``in a fake empire // { ten games anniversary

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i need more dreams and less life
i need that dark in a little more light
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If there was anything worthwhile about going to a fancy party, Topaz reflected, it was the champagne. Back when she was a reckless teenager she hadn't appreciated it as much, seeing as hard liquor, particularly vodka and tequila, was much more conducive to getting piss drunk and finding herself fooling around with some random in a utility closet. Champagne was good, but not good enough. Now, though, as a mature, married twenty-four year old—good Ripred, there was no way she could possibly be that ancient—she was apparently not supposed to get wild, so a little bubbly was the only way to have some fun at an event like this. With her champagne flute clenched tightly in hand she milled about and laughed with all the other Capitolites present at Arbor's ten year extravaganza, lingering particularly with the other victors because she felt most at home with them. Arbor, Ara, Lethe, Mace, Julian, these were some of her closest friends, and even the ones she hadn't spent as much time with still understood her better than everyone else. It was inevitable, when you knew what it was like to survive against all odds. It was sometimes too daunting or tiresome to face the other vapid Capitolites, but she always enjoyed herself with her fellow champions.

After narrowly avoiding a conflict with a paparazzi agent who had probably snuck his way in here, Tope had to sit down and massage her head as a small, splitting headache began. This wasn't startling; she'd been feeling rather strange lately, and she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Something seemed off with her body; it didn't move like it usually did, didn't feel like it usually did. It was subtle, but it was there. She was afraid she was getting sick—a rare occurrence, because all alcoholic tendencies aside, Topaz was usually healthy as a horse—so if it kept up for another couple of days, she grudgingly decided she'd see a doctor. It was nice to be at a party, though; with enough champagne in her, she could forget the odd feelings at all and just let herself have fun. The redhead tried to force down the twinge of regret that fun wasn't what it used to be, seeing as now she had a much more serious image to uphold. The only thing she could do was thank her lucky stars that Maverick hadn't been able to attend; though she would never say so to him, she often felt even more tied down when her husband was around.

As her closest friend stood up to address the massive crowd congregated to celebrate him, Tope couldn't help but be proud of the little fucker for making it this far without drowning in whiskey, or hanging himself from the shower rod, or slamming his head on the bar counter so much he went comatose, or anything of that nature. She'd spent countless nights with Arbor glued to those four legged stools, clutching tumblers full of liquor and lamenting over the miserable conditions of their lives, which coincidentally seemed much more magnified when they were wasted. It wasn't easy, being a victor, and the two of them knew it better than practically anyone. She'd never forget the time not too long ago when she'd come across him unconscious after a suicide attempt in the training center—he'd come a long way from that in three years. He'd come an even longer way in ten, from the scrawny, blind, panicked fifteen-year-old he'd been when the hovercraft lifted him out of his barren, flooded arena.

Topaz sniggered hard as he brought up the bet they'd made back when Mace won not even thirty seconds into his speech, disregarding the inquisitive looks the crowd gave her. After a while, though, she found herself lost in his words, his recollections of his Games, of the girl he killed. She was overcome with the truth of his description of being a victor, of the isolation and solidarity involved in accomplishing such a feat. And then when he called his fellow victors his family, well, Topaz had to check and make sure the alcohol wasn't blurring up her vision too much and it was indeed Arbor Halt who was speaking in front of her. But as he concluded, she took care to applaud louder than anyone else in attendance and take the largest swig of champagne, because she knew in two years, Arbor would do the same for her.

She made her way over to him when the crowd had dissipated some and everyone had returned to eating their dinner. Bending down to where he was sitting, she put her lips close to his ear. "I still want a rematch of that bet," she whispered with a smirk. Then, dropping her voice even more, she added, "How about Cricket? Trust me when I say flexibility makes for a really good time." The redhead leaned back a bit and laughed. Of course they couldn't bet anything of the sort this time around, not like they could five years and loads of recklessness before, but it was good to joke for old time's sake. "Though I suppose all that estrogen isn't really your thing, hmm?" With one hand, she clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. With the other, she stole his champagne flute from beside his plate and took a couple gulps. When she was with Arbor, she could almost pretend that her life hadn't gotten so complicated.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i48.tinypic.com/15ot2xx.jpg); width: 500px; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true] ♛ peridot myler; ♛ stars hide your fires these here are my desires and i won't give them up to you this time around snd so i'll be found with my stake stuck in the ground

∞

Celebrations had never been quite as exciting as they should be, the excited chit chat, the colourful lights and vibrant personalities only brought out an air of negativity that was rather avoided. Through the near two decades that he'd lived, holidays had never been an exciting experience. With birthdays there was never a particular sense of joy that eroded from his seams - though the lack of people to celebrate with was, in it's own sense, a reason for this. Even in crowded rooms filled with blissful joy and sweet ignorance, he shuddered at the thought of just being around. The enclosed space was suffocating and dull despite the room being surrounded by party animals and the soft thud of music dancing along in the background. This was the new life that he had to learn to enjoy, get with the program or get out of here.

