The shocking and thrilling adventures!

[gamemakers]

Who| Everyone
What| The Capitols oh so exclusive interviews~!
Where| Primarily the common areas, but the interviews would be on every TV everywhere.
When| This evening, at 6 pm sharp
Notes| Use this post to ICly react to the interviews (if you don't make plans of your own!)

The advertisements hit hard today. Tune in at 6 o'clock, you won't want to miss this special! Everywhere a person could look, it was there, and the city was clearly excited for whatever this mystery event was.

As if that wasn't enough, escorts were encouraging Tributes to be in the commons, and a small feast of finger foods was laid out along one wall, extra avoxes available for drinks.

And, as promised, at 6 pm sharp, all the TVs flickered to the ever flashy Caesar, on an equally flashy tabloid-tastick reality style "interview" of the tributes. All the TVs in the common area light up with it, as well as the Districts suites, even if the TV had been off before.

Hope you all enjoy your dose of fame!

Comments

[president_evil]

Wesker didn't need to pretend himself a god, he was one. Even here, with the full breadth of his power beyond him, he knew it was still there, locked away in the blood rushing through his veins.

The evidence was in the whisper of Aunamee's heartbeat, in the scent of the clear white wine the man sipped at. Gifts, from the virus swimming in his cells, a reminder that he had been chosen.

And that it was only a matter of time before they all learned it.

He sat at ease as Aunamee stalked around him, untroubled to have the man at his back, and waited for him to circle back into sight before turning his head to look at him.

"Gratitude isn't necessary," he drawled. "Winning was my pleasure." His head tipped, lights shining off his glasses and pale hair. "Making your next arena that much easier as a result was inconsequential."

[marcato]

Aunamee never looked as healthy as he did when he first arrived in Panem. His skin had been marred with worry and sleeplessness, his tongue had been dried with thirst, his stomach had been cramped from hunger. He looked even worse these days with the half-healed wound in his chest and the threat of mortality reflecting in his eyes.

"It's more that you've opened my eyes," he said, extending an arm towards Wesker's face, slow like an unwinding snake. Less than a foot from those thick, dark shades, he drew his hand horizontally through the air as though he were wiping dust from a windshield.

"Although you," he started, his brow furrowing, the faintest tinge of anxiety in his lips, "remain a man of mystery."

[president_evil]

Behind the dark lenses, the serpentine eyes narrowed, but his face remained impassive. As cool and unreadable as Aunamee claimed.

"As they say, Mr. Aunamee," he stared across at Aunamee, a king at his throne despite the simple table, the ruckus around them. "Knowledge is power."

And he was nothing, if not a powerful man.

[marcato]

With his hand still hanging midair, Aunamee curled his lips into a tight smile.

"May I see your eyes?"

It was strange -- almost intimate -- the way he said those words. There was a purr under the syllables, dark and soft. His fingers danced in the air like lazy insects.

[president_evil]

The pale eyebrows rose, teeth flashing in a sharp smile that did nothing to warm his face. That revealed nothing about what was happening beneath the black glass.

"I think not. I prefer them without wine."

[marcato]

Aunamee raised his own eyebrows as he raised his glass, a quiet little toast, before downing the rest of his wine in a single gulp. He had drinken enough by now that his ears were ringing and his vision was warm around the edges. He had drinken enough to be bold.

And so, after placing the empty glass on the table, Aunamee reached to take off Wesker's glasses himself.

[president_evil]

The reaction was instantaneous. Reflex and training.

His head snapped back, his lip curling into silent snarling display of teeth. A hand shot out, long, pale fingers digging into Aunamee's wrist like the fangs of a snake.

Eyes flashing - that poisonous burning red - he wrenched the offending appendage back.

He moved so fluidly, such an elegant movement for such a violent act, he didn't even rock his wine glass.

[marcato]

He expected it (really, how couldn't he?), but the pain still shot up his arm like an electric shock. He felt it in his shoulders, his neck, his temples. It surged in time with his heartbeat.

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. And then he laughed.

It was a soft sort of laughter, the kind that sounds like a series of gasps or maybe rustling paper, ss ss ss. He had to blink back the agony building in his arm, his head bowed down to the ground.

[president_evil]

A twist. A squeeze.

More pressure, more pain.

"Do you remember the foodchain, Mr.Aunamee? The one we discussed in the arena?" He stared up at Aunamee, drank in the twisted agony on his face. The scent of his sweat, those shining droplets on his forehead. "It applies here as well."

[marcato]

He swallowed more gulps of pain. Soft moans. Little groans.

"I love your sneer," he said finally, the laughter once more escaping into his voice, even as his face flushed and his lips trembled. "It's so beautiful. With those teeth."

He drew his own lips back into something that was neither a sneer nor a grin. It was an expression that belonged more on a pair of wire-cutters than a human. And then he relaxed it into a smile.

"You n-nail it perfectly every time."

[president_evil]

The immediate response is more pressure, another agonizing wrench of muscle and bone, and for a moment it seemed like he might actually snap Aunamee's wrist. Like nothing would give him greater satisfaction.

"Mind your place, Mr. Aunamee." And he flung the man's hand away. The knowledge that he could have far more damage and was choosing not to, clear.

"Lest it change on you."