Gift-wrapped resentment and hatred // Elijah&Sera /pre 98th/

It had not been my idea to invite Sera over for dinner. Adalynn and Adrian had ambushed me one morning. I was about to poor my rum into my coffee as my husband snatched it out of my hand and told me he wanted to meet the girl who had paid for our house. I really tried to tell him that he absolutely did not want to meet her, but he wouldn’t listen. God if he thought I could be insufferable, he was going to hate her and her stupid “I’m going to disappoint you” face.

That is why Adalynn was there, her part of the spiel was convincing me that all Sera needed was somebody who cared about her. There was skepticism written all over my face.

Adalynn had hated me when we first met, she was a stubborn twelve-year-old with an attitude to fill an arena. Granted, she still had that attitude, but she gained a whole load of work ethic over the years. She had even begun to sprinkle a little bit of respect along with it as well. She argued with me for a solid hour, telling me to give the girl some guidance. I personally think Adalynn felt jealousy. She had a lot in life, but in her eyes; Sera had it all.

I’m pretty sure Sera had a different opinion.

In fucked up way, Sera was an interesting parallel to Adalynn. Both my first clients in a new industry, and both might just end up my two biggest successes respectively. Well, isn’t that a little bit too much of a coincidence. Maybe Sera should have dinner with Adalynn, or maybe I should invite Sera over and have Adalynn attend.

The wheels began to turn, and I could see the headlines already. The two of them together on the cover of magazines, testimonies to my genius. When the time would come for me to launch a line, have my first show…Adalynn would open, and Sera would close. The beginning and end.

I might just even call it; The rise and fall of Elijah Beaumont.

You know! Give it a little edge.

There was only one real issue with the whole ordeal. Sera seemed to hate my guts. That’s fine, I really wasn’t all that fond of her. We didn’t need to like each other for this work out, she would just need to agree. Worst case, I probably could find a way to force her.

So, I drafted an invitation. I never got a response. I suppose the mail could get lost in the districts, they really did not have the best reputation. So, I drafted another. Yet again, there was no response. I did not put it past Sera to not spend much time in her new home in the victor village. So, I wrote a third letter and gave instructions for them to track her down and deliver it to her personally (do you know how much that cost me?). And guess what?! That ungrateful bitch had the audacity to decline.

My ego was a bit bruised, no one ever said no to me. It seemed that desperate times would be worth desperate measures. Not that I was all that desperate, I didn’t need her to go along with this. I just did not like rejection, it really was not a good look on me.

I wrote a fourth letter.

My dearest starlet,

It has come to my attention that you might not hold the grace of a career victor, that’s fine I can make it work. I insist you join me tomorrow evening in the Capitol for dinner at my own house. Let me be clear, I am not asking this time. Your dress has been carefully handcrafted, most girls would kill to have a custom Beaumont free of charge (well you kind of did). A few of my friends will accompany you to make sure everything is perfect for the cameras on your arrival. At least try to look like you are glad to be alive.

Yours truly,
Elijah Beaumont

I thought I was being kind given the circumstances. It had costed me an arm and a leg to bribe the peacekeepers in order to ensure my resntful newest starlit would arrive on time in an appropriate manor. A small price to pay for what could be the next big step in my career. A one and done stunt at the hunger games, and on to bigger things for us all.

The day had come sooner than expected, a table set with a silk cloth in a deep dark purple. Candles lit, providing for light in a dramatic manor. In the kitchen, a sweet smell radiated filling the house. It was warm and inviting, familiar almost. A staff cooking old recipies my mom would cook when she needed me to toughen up. All of it was well balanced between home and business, not usually the way I did things. Once again,

desperate times…desperate messures.