Getting out of here was never really an option, that possibility died a long time ago, near two years, with the other twenty-three human beings who chose it. Death was now simply an icy companion, never moving, just silently skulking about placing his dreary fingertips along his shoulders promising that one day, he would come and rip Peri's soul from his fabrication, but until then - until then he had to suffer through parties such as the one he surrounded himself in. Ten years alive was an impressive feat no doubt. Peri had been just eight years old at the time of Arbor's games, in fact, it was probably one of the first games that he had come to see and understand - people were dying. But that was just an everyday thing now, having ushered two more dead children through the games, he had had the taste of death and it's inevitability that no longer seemed to affect Topaz any more. Or any of the victor's surrounding him - at what point did death null itself on their fingertips.

The thought sickened him to the core, nearly causing him to drop his champagne glass that stuck helplessly to his own hands. Peri wasn't fond of alcohol, and never had been - though he had tried some drugs, and those weren't wholly that bad of an experience. If anything, Peri could understand the pain numbing that such products condoned, something that in the future, in the present, and he imagined that in the past, wouldn't be all that bad. Oh Little Boy, it's not time to let go just yet, embrace it. Embrace what? Embrace it. Embrace the feeling of floating in mid-air, embrace the anxiety taking over his body, embrace the eternal sadness that struck him to sleep next to Kiera's grace, embrace.. Embrace life, Little Boy.

But he wasn't so little any more. Life had changed ever so quickly, and time so fervently, he had quickly become an adult. With the added factor that he could never be reaped again came a certain responsibility to look out towards a long and bright future, despite how negative he felt towards it. He couldn't be like the rest of them. He couldn't bring himself out of the dark, like Arbor had. There was no relationship that he could strive towards like Tope, Mace, and Julian. He wasn't strong enough to be as confident as Cricket. These people had deserved to come out of the arena, they were strong, powerful, full of a will that he had never experienced.

You're a rock, you're a diamond, you're a star. He had been called so many things throughout his short life that meant such powerful things, and yet looking upon the small grouping of the latest victors of the past decades, he felt as though he was not even relevant amongst their mix. For Ripred's sake, the tiger looked more at home than he did flailing his tail and growling about, Peri himself would bet on the tiger in the arena, and he was sure it would win too.

However, there was a certain attraction, an appeal to the thought of being a victor that Peri had always wanted. The original reason, after all, he had become a career was to act like a career, to be a part of the group - and had he not done that? At what point does a career prove his legitimacy as a career? When he wins? Well he did it! And there he was, toddling aimlessly towards the amassed group of his peers as if a toddler asking for his parents permission to do something they would never agree to. Little Boy, this is your place. His place was in the stars, he figured that one out two years ago, with Aria, and Wes, and Kiera - Little Boy, you belong.

Avoiding the tiger as much as he could, he walked over the the side opposing the fiendish beast and cut his way through. "Great speech, Arbor!" Too enthusiastic, you're trying too hard. "Tope always talks highly of you." Too friendly. "Hey everyone!" Just stop it Myler, you're embarrassing yourself. "Who the fuck brought the tiger?" Perfect.

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you are what you love not who loves you
in a world full of the word yes
i’m here to scream
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The party was getting a bit crowded—all the victors had come over to congratulate Arbor and make smalltalk—but Topaz had always preferred being surrounded by people to being alone, anyway. The more people present, the less frequently her traitorous mind embarked on dangerous introspection, and the less likely she’d have to curl up in a ball and wonder what the hell had gone wrong with her life (yes, this happened all too frequently). Plus, there was a tiger present; that was pretty hot. ”Where’d you get this thing? No, wait, I’m not even going to ask,” Tope snickered, and then, feeling the all-too-familiar buzz in her veins, proceeded to drop to her knees and growl at the massive cat. ”I don’t think it likes me,” she announced with a frown, straightening back up. ”I don’t see why not—my hair matches its coat. We could almost be kin.” As if to emphasize her point, the tipsy victor gave her sleek, straightened red locks a shake in the direction of the tiger, well aware that it could result in getting her head bitten off but too drunk to care. Honestly, it would solve a lot of problems.

