concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
71st_victor: (plot)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
She's starting to get twitchy.

Generally, it's not like Johanna ever goes for a very long drought without getting what she wants. She's secure in her body, aggressive, and back home, just famous enough that one look could get her into bed with any man she likes. Here, though, it's not as easy. She's not so easily recognized and when she's as aggressive as she usually is to get what she wants, it gets met with shyness or nerves or a general rebuff.

It's starting to make her twitchy and Johanna gets violent pretty quickly after. It means her axe is going to find something to get embedded in if she can't find someone to make her sweat and scream soon. If she can't do it horizontally, she's going for next best thing, which is why she's coming back from a ten mile run around the grounds, panting and glistening and feeling her heart racing. It's not exactly what she wants, but it's not a bad distraction for now.

Grabbing a towel, she wipes the sweat from her forehead as she spots a figure on the horizon, grinning a little wider. "Even better," she notes to herself, "the kind of distraction I could grow to like."

She licks her lips and runs the towel over her neck as she squints, trying to get a better view of who's approaching, but she already knows that it'll be better than running laps. Maybe today's the day she stops being so twitchy, after all. Her luck's got to start changing sometime.
burn_with_us: (blue; pretty hair)
[personal profile] burn_with_us
Running, running, running.

Katniss hasn't slept in days. The nightmares come and go but since Peeta left, she hasn't had the long stretches of relief that she'd had with him. The nightmares always come back. This run is particularly bad, as she hasn't slept more than a few hours in the last week. Her eyes are red-rimmed from tears and exhaustion and deep bruises beneath them show just how hard this has been on her. She's been trying to keep moving, to push herself to physical exhaustion so that the sleep she gets is dreamless. It doesn't work as well as she wants it to.

She's afraid of the doors but it isn't something she ever wants to admit out loud. She knows there's ones she can trust, ones that lead to safe places, but what if the doors change and she winds up in the Arena again? What if she winds up in the Capitol, instead, or in bombed out 12? The 12 of her dreams is never the one where she hunted with Gale or traded at The Hob. It's always the firebombed 12, the one where the walkways are paved with the bones of the people she couldn't save and where the air is scented with ashes and white roses.

Are we in the clear yet?

Today, she's working in the restaurant, bussing tables and taking orders and trying to keep afloat. Her mind is too tired to do the mental gymnastics her job requires and she drops two whole trays of glasses before the middle of her shift, glass slicing her palms as she picks it up. Still, she can't go to sleep. Sleep is where Snow can get her, where the mutts are after her, where the faces of all the people she's failed swim in front of her and scream at her in the harsh, metallic voices of jabberjays.

The buzz of the people dining starts to sound like Prim, like Peeta, like Rue. She can't take it any longer. Katniss runs, runs far back into a storage closet at the other end of the restaurant and hides. It's not her closet in 13 and it doesn't have piles and piles of smooth graphite pencils for her to break but it's good enough. It's quiet and it's dark and it's far away from everyone else.

[Feel free to have seen Katniss drop the glasses or if you're a canonmate, to know she's been having a hard time lately.]
designerebel: (cinna § 65)
[personal profile] designerebel
For the first few days Cinna stays in his room. He's suffered a loss so great that it's painful beyond the telling of it. Who can speak those words? Cinna cannot, in spite of his usual eloquence. He's had to relive his own demise right up to his death. In a sense, it leaves him numb. But a man like Cinna cannot stay that way forever. He has to feel. He has to exist. He is not an ungrateful man when he is given something so great that it's very near inexplicable. He should be dead. His life, this life in The Nexus, is a miraculous thing - the impossible made possible. He will not squander the gift that has been given to him.

He dresses well in spite of the ache in his bruised muscles as he does so. Cinna doesn't like looking anything but well put together. By his fourth day the wounds on his body have scabbed over. The bruises have turned deep purple and yellow. He doesn't try to cover them up with makeup. There is no sense in that and he knows they'll be gone soon enough. He does don some of his token golden eyeliner. It makes him feel more human. It makes him feel more like himself, tiny gold lines outlined and embellished in black that serve him as well as the greatest suit of armor ever made. He is alive. He exists. He is a fighter in his own right even without conventional weapons. He is Cinna.

He understands The Nexus somewhat in thanks to his time in another very different place although similar in mechanics. Also, in thanks to the kindness of a man he is still indebted to who had helped him understand what was happening when he'd only first arrived a few days ago. He understands that it is a hub of some sort. He also understands that he cannot go home. That is a fate of his own design that he doesn't want to live through again.

