tasting stars [Cato]
Feb 14, 2015 16:48:12 GMT -5
Post by arx on Feb 14, 2015 16:48:12 GMT -5
eirwen birch
district 2 - eighteen - the devil's spawn
Last night, I had been rewarded with something more than just a pat on the back from the head of Assyria. I had never asked for anything, never wanted more than to be myself and have someone accept me for that, but it seems that this whole assassin business has more perks than I had originally thought. All they told me: "Use it wisely, darling."
Now I am armed with knives, hidden ... creatively beneath my dress, a designer purse of some sort, a pair of heels as always, and make-up done up just like my parents always expected me to wear it. I look too helpless for my taste, but I'm off duty tonight. I have to keep up appearances in the neighborhood or else I will lose my purpose in Assyria - at least that is what they told me when I was told to quit "hunting" for a few weeks.
Whatever. I guess I can manage.
And if not, I have my knives with me.
The night brings with it a cool breeze. Goosebumps rise on my arms, but the smell of alcohol in the air makes the corners of my lips rise. A beautiful night for getting too drunk and sleeping with someone I won't remember in the morning. It had been such a long time since I had been the party girl, much less the formal party girl. I'm certainly out of practice. I mean, am I supposed to drink champagne or poison it?
Ah well, I will decide when I get there I guess.
I keep my head on a swivel, a smirk on my face, my purse dangling from the crook of my elbow. My hair pools around my shoulders, bouncing with every step I take. I see one of my co-workers loitering outside of a "client's" house and I nod, though he doesn't nod back, only flashes the blade of his knife in the street light. My smile widens. I pass a couple making out outside of some party, the lights and music spilling into the streets as teens cram together to form one, big, sweaty mob in the flashing lights.
If only I had dressed for such an occasion. Sadly, I look like I belong somewhere with suits, ties, and dresses of appropriate length. One of the richer families in District 2 was throwing a party tonight - that was were I would be going. To smile, to laugh, to remind everyone that the Birch name was not a tarnished one, but one of great power and elegance. Blah, blah, blah. It would be a bore unless I found someone to flirt with no doubt.
I knock at the door, flash a smile. "Eirwen Birch," is all I have to say and I am welcomed into the house, already filled with guests who had perhaps grabbed a few too many drinks. Exaggerated laughter and a mixture of graveolent cologne and perfume remind me just why I have always despised these things. But I swallow my disdain and force a smile back onto my face.
I laugh with everyone else, giggle and gossip, grab champagne flute after champagne flute, letting myself get drunker and bubblier as the night progresses. I try to refrain from leaning too close to any husbands and boyfriends and seek any bachelor who looks like he could use a good time. But just as one asks me if I wanted to get out of this place a familiar face crosses my vision.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I came with someone else tonight," I say, excusing myself and making my way to the door just as he reaches for the doorknob.
I smile and place my hand on his, placing myself between him and his escape.
"Well, Mr. Blackmore, what a surprise to see you here!" My last encounter with him was... well, entertaining to say the least, and no doubt he doesn't want to see me again. Probably why we are standing so near to the doorway, but that's no matter.
"I love this suit on you," I say, running my fingers along the edges of the jacket and over his chest. "Very handsome." I take the oppurtunity to take up his arm, linking mine with his and pulling him back into the fray.
"So, did you bring Milo along tonight?" I ask, calmly, warmly, just like I am supposed to talk to everyone here. Perhaps it would surprise him to know I really can be nice when I'm not, you know, shoving knives into people and twirling them around and around and around...
I scoop up another champagne flute from a nearby table, tasting stars as I let the warming liquid slide down my throat.
Now I am armed with knives, hidden ... creatively beneath my dress, a designer purse of some sort, a pair of heels as always, and make-up done up just like my parents always expected me to wear it. I look too helpless for my taste, but I'm off duty tonight. I have to keep up appearances in the neighborhood or else I will lose my purpose in Assyria - at least that is what they told me when I was told to quit "hunting" for a few weeks.
Whatever. I guess I can manage.
And if not, I have my knives with me.
The night brings with it a cool breeze. Goosebumps rise on my arms, but the smell of alcohol in the air makes the corners of my lips rise. A beautiful night for getting too drunk and sleeping with someone I won't remember in the morning. It had been such a long time since I had been the party girl, much less the formal party girl. I'm certainly out of practice. I mean, am I supposed to drink champagne or poison it?
Ah well, I will decide when I get there I guess.
I keep my head on a swivel, a smirk on my face, my purse dangling from the crook of my elbow. My hair pools around my shoulders, bouncing with every step I take. I see one of my co-workers loitering outside of a "client's" house and I nod, though he doesn't nod back, only flashes the blade of his knife in the street light. My smile widens. I pass a couple making out outside of some party, the lights and music spilling into the streets as teens cram together to form one, big, sweaty mob in the flashing lights.
If only I had dressed for such an occasion. Sadly, I look like I belong somewhere with suits, ties, and dresses of appropriate length. One of the richer families in District 2 was throwing a party tonight - that was were I would be going. To smile, to laugh, to remind everyone that the Birch name was not a tarnished one, but one of great power and elegance. Blah, blah, blah. It would be a bore unless I found someone to flirt with no doubt.
I knock at the door, flash a smile. "Eirwen Birch," is all I have to say and I am welcomed into the house, already filled with guests who had perhaps grabbed a few too many drinks. Exaggerated laughter and a mixture of graveolent cologne and perfume remind me just why I have always despised these things. But I swallow my disdain and force a smile back onto my face.
I laugh with everyone else, giggle and gossip, grab champagne flute after champagne flute, letting myself get drunker and bubblier as the night progresses. I try to refrain from leaning too close to any husbands and boyfriends and seek any bachelor who looks like he could use a good time. But just as one asks me if I wanted to get out of this place a familiar face crosses my vision.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I came with someone else tonight," I say, excusing myself and making my way to the door just as he reaches for the doorknob.
I smile and place my hand on his, placing myself between him and his escape.
"Well, Mr. Blackmore, what a surprise to see you here!" My last encounter with him was... well, entertaining to say the least, and no doubt he doesn't want to see me again. Probably why we are standing so near to the doorway, but that's no matter.
"I love this suit on you," I say, running my fingers along the edges of the jacket and over his chest. "Very handsome." I take the oppurtunity to take up his arm, linking mine with his and pulling him back into the fray.
"So, did you bring Milo along tonight?" I ask, calmly, warmly, just like I am supposed to talk to everyone here. Perhaps it would surprise him to know I really can be nice when I'm not, you know, shoving knives into people and twirling them around and around and around...
I scoop up another champagne flute from a nearby table, tasting stars as I let the warming liquid slide down my throat.
tough girl i'm in pain
it's lonely at the top
blackouts and airplanes
i still pour you a glass of champagne
tough girl whose soul aches
it's lonely at the top
blackouts and airplanes
i still pour you a glass of champagne
tough girl whose soul aches
