#Here it's a special one - for this meme I try to land more diague than description - as I am usually HEAVY on the description I thought thi

[uroborosymphony]

also 17 for deva, my darling 🥺 if you feel you can write her!!

Deva & Patrick

#17 THINGS YOU SAID WHEN NO ONE ELSE WAS AROUND. FROM THINGS YOU SAID ⬩ Still accepting.

"Jesus fucking christ. You know how I feel on nights like this? Like a divorcée still invited to goddamn prom every single year." She speaks, in a snicker. Amused, sarcastic, annoyed : a mix typical of hers. Her hand has ran through her hair, rough and quick, undoing the extravagant type of hairstyles she always wears in public. Her blazer has stones on the shoulders, one she takes off, remaining in a white tank top giving her that rough around the edge aura laced with that peculiar yet natural raw elegance. The room is empty as she's now sitting down in expensive cushion, a glass of whiskey poured, her eyes observing the liquid in the glass as she makes it spin, pensive. Silence. Tranquility, after an eventful evening. "I see this youth, prepping for such a yearly event in their most dazzling Capitol apparel. I see their hunger. Their fougue. A fire. A drive that, day by day, look so foreign to me. There is something inspiring I believe, something strong that comes from their guts, something that burns deep, in their inside. They want it. Badly. To be a part of it, to be It. To kill for it." It was the year of the 70th games, the tributes were not reaped yet, however the Capitol was olding private parties, for the fortunate and influential family's sons and daughters who were already planning on volunteering, orchestring their future, increasing their chances at popularity with smiles and bribes, scoring sponsors in advance, a step ahead. "I remember us, in that very room, on this very event fifteen years ago. I remember you. The winner of the 54th, like a prize, surrounded by these old victors like the freshest prettiest addition to the pack. Everyone had their eyes on you, watching you like a messiah, they all wanted you or wanted to be you." A smile on her lips, a nostalgical one. "Your eyes connected with mine for a minute, as the room kept on whispering I would be the next volunteer, the next victor, one that would look good by your side as if everything was meticuliously premeditated." The glass to her lips, a sip, then, her head falling back, her eyes open on the ceiling. "We never spoke. We didn't need to. Just eye in eye, it was a conversation. A silent one between you and I, just from accross the room. I wanted that win, like everyone else. Not like a human though. Like a dog, a hound. That's what I was. Sanguine and violent. I was an animal. But your eyes Patrick, your eyes. They tried to tell me something, something that you couldn't guess I would only understand later. I do now. You're going to win - you said. You're going to live. For a very long time. Past the games. To the point that on some days you wish you hadn't. We're going to live together like an infernal loop we're stuck in. It's not a curse, it's a duty. To every single year stand in that room, to watch the youth eager to volunteer, dreaming of such a trimph - sometimes I just wish to tell them, that even if they escape the quick death of the arena, it's a slow one like ours awaiting for them."