champions and cheaters | {quillon/talon} blitz

I need noise
I need the buzz of a sub
need the crack of a whip
need some blood in the cut

Two people chosen, the crowds dissipated, and Talon Irvene stood tall on her throne. Concrete stage— concrete jungle. Smelled like chemicals and poverty, but this was all hers. Last election said so.

Her fingertips danced along the lines of her outer thigh, skin turning to jewel as she reached them hem of her dress, the dip where her hips met her waist.

"Mayor Irvene," A peacekeeper said, opening the entrance to the Town Hall. She didn't say anything in reply, just smirked. Damn right I am. She would've liked to meet someone daring enough to challenge her. Poor Jay boy's campaign had wet the bed the very night he announced his candidacy. A little planted evidence does a big amount of damage, it seemed.

She stopped again, just in front of cinder block-heavy double doors. Deep breath in, and at her signal, the peacekeepers pried them open.

"Mr. Blackfare," she said, smirking at one half of District Nine's newest tribute duo. She sat down in a chair, crossing her left leg over her right and patting the companion chair in front of it.

"Expecting someone else? That brother of yours, perhaps?" Her tongue tasted like malice and deception, but she was too used to the flavor.

Her hand found his knee, and she leaned in close to him, eyes on eyes, soft-looking lips, calloused hands. Handsome, she decided, possibly worth something.

"Are you a winner, Mr. Blackfare?" Her hand held its place on his knee for a moment, then she let it fall. "I like to surround myself with winners. And I have learned the hard way that there aren't many in District Nine." She tasted bitterness then— fought the urge to spit.

"So tell me what you want and I'll get it for you. All you have to do is come back with a pulse. Got it?"

take my head and kick it in
break some bread for all my sins
say a word, do it soon
it's too quiet in this room