#mb133

[usafphantom4]

The Bloch MB 133

@Destroye83 via X

[cress-meadowforge]

She'd been muddling through the memories. Trying to sift things out, pulling them apart and piecing them together again -- but it never quite fit. Not perfectly. The timeline was wrong, or the details were fuzzy, smudged out. And even though the memories were warm, settling low, leaving her abuzz, she felt that she must have done something wrong -- something that kept Slate away for the past two days.

Maybe it wasn't intentional. They'd been busy: she with Miller, and he with the T0MMYKN0CK3R. It was the middle of the Games, and they both had tributes still in the fight. It was possible that this was entirely coincidental, but that also didn't seem right. They hadn't trained. Hadn't even come together to this. And it made Cress confused. No, anxious -- a sensation she didn't particularly like.

"You look nice," she smiled, offering out a drink. Her eyes flicked down, to her own outstretched hand, to the contents of the glass. "It's non-alcoholic. Though, if you really want to escape early tonight, I hear there's some melatonin-laden thing on the menu that'll knock you right out."

@slate-skylar

[medeaodair]

He'd shown up late.

There was nothing fashional about it, and there was no pretense needed when it was so obvious what was going on. Smith was dead. Gone. Nothing to be salvaged now. Mason was still alive, and he would have to stay alive for anything at all to be alright.

For the entire hour, Medea had anxiously waited. Gnawed on the skin around her nails, had a few more drinks than she maybe should've had. As a whole, by the time he did show up, her heart was in her throat and her stomach a bottomless pit.

Miller walked into the ballroom and Medea's gaze found his form downright instantaneously. The alcohol had significantly lowered her inhibitions, and this time, she didn't hesitate to approach him. She'd already left him alone after Smith had died. Until he told her to get lost, she would try to distract him as best as she could.

"A drink or a dance, what's it gonna be?"

@millerbrick

[everettcannon]

"Looks like our two are getting along well," Everett said, approaching Rio with a drink in his hand. He was worried about the alliance, certain that Caspian was going to stab Mason in the back and that Mason would simply allow it. There had been the moment where Mason had broken down and Caspian had the chance -- he hadn't taken it, but who's to say it wasn't because he had a better plan?

@riodair

[slate-skylar]

"So which of these did you do the sewing for?" Slate asked, gesturing around him. He had found Enna standing in one of the food lines, though they all got a little muddled the longer they got, so he wasn't sure what they were waiting for. Still, he joined her anyway.

@ennalydonsbee

[catmillers]

She didn't know why it always happened but when she was left alone to her own devices at balls, old habits died hard. A brownie and an ether and – something she'd got from one of Cress's acquaintances had her sitting quietly in the corner of the party overwhelmed. Mahlon had gone off to help Greer, who desperately needed it but now Cat was left to spiral on her thoughts. Namely, her brain had gone off the deep end, thinking about what had happened to her at the last mentor's ball, how things had spiraled so badly for Sawyer, how she'd all but made Mahlon break off into his own meltdown, how he had felt like he wasn't a good person.

So she sat numbly, unaware of the approach of a familiar friendly face attempting to make contact. The words echo-y and far away. Then she snapped back into reality. Link, right next to her, clearly trying to say something. "Oh, hey sorry," Cat straightened up, attempting to play it all off, "Zoned out, what's up?"

@linkcache

[riodair]

"So," he started, brows furrowed. "Slate is like... your boyfriend? All serious and official and all that cheesy shit?" Looking at the two of them together he couldn't quite see it, but then again, relationships were a weird thing Rio shied away from most of the time. Nothing he claimed to understand even remotely.

@cress-meadowforge

[cress-meadowforge]

"No, no, this is the Sateen," Cress clarified, slipping out of the main ballroom and down the corridor. "The one who runs the wig shop." The one whose wig shop serves as an entryway into District Zero, was more accurate, but there were too many people around to speak freely. Still, Cat would understand. Their fingers interlaced, and Cress led them toward the lounge, where they'd been extended the invitation to a more private gathering. "She enjoy games, and I'm sure there will be one to play, but it can -- admittedly -- be a bit unorthodox. If you want to leave at any point, say that Mahlon is waiting for us. Alright?"

@catmillers