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@cade-bentley
"Damn. You're all acting like you're at a funeral," Cade joked with a wide grin, drink perched in one hand, the other elbow leaning against a bar-height table. "But seriously, did they have to bring the bummer vibes? It's killing the energy in here."
Her eyes drifted from the screen, torn away reluctantly and cast upon Cade in turn. "The feeling you get when Everett drops to his knees," Cress speculated, more gall than girl. Hubris had taken hold, confidence regained, and she could feel it coursing steadily through each vein. "The sensation of beholding a thing of beauty -- that which cannot go unseen."
Cade's mouth first fell open in shock that Cress-- someone seemingly so poised, so proper, so recently promoted-- would say something so suggestive in polite company. It was quickly replaced, though, with thorough delight. "Slate never told me you were fun," he complained, reaching over to give her a light, playful punch to the arm. "I mean, I guess I should've known, Slate's mostly fun if you get him to lay off his manifesto. But I'd just thought you two just had crazy good sex or something."
Cress had been relieved from headquarters, the evening giving way to a new wave of Gamemakers who would take over through the night. But still, she stood before the screen in awe, fingers dancing across her lips, parted in admiration of her own terrible handiwork. The rich history of this arena, of these mutts, of all that was planned. It was different to see her own creations -- deadly and beautiful.
"Divine, isn't it?" the movement in her periphery signaling that she was no longer alone. "Horrid and divine."
Cade's eyes followed the same things on the screen as Cress, and he nodded, trying to appreciate... whatever it was she was appreciating. "Ah. Yes. Horrid. Divine," he echoed, nodding fervently. "What... exactly? Is divine?"
He could see that it was true, that Cade was genuine; that he really would have done what it took to come save him, and that there may have been some reality, however distant from the one that existed, where Cade really did fight through lines of Tarren and come bursting through the doors of that medical clinic to rescue him. His heart leapt a bit, feeling something akin to happiness for the first time in awhile, since it had all started -- and he felt even more guilty for pushing him away. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Cade. I... I'm trying here, but I'm sorry."
"I know." And he did. He still felt cautious of Everett, as though there was some stranger in him that he didn't know or trust, but he did, of course, empathize. He wasn't exactly a medical and scientific anomaly or anything, but he did understand, somewhat, what it felt like to lose the only place he'd thought he'd had in the world, to be swallowed up into things he'd never wanted to be involved in.
Cade cleared his throat. They were at a sort of unsteady peace, and Cade wasn't ready to push it much further than that today. He'd take it and run. "I'll... I'll leave you be. Text me if you need me?"
"I will share," she confirmed with a roll of her eyes. "Guess that depends on your philosophy on what the Vox'll have us all doin' after these Games wrap up. If I ain't legally mandated to be here, then you're comin' to us. So, budget an extra day outta your busy schedule in case your wagon loses a wheel on that long an’ dangerous journey to Ten," she chuckled through her nose. "If they got us all jumpin' through hoops for some post-Games victory thing, then I guess I'll be back up here, won't I?" Chained again to those obligations they'd all almost escaped.
He hoped to hell things wrapped up forever after this, because that would also mean that, ideally, things were on the upswing with the war to the North, and maybe Cade wouldn't be actually shipped out. For now, he just wasn't going to think about it. Maybe they'd win the war before he had to go anywhere or do anything, right?
He hummed in vague agreement. "Would be pretty awful to have a baby on some sort of a Victory Tour. Or at the Ball, like Cress. Very, uh. Public."
"Don't know," he shrugged. "But I feel like I've got a super solid system going on. Do the shots, go sweat out the shots, rehydrate with the sports drink," Cain was at least half joking, but the reasoning did seem sound. "You can't get hungover if you keep all your systems balanced." Cain took another swig from his water bottle, as if to prove the point somehow. "No way in hell you're getting cut in for fifty percent on anything literally ever," he started, pointing a finger out at Cade. "That's just bad business. I am willing to seventy:thirty it, though, if you play your cards right."
"Thirty-five?" Cade countered hopefully, "for my expertise in curing hangovers. You'll want someone who's got many years of this under his belt, you need me, kiddo." As though he hadn't run a national corporation into the ground, but hey, that's what mistakes were for, right? Learning from.
