[M:2982250]
no salvation} aya.
May 23, 2012 15:04:05 GMT -5
Post by Lulu on May 23, 2012 15:04:05 GMT -5
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i've been losing sleep
i've been keeping myself awake
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Stark Harper was unlike any tribute Topaz had been forced to mentor before. For one, there was the fact that she had a good four inches on her; usually it was the male tributes that towered over her. For another, she gave off much more of an "I'm a badass" aura than any of the others; to be fair, Avon the previous year had as well, but not to this extent. And lastly, she had the consistent audacity to mouth off to her mentor whenever the opportunity arose. The insulting comments never ended; Stark had even stooped so low as to target Sapphire in her snarky remarks. And of course, Topaz, being who she was, wasn't going to stand for that without retaliation.
It had become a sort of game, in which each participant attempted to outdo the other with a slew of put-downs, sarcasm, and general ill-wishing. The only difference was that no one was keeping score; the competition would go on and on until Stark entered the arena and Tope could have some peace. There were only a few days left; she was counting the seconds. The seasoned victor was beginning to feel less like Stark's superior and more like a peer she particularly disliked, despite the three year age difference; and in return, Stark felt much less like her inferior. Topaz was determined to come up with a creative form of revenge, so naturally she turned to alcohol.
Prior to eating dinner the night before the tributes would perform their private training sessions for the Gamemakers, the twenty-one year old had discreetly spiked Stark's water with a very subtle yet very powerful vodka; with any luck, the insolent tribute would be forced to show off her skills to the panel that determined her fate while nursing a horrendous hangover. Karma's a bitch. While dining, Topaz had indulged in a fair amount of champagne herself, so before long both mentor and tribute showed similar symptoms of tipsiness. The difference was everyone else expected it from Topaz; no one else did from Stark.
Tope returned to her room after the meal snickering quietly, and an hour later she was lying on her bed, staring up at the images adorning the red walls. They were framed photographs of her in the 56th Hunger Games, everything from fighting mutts, weilding her sword, dominating at the Cornucopia. Fortunately the only one that depicted Nash Harvey was directly above her bed; out of sight, so long as Topaz willed it to be so. Just as her blurry drunk-vision attempted to focus on one beside the window - in it, she was about to plunge her trident into the dead body of Hermione Easteallas, District Seven tribute - a knock sounded at her door. Probably Kaiser, come to yell at me for something or other. The usual. He would have to ignore the fact that she'd clearly had far too much champagne that night. Not bothering to rise from her bed, the redhead called, "Who is it? Come in, I guess," twirling a strand of her hair in disinterest.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i've been wandering the streets
for days and days and days
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
[/color]i've been wandering the streets
for days and days and days
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
[/size][/center] [/justify]