It is now, four days later, that he decides to get out and explore this, The Nexus, as Aramis had called it. He can be found anywhere really, moving with an elegance and grace that is intrinsic to him, looking in rooms and shops, outside and inside. Not only does he want to become acquainted with his new home, but he's in search of food and the familiarity of a needle and thread in his hands if he can find it. That's all he needs, really. For now.

Sep. 6th, 2015 02:03 pm
71st_victor: (Default)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
Panem Capitol, 72nd Hunger Games

In her first year as a Victor and a Mentor, Johanna is still coming to grips with what's expected of her, and Effie isn't exactly the person she'd normally turn to, but she's there and convenient.

burn_with_us: (quiver)
[personal profile] burn_with_us
Katniss still misses him every day. If asked two, three years ago when this whole journey of hers started how she felt about Peeta Mellark, she probably wouldn't have had an answer but now Katniss thinks that some way, some how, she might have loved him. She thinks that she is never going to have the chance to know that, now, since he's locked up in the Capitol and she's here - away from anything and everything dangerous.

She still goes back, though, to tempt fate and while she goes with her quiver on her back and her bow in her hand, Katniss doesn't think that's exactly going to be enough to stop a Capitol hovercraft if they really want to take her. She hasn't seen them, though. Any time she goes back to 12, she only sees meadows and ponds and trees and she never sees anything remotely resembling the Capitol's ominous presence.

Today, she sees two deer in the woods and bags them, deciding to bring them back. She's learned how to cook and her boss in the restaurant doesn't seem to mind when she brings back game to share; she guesses he just likes having someone show up to wait tables on a more or less regular basis and Katniss is fairly reliable.

She drags them through the door and pauses, wondering about her wisdom in trying to bring both of these back through without cleaning them first. Oh well. She's never been overly concerned with what other people think. When someone stares at her, she stares right back.

"You want to help me with this or do you just want to look?"
matt_murdock: (033)
[personal profile] matt_murdock
As he sidles up to the long, polished length of the Smoking Room's bar, Matt is distinctly aware of not being remotely good enough for this particular drinking establishment. Not good in the moral sense—Although that's certainly questionable—but in terms of wealth and entitlement. The floor is marble and the chandeliers have real crystal in them. He's a long, long way from Josie's comforting stench and pock-marked tabletops.

"Scotch and water," he orders as he settles onto a stool, white cane propped against the bar beside him. He sips, wondering how much this is going to cost him, and draws in a slow breath as he listens.

Lavish as this place may be, just like the hotel around it there is more diversity within its walls than most streets in Manhattan. Some patrons lounge with privilege, but just as many are roughly raucous or scented with cheap shampoo. A few lift their glasses with calloused fingers and drink with the deep resignation of the working class. Some, he thinks, may not even be human.
makestheplans: (grumpy cat)
[personal profile] makestheplans
As soon as Katniss is sedated, I vanish. I kept it together in front of her, but once she's passed out I can feel myself start to crack. Heavensbee's looking at me; Prim's looking at me; I have to get out.

There's no booze in Thirteen, that's what they say. Coin's rules— but where there's a will, there's a way, and right now I need it so bad I don't care if I have to tear the entire place apart to find it. The kitchen's too obvious— but I know where there are storage closets, caches of supplies. An easy place to hide a bottle, if you had one you wanted to hide.

I push through door after door, barely hearing the noise of them banging shut behind me. The echoes are too loud in my head— Peeta screaming, hoarse and ragged with his hands wrapped around Katniss's throat; her sobs, desperate gulping gasps that only quieted when they put the IV in her arm. My own breath comes loud and sharp; my vision greys, my brain full of static, and I stagger, bracing myself against the wall with a trembling hand. The only thing that'll silence the noise is a drink. I shake my head to clear it, focusing on the door ahead.

I'm so focused on navigating I barely notice when the concrete beneath my feet changes to carpet. When the watery fluorescent light turns brighter, warmer, on the back of my neck. It's not til someone calls out behind me that I turn and realize, panic stabbing sharp in my side— I'm not where I was.

I plaster on a smile, hoping it'll hide the way I'm grinding my teeth. "Think I'm a little lost."