Colton frowned a little when Cade told him that it was top shelf and that he should have just set it back down, but Colt hadn't been patient and thought it was water, and he needed that refreshment to even realize it was.....certainly not water. "I'm sorry, Cade.....I was just....I was thirsty....and I thought it was water.....and I didn't know it was going to be anything but water...." Hanging his head a little, he kicked his foot against the ground, "You aren't mad at me right?"
Cade actually laughed at that, amused in the wake of the ebbing shock. "Dude, do you drink water out of shot glasses back in Ten?" Frankly, if they did, Cade knew where he needed to go party next. "It's not really mine," he then admitted, voice lowering so none of the other gathering occupants of the Training Center could hear. "So, no harm done. Just don't tell the others, okay? I've got a reputation I'm trying to uphold."
“Freaky stuff? I’m only askin’ to put my nose in your mouth. Ain’t gotta make it into somethin’ weird,” she pouted unseriously. “But I guess if that’s what gets you goin’, who am I to judge?” She teased. "Fine," Greer acquiesced with a sigh as he emptied the glass and replaced it face down on the tray. She hummed, intrigue reignited by Cade's suggestion. "See, now, I'm holdin' you to that, even if we're stuck under some new Tarren warrior society. I’m gettin’ tequila as a reward for gettin’ this kid evicted.”
Cade raised a hand in a sort of vow, bowed his head seriously. "I, Cade Bentley, promise to bring you tequila in celebration of the birth of your firstborn. As long as you share," he added, grinning lopsidedly. "Am I gonna have to trek out to the old Morgan-McCreary farm to do it? I'm a busy man, I gotta know how much time I have to pencil in to come via covered wagon."
Everett gaped at him, genuinely surprised, open-mouthed. Maybe it was their slow beginning, the way they'd just rolled into being in a relationship... but he hadn't thought Cade would do that for him. "Fuck. Are you serious? You're not lying to me?"
"Do I look like I'm lying?" he asked, eyes flicking up to Everett's, face stony. Especially after what had just happened, he wasn't in a joking or lying mood. And while maybe he usually wasn't one to care people's impression of him... he wanted Everett to take him seriously.
"Before they die," Denver finished for him. Rancid indeed, but she wasn't one to mince words about death, not anymore. "You're right though. The vibes absolutely suuuuuuck," she said, drawing out the word. "I think the front lines were happier than this. We need some cheer. So thank you." She took another shot off his tray, and gulped it down, properly coughing then since her throat hadn't recovered from the last one.
"You got it blondie. Always happy to cheer up my favorite tour guide." He eyed his own empty glass thoughtfully, twisting the last drops of alcohol around the bottom. "So... what are you doing here now? I don't think merch is big with the Vox. Their loss, if you ask me, I've got a sick bobblehead of Everett that I'm looking torture him with when the moment is right."
The day had been long, and Cain had been throwing himself (literally) into any spar or simulation he could. At least in those moments, he didn't have to focus on anything except surviving what was physically in front of him. He only needed to combat one punch, one tackle, one thrust of a dagger. Cain only needed to fight, and he was wearing the bruises to show for it. "Hell yeah," He beamed, using his sleeve to push away a damp strand of hair that had matted to his forehead. He plucked one of the shots from its tray, holding it in one hand and some electrolyte drink mix in a squirt bottle in the the other hand. "I guess that means we have to get rid of the evidence as fast as possible, right?" he suggested like it was some sly idea. "Bottoms up, man."
Cade laughed at the ingenuity. "Do you get hung over if you drink that mixed with straight vodka?" he wondered aloud, pointing to the sports drink. "Do I smell another patented Cain Gunn business venture being formed, right in front of me? I want fifty percent."
Greer eyed Cade as he entered, the clear liquor glinting at her under the fluorescent lights. She narrowed her eyes, groaning to make her pining evident. Whatever it said about her that going all of six months without a drink made her envious of anyone able to snatch a glass from the tray, she didn't care to unpack. "Do me a favor," she deadpanned. "Take a shot an' then let me smell your breath— jus' for a couple'a seconds." Her expression eased into humor, but even Greer wasn't quite sure how serious she was being about the suggestion. "Let me live vicariously, an' I won't rat you out to your boss."
