Everyday I'm Shuffling {Topaz

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

He could feel the buzz catching, gasoline on a flame. Not too long after he'd taken his position in the alley the crowd caught on to the excitement, lifting their voices and crowding forward. He wasn't sure what had tipped them off, but they were right. A flurry of activity, a flash and - had Topaz Ross just walked past him? Maverick blinked, pushed himself away from the concrete. Indeed, he could see her red hair between shoulders, walking towards the crowd. For a moment, only the data registered, that he had been there, within arm's reach, and she had simply gone by, in the care of her handlers.

And then it hit him. He had just let Topaz Ross slip through his fingers because of a simple miscalculation. He had assumed they would bringing her to the station, not from it to the crowd. He hadn't been prepared properly. And wasn't that always the thing he told himself, the thing he would ask the victors when he was finally the hunger games' host? Preparation was key, was everything. It kept you alive. And here he had utterly failed and by oversight lost an opportunity he might never have again.

Paperwork be damned! Maverick strode forward on the edge of her handlers, riding the wave of them as the crowd exploded. That was the trouble with these sorts of events; it wasn't just the press. Every citizen of the Capitol had an opinion about Miss Ross, for better or worse, and they were used to be indulged. They wanted to talk to her too, or cheer, or boo. Whatever it was, the noise was very nearly defeaning. He envied the Peacekeepers their ear plugs as he struggled along, clutching his guest press pass as though it was the only thing between him and death's door. At first he focused entirely on following the victor, shoving people aside and pushing his pass in the face of the guards. But then, once inside the ring of reporters, Maverick finally got a good look at the girl who had killed her soulmate.

And found that she was rather good with the crowd. No doubt she'd been given some fairly specific instructions, but still... she seemed genuine. He admired that about her. As reporters threw questions at her like cannon balls, Maverick quickly moved through them, using his shoulders to part the sea of familiar faces. It was entirely too hot to be wearing such a suit, but his mop of black hair hid the sweat reasonably well. And he refused to put his glasses back on. Refused. He wanted to be able to see her, and he felt it only fair for her to be able to see him.

He kept his blue, blue eyes on Topaz as she answered some questions and waved off others. He kept track, too. It was tacky to ask about Nash, anyhow, and overdone. They'd had so many experts and pundits weigh in about her death, it was old hat. No point in cornering Topaz about it. People tended to forget that she was a victor. They remembered she did the tours and lived, and all that. But they didn't really remember that she had survived, that she had killed, that she had faced the worst part of herself and twenty-three others and come out the other side to tell the tale.

In Maverick's world, it wasn't good to poke at the wounds of someone who had kissed death and then turned her back on him.

He continued to pay attention to the questions, to read the crowd's response, when suddenly he felt the weight of someone's gaze. Topaz addressed him. It was a shock, no doubt, and he felt the blood in his body be instantly washed out, replaced by adrenaline. But that didn't mean Maverick faltered, or hesitated. He was, after all, ever the showman.

"Maverick," he introduced himself quickly. "I bet it's a bit strange to be back in the Capitol," he began sympathetically, allowing himself just a little bit of time. Because she had singled him out, right, and what did he have to lose now that he had her attention - and therefore the attention of all of Panem. "We're glad to have you though." Another liberty. Like he could speak for the city. "Can you tell us a little bit about how you spend your days now? We'd like to know how you're doing." He smiled lightly then, just enough to be polite, but not enough to draw away from the intensity of his eyes.

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

Better than District One? Well, surely. Although it was about as good as the districts got, they just couldn't compete with the soft luxury of the Capitol. He liked them though. They provided the jewels that lined his pocket watch, among other things. He wondered how that comment might play out back home, among her friends and family. Perhaps she didn't care, but Maverick desperately wished they had been in another situation, one more intimidate and relaxed so that he could have salvaged the comment, made a joke to soften it. The Capitolites cheered like the pack of mindless muttations they were, which only added to his desire for a better setting.

That was the key to the best games' hosts. A comfortable seat, a well appointed room, some refreshments, not too many hangers-on. Even the interviews in the training center weren't nearly so good. He had a particular room in mind, actually. The library at his parents' home. It was cozy, filled with plush sofas, but the bookshelves stretched the height of all three floors of their home. It made it feel more open, even though the base was one of the smallest rooms. Perhaps it wasn't completely ideal; it did tend to echo. But it was leagues better than this rabble of a crowd and desperate reporters.