[Find him already in the bar or wandering the halls looking for it.]
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Throughout the day on the 14th, the Nexus staff deliver single roses and accompanying notes to designated hotel guests in celebration of the Valentine's Day holiday. For some, the gesture will be a foregone conclusion; for others, it will be a surprise. For some, they might only guess at who sent them the gift in the first place.

[Comments with deliveries will follow are done. You may reply to yours with a reaction if you like!]

Dec. 21st, 2014 06:30 pm
65th_victor: (16;skepticons)
[personal profile] 65th_victor
Tristan seemed to be getting bigger by the day. And with every day that passed, he could see more and more of Annie in their son, something that never ceased to make him smile. It was still a wonder to listen to to Tristan laugh, or watch him wriggle around the on the ground, preparing himself to crawl, or the way he could now sit steadily on his own. Of course, it was also a stark relief that he had also decided to be ready to sleep throughout the night.

But even on those days when he had been up the entire evening trying to coax their son to stop crying, he couldn't take any moment for granted. Not when he knew that there was a story out there that said that he never got to do any of these things, that Annie raised Tristan essentially on her own.

One thing he knew he needed to do was teach Tristan how to swim. Admittedly, he was still a bit young for that, but Finnick had still packed their things and headed down to the pool for the day. Holding Tristan close, he walked carefully into the shallow end, smiling when Tristan laughed when his toes came in contact with the water.

Dec. 20th, 2014 09:51 pm
iheartmahogany: (golden hair!)
[personal profile] iheartmahogany
This hotel, once she had managed to find herself employment, was a suitable distraction from the events in Panem.

Or at least, she assumed they were occurring. Separated as she had been from everyone she knew, she had found it best to simply pack, and run, and stay here. Possibly forever. What little she had managed to bring, while scarce in her opinion, at least brought her some comfort. And so many others were here, people of Panem, though they all seemed to have different recollections, not that it mattered. Time travel did not mystify Effie so much as prove to be too frustrating and distanced to concern herself with. All she really cared about was that Peeta and Katniss were safe, that they were far from the Capitol, and that she could make herself useful here.

Here she was able to keep control, keep organized, and help run a small kingdom of information and frustratingly strange and changing architecture. It was diverting, though, and not just for the fact that something new might happen every day; the front desk was a rather lively place. Effie saw so many faces - some of which were greatly in need of makeovers, though in an attempt to be sympathetic, she did not mention it (especially if they were startled newcomers). And it was interesting watching the movements of the hotel at large. At the moment they were celebrating a hodgepodge of wintry holidays, and she quite liked how there was added glitter and pomp to the hotel as a result.

She could usually tell if someone was new by the way they looked at her - as if she was rather out of this world, which was both correct, and actually rather flattering. Some, of course, had no reaction to her at all, and that was fine too. Effie was starting to enjoy life on a more simple note, for while the hotel was luxurious to some, it was several steps down than what she was used to.

She sat behind the front desk, finishing up organizing the way the rooms were listed (they seemed to change and, at the same time, bafflingly not alter themselves at all; it was hard to keep track). She would be done soon, at which point she supposed it would be time for a drink, before a long regime of personal beauty care (her wigs, after all, did not style themselves).
71st_victor: (plot)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
It burns.

Her lungs burn as she runs, pushing her body to go further with every stride. She doesn't know how long she's been running, but it makes her muscles quiver and tremble and make her feel like she's doing something. She hasn't wanted to face the reality of going back, but that door still lurks there and it's showing up more and more, lately. Every time Johanna pulls open a door, she has to close it on the cannons of the games and the countdown that seems to want to draw her back in. This morning, she'd woken up and she couldn't take it anymore.

Once the doors had been cleared of danger, she'd put on her running shoes and she'd taken off. That had been two hours ago and now she's breathless as she pulls in deep wracks of desperate breaths, thinking that if she runs a little harder, she can escape the demon on her back that's so eager to yank her back. Eventually, she can't do anything more and when her legs give out from under her, she's near the garden where she'd buried her axe. Her hands collapse in the dirt and she leans forward, thinking that if this were the Games, this would be the perfect time to take out the competition.

And that's the problem, isn't it?

No matter how far she runs, no matter how hard, they're always going to be there. This place is a happy little hideout, but it's not reality. One day, Johanna is going to go back, if only so she can bury her axe in Snow's face and that thought, more than anything else, is what drives her to start digging with her shaking hands to get lower and to find her axe. Sweat pours over her forehead as she works, her determination stubbornly driving her on and maybe it's the adrenaline, but she's starting to think that even if she does have to go back eventually, she might just be okay.

