#vball122

[maverickmontana]

He should have been the victor being celebrated at this ball; it would have been better for him to be dead than to be standing here, nearly twenty-two, unable to volunteer, having had his one chance snatched from him, and then watching the boy who’d volunteered -- probably saved his life -- die.

Now he had to attend the victor’s ball as an official part of the team from Two, despite it being the last place he wanted to be.

He stood by the bar even though it was the busiest corner of the room with whiskey in a glass, staring down at the ice cubes. He’d promised himself that he would make the most of this, network, talk to people, introduce himself, but... staring at his drink was probably better, right?

[alder-reid]

It wasn’t just being paraded from District to District, being forced to relive the worst two weeks of his life, then being shown off to the Capitol like a prize pony. It was having to smile while doing it. Despite the volatile anger that now simmered in the back of his chest, near constant, he’d been put under strict instructions by Capitol and Rebel alike: play along. The former, to maintain status quo. The latter, to buy enough time to erode it. Regardless of intent, it meant that every pass he gave to pro-Games commentary, every person in the past two weeks who lauded him a hero, and every word he had to say in even mild indifference toward Battenberg made his stomach turn. It was an insult to the memory of the people who had died at the Capitol’s hands. At his hands. By the time the Ball happened, he was at the end of his already thin patience with the pageantry of the Victory Tour. It had not been an hour yet, and already he’d been passed from sponsor to Capitolite to Gamemaker to mentor to biggest-fucking-fan several times over, and he was losing his will to stick with the play-nice strategy.  Someone touched his shoulder and he turned, braced for another unendurable conversation only slightly softened by the drink in his hand. “What?” he asked, tired, unable to keep the sting from his voice after two glasses of... whatever this drink was.

[siennaimperia]

The night of the ball, she was feeling okay. She hadn’t been much herself lately, feeling mostly run-down, though she wasn’t sure if that was just the new normal state of being or whether something was wrong.

Still, she didn’t want to think about it tonight, didn’t want to worry Dahlia or anyone, so she got a drink and placed herself at the edge of the crowd, vaguely swaying to the music, though whoever was playing the piano kept changing it up.

“Good to be back, huh?” she said to the person next to her.

[hestiaember]

Hestia always felt uncomfortable at these types of functions, entirely out of place and certainly never a willing attendee. It was something she never grew used to- the sharp contrast of being plucked from bomb-ravaged, impoverished Twelve and dropped into a world of excess and fleeting fancies, all in the name of celebrating a newly traumatized child. It did very little for Hestia’s mood. 

She skirted the edge of the ballroom, toward one of the many banquet tables loaded with foods, clicking open her purse and plucking a plastic container out from within. There were a few treats that would keep, cookies, pastries, sweets and such, that she could bring home to the kids, if nothing else. Shamelessly, she started placing a few goodies into the container, not bothering stop when someone sidled up beside her, not bothering to look up and see if she could see their lips forming scolding words. She did not care, and they’d touch her if they really wanted her attention anyways. She was a Victor, they could try their luck with getting her in trouble for something so trivial, and it would all be trashed at the end of the night if it went uneaten anyways.

[santos-emilia]

Emilia had to get away. It was hot, her dress was heavy, the strappy heels she was wearing hurt and god nothing she had done would get the nausea to subside (though admittedly, eating a third cookie probably wasn’t the best idea, stupid cravings). So with a quick kiss to her husband’s cheek, she excused herself to the ladies’ room with the promise she’d be back shortly. She really just needed to breathe some air that wasn’t being shared with a few hundred other bodies. And maybe get these awful heels off (though they would definitely be going home to be added to her permeant collection). 

She’d left the ballroom in search of the bathroom, moving down the hall and away from the crowds gave her a breath of fresh air at the very least. She was rounding a corner when she ran into someone else. “Shit sorry.” She hurried to apologize.

@decadesofpain​

[opheliaxazlon]

Ophelia was exhausted. This was her first time in three months back in the Capitol. Life back home was so easy. Days were spent helping her mother with patients and of course taking care of her son. Then when it was time to be back in the Capitol, days seemed so long and busy. Today, most of her morning was spent traveling to the Capitol, then time spent with the stylist to make her look like a human being and presentable, and now at the crowded, fast pace ball. Of course she enjoyed events like these but they could be so tiring. 

Deciding to take it easy, the girl decided to just drink punch and socialize a bit. That was until her third glass of punch and started to feel tipsy, not knowing it was spiked. “Come on!” Ophelia slurred, grabbing on to the person’s hands in front of her. “Dance with me!” Wobbling a bit, she ran over to the dance floor still holding the hands of the random person she grabbed, dancing with them.

[satchel-mcqueen]

Satchel was feeling good, dancing with two of his closest friends, even though he hadn’t known them at all before a few months ago. “It’s so good to have you guys back!” he exclaimed over the music, his mask in one hand and his drink -- something very fruity and pink and delicious and strong -- in the other.

@dont-pick-me​

[selenehoneybell]

Bran was making a fool of himself. What else was new? Of course she got stuck with the one mentor who had no issue with creating a spectacle. At least the suit she’d chosen for him was befitting of his character... almost too well. Selene didn’t trust anyone who could pull off a hat resembling that of a dead bat. Who would? Perhaps the feeling was mutual. It was both just a job to them, after all. Still, it warmed her heart to see that he was plopped into an ensemble that he had no say in otherwise. Selene approached him with an air of superiority only afforded to Capitol citizens much like herself. 

“Didn’t anybody tell you that it’s rude to try and upstage the rest of us with that suit? You should really have a word with your stylist.”

@bran-cassidy​