scream at.

They left Peeta behind. She had left Peeta behind. And her parents. She could never forgive herself.

A few tears fell from her cheeks as she stood in the kitchen biting down on her lip, trying to control herself. She couldn't cry in the District Thirteen kitchen. At least she was alone.

But then there was a rustle behind her and she whirled around.

"I'm sorry I thought I was alone," she quickly wiped at her cheeks. "Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go."

Who: Portia and open

It was rather disappointing that her tribute had died so early this year. Last year she hadn't dreamt of her tribute getting this far. But Peeta had won. And well, she supposed it had spoiled her. In her first year she'd gotten a victor. And it was going to be hard to beat that. She'd not gone into the games expecting to end up friends with the tributes that she styled. But Peeta had wormed his way into her heart, and she actually quite genuinely liked him. Which, was why she felt a little sad too that Chandler had died. District 12 felt more like a family. It also meant that she had some more free time now, since she was going to have to create any further designs.

That was why she found herself in the public viewing area, a fancy purple cocktail in her hand. Was she enjoying the games? Maybe. She wasn't sure. A quell was always exciting, even though this was technically the first one she remembered. She was only 3 when the first Quell had happened. To be honest, it felt a little boring right now. Not a lot was going on.

She turned towards the person who was nearest to her, a somewhat frown on her face. "Is it just me or has the pace slowed down today?"

Between Capitol strategy meetings and his own personal business, late nights were not uncommon for Kyan. He routinely worked well into the early hours, watching the clock creep up on midnight, and then past one, then onto two. Years ago this lack of work-life balance would have driven him insane, but now? He wouldn’t complain, not when there was real work to be done. And that’s how he found himself there now, walking the dimly lit halls of the tribute center as he found his way to the door and out onto the street. 

The cool air embraced him as he stepped out into the night. Neon lights illuminated the sky, concealing the stars. It was quiet, almost peaceful, and Kyan allowed himself to relax for just a moment. He deserved it, after all; he had managed to smuggle that file out undetected, and even the smallest of victories deserved to be celebrated. 

But the calm didn’t last long. Kyan rounded a corner, turning onto the next street, only to find himself face-to-face with this unfortunate soul. What business did they have wandering the city at this time of night? Didn’t they know it was dangerous? Kyan froze, doing his best to maintain his unbothered demeanor despite his surprise. 

“What are you doing?” His tired voice had an edge. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for you to be hanging around here?”