He could do nothing to help the victor, and so he decided to choose his next question even more carefully. He wanted to reach out to her, brush her arm, tap her knee. Something friendly while he babbled on about the Capitol and District One, old friends and allies. But Topaz wasn't there, beside him, and where she had gone, no one knew. She stared blankly ahead, eyes locked on him, and a shiver run up his spine. Whatever her thoughts, her memories, that gaze chilled him and once again he was reminded that this was a girl who bested twenty-three others against the odds.

When another reporter shuffled, leaning her hip into Maverick, he looked away almost casually. She clearly wanted a better view, or perhaps she wanted to interrupt his connection with Topaz. In either case, Maverick was not about to let that happen. As she moved another inch in his space, Maverick steeled his elbow and rolled it back into her ribs, locking her in place at his side. If she moved forward, she would have to do so more obviously, more rudely. And now that Topaz has checked back into the interview, Maverick seized her attention.

"We do love our parties," And though he did not laugh, his grin was so near to it, his words warbling in the same cadence, that it was as though he chuckled. Ah, the crowd. She held them so expertly, and they were such a thorn in his side at the moment. But at least Topaz could control them, unlike so many other victors who seemed baffled by their love, their dedication, their worship. She'd only had a year to adapt and already she was doing quite well for herself. Yes, Maverick liked this victor very much.

"Do you have a favorite place you like to go? Any parties that stick out in your memory?" He stepped forward, tired of the other reporter leaning on him, stealing his sunshine. "The Marks' mansion is lovely in the summer." It was a hint, a not terribly subtle one. He knew they would have invited Topaz. Perhaps she had already been there. It would be easy to lie about it, at any rate, because it was so damnably exclusive hardly anyone had ever even seen the inside. Whatever she said, Maverick felt confident it would be the right thing. And that was his only job.

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

He could feel the attention of the crowd starting to shift. Or, rather, the attention of the reporters. While they were happy to let him have a few questions (it was professional courtesy, after all), this was going on much too long. Perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps they saw the connection between Topaz and Maverick growing, forming into something they could only grasp at. Something Caesar had, and every single one of them wanted. Respect. Mutual appreciation. Things that took years to develop for almost everyone, and Caesar Flickerman could establish in a moment.

Maverick wasn't there yet, of course, but he was learning. He had read everything he could about Caesar (which had been a painful process as he had never really liked reading, or libraries, where people had to be quiet and still). It seemed to him that despite all Caesar had grown up with, all he had been given, his greatest asset was something you couldn't mimic; he just had the right level of charisma. Of course, the near-weekly plastic surgery helped. Maverick would need that someday, and he had accepted it. Probably sooner than he liked, but that was live behind the screen. He was handsome to start with, so had Caesar been. That helped.

But really looks had very little to do with it. The surgeons in the Capitol were skilled enough to fix battle wounds and burns and mangled bodies taken out of the arena. So what were a few wrinkles in comparison? No, he didn't need to be handsome, although it certainly helped now, among the sea of reporters. Maybe that's why she had landed on him, or the fact that he was one of the few who was dressed in more formal attire. Perhaps he ought to make a point of wearing suits on a regular basis. If only it wasn't quite so warm.

And now he was in a bit of a pickle. At least he had the good sense to recognize it. He may have marched Topaz away from more controversial topics, but he had walled her in. He was pretty sure more victors developed some sort of skill or hobby after winning. What else did they have to do? He wasn't sure partying qualified, but then, Topaz had never seemed like one to go with the crowd. If she wanted to make her life about socializing, he thought that was more worthy than learning how to paint or knit. Although a twenty-four bender was something else entirely. That took stamina.

Maverick laughed good-naturedly, along with the crowd. Oh, how they all envied her now. To be at the best parties, eating and drinking and schmoozing all night. Most Capitolites could only dream of such an invitation. And there it was, the way out of his box. He figured he had only one question left, because it would be rude to monopolize any more of her time. Also, because he could feel the others moving in, pressing on his back and against his sides. He did not like the jostling, but he knew he could tolerate it a bit longer.

