Sincerely yours, [the Victors]

Tonight, the alcohol oozes into my veins and fills my heart with a feeling of power, setting my default mindset to something more secure, something I can manage. In truth, my stylist gave me a couple shots even before the party started, and as much as I dislike Lepitera for all of her criticism (including her constant vigilance in reminding me that I tend to look like shit whenever it comes time to dress me up) I wholly appreciated the gesture. She sent me off to the Big Fancy Party with a wry look on her face and a buzz flowing through my veins, and I don’t have to remind myself to push my shoulders back and stand up tall. This happens on its own, and I’m pacing through President Snow’s party with a boldness that I didn’t even know I possessed.

These past two days have been a whirlwind of activity, and there hasn’t been a single second to wrap my mind around everything. My thoughts spin and spin with the alcohol and the little curiosities poking at my awareness, jumping from awe at the vast scale of the party to hope, because I’m wondering if this is the kind of party Cordelia Eaglebrooke would find a way into. As far as I can tell, everyone at this party is vaguely famous and very rich, and I don’t know if she’s either of those things.

Hell, I don’t know anything about her.

Waking up this morning to the realization that there was nothing left for us to do but say goodbye was a difficult thing in itself, because I’m a total idiot and I got my hopes up. A small part of me thought.. I don’t know, that she wouldn’t want to leave? In the very least, I thought we might make plans to see each other again, but we basically left with a promise to see each other around, and as much as I don’t want to read into that.. it sounds like that was the end of that.

The Capitol’s a pretty big place, after all. So big that our paths won’t cross again by accident.

Among the crowd of Capitolites celebrating the Games’ Final 8 tributes (the girl from my District not among them), I search for a familiar face, but the Victors are dispersed around the building. I resort to wandering around and looking for waiters holding drink trays, and every chance I get I take a new one and down it in a gulp, stumbling along until I find people – Capitolites, Victors, I don’t care anymore – who look even marginally friendly. A random mustachioed man shakes my hand and introduces himself, but I’ve already forgotten his name by the time that I hold my chin up and look interested enough to say hello. I walk on, and suddenly I’m approached by a tall woman in a slinky black dress, holding a champagne glass in her fingers and reaching for my collar unceremoniously. The woman drags me towards her and whispers something in my ear that I can’t repeat without blushing, and she gives me a kiss on the cheek for good measure before I finally tug away.

My only solace from the madness of the party is that a man finds me in the crowd and tells me I’m being ordered to a room for an announcement with the other victors, and I willingly follow along – albeit stumbling into various Capitolites as I go – and in a matter of a minute I’m being nudged through a doorway.

Many of the other victors have already arrived, but I can tell by the number that a few are still wandering about the party, about to be summoned. Their presence – though not entirely warm - is the only familiar thing I’ve experienced this entire time, and I smile like a goof when my eyes pass over their faces. I recognize the few that I’ve spoken with before, but their names escape my drunken train-of-thought in a matter of seconds.

”Some party,” I say loudly to nobody in particular, throwing my head up to look at the vaulted ceiling and the intricate design of gold inlaid into the woodwork. ”Fancy as hell. How many of these do you think he owns?” I ask with a big smile, fumbling for a knife tinted with gold on its hilt where it sits next to a tray of luxurious Capitol snacks.