hestiaember - Tumblr blog

[hestiaember]

Hestia's face lit up when she realized it was tea-- the best gift she could imagine. With a soft blush, she peered into the gift bag, greeted by the delicate scent of tea leaves and, as promised, something earthy that she was certain she had not tried yet.

"Thank you," she replied genuinely. "And it's alright, I'm not sure I'm ready to think of myself as a grandparent either, but this sort of thing was bound to happen when you decide to foster teenagers in your twenties. I just didn't think it would happen so soon, as excited as I am that she's here."

"Oh!" Lee exclaimed as he entered the room. "Hestia! I- what good timing!" He scurried into the room and dug into the slung backpack he had over his shoulder. He produced a small, dark green gift bag with a ribbon tied haphazardly to the paper handle. He presented it to her with a slightly-embarrassed smile.

"It's a congratulations, I think." His smile broke open a little further as he couldn't resist her diving into the present. "A small sampling of teas from around District Seven. Had it overnighted when I finally caught up with all the flurry that you are a --" he caught himself for a moment, hesitating to mention a woman's age.

"A celebrated motherly figure," he finished, carefully slowing down his words to gauge her reaction after each one. "Should be three boxes in there - there's a green with elderberry and lavender that's just really tasty, a black one with oak bark - believe it or not - really earthy and rich. And then an herbal one with willow that will knock you out cold. If you ever need a nap. Or if Slate does. But I'd suggest not sharing and keeping it all for yourself."

[hestiaember]

She didn't know how to feel right now.

On one hand, there was the joy of a new baby, her first grandchild, albeit a little sooner than she had expected one to come into her life. On the other hand, the gutting sorrow at having lost both Ash and Finch in a matter of hours. How could she possibly hold both feelings at the same time?

She sought a distraction, pacing the floors, up and down, until her feet ached and she couldn't withstand it any longer. She then collapsed into a chair in the mentor's lounge, not wanting to be alone, but not wanting company either. How was she supposed to reconcile all of this?

The door opened, and she glanced up, relieved it was Lee entering and not someone more excited about the Games. That was the last thing she could take right now. She waved a small hello, and forced a tight smile in greeting.

@lee-hatchett

[hestiaember]

"Well, if that's how you've been trying to win over sponsors, I think I know your problem," she chuckled, though she wouldn't really mind pushing over some of these sponsors herself. "But I am surprised you have issues with convincing anyone to sponsor for Seven. You're one of the nicer people to be around at these things."

Lee chuckled lightly, waving away her concern. "They will or they won't," he replied. "It's the Capitol. One Games you're in, one you're out. I'm almost jealous of the Careers, with their consistent funds." He clucked his tongue. "But then I actually think about that statement, and I'm over it."

A small smile found its way to his face. "I'd like that," he said gently. "There's certainly some overlap there. And if you somehow fail to charm them, I can be there to just... I don't know. Physically push them over or something."

[hestiaember]

"It will, it'll make me very happy," she insisted, hoping he was sober enough to get the message that she wasn't about to make this optional for him. She looped an arm through his as though he were to escort her to the water, but in fact, she wanted to make sure he didn't stumble and hurt himself. "Then maybe we go sit down for a little while? My feet hurt horribly." And she wanted him to sober up, if only for a little bit and while under her watch.

"I'm not about wasting Hes-- you know what it's like back in twelve or nine" he rambled, even though it was a silly way of looking at things, it made him feel better about himself a bit. "Alright, we can get a water, if it'll make you happy" he flashed a lopsided grin at her.

[hestiaember]

"Oh," she hummed, trying to mask her surprise. "Yes, it's-- been the same. The same, of course." She didn't want to make Lee feel bad, it wasn't his fault or anything he'd been doing wrong. It wasn't even necessarily anything Twelve was doing right, it was a combination of luck and momentum off of Slate's Victory, it seemed. She feared for when the attention faded.

"I'm sure they'll come around. You could join me? I've had some good conversations, and I think our tributes have quite a bit in common." That and... well, was she really too opposed to spending more time with Lee? He was handsome, kind, good company. She could spend her evening doing far worse.

Lee leaned against a wall, pulling his shoulders up in such a way that made his oversized jacket turtle around his ears. He wriggled his face out far enough so as to not cover his mouth before shaking his head no. The entire jacket wiggled with his head.

