Whitches//Stiches~~{Briknope}

As you walk up the street, dominating, threatening, nobody can even tell you are a Peacekeeper. It’s probably the fact that you are one of the (if not the only) Peacekeepers that wears strappy high heels and hardly ever even sticks to the uniform (except sometimes for the jacket, which you are convinced is totally badass) even at work, but today you decided to put on the jacket anyway, as you had to go to that boring meeting. The decorated, flamboyant people look at you slightly curiously, knowing that you haven’t been around the Capitol too long, which seemed obvious in the way you have no body ornamentations, or unnatural hair, but you looked pretty normal. And they were right to know you haven’t been there for long; you had been taken from District Five (which is where you are stationed, along with Three sometimes) to go to the Capitol to discuss some stuff about the earthquake and all of that (which you were hardly interested in anyway, you were way more fascinated with your lighter, clicking the little flame on and off during the meeting, legs crossed and on the edge of the table). After the meeting, you rolled your eyes, running a hand through your hair, deciding that you needed just a little pick-me-up before you went to the hotel which you would be staying at before you went to District Three to keep the workers who were working on the machines in line.

Of course, you would never have too much alcohol. After your entire teen-hood addicted to the stuff, it almost ruined your entire life (almost killed you, even) so you told yourself you wouldn’t touch the stuff ever again. But as the three years had gone by, you had slowly decided that just going straight cold turkey wouldn’t be possible, so you just have some every now and again, satisfying the tiny part of you that was still an alcoholic, yearning for the glorious fluid that would flow through your veins and make you feel numb, and complete, and everything. Of course, I just have to be careful with the stuff and watch what I do.

After about fifteen minutes full of two cigarettes and a nearly broken ankle in the death traps that you walked on, you found yourself outside the pub, staring up at the name of it distastefully, your teeth slightly grinding. Okay, only a little bit of blended whiskey and that will be it. As you walk in, crossing your stick-like arms defensively as you slide into a seat in front of the bar where the bartender stood, he stares at your white Peacekeeper jacket curiously. You shoot him a blank look. “What’s your problem? Never seen a Peacekeeper in a bar before?” You roll your eyes and scoff, placing your chin on a closed fist as the bartender turns away. Your brown eyes scan all of the assortments of alcohols that decorate the walls, particularly leaning on the blended whiskeys but also letting yourself wander to the hard liquors to open yourself to variety. Eventually, you call to the bartender to get you some Schenley's (which you know has a huge amount of content in it, but you don’t care, you just need to have something to keep you going) and he obeys, sliding it down to you from the beginning to the bar to your end, which you catch with one hand lackadaisically before it slides off.

Taking a sip of the sour liquid, it burns your throat as it goes down, but even though it is strong and had way too much going on with it, you enjoy it, but as soon as you raise the glass to your lips again, you hear a loud, obnoxious voice in the doorway, and you nearly choke, slamming down the glass and looking over at who the hell it was, you realized that it was one of your fellow Peacekeepers. All the Peacekeepers pretty much know who each other are, and you were aware that the drunk girl that stood in the doorway was Autumn. You rolled your eyes, forced down half of the glass and slammed it down on the table, walked to the front of the doorway, lackadaisically grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled her around the side of the building where there was an alleyway. You pushed her against the brick wall of the side of the building and put your hands on your hips. “What the hell is wrong with you? How drunk off your ass are you?”

Red, vermillion, bloodshot eyes glared at you, staring daggers into your face, but naturally, you caught them and sent them right at her. With hands on your hips, you raise a neatly plucked eyebrow at your fellow Peacekeeper, demanding an explanation from her as she stood there, a helpless, clueless, unaware drunk. And that’s why I’m happy I don’t do alcohol. Or, well, enough to get me insanely drunk and stuff. “Dude? What do you think you’re doing? I can arrest you!” At first you cover your mouth and nose as you try and hide an overwhelming snicker, but eventually, you can’t help but turn the little cackle into a full snort that you have to control with a hand not covering, but clamped over your garnet red lips and ghostly pale nose.

After you calmed yourself, taking in a couple of breaths, the remains of your laughter leaving a ghost of amusement on your face, you counter Autumn. “That is adorable. Funny how you think you can arrest me, cause I can arrest you too!” You smiled, clasping your hands together in fake excitement and delight. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” The fake excitement leaves your face, and it leaves your expression cold and uncaring, seriousness creating an aura around you as you drop your hands to the side like a child who just lost his favorite toy. “What kind of drunk dumb-ass, a Peacekeeper no less, would go to a fuckin’ pub just to sell your ass on the street? Shit, when I was drunk as a kid a few years back, I had some common sense but you, Autumn? You have, like, none. Seriously.”

Rolling your eyes, red painted fingernails wrap themselves back around the collar of her shirt and you easily and carelessly drag her inside, acting as though you hadn’t just yelled at a fellow Peacekeeper and that you weren’t dragging along one of your co-workers. The half-drunk and the sober looked at you with an eyebrow raised at the white uniform jacket that covered your torso (and also glanced curiously at the non uniform tight denim jeans and the high-heels) and you just hissed in their direction, basically sending them the signal to just back the hell off or else. Not like you had a knife up your sleeve or anything. Not like you had the right to arrest them or anything.

Throwing your intoxicated, under the influence coworker in a stool, you sit right next to her, your natural instinct kicking in to cross your legs and balance your chin on a closed fist as you ordered Black Velvet blended whiskey for yourself, whispering in the bartender’s ear not to give the girl next to you any alcohol, as she had already had enough for one night. “So, how many drinks did you have tonight?” you mumble, bringing the glass to your lips, the sweet yet sour poison beginning to spread through your veins with each tiny sip your garnet lips subtracted from the glass. Your eyes distractedly wander around the little pub observing the Capitolites that stole wary glances from your direction, and as soon as your eyes met with theirs, they warily turned away. Damn straight.