bargains ⇢ andal & bambi. (93rd)
Apr 1, 2023 11:58:47 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 1, 2023 11:58:47 GMT -5
Bambi Salcedo sounds less like a woman’s name and more like a natural phenomenon, the epithet for some faraway galaxy.
But Searley: that’s a name of something on solid ground, touching the grass, attuned to the earth.
The only stars I’d ever seen were always a great distance away, and I think I preferred it that way. After weeks of staying in the Capitol for the 93rd, stars seem to explode at every turn and corner, its lights both divine and alien. There are all manners of them, too. Small bulbs to signboard. Little tea lights to the brilliant shimmer reflected off of Bambi’s dress.
My cheeks warm from the sole act of shooting her a glance.
Sitting across the table, limned by the lights of the sponsorship event, she is a picture collage wall of every prom queen I was too shy to ask for a date, every star I’d watched from the fields. It didn’t feel like I belonged to sit across the desk from her.
But I was here.
Newest victor, wrapped in fresh and bloody glory like a calf newly torn from a womb, I was here.
And to get what I wanted, to save the two lives I had been assigned to, it is too important to act as if I belonged.
The silver suit makes it easy. And the slicked hair, plus whatever they covered my engineered face in.
It’s much harder to cover up my desperation, though. Every deal here is made with an air of nonchalance over light snacks, but I had been wrought into a creature of appetite. I want the whole feast. I hunger for the infinite. Wolf at the golden door, I can feel my teeth before I speak, its molars sharp and eager.
“So, Autumn,” I begin, a practiced smile across my lips, a filter over my country drawl, leaning a little closer across the bar table between us. “I owe my gratitude to you, Ms. Salcedo. The prom queen story, the dresses, the letters. Thank you.” I lower my head in a polite nod, almost nearly a bow.
What is her goal, though? What is her prize out of Autumn? Is it only a cat’s curiosity, a sort of mischievous play, or is it something much more sinister?
I cannot tell. Bambi sits there unreadable, her face as heavily-layered as her one of her beautiful gowns.
”I can’t understate how thankful I am to have someone, a master, herd me throughout the sponsorship ordeals. Truthfully, I … needed it.” A nervous chuckle, a show of humility, and a slow stir of my wine glass. “If you have any more tips, please.”
They play a highlight of Autumn on the projected screen.
In her dress — or rather, one of Bambi’s dresses — she looks as if she is a fearsome princess, clutching her sword with both hands to carve her own destiny.
I grip the stem of my wine glass a little bit tighter. My eyes suddenly harden to a tool steel grey as I face Bambi and say the next words, the glibness falling with concerning speed, “I want her out. Both of them. They deserve it.”
But Searley: that’s a name of something on solid ground, touching the grass, attuned to the earth.
The only stars I’d ever seen were always a great distance away, and I think I preferred it that way. After weeks of staying in the Capitol for the 93rd, stars seem to explode at every turn and corner, its lights both divine and alien. There are all manners of them, too. Small bulbs to signboard. Little tea lights to the brilliant shimmer reflected off of Bambi’s dress.
My cheeks warm from the sole act of shooting her a glance.
Sitting across the table, limned by the lights of the sponsorship event, she is a picture collage wall of every prom queen I was too shy to ask for a date, every star I’d watched from the fields. It didn’t feel like I belonged to sit across the desk from her.
But I was here.
Newest victor, wrapped in fresh and bloody glory like a calf newly torn from a womb, I was here.
And to get what I wanted, to save the two lives I had been assigned to, it is too important to act as if I belonged.
The silver suit makes it easy. And the slicked hair, plus whatever they covered my engineered face in.
It’s much harder to cover up my desperation, though. Every deal here is made with an air of nonchalance over light snacks, but I had been wrought into a creature of appetite. I want the whole feast. I hunger for the infinite. Wolf at the golden door, I can feel my teeth before I speak, its molars sharp and eager.
“So, Autumn,” I begin, a practiced smile across my lips, a filter over my country drawl, leaning a little closer across the bar table between us. “I owe my gratitude to you, Ms. Salcedo. The prom queen story, the dresses, the letters. Thank you.” I lower my head in a polite nod, almost nearly a bow.
What is her goal, though? What is her prize out of Autumn? Is it only a cat’s curiosity, a sort of mischievous play, or is it something much more sinister?
I cannot tell. Bambi sits there unreadable, her face as heavily-layered as her one of her beautiful gowns.
”I can’t understate how thankful I am to have someone, a master, herd me throughout the sponsorship ordeals. Truthfully, I … needed it.” A nervous chuckle, a show of humility, and a slow stir of my wine glass. “If you have any more tips, please.”
They play a highlight of Autumn on the projected screen.
In her dress — or rather, one of Bambi’s dresses — she looks as if she is a fearsome princess, clutching her sword with both hands to carve her own destiny.
I grip the stem of my wine glass a little bit tighter. My eyes suddenly harden to a tool steel grey as I face Bambi and say the next words, the glibness falling with concerning speed, “I want her out. Both of them. They deserve it.”