Just long enough to find out maybe one more thing about Topaz, who remained so much of a mystery. If he couldn't get more specific details about her life, maybe at least he could give Panem a glimpse into her future, if she thought about it. And if she didn't... well, that would be just as interesting, he thought.

"Any idea on how long you'll be sojourning in the Capitol, Miss Ross? I'm sure there's still quite a few families would love to host you." And the real question remained beneath the surface - will you ever be able to go home again?

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

He couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Rather, he didn't want to. No other district could compare to the Capitol, with good reason. All of the best things from all of the other districts came to them, so why bother? If he wanted a scenery change, all he had to do was to take the train to any of the arenas. He had been to all the ones open, at least once. He considered it part of his "job" now, to keep himself informed, to be as close to the hunger games as possible. Not just to see the events on the television, but also to invest himself in them.

He wanted to walk the same paths, touch the same weapons, speak to those precious few who returned alive. All of these things gave me a better, rounder view of the games themselves, and thus would prepare him for the future. He wasn't quite sure how it would work, not yet. But someday that first-hand knowledge was going to set him apart from the brat pack, and that's all he needed - a foot in the door. Certainly today would be a step forward. His name had been floated, the victor's attention captured. It had all gone relatively smoothly, if a little blandly. But why provoke something epic when he couldn't fully take credit?

Because he knew how things worked. All of his questions, all of Topaz's looks, would be attributed to her and a bunch of reporters. That was all. Nothing at all about Maverick Miles. Sure those who parsed the footage would know, and hopefully someone in the shiny building that housed the broadcast center would have noticed. But most of Panem? Never. Except for one person, who was sure to remember him: Topaz Ross herself. And maybe, just maybe, that's all he would need.

He held that grin, inclined his head a little, as though to say - thank you for staying with us. Maverick thought it would be a good thing for her to stay in the Capitol. Panem knows what happened in Districts, even the nicest of them all. They couldn't be trusted to treat their victors well, and she'd have enough work coming with the next set of tributes. He had thought to comment on her leaving, something gracious, but then Topaz began to speak again, and he knew he'd lost his opportunity. They went by so fast; he would just have to be faster. And it was in this moment of berating himself that Topaz turned the power tables around.

The flesh directly below his left eye twitched. And then she was gone, red hair in a sea of dye. They watched her go, and then they descended.

By then, luckily (perhaps skillfully), Maverick had picked up the pieces of himself and smoothed his game face over the shock. He grinned like a schoolboy at the first dance, letting his boyish charms take over. His dimples deepened, his eyes glancing a little shyly around at the crowd. It was really the only angle he could play as the reporters shuffled him forward, eager to get a better picture, a word or two. Someone else maybe could have pulled off blase, but not Maverick. He wouldn't belitte her choosing of him that way.

He was careful to say nothing too interesting, just that he was looking forward to the evening, and no, he didn't know Miss Ross well, and yes, he was quite excited. He finally managed to back up far enough to escape down the alley where he had originally planned to make his introduction to Topaz. Once he slipped through the coded doors, and then finally into a restroom, Maverick finally let the moment sink in. His fingertips trembled, shaking up his arm beneath the burgundy cloth. He watched his hand abstractly, as though it belonged to someone else.

"Mr. Miles?"

He looked up into the mirror, blinked. He hadn't heard anyone enter. The man said something about Topaz, and Maverick got the impression that he knew her, maybe was her handler. In any case, he seemed professional, and Maverick usually read people well enough to recognize bullshitting. Part of the job. He followed the man through the hallways, into the sunlight and out of it again, without paying much attention. His thoughts were too focused inwardly. He ought to go home and change, but judging from the sunlight he didn't have much time if it was a dinner party. And judging from the fellow in front of him, he had no time at all. So Maverick settled for a ruffling of his black curls, and the removal of his suit jacket. The outfit completely transformed without it - the vest dark against the shirt, a pocket watch clipped in. Certainly it was good enough for an occasion.

With his outfit settled, at least as much as it could be on the fly, Maverick tuned back into his feet, and hoped they would be with Topaz soon, or at least that he would be given some answers, instead of instructions.

