jericho-havor:
It was a delicate balance, this existence between two worlds, and it wasn’t for the weak-minded. Jericho found himself standing in a chamber of the enemy’s heart, dressed in their clothes, scented with their oils, polished like a piece of silver flatware — and it was all he could do to keep his fists clenched in his pockets, and force a gritty smile when one of them touched his arm, or straightened his lapel. His banter with them always went the same way. It started out playful, and passably good-humoured, before winding up bitter. He was thankful (if not lucky) that his bright temper and flaring passion resonated with the Capitolites. They seemed to adore his rough edges, and bristling demeanor with all the enthusiasm one might regard a de-clawed beast in a cage. He amused them, and that pissed him off even more.
The woman curled around his arm at the moment was encumbered by a corset so tight, her fainting spell was constant. Her hair was bright red, and coiled in Medusa-like ringlets around her face, a stark contrast to her painted complexion which was ghostly white. She batted glittering, gold eyelashes at him, and gave him a tug with gloved hands. “Come now. Ask me to dance before someone else does.” Jericho tried to hide his wrinkling nose. It was the last thing he wanted to do, particularly with her. “Wouldn’t that make you jealous?”
His nostrils flared as he forced a laugh. “I think you’d be better off with Norris,” was his rebuttal as he gestured toward the flamboyant television host whose drinking habits had turned him into a spectacle. “He’s got some nice moves. And, well, I’m liable to break you in half.” The words were meant to be delivered in jest, but his clenched jaw drew the humour from them. Fortunately for him, she’d had one glass of champagne too many, and she dizzily laughed at him, pawing his chest with silk-wrapped fingers. “You’re wicked, Jericho! Now, don’t move from this spot. I’m going to visit the powder room.”
As she spun away from him, he about-faced with every intention of finding the nearest shadow into which he could disappear, but his escape route was interrupted by a fishtailing waiter who’d cast a tray-full of crystal into the air. Jericho wasn’t one to lose his footing, and probably would have made it out of the collision with his balance and integrity in tact without help. That said, he was thankful for the firm grip on his arm that kept him from eating it right on a blanket of shattered glass.
A careful step navigated him out of the minefield, and he met the face of the Peacekeeper that’d plucked him out of it. A raw swallow rippled down his throat as he wrung the sleeve of his shirt free of champagne.
“At least not until the next Victors’ Purge, right?”
Mars couldn’t help the surprise that that showed on her face, only for an instant, but long enough to be detectable. Usually the sight of her uniform was enough to make people nervous, make them stutter and speak in hurried mumbled answers. Yes officer. No Officer. Thank you Officer. And then they’d hurry off before she changed her mind and decided to arrest them. Jericho Havor was obviously having none of it. She had no idea how long he’d been at the party, but he seemed to have had enough of the whole charade.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she should reprimand him somehow. Insist that she wasn’t to be spoken to like that. It was dangerous to be flippant with a Peacekeeper; plenty of her coworkers had beaten civilians over far less. But then she decided that maybe they could have that conversation later, if everything went well now. She didn’t want to seem petty to him, or more like a bully than her uniform and badge would imply. And with all the glass on the floor, hadn’t enough of a scene been made?
She took on aloof expression and picked up her communication device, pressing a button and alerting someone to get a cleanup crew on this mess before someone did actually fall and cut themselves to pieces. Then she turned back to Jericho, as though she had just heard him speak.
“I don’t believe Coin has announced anything about another Victor’s Purge,” she said calmly. “But I have no doubt you’d be able to do just fine,” she dropped her gaze to his hand, the one he lost in the showdown with the girl from District 1. She remembered that well, the large scenes in her office displaying the arrows protruding from Jericho’s chest, the way the girl had crumpled under the weight of a mallet. It was one of the most vicious one on one fights the arena’d ever had. Mars had memorized it.
After staring at his hand for one second....two....she looked into his eyes. “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Havor.”











