It's all it will take, we'll go down in history

[milieus]

Who| Everyone in the Tribute Center (plus various Capitol citizens are in attendance)
What| A Saturnalia inspired extravaganza!
Where| A large, festive ballroom
When| Tonight!
Warnings/Notes| N/A? Let me know if this needs a warning!

Jennifer had spent weeks on the preparations for this glorious night, arranging for the food and gifts and music and dancing. Everything would be perfect, and she was certain all the attendees would have a marvelous time. And besides all that, this would be a perfect way to celebrate her husband's return to the Capitol! It had been weeks since Arturas had any time off to spend at home. Surely he'd be delighted by the fanfare and revelry.

The invitations stated that the party began promptly at 6:30, to bring an appetite, and be ready to dance. The attendees were instructed to dress in costume, to participate in the role-reversal theme of Saturnalia. Capitolites were to dress as Tributes while the Tributes were to dress in the most outlandish Capitol fashions imaginable. Jennifer herself was wearing a replica of the District 2 space costume, bedazzled and covered in crystals, for an extra glamorous kick, while her stoic husband sat at his table with his politician friends, dressed in an ice skating costume, a throwback to Arena 11. Clearly he had business to attend to, so it would be up to her to see to the party.

She made her way toward the entrance and prepared to greet everyone.

Comments

[confidentially]

Normally she would have avoided someone like Grantaire, since there's nothing like being in the presence of another alcoholic to really make an addict squirm. Watching him move, every little thing, it made her suddenly hyperaware of those tendencies in herself, and she was disgusted. But she had an obligation to him. She was his Mentor, he, her Tribute. And dammit, she was going to do her best to actually get on with one of her Tributes for once.

"You," Jessica said as she slinked up beside him, looking down her nose at the food in his hand. "You haven't even said hello to me yet. Come here. What's your name? You're not avoiding me, are you?"

[permets_tu]

She startled him, coming out of nowhere as she did. He didn't know her, though she was nice to look at and he did so with an appreciative once over. However, the force of her attitude made him wary and so he kept his interest reserved to looks.

"I only avoid those I despise," he retorted easily, popping the morsel into his mouth and chewing, turning to eye the table thoughtfully and wondering at what he should try next.

"Or those who despise me," he added with a faint smile, plucking up something with a fruit glaze and holding it out to her. "Tart?" he offered. Or he thought it was a tart. It looked like a tart.

Oh, and he hadn't addressed her other complaints, silly of him. "Hello, I am Grantaire, born of France, died in France, took a wrong turn and now stand here, to my chagrin. At least the food is good, and I've had no complaints for the wine. Will you make your own introductions or shall I guess?"

[confidentially]

She cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow, then parted her lips to take the tart from his hand it into her mouth with practiced delicacy. It was a very deliberate thing, to eat that way, a trick she had mastered at too tender an age and now had as second nature. She didn't have to think twice about looking provocative. She'd been forced to do it all her life. The partners never mattered, she was only doing it for the thrill.

"I'm Jessica, born of District Three, still living for them, though they've all been blown sky high. I'm your mentor." She smiled then, licking off a few stray crumbs from her lower lip. "You're one of Marius' friends, aren't you?"

[permets_tu]

Alright.

Grantaire looked her over, pretty thing that she was, sucking traces of sugar from his fingers. There was an edge of polish to her that made him slightly uncomfortable, striking him as almost uncomfortable to look at, though he would not deny she was beautiful. His slow and appreciative gaze spoke of that openly enough.

"And is this your noble obligation? Or is it more a civic duty you perform so well?" he inquired dryly. "I know Marius, yes, and I call him friend occasionally, when the mood suits. His sentimentality can be endearing."

[confidentially]

"Consider it a prison sentence," Jessica answered, licking her lips. "But that's what you get when you win the Games."

Though she kept eye contact, she was becoming increasingly uneasy in his presence. There was something so unnerving about him. He was gross, to be sure, but in a strange way, he seemed almost... too familiar. Jessica almost felt like shivering she felt so put off.

"I'm sure we're going to be the best of friends, you and me." She smiles, white and dazzling. "I'm parched. Wanna drink?"

[permets_tu]

Grantaire looks at her thoughtfully, brows high. This woman had won the Games? Unhappy contest that it was, it was also a horrifically challenging one, as he had learned.

"Such presumption! What evidence have you to support it? A man can have too many friends, you know, one must choose carefully and claiming position as best, well--." He smiles dryly, affably, apathetically.

"Make your case while we satisfy our thirst, I am listening."

[confidentially]

Eyebrow raised, she hooked her arm through his to lead him toward the bar.

