and the sun will come ☼ justice&bambi
Jul 17, 2017 20:19:05 GMT -5
Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Jul 17, 2017 20:19:05 GMT -5
B A M B I
Jealous words are hissed at her with every turn that she takes, yet she still pretends like none of the fame has gotten to her head. She smiles smugly and lifts her chin in defiance of those who believe her to be unfit for the position that she's been granted — a flash of haughtiness settles across her features with a familiarity that nearly chokes her. Just almost. She's grown used to the silver spoon that's lodged itself in the stretch of her throat. Let them be envious, she thinks with a dismissive shake of her head and a bounce of her dark curls. Everything I have is mine because I've worked for it. I deserve all of this.
Truly? She's not entirely sure, but Justice sure as Hell doesn't keep her around for something as trivial as her wisdom. For her talent as a stylist? She hasn't questioned him on the matter to his face, but her rose-colored glasses have cracked enough throughout the last few months that she's finally starting to come to terms with the reason that Justice had hired her. Just because he was hungry; just because she had suited his particular tastes in the moment that he first saw her. A smarter girl would have pulled her coat tighter at the thought, but she only shrugs her shoulders free of the cashmere robe that surrounds them.
The key is not hating Justice for being disgusting — it's to give him a chance, so that he can do the same for her. He's a man and a victor under the same skin; it's not his fault that he's been built to destroy everything that stands in his path. And it's not her place to heal a broken man, and it's not in her nature to challenge him. She's not a warrior — but she's no damsel, either. She's just a girl. A mortal hoisted up by a god to stand at his side, but the tragedy is that Justice is only a boy beneath all of the gold that's caked on his flesh. His godhood is false; just a sad kid with too many stars forming a galaxy on his cheeks. They burn, but try as Bambi might to cover them, he shrugs her off whenever she comes too close with her powders.
"Just let me make your eyes look more awake, Justice."
More alive — more real.
It's like fighting with a child, but she always lets him win. Because he's used to it — because her heart bleeds too much to treat him harshly. Just a boy; just a girl. She's as new to the spotlight as he is, and he's standing in hotter flames than her. The demons he's endured hold swords and speak a bloody truth. Hers smile with plastic lips and speak riddles in her ears. They're both afraid, and they're both doing the best they can with what they've been given, but only one of them had been given a choice. Justice might have chosen her, but she signed the contract for her soul willingly. Justice never asked to be reaped, and he never asked to win. Prayers aren't requests; no one thinks straight when they're on the floor skinning their knees. If he could go back to the finale with a clear mind, she's not sure that he'd want what he currently has, and that thought humbles her as much as it frightens her.
So she chooses to be gentle, and she places a hand on his shoulder where most women would slip into the space between his thighs. She doesn't want to find herself in someone else, and she knows that Justice won't be able to discover anything about himself within her. But they can be there for the other, and they can carry the burdens of both when one can no longer handle the pressure. She wants to make a difference. She wants to be a stylist that matters in the history of Panem; not a simple distraction. She wants to be Justice's friend. His ally. A woman in the night is a creature of valid origins, but Bambi has always been a daughter of sunlight. Descendant of Midas and a bastard of Helios; theirs is a tale for the ages. This is just the first chapter of many.
"Justice," she greets upon entering his dressing room without knocking, already scarred by too many naked bodies tangled together to flinch at anything that she sees. But he's alone, and she sighs in relief as she tosses her shawl aside and moves to his vanity, running her fingers across her supplies and looking over her shoulder to see her outfit still on its hanger and sheltered by a freshly pressed bag. "Weren't tempted to take a peek, or just not feeling up to prying today?" She closes the distance between them, crossing her arms and looking down at him where he sits.
"It's just one interview. They all want to know how you feel about your brother making it to another day, and then that's that. You get to go home." She looks away for a moment, swallowing and finding herself unsure of where she should stand between her home's greed and the pain of a boy from a foreign world. "Just flash them that signature smile of yours. That's all you have to do when you don't know what to say." She exhales a breath that she only just realizes she's been holding.
"And Justice?
I'm here for you."
