Pass the //lizard// please {Turner!family!blitz}

Ties. He hates ties. It's like there's a noose trying to choke the air out of him. Erebus Turner had nearly jumped out of his skin when his mother ran through the house screeching to get dressed- that a gentleman caller was coming tonight. Naturally, he wasn't very interested in the news but he did as he was bid. Awkward dinners were practically listed on his resume, but when Mother wrangled a tie around his neck he knew the event would not be the usual "Odd Guy Over For Supper" kind of night.

Peering into the kitchen, Erebus hooked a finger under his tie, attempting to free his throat from its bonds. Tip toeing past mother, he slipped into the dinning room claiming one of the chairs beside Eden who was propped up in her high chair. She was all dolled up too in a frilly dress that nearly swallowed her whole.

Looking around the corner, the boy watched as Lethe opened the door and stared at their guest. Narrowing his eyes at the intruder, Erebus took him in. Truth be told, you would be hard pressed to find anyone Erebus found suitable for his older sister. He was picky and protective and didn't know how he liked the suitor so far.

"Feel free to spit up on him," Erebus whispered to Eden who was more occupied with playing with the tool from her dress that filled her chair. Mother's voice rang out from the kitchen as she hurried them inside. Leaning back in his chair, Erebus was only grateful that he still had a few more years before he would be forced to entertain any young ladies at the dinner table.

Dearest Lethe Turner,

How casual was one supposed to be at these dinners anyways? Not that in my life time I had not been welcomed to many a dinner table with many an important persons, as is befitting of the mayor's nephew, however, there was a certain bizarre air behind the whole ordeal - the invite to dinner, though tremendously welcoming, was, well, unexpected to say the least. The Turner family had a very distinguished notoriety amongst the community nowadays, that is,from five years prior, when Lethe herself had - survived. There's something about the girl with emerald eyes and cherry lips that makes the soul wonder, why? And not in a rude fashion whatsoever, it's the why that makes her interesting, beautiful, a different specimen than any female in which I'd ever been begrudgingly paired with in my days - in my days, talking as if I'd spent a lifetime being spoon fed woman left and right, no. That wasn't the case - at least, if nothing it was all for the picture. The images strewn across the family halls, Jasper Somerset, the boy who was meant to smile and laugh for pictures, and did so lovingly, needed another, in his life. And they'd tried, oh they tried. But I didn't feel it, not once.

There was a mystery, a game, that needed to be played. A question, that always needed to be present in order to play. I have never found the rules to the game, never picked them up in rundown garbage cans, laying at the top. Nor have they ever flown through the air, a loose paper running from it's folder, no. Not once. I wish I knew how to play the game of love, but seldom was the chance granted. But the invite - there was a game in that, a mystery that filled the air and set the world on fire, a heat, an inexhaustible heat that nothing had ever come close to matching. The summer sun was that of the gentle invite to a small dinner, the active volcano was that of the acceptance delivered from Septimus for a few coin. Why Lethe Turner? Upon telling father, I immediately rushed off to make sure that the suit in which I'd spent many a day in was clean pressed, presentable, perhaps tailoring? However, the golden cuff links were polished, the purple undershirt was seamless, though perhaps the jacket was a little much, a little, no too much for a casual dinner. Casual? Maybe.

Dearest Lethe, to you I write this note.

The last time I'd seen the girl shining green was that one day in the park, that one time that perhaps, had she not been so outrageously upset, so malicious, and frightened by the very fact that I'd read her letter, we could have been friends. Friends, is that it Jasper? Friends. Perhaps more - maybe one thing would have lead to another, perhaps she could have ridden her horse, side by side with me and I'd ask for her - what, her what? Hand? Take upon myself that little hands, also, of a girl that belonged not to me, but her Capitol lover who left her to bits? I could take her hand, and ride off with her, but a child was not in the agenda, not in the Somerset agenda for years to come. After all, my aunt had yet to have children, or be betrothed to my very knowledge. Marriage, no. I shake my head slightly to catch my bearings as I walk down the District streets, the crowds hustling and bustling about frantically, one would think that it's some sort of celebration, though it was just a normal day in the market - really, unless there was some sort of party tonight, though Peridot had already passed swiftly by, so it wasn't the Victory Tour - alas. The small blue poppies were starting the tickle my nose with their vibrant and lively scents, much to my discomfort - however, it was only natural to give a lady, of such nature, flowers at dinner, was it not? I had no clue, there was nothing in my that knew any different than the ideas that were streamed in my brain. I'd been taught so well, but for naught, because I haven't the slightest idea what to say when I arrive.

The timid poppies were only the beginning though, really. In the center stood a box of buttons, simply, blue ones, red ones, small ones, large ones, any and all that I could possibly find all amassed into a small little box. I figured, I guess, potentially it would be a farce, of sorts? I said I had a button nose - I imagine she might of laughed, perhaps, when reading that, and I guess - maybe she laughed? The nerves are disgusting, mortal, and not welcome whatsoever, but as I knock on her solid oak door in the Victor's Village, I realize it's too late to do anything. The door swings open to a surprised Lethe, her emerald eyes shining in distaste and shock, she didn't know it was me, did she, did she, shit.

Dear Lethe, I don't need to use fancy words, or long sentences to tell you that, I fall asleep thinking about your emerald eyes I'm sure this will be a great dinner. Enjoy the flowers, and the buttons. Jasper Somerset.

I am not meant to be here. "Uhm, hello, Lethe. I'm here for dinner. I got you -" I stick out the flowers and box of buttons in front of me. "these."