Topaz stood back for a minute to examine Cricket Antoinette, the latest unfortunate soul added to their ranks. Her confidence and self-assuredness emanated from her very being, and the part of Tope that wasn’t incredibly envious admired that. But she was young, still so young, so untouched by all the perils her victory and never-ending fame would bring her. The spotlight had not yet sucked her dry. She had no idea that the life ahead of her was worse than what she had faced in the arena, so much worse. Topaz remembered winning at the same age she had, and immediately succumbing. She hoped for Cricket’s own sake that she would be able to last longer, and had a strong feeling that she might. ”I take back what I said about this one,” Tope muttered in Arbor’s ear. ”What is she, like, seventeen? Look at us old geezers; we’d be robbing the cradle.” Though she’d been one only five years previous, at twenty-four Topaz already felt like her teenage years were a distant memory. At sixteen years old she’d killed her love; at nineteen she’d watched her sister die. The champion wanted to be as far away from that as possible.

The redhead was jerked out of her brooding by Arbor’s retort to her estrogen comment: ”And by the looks of it, Ross, District Two girls certainly are yours.” At first, Tope’s eyes widened, and she paused for a moment expecting to feel the usual pang of sorrow. Had Arbor crossed the line? But it didn’t come; luckily she’d drank enough already to numb it. Relieved, she found herself able to laugh. ”Asshole,” she replied, giving him a good-natured but relatively hard slap. Thankfully, though, her companion changed the topic quickly. ”And how about Peridot? You’ve even got the upper hand with him; I don’t think I’ve even said a word to him.” For a moment Tope found her eyes following his gaze to the young, strong 62nd victor, a gleam of hunger in her eyes, but then she shook her head and wrinkled her nose in disgust. ”Absolutely not!” she spat indignantly. ”I mentored him; doesn’t that make him, like, my kid or something?” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips in Arbor’s direction. ”Even I wouldn’t go there, and I’m about as bad as it gets.”

As if on cue, Peridot approached Arbor to praise him for his speech. Tope approved of his immediate reference to his mentor—good boy, she’d trained him well—but of course Arbor turned it around in her face, as per usual. ”Oh, hush. You can thank me later.” She gave him a sharp elbow in the side and looked at her former tribute charge turned champion, the one success story she had to her name. He really had come a long way in the past few years. Topaz was almost ashamed to admit that she’d been rooting for his district partner—she and Kiera had been friends before the Games, and she’d seen a lot of herself in that I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude—but he certainly was a worthy victor. Plus beggars can’t be choosers, right? She’d wanted a winner for some validation that she wasn’t a total fuck-up. She’d gotten one. It had taken six years and eleven dead bodies, but she’d gotten one.

She greeted the other victors warmly, genuinely pleased to see them because this was perhaps the only group of people she felt she belonged with. Mace, whom she’d always gotten along fairly well with, barring the fact that she and Arbor had made a bet on who could bed him first. Julian, someone she could truly call a friend, whom she had a lot of respect for. She envied his happiness with Mace, wishing terribly that Nash had been in a different Games and won so that they could spend their lives together, united against the trials and tribulations of victorship. But then she wouldn’t’ve been your Nash, would she? You wouldn’t’ve shared the Games. Would you really trade that to have her alive, but completely different? Topaz shoved the thought away angrily; it wasn’t a question she wanted to answer. She turned to wave at Lethe, whom she’d never really gotten close to simply because she was so hard to understand, different in a number of ways from the other victors. Maybe it was because she was a mother, although that category technically included Aranica as well. Where was Ara? Lost in the chaos of this party, no doubt, if she had even arrived yet.

Speaking of babies and motherhood, Klaus, another victor she hadn’t gotten particularly acquainted with, was actually holding one in his arms, a tiny little blonde creature who was actually exceedingly adorable. Topaz was uncomfortably reminded of when she used to call Klaus a fetus himself; he’d certainly grown up since then, though. Where had he gotten a baby from? Why had he brought it to a party full of drunken Capitolites and emotionally shattered Hunger Games victors? Still sober enough to play nice, Tope drew closer to him and smiled. ”Hey, Klaus,” she greeted. ”And hello, Daisy.” She stared at the baby, trying to draw up the maternal feelings that were supposed to be innate but that she’d never really been able to grasp. Children had never been Topaz’s thing; she was able to put on a façade for the little Capitol children who begged for her autograph at public appearances, smile at their parents and exclaim how wonderful they all were, but when it came down to sincerity she was sorely lacking. Though they’d been married for some time now, and most married couples at least brushed upon it by this point, she and Maverick had never gone near the topic of children save for one interview with Victor’s View magazine shortly after their wedding. But it had been a play for the reporters, at least on Topaz’s part. It was too alien for her, and while she knew Maverick would absolutely be more than willing to father her children, he loved her enough to let her come to terms with the idea on her own. Which Topaz most certainly hadn’t yet. ”Is she yours?” Topaz asked, her voice rather quiet in case Klaus wasn’t willing to talk about it. Hell, if it was, there was no way Topaz could judge; with the amount of sleeping around she had done it was miraculous that she hadn’t had a bun or two in the oven before marrying Maverick.