![Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] Avatar](https://64.media.tumblr.com/de401f4e6e4ca07c241afc45583f7195/d2f1890293928896-84/s500x750/0ba6fe3572f4f5f72b52d28965cfcda71e4171a0.png)
Say Something // [Faux/Glamour Call]
Jul 21, 2019 17:52:54 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jul 21, 2019 17:52:54 GMT -5
[googlefont="Roboto Slab: 400;"]
if we don’t fuck this whole thing up
By some miracle that had entirely nothing to do with his intervention, Leon still had a living tribute in the 82nd Games, but it seemed Elite Hops' time was nearly at an end. This, unfortunately, meant that Leon needed to be available for a post-mortem interview and photo call. Which meant that he couldn't lounge all day in their extravagant super-king sized bed in their penthouse home. To say that Glamour pouted would be an understatement. "Surely the other Victor can handle it," he said, and claimed total innocence when Leon gently named her.
"Yes, yes, I know her name is 'Annie' ay kay ay Anatalia Morrisen. But she's of no consequence unless she's making herself useful - which she could be! Right now! And you could stay..."
He didn't win the argument. But he felt, every year, that he got a little closer to convincing Leon to forget the Games entirely.
Late afternoon found Glamour in his office, spinning the rotary dial on his phone. He could be making big, important phone calls, drumming up support for his next Gamemaker bid. But he felt something sticky in his chest. It bothered him. He sighed. Shifted in the leather armchair. Coughed. It would not ease.
He spun out a few numbers. Flipped through his rolodex. It didn't land anywhere near Eleven, but he found himself wishing it had.
He flipped a little farther and then carefully, without a clear plan, dialed.
The answer on the other end was a woman's voice, breezy but clearly pressed for time. "Rhodes residence?"
"Yes, please fetch Faux for me," he commanded, an idea crystallizing.
A long, dark pause. When she responded, she'd dropped her voice to a whisper and seemed almost to be chastising him. "You're lucky it's me. Call back in a few hours."
The dial tone expanded, louder than it had any right to be. "That was rude," he scoffed into the dead line and hung up. The audacity! He'd even said please. He had half a mind to call her back and remind her that he could have squashed her husband like a bug a decade ago. He pressed the phone closer to his ear, ready to dial.
A few moments later, he put it down and went to take a long bath.
The sun was just beginning to set when he waltzed into his office, smelling of rose and lavender, and apropos of nothing, dialed the Rhodes Residence in District Eleven. "Faux Rhodes, please. He's expecting me."
A quick shuffle on the other end. "Faux, darling, it's been too long. How are you enjoying life?"
"Yes, yes, I know her name is 'Annie' ay kay ay Anatalia Morrisen. But she's of no consequence unless she's making herself useful - which she could be! Right now! And you could stay..."
He didn't win the argument. But he felt, every year, that he got a little closer to convincing Leon to forget the Games entirely.
Late afternoon found Glamour in his office, spinning the rotary dial on his phone. He could be making big, important phone calls, drumming up support for his next Gamemaker bid. But he felt something sticky in his chest. It bothered him. He sighed. Shifted in the leather armchair. Coughed. It would not ease.
He spun out a few numbers. Flipped through his rolodex. It didn't land anywhere near Eleven, but he found himself wishing it had.
He flipped a little farther and then carefully, without a clear plan, dialed.
The answer on the other end was a woman's voice, breezy but clearly pressed for time. "Rhodes residence?"
"Yes, please fetch Faux for me," he commanded, an idea crystallizing.
A long, dark pause. When she responded, she'd dropped her voice to a whisper and seemed almost to be chastising him. "You're lucky it's me. Call back in a few hours."
The dial tone expanded, louder than it had any right to be. "That was rude," he scoffed into the dead line and hung up. The audacity! He'd even said please. He had half a mind to call her back and remind her that he could have squashed her husband like a bug a decade ago. He pressed the phone closer to his ear, ready to dial.
A few moments later, he put it down and went to take a long bath.
The sun was just beginning to set when he waltzed into his office, smelling of rose and lavender, and apropos of nothing, dialed the Rhodes Residence in District Eleven. "Faux Rhodes, please. He's expecting me."
A quick shuffle on the other end. "Faux, darling, it's been too long. How are you enjoying life?"
guaranteed, i can blow your mind-dua lipa-
[Title lyrics from "Say Something" by Justin Timberlake]
