#ruleandnextgen

Technically speaking, Aqua was here as an ‘honoured guest’. She figured enough of her family members had roles in the Tower that she could be here as the guest of any one of them. Unofficially, she was here on business. These events represented just about everything their readers resented about the Capitol and the Games, and she was determined to get a story out of it. Aqua was hovering around the table of food, trying to deduce exactly how much of it would be thrown out by the end of the night, rather going to hungry mouths in the Districts. That would be a fascinating tidbit to slot into the article. 

“I’ll beat you I can go lower in limbo than you can!” Cordelia had always been playful and finding the limbo line seemed like heaven to her. She didn’t want to go alone though and so she turned to the first person she saw giddily challenging them

Lycra Greenwell. Valkaryie thanked whatever gods existed that she’d managed to pull him from the arena. It’d been ten years since her own victory, and just like her mother, it hurt her to loose the kids she sent into the arena. She was only better at hiding it than her mother. It wasn’t only that though. Lycra was Kelvin’s son. Kelvin, the first victor Val remembered her mother bringing home, and someone she’d quickly grown attached too as a child. It’d definitely not do her well to have lost his child to the arena. Not only for his sake, but her own. 

As he looked around the room, Lycra swallowed nervously. Never once had he been the object of this much attention, never once had this many people gathered together to celebrate him. He never had big birthday parties, never did anything worth celebrating. The first time public eye had been on him was when he volunteered only a few weeks ago, and now it seemed like it would never go away. Part of him wanted to run and hide, but a bigger part of him was just happy to be recognized for who he truly was. He gave a small smile to someone as they approached him, trying to seem as friendly and approachable as he could manage, tricks he had learned from his father.

Raven started the Victor’s Ball with her baby sister on her hip, held idly with one arm while she vigorously texted with her free hand. She was supposed to be swirling around the floor, giggling with her little squad of friends to celebrate Lycra’s accomplishments. After all, she hadn’t seen any of them in months, and everyone had been incredibly busy before they shipped back off to their homes for the offseason. She wanted to hear about everything: Lycra’s victory tour, his relationship with Tetra, and Sparrow’s projects back in Eleven. 

During the past 3 victory balls Haydn had been no stranger to the bar and this time was not an exception. He had grown though his features having become sharper and so for once he did not find himself being asked for an Id. Leaning back in his seat he sipped on his drink eyebrows raising as a person approached him silently asking them what they wanted.

Mac needed a second. He needed to get away from the glitter and the obnoxious drunks and the big hair and the pointy clothes. It wasn’t his first time taking pictures at a ritzy Capitol event but something about this was worse, and he hated it. He hated everything about these people except how much money he made off them, but even that wasn’t enough to keep him from needing a break every now and then. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to alone for long out on the balcony he’d chose, and when someone else walked out, he held out his joint lazily. “Sharing is caring.”

The Graveyard arena had been a success, though that was hardly a surprise at this point into Zephonia’s reign as Head Gamemaker. The winner, one of the kids from Two, seemed like he would make a decent enough Victor, though Zephonia had very little motivation to care what happened to them after they won. Her job was done once they were out. The ball was one of the more tedious parts of her job, but a part of it nonetheless. Though she would rather be up in her lab planning for the 161st, she couldn’t help but also relish in the adoration from the masses gathered in the ballroom. Or, at least, perceived adoration.