carpe noctem | {jacinta/colt}

I am a child of a
money hungry, prideful country
grass is green and it's always sunny
hands so bloody, tastes like honey
I'm finding it hard to leave

Their difference was the slick tongue of a cool, silver blade, and the fiery red anger of a sword freshly forged. They were the same weapon- equal amounts of their parents’ blood pulsing through their veins, but the similarities stopped there. Violetta lacked the conviction that had made Jacinta a household name, but Violetta was honest in a way only she could be. There were no smoke and mirrors to her game, no lies or deception. There was only Violetta in her truest, most unapologetic form.

Colt stared at the two gowns hanging before him- a victor and her tribute sister. Slick steel and burning iron. Jacinta would wear red for the rest of the Capitol-official events and brunches, skin tight and celebratory of the female body as ever. She was a woman, now: a queen. And should Violetta return-

His eyes flitted to the other dress: softer, younger. Certainly, it was more age-appropriate than Jacinta’s clothes, but Colt had no part in how the Capitol perceived the young Salazar sisters.

He checked his watch, 7:54 pm. He hoped Babe hadn’t forgot to tell Jacinta to meet him at 8. A minute later and she would’ve been running late to the sponsorship banquet, and though he didn’t care if the Games officials had a problem with him, he could admit that listening to the aimless babbling they called lectures was something he typically liked to avoid. He fussed with the hemline of her dress one last time, making sure the cut was high enough to showcase her entire right leg, but placed so that only her leg was revealed.

At eight o’clock sharp, he heard the doors to his studio open. He didn’t bother turning to face the girl. Instead, he kept his eyes on the gown, quizzical expression as he looked for anything that could be considered a flaw.

“Waited ‘til the last second again, huh?” he asked at last, “I bet you’ll be late to your own funeral some day.” His tone implied that he was joking, and he figured Jacinta knew him well enough now to know he wasn’t serious, anyway. Hell, Colt himself was hardly punctual, and his team was made up of teenage runaways and ex addicts. As long as a person showed up at all, Colt thought, the rest didn’t matter.

“Let’s get you dressed.” he mused, looking at her for the first time.