"I've been striking out everywhere. Most of them act like they don't know me anymore. Which, one the one hand, fine by me. But on the other, y'know. We've still got two in the running." He paused for a moment, doing some mental recollection. Both of Hestia's were still in there, too - so there wasn't a chance at rudeness.

"Alder's been our saving grace. He's the only one on our team who seems capable of securing anything around here. How about you?"

[hestiaember]

"You don't have to drink them at all," she pointed out with some guilt, to what she was sure was not an audience that would listen. It wasn't as though she hadn't offered, she hadn't seen who had approached her. She watched him for a moment, then said, "Actually, I thought I might get some water. Come with me?"

Abel was already holding a cocktail of his own, but it was nearing empty, so he smiled and took the glass from Hestia, telling himself he was doing her a favour when in reality he knew he definitely didn’t need another.

“Once you drink enough of ‘em, they taste pretty good” he grinned, taking a generous slurp from the straw.

[hestiaember]

The corner of her lip quirked up in amusement at the term "shindig". It didn't feel anywhere near appropriate a word for the gaudy, lavish exercises in excess these balls were, and yet she didn't have a word to describe such a thing either.

"Have you had much luck with sponsors?" she asked. She didn't necessarily want to talk business, but she couldn't help but want to compare notes. Things seemed to be going okay for Ash and Finch, even sponsor-wise. It was making her nervous. It felt too good to be true, but maybe after Slate's win... She didn't want to say it out loud, but there was a small hope in her chest that maybe they could keep momentum and do it again.

Tonight was meant to celebrate the Mentors, and yet it was never a celebration. There were three categories of Mentors on these evenings: those who had already lost both Tributes, those desperate to bring their one remaining home, and those like Lee and Hestia: who were trying to ride the fine line between optimism and overzealousness, trying their best to score Sponsorships for whoever they could.

Lee took the glass from Hestia with a chuckle, sliding it across the table and away from the both of them. "I'll trust your face and avoid it," he replied. "You'd think they would offer something - anything - other than these obnoxiously colored concoctions. But I suppose that's half the point of coming to these... shindigs."

[hestiaember]

Hestia laughed, relieved she wasn't the only one who found licorice repulsive. She set the glass down on a table. "I don't like to waste anything, but that can't be considered fit for human consumption," she informed Moxie. "I'm going to get a glass of wine and stick to it." Though even the Capitol seemed to find ways to make that sickeningly sweet, it was a little more manageable.

"Oh licorice," Moxie said, her excitement immediately dissipating. Licorice was foul – honestly an affront to Panem and everything it stood for – which now that she thought about it and really it actually did fit what Panem stood for and honestly resolidified Moxie's understanding of how evil the Capitol was. "That's less than good, maybe we should go find better drinks?" Moxie suggested with a furrow of her brow, trying to find somewhere to set her glass.

[hestiaember]

Hestia supplied the sign word for "mobile" to him encouragingly, and flashed him a bright smile when he glanced her way. She was uncomfortable, no doubt, but for Slate she was trying very, very hard to seem reassuring and steady.

"We'll have space for her to visit Twelve too, of course. And I'll be regularly sending along any hand-me-downs that are in good shape. You won't believe how quickly she's going to grow." She glanced over at Fleur again, unable to help that she sought her approval, too. She wanted to show she was involved, interested, integrated into Slate and Cress's lives, that she considered them family. "Maybe everyone could join us in Twelve for Hearth Day?" she suggested hopefully.

@cress-meadowforge

Fleur watched curiously as Slate signed to Hestia, understanding none of the movements, and yet intrigued by them all the more for it. Indeed, for a moment, it didn't register that he was translating, conveying the active conversation. Then, it dawned, and Fleur simply felt foolish. "We haven't seen the finished space. Of course, I offered to have our interior designer come and manage the space professionally, but Cressida insisted on doing it herself." Fleur glanced at her daughter, brows raised only slightly -- as far she could. "But I'm hoping to see it before the baby shower, certainly, which, Cressida--" A centimeter higher. Cress mused that Fleur must have been straining. "Would you please let Dionysa coordinate the affair? I don't understand why--"

"Mother," Cress laughed, only slightly exacerbated. "I don't need a party planner. I'm perfectly capable of putting it together myself." Cress felt torn between two worlds. She lifted her flute of champagne, finding no harm to concern in the gesture, but she could sense the discomfort where Hestia and Slate sat. It was a challenge to reconcile the divide, to balance the dichotomy of the group and manage their emotions. Wasn't it enough that she and Slate had been muddling through this same chasm together? Did their efforts have to encompass their families too?

