and he will greet them in a smile that sticks like vaseline [open]

[marcato]

Who | Aunamee and OPEN
What | The Capitol has finally revived Aunamee after several years of nonexistence. He's feeling pretty happy about that.
Where | The Tribute lounge in the detention center.
When | Early January
Warnings | Nothing specific, although Aunamee's kind of a creeper. (Here are his permissions.)

This is perfect.

Aunamee feels the new energy in the Capitol. It's like a violin string being pulled too taut, mere moments away from snapping with a cacophonous twang. He doesn't even need to read minds to appreciate the tension. It practically begs its way into his nostrils, his lungs, his heartbeat.

Before his last death, Aunamee was a ruined man. He had nightmares. His hands would shake. He was simply too powerless, too trapped in this hellscape to control the demons lurking under his skin. But now? The unspoken fear in the Capitol is intoxicating. It's the opium to his agony.

Aunamee sits in what was once the Tribute lounge with a glass of wine pressed against his lips. He smiles at everyone who passes by. It's a friendly smile, yes, so very friendly.

Yet his deep gray eyes always linger a little too long.

Comments

[marcato]

He follows, although a part of him doesn't want to. He'll need to work for this one, Aunamee reminds himself as the man calls him forward with a flick of his chin like a parent guiding a petulant child. He'll need to work for this one, he reminds himself as he scowls at the back of Jason's neck, his fingers clenching and unclenching for the quickest moment.

[whatisay]

Jason walks fast. It's like, on some subconscious level, he hates where he is and assume that moving away from it is going to spare him whatever ennui has fermented and gone mildewy in his brain. He doesn't waste much time looking over his shoulder to make sure Aunamee's following him.

The restaurant is plain by Capitol standards, which means it's still palatial. Aunamee may remember it from old advertisements the first time he was around - the Heliogabalan, filled with exotic flowers that rain down from the ceiling in some blithe, clueless reference to an era Panem never understood. There are topiaries and flower sculptures pruned into the shapes of Tributes, usually, although in this time of war the celebrities du jour have changed to Peacekeepers and of course, President Snow, a marvel of orchids and carnations.

Jason immediately feels his nose start itching, and he wants to kick something. It just goes to figure that there's something in this joint that sets off his hayfever. He pulls a cigarette and blocks out the allergen as best he can as they're seated on an outside portico. The waiter knows better than to bring the wine menu in front of such a renowned teetotaler.

Jason blows a lazy smoke ring and then gives Aunamee the first words he's deigned to part with since they left the Detention Center.

"Entrees only. I'm not paying for appetizers."

[marcato]

"What a kind offer," he says, his tone resting carefully between friendliness and sarcasm. He tosses a warm smile to the waiter, a rather short man with a blue mustache despite his black hair.

(Aunamee assumes that the mismatch must be deliberate, but it still hurts his head. It feels like a single book out of alignment. A spot of ink on a white sweater.)

"I'll have the pork belly," he says pleasantly, shutting his menu with a precision most people would reserve for folding a particularly fancy napkin. He lets his gaze slide back to Jason, the smile still firmly on his lips.

"And what will you have, my new friend?"

The use of the word friend is deliberate. He wants to see the man bristle.