The 68th Annual Sponsorship Gala {CAPITOLITES}

None of us are promised to see tomorrow, and what we do is ours to choose
Forget about the sunrise, fight the sleep in your eyes

He was late, all because of the damned cufflinks. He had specified the black pearl to be cut into quarter inch rounds. One quarter of an inch. He did not stutter. There was simply no reason to make a mistake as huge as one half inch. Why, they looked like buttons protruding from his sleeves! He'd sent them back to be fixed at once as he finished applying the last of his makeup. He had gone for a black and pearl motif, his face extremely pale but opalescent in the right light (which of course he'd badgered the Gala organizers into letting him see that morning). He'd blackened his hair with gel and selected a tuxedo to match. One simply did not attend a Gala without a proper tux.

Before the cufflink fiasco, he had been on track to arrive exactly fifteen minutes late. Forgivable, but fashionable. When the runner showed up with the properly sized cufflinks, he was twenty minutes late. He turned the runner aside, gasping for breath, and practically jumped down the stairs ahead of his entourage. Perhaps if it had been his own Gala, or his own Games, he would be forgiven. But nothing would save his pretty pearl head if he arrived after President's Snow's speech.

He crossed the foyer, down the stairs, over the lawn and down the alley around the mansion. One of his hangers-on called, beseeching him to slow. But he felt every second tick with the pounding of his heart. He would not be too late. He could not be. He turned the corner, caught the stem of a flute that an avox carried, and turned just at the moment the President stepped onto the balcony.

He did not breathe air so much as champagne.

Buoyed by bubbles, Glamour let his shoulders relax. He'd made it, just in time to listen to the same old, tired speech from the same old, tired man. He flinched even at the mere thought, knowing what it would cost him if Snow finally mastered the art of telepathy. As the speech wound down, Glamour risked a glance at the crowd. It was sizable, but too familiar. He would be competing against his colleagues, and neighbors, friends, and enemies. All for the chance to sponsor one lucky tribute.

He swallowed the last of the champagne as Snow admonished the crowd to drink carefully, whatever that meant. And he had already chosen, quite wisely. After leading two victors through the arena, he'd refined his metrics. He had every reason to believe the tribute he chose could be the one with a crown on her head in a few short weeks. He could see her now, pretty blonde hair flowing beneath the weight of golden triumph. He elbowed one of his lackeys, demanding champagne. It was a night to celebrate.

With cool glass in his grip, Glamour wound his way through the crowd, greeting those he needed to, and snubbing others. Parties were simply delightful. And with the second glass emptied, he felt finally ready to make his announcement. His chosen tribute. He lifted his chin, ready to announce her name.

But it was not his voice that called Pearl Millison, but another's. His face twisted into a pale scowl. "Find out who that impostor is," he growled at a nearby stylist. He sniffed. He could still throw his weight behind the campaign for Pearl. But then he would have to share the glory, and that was simply unacceptable. It had been burden enough with Cadence. Never again. But if not Pearl, then who? Reau.

He choked on his own laugh. Unfortunately, Asa's last name would not be easily swayed from row. It was not altogether a bad name, nothing like Owen Name-Thing. And he came from a respectable family, had trained extensively. If not for his reaping tape, he would be an easy substitute. But he had stuttered and faltered and very nearly embarrassed himself. Surely there were better dark horses Glamour could pin his hopes to. He mulled it over for a moment, considering other tributes. But none stuck with him like the image of Asa Reau finally find the words of a champion: I accept.

"Bollocks," Glamour whispered as he hauled himself atop one of the low stone walls. He opened his arms to the busy crowd. No one but his small entourage looked to him. He cleared his throat. He did it again, quite forcefully. Clearly, he was no longer Head Gamemaker. He tipped his flute towards the stylists, at first seeking a refill. And then the lights caught the glass and illuminated the opalescent makeup he had slathered on his face, neck and hands. He spin the glass between his fingertips once, and then let it fall.

It shattered against stone, shards of glass flying like rain drops.

"Oops," he said, all smiles and no apology. While many of the patrons continued to mingle, persisted in their one-on-one approach, Glamour had captured the attention of a larger audience. He smiled prettily, turning his hands over to show off his perfectly sized cuff links. "I'll make this short and sweet, like Miss Jacquez's skirt." He smirked at the girl, let the laughs rise and fall, before he continued. "You have a monumental decision before you for a good reason. What an excellent crop of tributes, don't you agree? Almost as good as the last." He winked, so that it might be a joke, although he was quite serious. "I, myself, had quite a difficult time deciding. So many strong potentials. But you know, one immediately stood out from the pack. One who has made himself a true son of Panem. Asa Reau, the Career from Two. Oh, oh that rhymed." He giggled in the airy way one only could after two flutes of champagne. "He's been well trained, yes, but what makes him the perfect tribute is not his strength, nor his skills. It's his heart. Here is a lad whose passion will carry him through."

Glamour had no way of knowing if that was true or not. He would quite possibly have to make it true. It had been decided the moment he'd selected Asa as sponsorship material that he would need to arrange a meeting. Soon. That night, if he could manage it. He widened his already wide smile, preparing for the hook.

"Why not let him Reau right into your hearts?" Glamour bent to snatch one of the golden slips of parchment and a peacock quill from an avox. With a flourish he wrote down Asa Reau's name, and an exorbitant amount of money. He turned the golden ticket around, presenting it the crowd. "Won't you Reau away with me?"

[Glamour Kinkade is sponsoring Asa Reau]

banner credit: fran in converse
lyrics: adam lambert never close our eyes