White Wine and Yuca Fries [Thundy]

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shrimp
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White Wine and Yuca Fries [Thundy] Jun 20, 2017 22:16:03 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Jun 20, 2017 22:16:03 GMT -5

As usual, the world streams around her, incandescence and waves that loop de loop. Faces blur as she swings the door open wide, her assistant walking in briskly behind her with a half twitching eye and rapid movements that threaten to give Charlie a headache. Perhaps "as usual" isn't the right term - normally it's the corners of her peripherals, the glances that flicker from face to face as the bees in her stomach settle down. This is not that.

"Silas," she utters. Soft, sharp. He stops, hands clasping around his notebook and his breath hitched in his throat. "Yes, Miss uh- Ga- Cha- Garnet?"

She almost smiles, a half smirk that rises from her right side. "Calm down. It's a Friday night. In fact, why don't you head out for the night? I've got it covered." At the counter a woman shrieks with delight and knocks over her cosmo. Her date just chuckles, wiping the mixture off of her pants and snapping her fingers for the busby to wipe it up. As the bell chimes the bartender half-glances upwards before his head snaps towards her and a smile is sewn onto his face.

She turns towards Silas, pushing platinum hair out of her face. Her other hand reaches for her pockets, grabbing a wallet. She takes a card out and hands it to him. "Your night's on me. But be reasonable, please."

"Yessir, uh, ma'am," he squeaks before stumbling back out the door. Garnet just shrugs, allows the bartender to leave his post and escort her to her reserved room. It's best that this conversation is one-on-one anyway. Or as one-on-one as you can get in the Capitol.

She orders a bottle of Riesling and a large plate of yuca fries, eyes staring at the television screen in the corner. When alone, a soft grin forms on her face, partly from the world that waxes and wanes around her, partly the murmurs of the screen that spread completely unfounded rumors. Or, just unfounded to just her and three others. Glamour? Out of retirement? You must be kidding me, Caesar. For a moment her stomach turns into a knot, but she downs a fry instead. The waiter gets her a second glass and she speaks with him, asks them how their day is going. The conversation is short, there's not much to say.

When the door finally opens again, her grin breaks out into an actual smile, teeth and all. Her eyes are in half-moons and she laughs. She helps herself up (it takes a second longer than normal, maybe she shouldn't have started on an empty stomach) and strides over to him.

"Warren!" Her mind races. I haven't seen you in so long you look great have you done something to her hair? No it's the shoes. Maybe. Are you taller than before? Is that even possible?

Instead, she gives him a hug. "I've missed you, dude." I have good news.

Last Edit: Jun 20, 2017 22:31:54 GMT -5 by shrimp

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
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cozy, queer af

White Wine and Yuca Fries [Thundy] Jun 26, 2017 16:18:58 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Jun 26, 2017 16:18:58 GMT -5

______________________

You can give me guns and politics and
I'll just make a mess of it, you know

Five (six?) years of insignificance is a harsh punishment for one’s diabolical plans. What’s worse is that the time’s still counting, and it probably could have been prevented if I’d followed some unspoken rules during the Quell.

Unspoken Rule #1: Don’t put the favorites in danger.

Just how the Capitol failed to enjoy that giant Cornucopia, I’ll never know. Me and Charlie spent a lot of time planning it out, but nobody ever told me that you have to reward the tributes who win the Wealth. After all, there have been other traps in the past; it’s not like we were working against precedent.

Whatever, whatever. That’s all behind me now, but I’m still bitter. They shoved me off into a meaningless Gamemaker role, and last year they didn’t even hire me back. I had to put up a fuss just so I could find my way back into their good graces, and I’ve kept quiet ever since they rehired me a few weeks ago.

I haven’t seen Charlie since they fired me last year.

She got me into the habit of drinking, but even now I don’t feel comfortable in a bar. The one bright side of being insignificant is that people don’t recognize me, and I’m not bothered by anyone as I walk up to a waiter and ask him to direct me to Charlie Garnet. He gives me a telling look, eyeing me up and down to see if I’m someone important. Wouldn’t want to lead a stranger into a room with someone famous. It goes without saying that the Gamemaker world has been kinder to Charlie than it has been to me, and her name hasn’t been forgotten. In truth, I’m glad of it – she shouldn’t have to suffer through insignificance.