Denial, though, has always been a victor's best friend and Johanna is far too aware of that sad little fact.

Aug. 2nd, 2014 10:34 am
birthrightblack: (to the side)
[personal profile] birthrightblack
Jaenelle has been fighting for days. The safframate coursing through her veins can only be worked out through sex or bloodletting and she's fairly certain she would much rather hunt a tiger with her bare hands than let any man within six feet of her. It's fading now, leaving behind a bone-deep malaise that leaves her so tired that all she wants is good food and sleep. She doesn't feel like she's being rubbed raw any more and she feels almost human enough to venture back into her cabin.

Jaenelle pulls open the door, a smile touching her lips as she thinks about all the delicious things she's going to make Lucivar cook for her (she'd tried cooking once and blew up the entire kitchen at SaDiablo Hall. She's been banned since then) but when she steps through the door and opens her eyes, it isn't her cabin that she sees. Oh no.

Jaenelle had done this as a child. Without an understanding of basic Craft and a reservoir of power too deep to be controlled, she'd often disappeared and reappeared somewhere else without much thought. After she'd gotten a little older, Jaenelle had learned how to deliberately go somewhere but this seems like a hearkening back to her younger days. It appears to be an inn of some sort, with people milling around, and Jaenelle is suddenly aware that her clothes are torn and her palms are bloodstained. She self-consciously brushes a hand over her hair, hoping to tame it a little, and tries to force herself to be a little more human and polite than she particularly wants to be at the moment.

Like as not, this inn is still in some part of Kaeleer. As a child, she'd been asked not to travel around Terreille and she'd kept to that. This place seems too warm to be Hell so it must still be Kaeleer, which means she's only a thought away from home if she needs to get away. She doesn't think that is going to be an issue; the staff here seem warm and friendly even if they are landen and don't wear jewels. She senses some power here, great power, but it isn't anything like the power she's used to.

"Maybe there's other ways of doing magic than using jewels," Jaenelle says, half to herself. If that's the case, she can't wait to tell the Coven about this place and help probe the mysteries of it with them. She thinks that would be an excellent way to spend a day or two. She strides up to the desk clerk, announces herself, and walks away with a key and a room assignment.

"Now, it's time to eat," she says, descending upon the buffet with great gusto. It's been days since she's had a real meal and there is going to be nothing standing in the way of her and breakfast right now.

[Find Jaenelle at the desk or eating at the buffet.]
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[personal profile] concierge
Outside of the Nexus Hotel, waiters and hotel staff had begun to set up the umbrellas and the tables in the middle of the day. Soon, it became clear that something was happening in the shadow of the Nexus. White tablecloths were draped on the tables and drinks and food were brought out with the help of several waiters and servers, staffing tables with hot and cold foods beside bartending stations. Summery drinks in bright, neon colors are laid out one by one and soon, the afternoon light casts a radiant look on the scene.

Music plays faintly in the background and a note at the front desk invites all the Nexus guests to head outside and join in on the summer party, which promises to continue going as long as there are people to stay and continue keeping the warm atmosphere rolling.

On the lawn, social games had been set out -- lawn bowling, croquet, and tables were set up with chairs for anyone who didn't quite have the will or the spirit to get into such games. Soon, a small number of people had begun to mill around, but as with all parties, there's always room for more.
71st_victor: (queen of seven)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
At the end of the day, it hadn't exactly been difficult.

Johanna Mason had wandered through a door only to find herself with the oppressive heat of a desert swarming her skin, making her sweaty and sticky. It'd been foreign and she hadn't exactly been welcomed with open arms -- at least not until she had disarmed the guard, stolen his spear, and threatened a guard force of four. She'd been brought forward, then, and in a matter of hours she's managed to find herself on a throne.

True, it's probably not going to last, but Johanna could get used to this.

Shame it had to happen in Ancient Egypt and couldn't be in the Capitol where she could line the people who'd thrown her into the arena beneath her feet. It's hardly like she minds being exalted as a warrior goddess -- she thinks that's the general gist of why she's been given authority and placed on this council, on this throne -- but she'd rather she have the kind of power that actually comes with getting the things she wants.

Then again, it's hardly as if a force of strong warriors at her beck and call could hurt.

