A Little Spiked // [Open]

The moon lied when it rose midday, one the last days they would spend in the Capitol. By the time it was sundown the moon was well on its way to setting and the juxtaposition felt like war inside of Baby Wessex's ribcage. The pull of the mighty golden sun and the push of the tempered silver moon. And in the end, they were both leading to denouement after dinner.

But Baby didn't feel like retiring.

She pouted her way through dessert, closed the blinds in the District 9 apartments so she wouldn't have to witness the sunset. If the sun and moon chose to sleep at the same time, so be it. Those doomed to sleep in the Training Center did not have to follow their lead.

Fresh faced and clad in an ivory crop top and miniskirt, Baby ascended the many floors to the rooftop. She'd heard other tributes gossiping about a party, though few seemed genuinely interested in attending. She wasn't either, not really, except that she'd never been to a proper party before.

So there she was, standing next to a broad bowl of some vaguely pink liquid that might have been strawberry lemonade. She accepted a glass from a masked figure, smiled her thanks, and drew a heavy sip.

Which she promptly sprayed over another tribute. "That - that tastes like isopropyl!" She sputtered, wiping her chin.

Only then did Baby Wessex have the chance to look absolutely moritified.