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

The one benefit to waiting was that he had time to actually freshen up. As soon as the handler left him to his own devices, Maverick located the nearest bathroom. It was considerably more ornate than the one at the television station; gold filigree flecked the walls wherever they had forgotten to add a mirror. At least, that's what it seemed like to him. Almost the entirety of the place, from floor to ceiling, was reflective. This was disconcerting when one considered actually using the toilet, but he reasoned most Capitolites did such base things in private. Certainly he would never use a public restroom unless it was an absolute emergency.

He spent his time there, first washing his hair in the sink and then using some of the provided gel. With his hair properly coiffed, Maverick turned his attention to more pressing matters. He scrubbed his face far more than was necessary. As he toweled it off, his flesh pink, he was reminded of his dealings with the Avox in his home not so long ago. And, indeed, no one had said anything about the strange fingerprint-shaped marks on her face. He grinned at himself in the mirror, white teeth reflecting back at him. At least he didn't have to worry about those; he hadn't eaten since leaving the house, and he always brushed his teeth thoroughly after. Hygiene was important to this Capitol boy.

He scrapped away the day's beard growth, discarding the razor after. Maverick took one whiff of the provided cologne and knew, absolutely knew, that he smelled better without it. That was it then. All that could be done. He considered paying a runner to go to his small apartment and rustle up something better, but in the end decided against it. Depending on where the night took them, he didn't want to be in a situation where Topaz wanted something, and he didn't have the money to buy it for her.

Because he would buy her anything he could. He didn't think she was the type to force shops open late at night, though. Still, it never hurt to be prepared. Ah his motto, totally riddled with holes after his botched meeting today. And yet, hadn't things turned out exactly as he wanted them to? Wasn't he here, walking down the corridor to the waiting room, just a few yards from a lovely Victor? Consider all possibilities was key, but if this day had shown him anything, it was that he could fly by the seat of his pants and land on top.

The same handler came to collect him shortly before seven. The man had changed into a full penguin suit, and Maverick felt more than a little self conscious without his jacket. He could wear it again... but no, it was better to be different, if only a little. He followed quickly behind, hands clasped at his back, taking in only the carpet at his feet. It was old, frayed, undoubtedly priceless. The designs had a peculiar aspect he couldn't quite place. A severity he didn't think suited Panem at all. The man lead them down a flight of stairs, quite different than the ones he had come by, and deposited him at the mouth of a gaping, follow room.

Maverick gave him a curt nod, deciding that he was now of higher rank. Anyone on the arm of a Victor ought to be, theoretically. Maverick did his best to hold his awe in check, but it would outdo him. The size and scope of the room, the tinkling chandeliers, the myriad of food and drink. It was exactly as they showed on television, and yet so much more - the smells, the sounds of those gathered, even the faint whiff of food settling on his tongue, all of it made this night so much more than any he had experienced, possibly ever.

And then she was there. Slim, tiny, delicate in her skin-tight teal. The sheen of it drew the eye, as though she needed any help. It was the perfect compliment to the vibrant nature of her hair. As ever, Maverick's smile as cool, professional, and just enough to be welcoming. But his eyes, nearly shadowed by the halo of his black curls, they took in all of Topaz, delighted in her choice of dress. No one could help looking at her, and in turn, no one would miss him. "Good evening," he greeted her with a bow of his head that traveled down his spine so that he bent slightly at the waist. And then she was off, leading him to a table. He sat only after she had, and would have pulled out her chair, too, had there been time. He wondered if that would have offended her, and hoped to have the opportunity to try again later.

"A bourbon on the rocks," He said to her, instead of the waiter, because what did he matter? Not at all, that's what. He found her rather more intoxicating than the promise of alcohol, and checked himself before he leaned too far, too eagerly, over the table. He made a point of lounging back against the chair, eyes never leaving her (a trick learned long ago), but the rest of his body angled towards the room.

