I'm Not Sorry for Your Loss ♕ Brady, Cyrus & Savera
Whiskey ran down his throat in warm rivulets, the mixture warming his body as it became mixed with his blood. Slightly off edge now, the Victor sat with his eyes shut. Like the years before, he was now awaiting his tributes to arrive with their accusations and scathing tongues as if he could help them change their decisions now. Perhaps this year could be different, though, since the tributes were older. Yet, in a way, he doubted this since District Eleven wasn’t quite known for their brute strength and intelligent minds.
Sighing after drinking the last bit of whiskey in his glass, the man reached over to refill when he heard the first footsteps making their way inside. With a casual flick of his sapphire hues, the man began mentally preparing himself once again for whomever was about to start yelling at him. It was a beautiful day and he didn’t want to have to kill one of his tributes before they even made it inside of the arena. There were already enough things playing around in his mind for some ingenious remark to set him off.
Once more, his glass was full again and his botched spirits kept him from completely going berserk. Having hope for District Eleven was an idea reserved for imbeciles. “Come on in, the train has been awaiting your company.” The man called out, a vain smile on his face. Convincing them that he cared was the biggest waste of time now simply because he did not care. “But I have to warn you to think before you speak. If you say anything insulting I may resort to making sure that you don’t receive a sponsor at all, and that would be easier than pretending to have sympathy as you die.”