"Aw, Greer, you miss our little tryst that much? I'm touched." He touched his heart, shaking his head a little. "Sorry, but I don't do the freaky stuff anymore."
He couldn't help it, it lasted all of a few seconds before he broke out into a wide grin, then picked up a glass and tipped it down his throat. Suppressing a cough (that was decidedly not very manly), he put the empty glass down on the tray, upside down. "Greer, I'm taking you out once there's no more baby on board, mark my words. Tequila. So much tequila."
Colt had been working at the sparring session, and some of the tributes evidently really knew what they were doing the way they were giving him even a hard time on the mats when he heard Cade's voice and wheeling out trays of water, a massive smile on his face, Colt wiped at his brow and almost bounced over to him.
"Hey, Cade! You're a real lifesaver bringing these down here!" Grabbing one of the glasses, Colt through the water back only to be met with a burning sensation in his throat, and putting the drink out onto the floor. "Why is the water spicy?" He was squinting his eyes, fighting back the feeling of the drink.
"Hey! That's top shelf!" Cade protested. It actually wasn't, Cade couldn't exactly afford to foot it if he was found out, but it sounded nicer if he declared it was. And it probably tasted nicer if people thought it was the good shit, too. Dismayed, he wiped at the puddle with his foot, as though it might help clean it up. All it served to do was spread it around, doomed to become a wide, sticky arc on the concrete. "You could've just set it back down!"
It had been a strange morning, watching a mix of struggling tributes and tributes showing off skills. Denver hadn't been allowed in the training room before, hadn't known what to expect. She had anticipated the frustration, but the fear, just as real and as deep as what she'd seen on the front lines - Denver hadn't expected that. When Cade came in the room she gravitated toward the friendly face, and forced a grin at him. "Don't mind if I do," she told him, and knocked back a shot, coughing slightly at the burn. As the heat of the shot made its way down her chest and into her stomach, she asked, "What brought this on? You wanted to watch your man be an action hero in a lower-stakes environment, or something?"
"Mmm, yeah, or something," he agreed with an air of faked mystery, holding up a shot in a silent toast and knocking it back himself. Watching Everett was, indeed, a real nice perk of showing up down here unannounced. "Honestly? The vibes around here are rancid. Couldn't stand it anymore. And, I mean, come on, it's the least I can do to help the tributes live a little before... well. You know." He shrugged one shoulder. "I should be sainted."
Everett's eyes went wide. "What?" He did not expect that. Cade wasn't really... the fighting type, to say the least. But Everett liked that about him. He was soft, strangely naive. He wasn't like Everett, wasn't cold to the world, to everything. "Why did you do that?"
"Because you were missing," he explained, tone clipped. He scowled at his toes. "Because-- because I didn't know how else to find you. Because I knew you were probably taken by the Tarren, and the only way to get close to them is through the Vox. Figured-- figured it might make them hate me a little bit less around here, besides." The last part was true, sure, but it hadn't factored at all into his decision making, it was all Everett. Anything else was a side effect.
Everett allowed a smirk at Cade's joke and looked sideways at him. "One more Games," he corrected, but he didn't really have much belief in that -- and his tone betrayed as much. "What'll we do if the Games don't really come back? If I have to return to the front, and you're here?"
He pursed his lips and looked down, scuffed at the edge of the rug with his toes. "I don't know," he admitted. "What we always do? Figure it out, I guess." He cleared his throat. "And... I mean, I... sortof volunteered to join up with the Vox? While you were missing. I don't have a date I'm sent out yet but... maybe it'll be the same place as you." Even Cade knew it was unlikely, yet still he kept the hope--maybe to keep himself going insane with regret because Everett had showed back up after all. He clenched his jaw, unable to look at Everett, bracing himself for his reaction.
"Training treat!" Cade announced, walking into the busy training center holding a circular, silver tray filled with shot glasses-- all filled nearly to the brim with a clear, strong-smelling liquor. What could he say? He was a saint, really, lifting the spirits of the final round of tributes being sent to their deaths, and some majorly bummed out mentors and trainers. He set it down on a nearby rolling cart, shoving a spread of knives aside, then called, "Come and get them before I'm found out by my boss!"