"There is another intruder," one of them says and Johanna perks up, given that the guard is gesturing to the very same area and door that she'd come through and her interest piques as to who might have followed her here.

Let them come. Maybe this is where they can start to gather their forces around them.
71st_victor: (deviating)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
april 20th, 2014 | the nexus

Johanna inhales sharply and stares down at her still male body, with the few perks it has, giving Finnick a displeased glare. "Maybe it's shy," she deadpans. "Performance anxiety with you around. It wouldn't be the first time someone failed to live up to expectations with you watching."

Johanna Mason wanders through a door that turns her into a man. At least she's handsome.


May. 8th, 2014 01:16 pm
burn_with_us: (laugh)
[personal profile] burn_with_us
Today is her birthday. Birthdays aren't usually anything special in 12 and, if it's turning 12, it's usually something to dread. The only birthday Katniss has ever cared about was 19 and she's not there yet. Instead, she's turning 18 today and if nothing had ever changed, she would be lining up for the Reaping for her last time this year. She'd have so many names in the ball that she'd be bound to be picked but Katniss likes to think she'd be lucky. After all, she made it to sixteen without ever getting Reaped, didn't she?

It had been Prim who was Reaped that year, Prim who only had one name in the ball and had the best shot out of any kid in the Seam to never get Reaped. Prim, for whom Katniss had sacrificed everything.

On her birthday, Katniss always thinks of Prim. She thinks about how Prim always made it a point to give her something on her birthday even if she didn't have the resources that Katniss had. Somehow magically, there was good flint for starting fires or a little tinder box. Her boots got patched or there was good, pliable wood for new arrows. Prim always managed to make something out of nothing.

Today, so she doesn't think about Prim, Katniss decides to work. She's taking orders in the dining room, bussing tables, working back in the kitchen. Anything to keep her hands and mind busy so that homesickness doesn't threaten to eat her from the inside out. It's always been the mental things she's struggled with. She can deal with pain, hunger, death but she never, ever has been able to deal with thinking about just how much she misses her sister each and every day.
iheartmahogany: (golden hair!)
[personal profile] iheartmahogany
Effie could walk in anything, so long as she was wearing the proper wig - otherwise, her balance was thrown completely off. But that was how she liked it; everything had its proper place, from train schedules to mealtimes to even the weight proportions of her dresses which, in some instances, were so large they practically engulfed her.

That's why she liked to keep her skirts above the calves, so that her shoes may never be missed by anyone who might be looking (and she expected many to do so). Even now her feet, tipped in five-inch high monstrosities that made her clip along as if she had hooves, were in full display. The rest of her dress curled in generous lines around her but, like her golden wig, was rigid and composed. In fact, the only real movement was Effie's face and hands, but that was fine; she was a very animated creature, always had been, and it worked well on camera, she liked to think.

Her main concern just then, though, was the fact she had gotten lost on her way from the restroom. There were always places to watch the Games and she usually had a front seat, but though they were soon to start, her real concern was to find Haymitch. Peeta and Katniss were going to need sponsors again, and it was her duty to make sure the right people were spoken to - though, to his credit, Haymitch had gotten a bit better in the charm department as of last year.

The largest Capitol buildings could turn anyone around, and Effie had no idea where she was. She recognized absolutely nothing, and even her sense of direction seemed off. The result was that Effie, while composed, was beginning to get anxious. She hated being late, anywhere, and she had places to be not just for decorum, but for her Victors! In fact, she was so distracted with concern, one could forgive her for missing the fact she was technically not in the Capitol anymore - nowhere near it at all, in fact.

Mar. 3rd, 2014 08:53 pm
withbread: (The fuck?)
[personal profile] withbread
When Peeta's entire world exploded, he expected many things, mostly that he'd die, but he hadn't expected to find himself in a hotel. His ears are still ringing from the explosion, he's riddled with scrapes and he's not wearing a whole lot as the skin tight suit has mostly been eaten away by acidic smoke. He's also got patches of greenish-grey scattered across his skin from some medicine they'd all used to treat bug bites and help with sunburn.

He gets to his feet, still reeling from both the explosion and the scenery change. He's got a tight grip on a sword. "Katniss!" he screams at the top of his lungs, but whether it's because he's still somewhat deaf from the ringing in his ears or because he could care less what sort of attention he attracts is unclear.

So sorry for the half naked boy wandering from room to room, dragging his sword and yelling for Katniss at the top of his lungs. Do be careful approaching him.


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