#vb132

A Peacekeeper escort was becoming the norm. Out of his arena, through his victory tour, and now -- from his room to the mansion, having been forced to change his clothes. The camp uniform confiscated, back en route to the museum he'd snatched it from. And, just like that...an unruly victor's tantrum was squashed. Quelled. Successfully swept under the rug.

Despite being something of a shitty bartender with little experience, and the slew of ulterior motives to his role behind the bar, he couldn't help that he was enjoying himself. This was the most fun he'd had in months, people to talk to, a generally jovial atmosphere, nobody asking him to do anything he wasn't sure he could actually do. Bonus points, this job (probably) wouldn't end in a gun pressed to his back if something went sideways. He was getting a little too used to that feeling after the past year. There were, of course, the off-menu options in his pocket, because good business was seeing opportunity, according to his new boss. Certain Capitolites or Games-adjacent partygoers would know the special order for those, but for the most part, it was the standard cocktails and bubbly.

Holland was dancing with an overbearing, misogynistic, and very drunk sponsor who just could not take a hint. It had been a good ten minutes of him trying to find out what the next Arena would be, and also to find out what her favorite position was (she told him that she didn't like to get political). When she saw someone looking their way, she took her opportunity. "Sorry, my friend wants me," she said to the man, and made a beeline for them. "Oh thank fuck, please engage in conversation with me."

"So, who's moving to eleven with me?" Abel joked, and it was a stupid joke, with the news of the rebellion fresh in most people's minds, all the eyes watching, waiting, for someone to put a foot wrong, he was threading a thin line.

The news about District Eleven had the entire atmosphere in the ballroom slow for a moment, hushed whispers and gasps, the chimes of notifications interrupting the silence continuously. Then, the chaos returned, even more animated than before. "Certainly a good time for that announcement," Medea joked with a chuckle, however uneasy it was, to the person standing closest. "Is it that serious, or just..." she trailed off, not entirely knowing what else it could be. Unrests would never be reported at this scale if they were nothing to worry about.

He had been looking forward to Cress's return to the Capitol more than he'd admit. He hated the city, and all of his focus was on the zine lately. Whether he was staying up late doing layouts, sending encoded messages to contributors, editing, or writing, all of his free time was spent on it. When he was working out, staying in shape and using the boxing machine in his apartment building, he thought about the zine. When he was working, he kept his eye out for any information that might be useful to the cause as well as safe for him to use, something that couldn't be traced back to him. The only outlet from any of this was when he got postcards from Cress, which he returned with his own -- they were all full of vagueness and nice words about his job that she'd know were meaningless. He sent a few letters, too, which were more in-depth; his observations about the Capitol, his training, remembrances of their short time together before she'd left the city. He thought about her constantly, too, sometimes overthinking it and wondering if she'd found another district nobody to hang out with. But then a postcard or letter would arrive, and he'd know she was thinking of him too.

Mason was more than excited to be back at the Capitol. Ever since he had made it back home he had been super busy and had hardly even had time to sleep. But not tonight, tonight he was here at the Capitol and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. Even if his anxiety was through the roof. Mason had thought that things would be better with Miller and go back to the way they had been before but he was wrong. He hadn't seen or spoken to Miller since he had left the Capitol to go back home after the 132nd games had ended. It was frustrating and Mason was more than over it. To prove his point, he was going to avoid Miller at all costs to give him a taste of his own medicine.

@medeaodair