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Always Get the Best of Me // [Dom+Reactions]
Sept 26, 2015 23:05:13 GMT -5
Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Sept 26, 2015 23:05:13 GMT -5
Glamour Kinkade
your compliments look good on me
Despite everything, the Seventy-First came to pass. He would have preferred a full uprising from Thirteen, or the dissolution of the Districts resulting in total anarchy. But here it was anyhow, no matter how many prayers for the apocalypse. It seemed that he was absolutely doomed to failure. Peridot, his porcelain skin and blank eyes. Leon, his heart a pulsing beacon always out of reach. And now these Games, one shy of what he should have achieved.
He would have rather burned every last person to Panem, to save himself the shame of admitting defeat.
Of course when he started to gather the necessary materials, it wasn't President Snow or Leon Krigel or anyone important who stopped him. It was his butler, and his maid, and Winnie, and Boy, and just the every day people who filled his every fucking day life.
He should have been living more extravagantly, more independently. But he still had people. Sad, average people. But they were his, and the stopped him from careening over the abyss and he hated them for it.
Almost as much as he hated Dom Copperview.
In the Executive Park, President Snow's seat sat squarely beneath the flood light, red velvet and empty. One tier down, directly in front of the projection screen, two silver chairs had been erected for himself and Dom Copperview. Cameras were turned on them from every angle, forming a flora of lens rimming the plastic screen. Avoxes threaded through the circular tables at his pack, passing salads, then dinner, then dessert, and more wine than anyone could ever hope to drink. Glamour made a valiant attempt, keeping his crystal champagne flute filled to the brim.
He sipped from it, clinked it, swished it, as he was expected to. After so many attendances, it was all old hat. He had to gasp and fawn over the Career tributes, to smirk and cringe at the lower districts. He knew his role, but he found no joy in it. Not without his perfect record. Not without Leon.
And then, from the shadows, a name.
Next to him, Dom didn't betray anything. She never did. She might as well have been an oak. But still he wondered. Was this her doing? President Snow's vendetta for an unfortunately named family? Or further punishment for him? Whatever it was, he was not a good enough actor to ignore the name entirely. While the crowd cheered for sibling tribute, Glamour raised his glass high in the air, where it would be sure to catch the light of the cameras. All the while, he settled his piercing gaze on the younger Name-Thing.
You're mine, he promised through electricity and adversity and the very essence of what this temporary moment meant.
You're mine. He swallowed the rest of his flute, for the very first time heady with the promise of the Seventy-First. He leaned the empty glass against Dom's. "Well can't compare with past crops," he said, leaning away from her, seemingly speaking to his bodyguard. He couldn't possibly speculate about the tributes AT the reaping viewing without it being broadcast everywhere. But if he expressed some concerns to his bodyguard, well, no one would think twice about that. He spoken on. "But I think we'll be able to work with a few of them. Not the hopeless ones.." He rolled his eyes at Cody Name-Thing. "But the others. Maybe. If we're willing to work hard."
If you're willing to work with me, he meant, and tipped the empty glass to his lips, only to come up empty and sour.
He would have rather burned every last person to Panem, to save himself the shame of admitting defeat.
Of course when he started to gather the necessary materials, it wasn't President Snow or Leon Krigel or anyone important who stopped him. It was his butler, and his maid, and Winnie, and Boy, and just the every day people who filled his every fucking day life.
He should have been living more extravagantly, more independently. But he still had people. Sad, average people. But they were his, and the stopped him from careening over the abyss and he hated them for it.
Almost as much as he hated Dom Copperview.
In the Executive Park, President Snow's seat sat squarely beneath the flood light, red velvet and empty. One tier down, directly in front of the projection screen, two silver chairs had been erected for himself and Dom Copperview. Cameras were turned on them from every angle, forming a flora of lens rimming the plastic screen. Avoxes threaded through the circular tables at his pack, passing salads, then dinner, then dessert, and more wine than anyone could ever hope to drink. Glamour made a valiant attempt, keeping his crystal champagne flute filled to the brim.
He sipped from it, clinked it, swished it, as he was expected to. After so many attendances, it was all old hat. He had to gasp and fawn over the Career tributes, to smirk and cringe at the lower districts. He knew his role, but he found no joy in it. Not without his perfect record. Not without Leon.
And then, from the shadows, a name.
Next to him, Dom didn't betray anything. She never did. She might as well have been an oak. But still he wondered. Was this her doing? President Snow's vendetta for an unfortunately named family? Or further punishment for him? Whatever it was, he was not a good enough actor to ignore the name entirely. While the crowd cheered for sibling tribute, Glamour raised his glass high in the air, where it would be sure to catch the light of the cameras. All the while, he settled his piercing gaze on the younger Name-Thing.
You're mine, he promised through electricity and adversity and the very essence of what this temporary moment meant.
You're mine. He swallowed the rest of his flute, for the very first time heady with the promise of the Seventy-First. He leaned the empty glass against Dom's. "Well can't compare with past crops," he said, leaning away from her, seemingly speaking to his bodyguard. He couldn't possibly speculate about the tributes AT the reaping viewing without it being broadcast everywhere. But if he expressed some concerns to his bodyguard, well, no one would think twice about that. He spoken on. "But I think we'll be able to work with a few of them. Not the hopeless ones.." He rolled his eyes at Cody Name-Thing. "But the others. Maybe. If we're willing to work hard."
If you're willing to work with me, he meant, and tipped the empty glass to his lips, only to come up empty and sour.
