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thecapitol2014-10-14 01:11 pm
confidentially) wrote in thecapitol2014-10-14 01:11 pm
Entry tags:
This is liquid love in a plastic cup
Who| Jessica Wakefield & Buddy Glass
What| So a Mentor and a Peacekeeper walk into a bar...
Where| An old fashioned sort of joint where they don't ask questions.
When| Backdated to mid-Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Talk about sex, death, and alcoholism.
Jessica couldn't blame this lapse of judgement on her drinking. She wasn't sober, she was rarely completely sober, but she was in a decent mindset and she was thinking clearly when she arrived at the bar Buddy Glass had specified at the time he'd picked. She shouldn't have called him out. She shouldn't have said a word to him at all. But a little voice in the back of her head told her to reach out. It said, quite insistently, that having the head of the Peacekeepers in her back pocket was just about the smartest move she could make, not just for her, but for her Tributes, too. That little voice was telling her to forget that she was in love with someone else. It told her to forget all about making love to Dale Barbara. It told her to do what she'd been doing for years, to do the only thing she was really any good at.
Her golden hair was styled in thick, loose curls which fell at her bare shoulders. Her dress was dark red, vibrant against the golden tan of her skin, with a slit up the side that seemed almost obscenely high. She was a painted vision against the almost seedy backdrop of the bar, but she didn't seem to mind. Jessica was a drinker. She could navigate amongst her peers with ease, so while she really did look too pretty and too young to be in a place like that, she didn't let on. Instead, she ordered her preferred potable and leaned in close as Buddy Glass sat down across from her at their semi-secluded table.
"So what made you join the Peacekeepers anyway?" She asked, bringing the shot glass to her lips. Her make-up left a red outline on the rim of the glass. "You strike me as like... an intellectual or something. You're not like those thick headed jerks with the guns they've got patrolling the streets back home." Perhaps she should've been a bit more guarded, talking like that. But that voice in her head was insistent: she'd be safe with him. She could rely on her charm awhile longer, anyway.
What| So a Mentor and a Peacekeeper walk into a bar...
Where| An old fashioned sort of joint where they don't ask questions.
When| Backdated to mid-Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Talk about sex, death, and alcoholism.
Jessica couldn't blame this lapse of judgement on her drinking. She wasn't sober, she was rarely completely sober, but she was in a decent mindset and she was thinking clearly when she arrived at the bar Buddy Glass had specified at the time he'd picked. She shouldn't have called him out. She shouldn't have said a word to him at all. But a little voice in the back of her head told her to reach out. It said, quite insistently, that having the head of the Peacekeepers in her back pocket was just about the smartest move she could make, not just for her, but for her Tributes, too. That little voice was telling her to forget that she was in love with someone else. It told her to forget all about making love to Dale Barbara. It told her to do what she'd been doing for years, to do the only thing she was really any good at.
Her golden hair was styled in thick, loose curls which fell at her bare shoulders. Her dress was dark red, vibrant against the golden tan of her skin, with a slit up the side that seemed almost obscenely high. She was a painted vision against the almost seedy backdrop of the bar, but she didn't seem to mind. Jessica was a drinker. She could navigate amongst her peers with ease, so while she really did look too pretty and too young to be in a place like that, she didn't let on. Instead, she ordered her preferred potable and leaned in close as Buddy Glass sat down across from her at their semi-secluded table.
"So what made you join the Peacekeepers anyway?" She asked, bringing the shot glass to her lips. Her make-up left a red outline on the rim of the glass. "You strike me as like... an intellectual or something. You're not like those thick headed jerks with the guns they've got patrolling the streets back home." Perhaps she should've been a bit more guarded, talking like that. But that voice in her head was insistent: she'd be safe with him. She could rely on her charm awhile longer, anyway.