gregarious business >> enzovak iii

n o v a k a d r i á n .

You hold a pen up to the map brought to the meeting. District Ten is a rural place, but people are always looking to expand. The Church of Todd. A religious cult in every sense of the word, but you'd never as much to their leader's face. "Well, Alban, if you want to purchase the prairie land by the river, I suppose that could be arranged. I don't think your people are the type to disrupt nature too horribly."

Both you and Mr. Garcia have a knowing smirk across your faces. This is all formality. His church is a joke, you know as much. Chants of May he deliver you! rang throughout the Reaping, and you couldn't help but train your eyes to the ground with embarrassment. District Ten's populace is spread out given the need for space to ranch. Naturally, that would lead to isolation. It's how Ten managed to evade so much of the Rose Plague's terror. Staying home and away from others? Simple enough when some of your constituents leave their house once a year to attend the Reaping. Alban's group? They're the same way, just with a sprinkle of delusion. Okay– their delusion is a downpour. So long as they aren't disturbing your ambitions, they're free to exist on the fringe.

"We would never hurt God's land, mayor."

You circle part of the prairie, less than what the father had requested but more than what you'd be willing to give. "God's land. Right. Well, what I'll do is send some of our guys down tomorrow to estimate the value of the land and we'll go from there." You roll the map up and hand it back Alban. "They'll be at your church in the morning, and I expect them to be back by night. None of your games, Alban." You've heard about workers that go to the church disappearing, just to reappear months later as members of his church. The boys under your employment are skilled and resourceful, but a threat from the mayor should keep Mr. Garcia from playing with fire.

"Sure, mayor."

With that, Alban goes on his way. You have no more meetings scheduled for the day, but there's still a stack of papers on your desk that you need to sort through by the day's end, but it's your desk drawer that takes your attention first. You pull out a black leather checkbook and pen. It's a once-every-month affair.

Pay to the order of: Lillia Clay
Five Hundred Dollars — 500.00

Your office door opens without a knock. Immediately, you sit up in your chair and shut your book. It's Enzo– of course, it's Lorenzo. He has a way of catching you just when you least expect it, and today is no different. Enzo moves towards your coat hanger, coat wrapped around his arm. As he's turned around to put hang it up, you pull back open the desk drawer and slide the checkbook back inside. You pull down a stray paper instead, blindly scribbling your signature on the line. What exactly the paper is requesting, you don't know, but it's better than Lorenzo knowing about your child support payments. Nobody in the district even knows you have a child, outside of yourself, her mother, and Elio. Perhaps the Capitol knows if they keep good tabs, but you do their bidding enough to keep them out of your hair.

Lorenzo's hand touches the back of yours, dashing from finger to finger. "And what are you working so hard on, huh?" You've seen him many a time since that first night at the bar and later in your bed, but this is the first time that he's found his way into your office, into your work. He watches over you, breathing down your neck. You feel his eyes reading the mountain of paperwork. Is he still trying to learn your secrets? You flip the tops of the stacks over to their blank side. Mayor's business. You've never been one who likes the thought of being figured out.

"Working on keeping the district afloat, Enzo." You pull your chair in, desperately yourself from him for a moment. "I thought we agreed not to bother each other at work." As it was apparent that your connection was more than just a one-night stand, you set boundaries to protect yourself and your privacy. Handsy as Enzo is, you should've known boundaries wouldn't work on him.

"You should schedule a meeting if you'd like to talk with the mayor while he's working."

n o v a k a d r i á n .

He's not clever or slick, this toy of yours. And fortunately for him, he doesn't have to be. You're the first man in what feels like ages to beat out an Emberstatt in this chair, yet one has still managed to make his way into the room, leveling himself with you at the desk. You tried your best to appease them, promoting one to your cabinet and clearing the field so they'd win the district fair's horse race. And now Enzo's here, trying to get into your pants with his stares. If you told him the full story of enemies and empires and moving pieces, maybe he'd think again before poking his nose into your political business.

"I beg to differ. You've been on my mind, bothering me all morning – tell me how that's fair, Novak." He's been on yours too, in truth. Your mind drips Lorenzo out like a faucet: his name, his hands, his lips. But that's the difference between the two of you. You're stronger than that; you know better than to walk to his work where everyone can see you. This thing that you share, Enzo and Novak, it's a secret that you'd prefer to keep.

You keep your eyes ahead at the door even as Enzo stalks you from all angles. "You know, you take yourself too seriously." You straighten your tie as he says this. The mayor of a district, taking himself too seriously? Your power is limited by the Capitol's reign, sure, but the responsibilities that you carry require the attention of the job, both for the citizens and your family. Who controls the land? Who defends the land? Who takes the new District Nine guns your boys smuggled in, and who gets how much ammunition? On the books or off of them, those are the questions you answer from this very chair, signed off by the very materials that Enzo shoves off the side of your desk. He jumps up there, legs crossed all pretty and proper inches away from your chest.

"Look." One by one, Enzo's shirt buttons come undone, revealing a nearly bare chest. You can't help but pay attention now to the show stealer himself. "I have some matters only you can attend to. Surely you can squeeze me in while I'm here – ain't you good at that?"

You stand up, eyes level with him again. What kind of matters? Couldn't he have just led with that instead of breathing down his neck and playing coy? You grab his hands as they ready to unbutton the final button of his shirt. You go one-by-one yourself, pulling them back through their holes. Even the top one that Enzo didn't have together, to begin with. "Don't undress yourself, Lorenzo." That's my job– not yours. You pick up his mess, too, a variety of pens and trinkets as well as picture frames and dated sticky notes of things to do. You're grateful that he didn't knock the stack of papers on the other side over. After spending enough time organizing the letters and paperwork chronologically by date, you would've been a lot less generous 'squeezing him in' had that been a mess.

You meticulously move the pens and frames to a surface across the office. You mumble to yourself, facing away but loud enough to voice your frustrations to Enzo. "Making a mess in my fu- fricking office and then sayin' you want something from me. Makes sense! Makes sense." Hands folded together, you shift back and lean forward against the office desk, eye to eye with Enzo now. "What do you want? What can I help you with, hmm?"

If he says an afternoon fuck, you'll throw him out this goddamn window.