kaleidoscope minds { lazarus&calico }
Jan 5, 2020 19:42:13 GMT -5
Post by calla on Jan 5, 2020 19:42:13 GMT -5
CALICO PAGE
This was all Meliora's idea, a great big publicity stunt nicely wrapped with a bow, an appearance for Capitolites and district citizens alike.
I didn't bother trying to tell her that the people in the districts probably didn't listen to my music, that they were too busy dying or whatever else it is they do. I just let her babble on while the tailor she hired decided to use me as a pincushion.
I'd almost rather be there instead of standing here.
A waiter walks by with a tray of cocktails, these golden gleaming things, and I should've seen it coming. I don't really know how it happens - one just ends up in my hand. I try to forget about the box of sobriety tokens in my bedside table, half a dozen new year’s resolutions that only lasted a week.
Eighth's times the charm I guess.
Because mingling is shit, the music is even shittier, and there's nothing else to do but find some no-name, a wannabe celebrity, and let them live the dream for a night. Maybe I'm just lucky. Because there's a tall drink of water nearby, with a boy who looks like he could be his son.
I wonder if I should tell him that. I wonder if that would kill the mood.
"Two weeks sober." I tell him instead, smile all prettily and raise my glass in a mock toast, "Cheers."
I didn't bother trying to tell her that the people in the districts probably didn't listen to my music, that they were too busy dying or whatever else it is they do. I just let her babble on while the tailor she hired decided to use me as a pincushion.
I'd almost rather be there instead of standing here.
A waiter walks by with a tray of cocktails, these golden gleaming things, and I should've seen it coming. I don't really know how it happens - one just ends up in my hand. I try to forget about the box of sobriety tokens in my bedside table, half a dozen new year’s resolutions that only lasted a week.
Eighth's times the charm I guess.
Because mingling is shit, the music is even shittier, and there's nothing else to do but find some no-name, a wannabe celebrity, and let them live the dream for a night. Maybe I'm just lucky. Because there's a tall drink of water nearby, with a boy who looks like he could be his son.
I wonder if I should tell him that. I wonder if that would kill the mood.
"Two weeks sober." I tell him instead, smile all prettily and raise my glass in a mock toast, "Cheers."
