speakeasy / speak easy .lys+av

His feet burn. Where wet sock meets the sole of his shoe, friction sparks like fire and Avriel can feel himself igniting.

His thoughts move slow, percolating and dissipating in moments. He tries not to think because then it's easier not to feel.

The day crawls on quick, it's mere hours until the next cannon booms and the eighty-ninth reaches its top two. Avriel's somewhere on style street when it happens but he doesn't know where. He's been walking since he left the cafe in the morning, walking since Zane died.

It doesn't feel better yet. His skin feels too tight, the summer breeze cuts at him, sliding over sharp planes and filling his pockets, so slight but so heavy, he's drowning.

He stops briefly, exhausted. It's dark now, people mill past him unseeing, they're busy, headed off to start celebrating the finale of the ninetieth. Avriel doesn't matter here and for a little while, he's nobody, just at a standstill. People hardly even recognize him as an obstacle. They stream past him as if he's nothing more than a rock in a stream.

"Mr. Baptiste," a hand on his elbow, a soft voice in his ear, "You've almost found us, come, I'll lead you the last little way." The hand tugs gently, Avriel stumbles forwards, numb on his feet. His mouth opens, then shuts again.

I wasn't trying to go anywhere.

He doesn't know this person, nor where he's leading him, but Avriel doesn't resist. The street is so loud, the lights from the shops and the games still blaring through the main street cuts through everything else. Avriel was overstimulated and overwhelmed hours ago.

He's led off the street and down a dark alley cleaner than any seen in Nine. A woman holds a hand out to the man leading Avriel and he hands her a cigarette. They keep moving, turning twice before the man finally leads Avriel down a small flight of steps.

"Libations await through the door, Mr. Baptiste, courtesy of Atticus eighty years ago," the man says and he raps softly on rich, dark wood. Avriel watches, numb as a small panel slides open and a set of eyes gaze out at them. They glance at the man and then study Avriel for a moment before the panel slides shut once again.

Then the door opens and the man wordlessly gestures for Avriel to follow him. They enter a dark hallway and Avriel pauses only for a moment. It'd be anticlimactic for things to end for him here but that isn't what worries him.

The dark reaches out for him always. He left a piece of himself in it, a distorted version of a boy who wanted to live. He stands in the doorframe and the summer breeze pushes at his back but Avriel doesn't move. "What is this place?" he whispers.

The man stops, turns gracefully on one heel and offers Avriel a smile. "Elysium. Valhalla. Haneul. El Paraíso," he lists, "Refuge. For people like you. Call it what you like." He turns again and walks away down the hallway without waiting for Avriel to follow him. He melds into the dark.

Avriel stands there a moment longer, then moves slowly down the hallway after him. At first, there's only darkness and he runs a hand along the wall to find his way. Then the breeze is back, pushing Avriel down the hall, rushing over him. A dim light builds ahead and runs along the wall towards him, inviting him in.

Then the sound of glassware, soft chatter.

Avriel inches forwards in the dark and walks around a corner into the dim lighting of some sort of lounge. He stands there in the doorway for a little while, people watching. They sit around small tables, the haze of cigarette smoke hanging high above their heads. Dim neon strip lighting lines the dark, highlighting the shadows. A woman pours drinks at a long, black bar and wait staff move through them all.

"The Capitol's elite," the man says and then nods at the room from his place against the wall to the right of the entrance. "This place doesn't exist, not legally. It was built for them and for people like you. Drink what you like, Avriel Baptiste, it's on the house. Just never speak of this place outside of this room. Got it?"

Then he pushes off to move between the tables. He joins one with a few others at the back of the room and Avriel is alone again.

He isn't dressed for a place like this in his trainers and hoodie but Avriel's used to not fitting in. All eyes on him doesn't bother him as much anymore. Still, he pulls his cap down low and shoves his hands into his pockets before weaving between the tables to reach the bar.

He doesn't drink, not really. A cold, cheap beer here and there after a long day in the workshop has always been a treat but nothing more. Avriel doesn't like getting drunk, he doesn't like the loss of control or the sick feeling that comes with it.

But tonight is different, it's just a little different. The room is full but empty all at once. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, they're still looking at him. He sits there silent, waiting to hear Zane's name fall from their lips.

pathetic.

Knuckles rap on old wood, "What'll it be?" the bartender asks him.

Avriel blinks, uncertain, "You got beer?"