Stronger Than Me So I Do Not // [Lemour Tsunami]
Apr 23, 2016 13:50:07 GMT -5
Post by admin kay on Apr 23, 2016 13:50:07 GMT -5
Glamour Kinkade
your compliments look good on me
It was a royal pain in the ass to be persona non grata in the Capitol. For the first year after his fall, he'd had to worry about simply surviving. After some generous - and suspicious - infusions of money, he at least had his penthouse and could afford to pay a courier to fetch meals and small luxuries. Turns out though, one can get cabin fever, even with 2,500 square feet to roam.
The second year of his probation, he acquired a disguise.
Torre O'Donovan was not as prestigious as Glamour Kinkade. They were nowhere near as charming or loud or known. Glamour carefully cultivated Torre to be the sort of person he'd always hated: a wallflower. They had all the right invitations, thanks to Glamour's anonymous benefactor, and while they attended many of the brightest social events, you could be excused for forgetting about their existence.
He hated it and loved it all at once. He was only just beginning to wonder how long he could put up with the grey Torre disguise when news of a tsunami in Four reached the Capitol. Time wise, he would have been among the first dignitaries to hear. Now, he found out while marathoning Housewives of the Capitol Centre. The screen flickered, shifting from one beautifull re-engineered face to a haggard, damp reporter in the coastal district. Glamour gasped. He watched the report for far longer than he should have, but truth be told, he couldn't believe it at first. The tsunami was so large, so devastating, so beyond anything he could have concocted as a Gamemaker.
But he'd always only been able to produce a mimicry of reality.
When denial gave way to concern, Glamour summoned his courier. Together they packed a bag and registered Torre O'Donovan for the relief effort. Together they went to the train station, Glamour swaddled in a swirling hooded cape. On the platform, his courier kissed his cheek and wished him well.
He sat in coach, because Torre would, and slept fitfully. He awoke with a neck cramp and a sense of folly. What was he thinking? Four was no place for Glamour Kinkade or Torre O'Donovan. It was a district, for fuck's sake. They'd left him to burn, just like everyone else, even after he'd tried so desperately to help them.
He nearly growled as he stepped off the train, after learning from the conductor that no, they would not turn the train around, they had stops all the way to Twelve to pick up Peacekeepers and other aid workers.
There was simply no way Glamour could ever bring himself to journey beyond the boundary of Four, broken and flooded though it was. The cameras had done an especially good job of capturing the devastation. His boots squished on the sodden grass, but the concrete walkways had already dried. Signs guided him around detours, mildewing four by fours the only indication left of some buildings. He wondered if perhaps the Capitol had overly exaggerated the devastation, but now that he was here, bag in hand and cape suffocating him in the humidity, he realized he would have taken any opportunity to come to the District.
It was approaching twilight by the time he found a clear route to the victor's village. It was no surprise to him at all when he knocked and received no reply at the Krigel home. Undoubtedly the victor would be working every waking moment for his district. Glamour sank onto the steps, put the bag behind his back, and fell very suddenly asleep.
When he woke, a moon shone overhead. For a wonder, it looked nothing like the moon from his penthouse. This one was too high, too far away. Was this the moon Leon saw when they were apart? If it was so different, how could he ever imagine they would be together again?
Glamour only fully roused himself when he heard someone's shoes squishing along the lane. He stood, hood still drawn over his features, until he was sure. "I heard you might need some assistance," he said, his voice scraping over the gravel of his heartache.
The second year of his probation, he acquired a disguise.
Torre O'Donovan was not as prestigious as Glamour Kinkade. They were nowhere near as charming or loud or known. Glamour carefully cultivated Torre to be the sort of person he'd always hated: a wallflower. They had all the right invitations, thanks to Glamour's anonymous benefactor, and while they attended many of the brightest social events, you could be excused for forgetting about their existence.
He hated it and loved it all at once. He was only just beginning to wonder how long he could put up with the grey Torre disguise when news of a tsunami in Four reached the Capitol. Time wise, he would have been among the first dignitaries to hear. Now, he found out while marathoning Housewives of the Capitol Centre. The screen flickered, shifting from one beautifull re-engineered face to a haggard, damp reporter in the coastal district. Glamour gasped. He watched the report for far longer than he should have, but truth be told, he couldn't believe it at first. The tsunami was so large, so devastating, so beyond anything he could have concocted as a Gamemaker.
But he'd always only been able to produce a mimicry of reality.
When denial gave way to concern, Glamour summoned his courier. Together they packed a bag and registered Torre O'Donovan for the relief effort. Together they went to the train station, Glamour swaddled in a swirling hooded cape. On the platform, his courier kissed his cheek and wished him well.
He sat in coach, because Torre would, and slept fitfully. He awoke with a neck cramp and a sense of folly. What was he thinking? Four was no place for Glamour Kinkade or Torre O'Donovan. It was a district, for fuck's sake. They'd left him to burn, just like everyone else, even after he'd tried so desperately to help them.
He nearly growled as he stepped off the train, after learning from the conductor that no, they would not turn the train around, they had stops all the way to Twelve to pick up Peacekeepers and other aid workers.
There was simply no way Glamour could ever bring himself to journey beyond the boundary of Four, broken and flooded though it was. The cameras had done an especially good job of capturing the devastation. His boots squished on the sodden grass, but the concrete walkways had already dried. Signs guided him around detours, mildewing four by fours the only indication left of some buildings. He wondered if perhaps the Capitol had overly exaggerated the devastation, but now that he was here, bag in hand and cape suffocating him in the humidity, he realized he would have taken any opportunity to come to the District.
It was approaching twilight by the time he found a clear route to the victor's village. It was no surprise to him at all when he knocked and received no reply at the Krigel home. Undoubtedly the victor would be working every waking moment for his district. Glamour sank onto the steps, put the bag behind his back, and fell very suddenly asleep.
When he woke, a moon shone overhead. For a wonder, it looked nothing like the moon from his penthouse. This one was too high, too far away. Was this the moon Leon saw when they were apart? If it was so different, how could he ever imagine they would be together again?
Glamour only fully roused himself when he heard someone's shoes squishing along the lane. He stood, hood still drawn over his features, until he was sure. "I heard you might need some assistance," he said, his voice scraping over the gravel of his heartache.
