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Tension's Getting Hotter, I'd Like to - // [Anarcha/Glamour]
Aug 24, 2019 14:56:29 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Aug 24, 2019 14:56:29 GMT -5
[googlefont="Roboto Slab: 400;"]
if we don’t fuck this whole thing up
The worst day of the year was invariably the day Leon returned to District Four. Sometimes, depending on the train schedule and money in the right pockets, he wasn't gone very long. Sometimes he was. Glamour had already started the wheels turning to be reunited with his husband as expeditiously as possible. But it would still be a week, bare minimum.
He spent that first night at a club, wallowing in beauty and champagne.
The next morning, he rang Anarcha Bentley.
No answer.
He forced himself to dress, respond to a few important missives, go shopping. He nearly bought a preening little puppy to keep him company, until he remembered that he hated dogs. He returned home, groused as she dialed Anarcha's number.
Nothing.
The week bled by. Frustratingly, Leon - miles and a mountain range away - was readily available. But the woman who lived just a few buildings over? She might as well have been a ghost.
The frustration burned him, liquid fire coursing through his veins. The surveillance Peacekeeper he trusted would charge even more than Glamour had already paid to soon see Leon. It was exorbitant, extortion at its finest. But who was he going to complain to? The very same Peacekeeper? He rubbed at the vaguest stubble on his chin. He could just wait. He'd see Leon very soon and would then be better equipped to ignore Anarcha back. It made sense to wait her out.
But he'd never been a patient person.
He transferred the money. Within a few hours, he was on his way to another club, one far seedier and exotic than the one where he explored the bottoms of champagne flutes. His sleek black car was utterly out of place in the neighborhood. He emerged, turned to tell the driver to wait, but he was already speeding away.
"Just my luck," he whispered. He was: trapped, frustrated, lonely.
The tension is getting hotter
I'd like to hold her head underwater
Me and my girl we got this relationship
The music blared, engulfing him, softening some of the edges. Someone in a spiked mask pressed a pill in his palm. He took it. It tasted like strawberry and vinegar.
He circled the room, or maybe the room circled at him. At last, in a corner, looking dressed to kill (tributes, presumably), he found her. "You are really fucking evil," he greeted her, extending an open palm. "Have you tortured me enough yet?"
He spent that first night at a club, wallowing in beauty and champagne.
The next morning, he rang Anarcha Bentley.
No answer.
He forced himself to dress, respond to a few important missives, go shopping. He nearly bought a preening little puppy to keep him company, until he remembered that he hated dogs. He returned home, groused as she dialed Anarcha's number.
Nothing.
The week bled by. Frustratingly, Leon - miles and a mountain range away - was readily available. But the woman who lived just a few buildings over? She might as well have been a ghost.
The frustration burned him, liquid fire coursing through his veins. The surveillance Peacekeeper he trusted would charge even more than Glamour had already paid to soon see Leon. It was exorbitant, extortion at its finest. But who was he going to complain to? The very same Peacekeeper? He rubbed at the vaguest stubble on his chin. He could just wait. He'd see Leon very soon and would then be better equipped to ignore Anarcha back. It made sense to wait her out.
But he'd never been a patient person.
He transferred the money. Within a few hours, he was on his way to another club, one far seedier and exotic than the one where he explored the bottoms of champagne flutes. His sleek black car was utterly out of place in the neighborhood. He emerged, turned to tell the driver to wait, but he was already speeding away.
"Just my luck," he whispered. He was: trapped, frustrated, lonely.
The tension is getting hotter
I'd like to hold her head underwater
Me and my girl we got this relationship
The music blared, engulfing him, softening some of the edges. Someone in a spiked mask pressed a pill in his palm. He took it. It tasted like strawberry and vinegar.
He circled the room, or maybe the room circled at him. At last, in a corner, looking dressed to kill (tributes, presumably), he found her. "You are really fucking evil," he greeted her, extending an open palm. "Have you tortured me enough yet?"
guaranteed, i can blow your mind-dua lipa-
title lyrics from "Doin' Time" by Sublime [cover by Lana Del Ray]
