#vball122

He should have been the victor being celebrated at this ball; it would have been better for him to be dead than to be standing here, nearly twenty-two, unable to volunteer, having had his one chance snatched from him, and then watching the boy who’d volunteered -- probably saved his life -- die.

It wasn’t just being paraded from District to District, being forced to relive the worst two weeks of his life, then being shown off to the Capitol like a prize pony. It was having to smile while doing it. Despite the volatile anger that now simmered in the back of his chest, near constant, he’d been put under strict instructions by Capitol and Rebel alike: play along. The former, to maintain status quo. The latter, to buy enough time to erode it. Regardless of intent, it meant that every pass he gave to pro-Games commentary, every person in the past two weeks who lauded him a hero, and every word he had to say in even mild indifference toward Battenberg made his stomach turn. It was an insult to the memory of the people who had died at the Capitol’s hands. At his hands. By the time the Ball happened, he was at the end of his already thin patience with the pageantry of the Victory Tour. It had not been an hour yet, and already he’d been passed from sponsor to Capitolite to Gamemaker to mentor to biggest-fucking-fan several times over, and he was losing his will to stick with the play-nice strategy.  Someone touched his shoulder and he turned, braced for another unendurable conversation only slightly softened by the drink in his hand. “What?” he asked, tired, unable to keep the sting from his voice after two glasses of... whatever this drink was.

The night of the ball, she was feeling okay. She hadn’t been much herself lately, feeling mostly run-down, though she wasn’t sure if that was just the new normal state of being or whether something was wrong.

Hestia always felt uncomfortable at these types of functions, entirely out of place and certainly never a willing attendee. It was something she never grew used to- the sharp contrast of being plucked from bomb-ravaged, impoverished Twelve and dropped into a world of excess and fleeting fancies, all in the name of celebrating a newly traumatized child. It did very little for Hestia’s mood. 

Emilia had to get away. It was hot, her dress was heavy, the strappy heels she was wearing hurt and god nothing she had done would get the nausea to subside (though admittedly, eating a third cookie probably wasn’t the best idea, stupid cravings). So with a quick kiss to her husband’s cheek, she excused herself to the ladies’ room with the promise she’d be back shortly. She really just needed to breathe some air that wasn’t being shared with a few hundred other bodies. And maybe get these awful heels off (though they would definitely be going home to be added to her permeant collection). 

Ophelia was exhausted. This was her first time in three months back in the Capitol. Life back home was so easy. Days were spent helping her mother with patients and of course taking care of her son. Then when it was time to be back in the Capitol, days seemed so long and busy. Today, most of her morning was spent traveling to the Capitol, then time spent with the stylist to make her look like a human being and presentable, and now at the crowded, fast pace ball. Of course she enjoyed events like these but they could be so tiring. 

Satchel was feeling good, dancing with two of his closest friends, even though he hadn’t known them at all before a few months ago. “It’s so good to have you guys back!” he exclaimed over the music, his mask in one hand and his drink -- something very fruity and pink and delicious and strong -- in the other.

Bran was making a fool of himself. What else was new? Of course she got stuck with the one mentor who had no issue with creating a spectacle. At least the suit she’d chosen for him was befitting of his character... almost too well. Selene didn’t trust anyone who could pull off a hat resembling that of a dead bat. Who would? Perhaps the feeling was mutual. It was both just a job to them, after all. Still, it warmed her heart to see that he was plopped into an ensemble that he had no say in otherwise. Selene approached him with an air of superiority only afforded to Capitol citizens much like herself.