"Well," she began, "I'm your mentor, you know? I'm supposed to learn everything there is to know about you and turn that into something marketable in order to earn you some sponsors. I'm your coach. Your strategist. And you're kind of at my mercy, you dig?"

As they approached the bar, she stopped, turning on her toes to face him. He really was grotesque, but intriguing. While she was still uncomfortable, she felt drawn to him like an infant to a mirror. "And I'm your best bet to get out of the Games. Win, lose, or draw, you need me. And I need a project."

[permets_tu]

"A monumental task," he said. "Is this something you enjoy?" His tone was one of pleasant detachment, easier than growing passionate about it. In truth, it all sounded horrifically shallow and ugly to him, he balked at anyone thinking he was to be handled, that he could be handled, and knew that it would be no difficult task to sabotage the attempt. But he was also tired, and shaken from the Arena, and all he really wanted to do was drink until he forgot.

Grantaire looked her over again when she announced herself his best bet, feeling tired, reluctantly amused, viciously furious, the emotions a tumult hidden behind a wry smile. "If that is the case then I place myself at your mercy, what choice do I have? Will I be able to call them tender or are yours of a more forthright nature?"

tw: mentions of teen sex and prostitution

[confidentially]

"No." Her eyes, so dark green they were almost blue fixed on an empty spot on the wall before them before flicking back to Grantaire. "I hate this job. But I love being alive. So it's a fair trade, don't you think?"

Jessica laughed then and snapped her fingers to get the bartender's attention, ordering for them both something strong, stiff, and altogether too much. "Let me tell you a bit about myself, yeah? If you know me, you can decide just how tender my mercies are. I was born in District Three. My parents were merchants. That means we weren't starving to death most of the time. I was reaped when I was sixteen. I killed one person in my Arena. I slept with three others. That's all a matter of public record, by the way. It's not a secret. After I won, I was whored out to government officials and served up at parties for drunken assholes who just wanted to put their hands on me. And when they got tired of me, they sent me away."

The bartender finally reappeared with their drinks. Jessica didn't drink hers right away. "But I amuse them, so they brought me back here just in time to bomb my District and kill everyone who lived there. My mother. My father. My brother. My twin sister. Everyone I knew and loved is dead because my fucking Tributes thought it would be fun to attempt an uprising. So now I'm here, cursed to play this game for eternity with no one to fight for, no one to live for. Nothing. Nothing at all. So, Monsieur." Her voice is dripping with some sort of emotion. Not disdain. Desperation? Her ability to speak his native language too likely seemed out of place. "How would you rate them? Tender enough for you?"

[permets_tu]

Grantaire's expression softens. He is not heartless, he cannot laugh in the face of every little tragedy. Murder, prostitution, destitution, he has witnessed much in Paris. He understood the crimes of the Crown against the people but he had also understood that it could have been worse.

"Honest enough, I would say. You are compelled and you obey, the eagle picks out your liver each new morning. Drink up, good spirits numb agony, banish misery, at least for a moment, we are born to suffer, I think. Some more than others." He raised his glass, downing the drink with practiced finesse, setting it back down with a gentle tap against the counter.

"It is easy to speak of revolution but the result is an ugly and miserable thing, death is the hard truth of it. Even the successful rebellion sees blood, they cannot all be Glorious, which was bloodless only as a lie, the deaths were few enough to deem them insignificant. Hypocrisy then. Pomposity, to believe a revolution could be enacted without spilling the cup. Were your Tributes prepared for the result?"

[confidentially]

Jessica shook her head, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. "They're selfish. It never occurs to them that there might be a fall out. They bitch and cry when Tributes die in the Arenas, but they couldn't care less that breaking the laws, threatening the authorities, inciting treason caused thousands of people to die. And my family isn't coming back."

Her dark lashes fluttered, like she was trying to fight back tears. Were they tears of anger or rage? It wasn't quite clear, either way though, she was clearly unsettled.

"And what about you? Are you gonna cause me trouble?"

[permets_tu]

"What do I have to fight for?" He asked as if he expected her to answer.

"I can shape an argument in opposition, do you wish for the debate?" He looked at her, head cocked. "No, I think not, you feel this too closely." It would be suspended, whether they would ever return to it, time would tell.

"Did you witness my death? My personal experience recalls it as a hopeless little thing, ugly and unpleasantly drawn out, but the pain was remarkable. My wonder is more genuine." He touched his throat, the memory of monstrous teeth making his eyes go dark, even as he smiled, sick with the memory. "No scar, no pain, it lives on only in my head." He laughed abruptly. "Oh, and in those boxes, what are they called? The ones that capture the scene like a living picture, a play where I am the actor." He had only managed to watch until the moment he had fallen. He'd turned away then, fleeing the image, not soon enough to save him from hearing his own screams, and those of the others.