She is brilliant, after all.

The waiter directs me to a reserved room and opens the door. Before I even see her, Charlie’s out of her chair.

“Warren!”

Charlie gives me a big hug that I’m not expecting, mainly because nobody ever hugs me. When she steps back, I see that she’s got a big smile on her face, and I can’t help but smile too, just a little. It’s not a forced smile, not with Charlie; my smile’s just a little rusty.

“I’ve missed you, dude.”

She’s eyeing me up and down, probably because I look different. My stylist Liana wouldn’t let me leave the house this morning before she flooded my face with concealer and other makeup to hide the fact that my face looks sullen, and she did up my hair. I haven’t had the heart to stop Liana from making me look a certain way, so I just let her run with it. Now I actually look more presentable than usual, so I guess I should be thankful for her help. Charlie looks the same as ever, pale and lithe. Happy, even.

“I’ve missed you too, Charlie.” And I mean it. The familiarity of this moment makes me sad, and it really hits me that I've missed her. We were an unstoppable team when our Games were underway, and I haven’t really seen her since I was fired last year. Gamemakers are busy people, after all. I miss our conversations, our schemes, our jokes. Little things like this are easily left behind in all the hustle and bustle of Capitol life.

“How are you? Not getting into too much trouble?” I ask with a smirk.

She looks excited about something, but I can’t guess what it is. I motion to where she was sitting a moment before and move to sit in the chair next to hers. There’s a bottle of Riesling on the table, so I pour a glass and take a long, long drink.

Like it or not, I’ve picked up some of her habits.

warehouse

shrimp
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White Wine and Yuca Fries [Thundy] Sept 3, 2017 23:31:43 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Sept 3, 2017 23:31:43 GMT -5

[attr="class","shrimp_parallax"]

"Hmm, I mean not right now," Charlie quips with a twinkle in her eye. She turns when he sits, popping some of the fries into her mouth and plopping back down into her chair.

"Last games was real fun though - honestly Cricket Antoinette is insane." literally. Charlie still remembers her and Hera waltzing through their meetings, demanding them to break physics and bend reality. "I'm still trying to get over the fact that we made arena prime; that's the longest I've spent on graphics algorithms in a while."

"But what about you?" She asks, muffled by yuca. "I haven't seen you in forever?"

Warren takes a long sip from his glass and nibbles on a fry as he responds. "I took some time off. You know, vacationing. Introspecting. Trying new things." "Very busy," he quietly adds, his face more glass than Warren.

She snorts, dipping another fry in chipotle mayo. "Very specific." What kind of new things, Mr. Man of Mystery? He simply leans back in his chair, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Well, maybe there's too many things to tell."

But as much as she wants to grill him on where he's been for the past year, she recognizes that move, that sleight of hand. She's used it for most of her life. When reporters try to get clues about the games, when Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman attempt to schmooze with her for a glimpse into her past, when a lifetime ago stylists asked her what she thought about their handiwork (as if her opinion would sway whether or not they stuck it on her. Perhaps, now, it would).

It's been a long time - if she's realistic with herself it's probably the first - that she's had someone she could call a friend. There's acquaintances, sure: when she was 15 she tagged along with Janice to her parties, made "friends" with the older crowd so that she could get lost in the music and have her head in the clouds; she's still invited to post-college networking-ragers with the group she spent time with, all older, all yearning for a push up the corporate-celebrity ladder; there's the "I'm so proud of you" calls from her mother begging for her to come home (and bring them out of obscurity - oddly enough, there's never been an "I'm sorry" voicemail). But no one else she's spent nights with giddy-drunk off of sangria; no one else she's poured over projects with and roasted with a smile. So she treads lightly.

"I'm glad you got a vacation," she says, softer. "You do a lot, you deserve it. To relax, I mean." Her shoulders feel tense, her footwork's not nimble enough for this.

She takes a drag of her wine instead.

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