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Appetite, An Universal Wolf // [Hera x Glamour]
Jan 26, 2017 19:59:15 GMT -5
Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Jan 26, 2017 19:59:15 GMT -5
[googlefont="Great Vibes:400;"]
a note from the desk of
gamemaker
Glamour Kinkade
i can hear the echo ringing in my head
Glamour drummed his newly manicured nails on the back of his phone with one hand, the other swirling the glass of Pinot Noir, even though it had more air in it than his lungs. He'd sighed nearly all of his breath out; what else could he possibly do to appease Hera Levelwright? He'd gone through the appropriate channels at first, then sent hand written invitations. That helped. When it came time to meet her for dinner, he called her office to confirm - twice - and still he sat alone.
So it had gone, several times: show up, be stood up, depart empty handed. The last had been the most bruising. He'd finally secured a table at the country club (which he was, regrettably, not a member of). When Hera entered the dining room, right on time, he stood. Halfway through bowing, she paused and then primly sat at a different table entirely.
He'd worried the scowl wrinkles would be permanent.
This was his last attempt, he promised himself. It was an empty comfort; in a few days the Reaping would occur and Hera would have no time at all for him, or anyone else, except for the President and her very own Victor. More than anything, he wanted to talk to her about Cricket Antoinette. Well, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to talk to her about Leon Krigel. But he'd have to work carefully towards the topic, lest he wanted to end up in chains behind Peacekeeper Tucker again.
He swirled the glass so violently, a few drops flew over the brim, staining the white tablecloth. He wiped the glass, lifted the whirling liquid to his lips, and nearly choked when he found Hera, staring evenly at him from across the table.
"This is," he coughed through Pinot Noir, "such an honor!"
So it had gone, several times: show up, be stood up, depart empty handed. The last had been the most bruising. He'd finally secured a table at the country club (which he was, regrettably, not a member of). When Hera entered the dining room, right on time, he stood. Halfway through bowing, she paused and then primly sat at a different table entirely.
He'd worried the scowl wrinkles would be permanent.
This was his last attempt, he promised himself. It was an empty comfort; in a few days the Reaping would occur and Hera would have no time at all for him, or anyone else, except for the President and her very own Victor. More than anything, he wanted to talk to her about Cricket Antoinette. Well, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to talk to her about Leon Krigel. But he'd have to work carefully towards the topic, lest he wanted to end up in chains behind Peacekeeper Tucker again.
He swirled the glass so violently, a few drops flew over the brim, staining the white tablecloth. He wiped the glass, lifted the whirling liquid to his lips, and nearly choked when he found Hera, staring evenly at him from across the table.
"This is," he coughed through Pinot Noir, "such an honor!"
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