"I think I deserve another drink."

[confidentially]

"No." She answered him honestly, voice soft and open. "I don't watch this shit. It's on, but I can't watch it. I can't do anything about anything. I'm stuck playing a role I never wanted for an audience of the dead. You've got nothing and no one to fight for, but I still have to coach you anyway."

It didn't matter, really. None of it did. The only living District 3 mentor was before him now, and if he didn't care for her and didn't give a damn about her story, why would he feel compelled to fight for her? There was no one alive to benefit. No one alive could care less if District 3 had a winner. No one except Jessica Wakefield.

"We both deserve another drink. So order one, Frenchie. And then get me one too."

[permets_tu]

Nothing to fight for. He had at one time, or would have liked to believe he had. He knew with uncharacteristic surety that if that man had asked he would have fought for him. Since he had missed the chance to fight with him he had died for him instead. Now we was here, Courfeyrac said he was dead, and the hope that Eponine had briefly and unintentionally instilled had been ephemeral, vanishing as soon as he'd been left to longer moments of doubting. He was again lost, his purpose was to drink and die and laugh when he could, and exist as a shadow of what he had been, what he was now, and what he wished he could be.

Grantaire turned to the bartender and ordered absinthe, served in the fashion of la louche. He didn't oft drink it thus, it was easier and more effective neat, but he felt like partaking in a little ceremony. The necessary materials were set before him swiftly and Grantaire privately applauded the exceptional service of the Capitol's bar staff. "I hope you are familiar with this, as my countrymen have preceded me and must have had plenty of time to introduce you to the drink. Come here."

[confidentially]

Jessica obeyed him, sidling up beside Grantaire to inspect the materials laid out before him. She wasn't sure what he intended to do, being more of a straight to the point drinker herself. She rarely had to order her own drinks anyway, somehow they always seemed to come to her easily and without having to ask for them.

"What's this?" She asked him, hovering needlessly close as she inspected the stuff. "Looks complicated."

[permets_tu]

"Absinthe. Water. Sugar." He pointed to each as he identified it, the pretty glass filled halfway with the vibrant green liquid, the ornate spoon balanced over it with the cube of sugar resting atop, and the small glass pitcher of cold water, condensation frosting over the belly. He braced his elbow against the counter, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

"La louche, so that one may find peace in the ritual. Some men are great lovers of ritual, tradition even, while others deliberately cast it aside and seek to tear it down. Occasionally I find some use for it and while creature of habit I certainly am, my relationship with ritual is more casual an affair."

He lifted the pitcher lightly and poured very slowly, more of a steady drip than anything else. He practiced patience and the sugar cube slowly dissolved, dripping into the glass beneath and turning the liquid a milky green. Once the sugar was gone and the glass more than half full he put the pitcher down, giving the drink a stir and setting the spoon on the dish the cup rested on. "Will you submit yourself to the ritual? Or do you prefer to enjoy the spoils and drink the result."

[confidentially]

She watched his work, narrowing her eyes. In her life she'd seen all manner of drinking games, participated in more drinking rituals than she cared to remember, but there was always something so tantalizing about finding something new, in finding some new way to drown despair. Eagerly she turned her gaze from the jade colored concoction to her Tribute's face. "I'll have it however it's given to me."

[permets_tu]

Grantaire pushes the untouched glass with its spoon and sugar set atop it towards her, along with the little pitcher of remaining water. He then takes his own cloudy drink up, sipping it and smiling at her serenely.

"Then allow me to give you the ritual. Let's see you perform the task," he said, dipping his chin as signal for her to try her hand at doing what he had just demonstrated.

[confidentially]

Luckily, Jessica had been watching him carefully. It wasn't precise, but she mimicked his assemblage in an approximation that she hoped he'd find pleasing. She made eye contact with him at last once she was stirring the drink with the spoon. "Like this?"

[permets_tu]

Grantaire found it very pleasing.

"Just so." He ignored the clumsy errors of one simply unpracticed and raised his own glass to her when the mix looked like it had been suitably prepared, the lovely milky green almost seeming to glow.

Santé. "Cheers," he said. "To health, happiness, and whatever other lie you hope to entertain tonight."

gomen for the slowness bb

[confidentially]

"Cheers," she repeated, raising her glass toward his with a grin. "To whichever lies will let you sleep. Now, bottom's up!"

Without waiting for him, she tossed back a quick sip of the absinthe, visibly retreating after just a tiny little drink. Her pretty face contorted. Even for the experienced alcoholic, it would take some getting used to. "Ugh! What's this even made of?"