Maverick chuckled, the sound resonating from deep within his throat, his adam's apple quivering ever so slightly with the sound. "You are everything and nothing like they say," he offered her a riddle with the slightest lift of his eyebrows. He took only a moment to consider what to say, what to reveal about himself, and then put his forearms casually on the table, hands clasped together, pointed at Topaz. "I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing about you. I'm something of a Victor aficionado, if that doesn't send you running for the door." His gaze flickered to the nearest, grandest entrance, and then back. "But, let's say this night is for something else other than the Games. In that case, my second hobby is collecting jokes. Would like to hear one?" He waggled his eyebrows quite purposefully this time, eyes full of mischief.

life is bigger, it's bigger than you, and you are not me
the lengths that I will go to

Maverick wound his fingers around the tumbler of whiskey, shifting it counter and then clockwise again. The coolness of the glass, the slight condensation, was a relief. He hadn't even realized his palms had begun to sweat, no doubt due to the room, the night, the company. But with the whiskey as fortification, that wouldn't be a problem for long. He sipped delicately at it, each pull just enough to wet his tongue and nothing more. Inside the glass were two cubes which sat along the bottom, both of varying degrees of dark. Whiskey stones. Truly a classy touch undoubtedly harvested in District Two. He would have to brag to his father about them, as he had only ever heard of such a thing.

The hall had filled quickly after their arrival, and already Maverick could hear the tell-tale signs of drunken revelry. The noise level of the room elevated, laughter becoming more and more frequent. He thrived on it, on the giddy happiness of others. Never was there a better opportunity for Maverick to slip into someone's conversation unnoticed, turn to things both interesting and valuable. He loved his whiskey for himself, but he loved all forms of alcohol even more for how easy it made his job. When Topaz flagged a waiter for more champagne, the liquor in his system ignited.

He always felt it first in his legs, which was odd according to those he had questioned. Nevertheless, he felt it coursing through his veins, making his toes tingle. There was a roughness to whiskey, a charcoal quality that made it difficult to drink quickly, but once it hit the system, pulsed through the heart, well - Maverick had never found a better buzz. Of course he knew about the cloying properties of champagne. It was sweet and bubbly and it dulled all the hurt and pain in the world. Maverick didn't need that, but neither could he fault Topaz for her choice. He wondered if that was her escape, her way of dealing, but he doubted it. No one had called her a drunk, and while she attended parties, he felt that Topaz had a lot more control over things than she let on. But how did someone overcome the loss, the murder, of their beloved? He wanted to know, and someday he would find the time and place to ask.

But tonight was not that night. Tonight was a time for jokes and games and fun. He could feel it, maybe just in his toes, but the night had a sweet, delicious promise to it. Something he hadn't felt in quite a long time. Maybe it was simply his new status, the fact that the doors to the great hall had opened for him. But he had a sneaking suspicion it had much to do with the company. Ah, how she indulged him. Maverick returned that smirk, just a flash of it, before steadying his features. He dropped his chin just a little so that he could look up into her eyes, suddenly all seriousness. "What do you call a smart, sensitive man?"

He waited just a moment, eyes twinkling. "A rumor." Maverick flicked back some of the mop of jet black curls from his eyes before taking a quick sip of whiskey. "That's an old standby. One of my favorites. Let's try this one - what do you call a teenager from District Twelve?"

His voice dropped considerably as he unwound the joke, ending on a whisper. He held her gaze - her strong, enigmatic gaze. And then, very nearly undoing the tension with a boyish smile, spoke the punchlines: "A Victor." And it seemed that despite his promise, Maverick couldn't ever really get away from the Games. But he had thought it was an excellent joke, and perhaps one Topaz could especially appreciate. He had worked rather hard to get the delivery quite right, and while there were certainly worse settings for such a joke, this one was not quite ideal. He wasn't sure any of the higher ups in the government would appreciate him poking fun at their expense. Because undoubtedly it was their fault such a decrepit, forlorn district had won so many times.

Another pull on the glass and Maverick leaned back in his chair to better observe her. He found that now, turned to her, he could ignore the rest of the rabble. No doubt that wouldn't last; he didn't expect everyone in the room to have enough manners not to bother a victor. But he didn't feel like rushing things with her either. He just wanted to sit and enjoy the moment. It was odd, like the tingling, but also a very welcome feeling. "Do you have any jokes up your - well, hidden somewhere in that very lovely dress?" And maybe it was the whiskey, but maybe it was just him. Maverick turned his gaze to her outfit, to her soft curves. He snapped his gaze back to her own just in time to add, "you really do look stunning, Topaz."