But she felt they did, so she latched onto Hestia's bid for connection, expounding upon it for the group. "Slate just finished putting together the bookshelf," Cress took his hand, applying pressure, trying to ground him. "The apartment itself is still a work in progress--" after their last one burned down, "--but the nursery is splendid. And Slate even surprised me with a gorgeous crystal for her room."

Fleur's eyes brightened at that, flitting from her daughter to Slate. "Oh, how marvelous! What kind?"

@slate-skylar

[hestiaember]

"Well... do you like licorice?" It was the closest tasting thing she could place, though she was sure the more "refined" Capitol palettes would list off a series of undertones, overtones, and aftertastes. "It's something like that."

Moxie, if anything was a massive fan of things that people would consider far too much but that sort of defined Moxie herself, anyway. She was always too big, too much for plenty of people to palate so she gravitated toward things that matched. "Oh, gladly," Moxie said, taking what was clearly offensive to the other woman away. She brought the glass up to her nose, sniffed to see if was seemingly any kind of poison, and asked, "Is it really that bad?"

[hestiaember]

"So it's not just me," she sighed, admittedly relieved. She'd wondered if maybe she was the one whose taste was aging, rather than the Capitol's ability to mix drinks steadily devolving into the syrupy mess in the glass between them. "It's terrible. I even have a sweet tooth, but this is... this is torture."

"Oh wow. You're really selling it." Coral laughed at the obvious distaste on Hestia's face, the drink clearly wasn't very good, but then again, she had had several drinks already, the taste barely distinguishable from each other, but they hadn't made her react like this. Still, Coral was curious so she grabbed the cocktail out of the other woman's hand, taking a sip. "Okay yeah, this is way worse than the ones I had."

[hestiaember]

"I don't think that's necessary." Frankly, she'd be happier without the knowledge of where Capitolites sourced exotic bug pets. "Don't tell Slate either. He'll get ideas." Maybe that could be a bonding topic, Slate.

Fulvia could sense a hint of reluctance from the other woman regarding her pet, though she appreciated her willingness to accommodate despite it. She was well aware of the general aversion many held towards bugs; the majority opting for extermination rather than understanding. Yet, she remained undeterred, hoping to challenge such preconceptions by introducing Kitty to others in the hopes of fostering a more open-minded perspective.

"My father actually acquired her for me, so I can't say if it was a challenge or not," she confessed, her gaze drifting back to Kitty's enclosure. "If you're genuinely curious, I could always ask him."

[hestiaember]

Hestia nearly gagged on her drink, holding it out at an arm's length. She didn't usually like the cocktails at these things, of course-- too sweet, too artificial-- but she was feeling more adventurous than usual. Maybe partly because she knew being in a good mood tended to curry better favor among sponsors, and partly because both Finch and Ash were alive. Not just alive, doing decently, in fact. They were handling the challenges thrown to them about as well as she could hope any tribute from Twelve might, and neither seemed to have completely given up.

"Do you want this?" she asked the next passerby, expression twisted up in distaste. She waved her hand at the neon contents of the glass. "It's too-- everything."

[hestiaember]

Mentor's Ball 135 - Hestia Ember

[hestiaember]

Hestia did her best to keep her expression warm and open at the implication that Cress had any sort of condition, the word delivered as though her pregnancy were some unfortunate affliction. Though Hestia could sympathize that pregnancy was hardly fun (and surely so could Fleur?), Cress and Slate were having a baby, not overcoming a flu. The tone of the statement sat wrong with her.

Slate, at least, seemed to sense she was stretching herself thin emotionally and mentally. She had a brief moment of relief as he signed his sentences as well, helping her confirm where the conversation stood, eliminating more avoidable guesswork.

Then, they were toasting. With champagne given to her, Slate, and Cress regardless, though she'd never heard anything about it being bad luck to toast with water. Maybe they simply didn't have enough options in a place like Twelve for such a superstition to gain traction. She set the glass down after, not caring if it was rude, irritated that their wishes had gone ignored in such a wasteful way.

"They've finished setting up the nursery," Hestia supplied, hoping to turn the conversation toward a shared, positive joy. "It's lovely. Have you all seen photos of it? She's going to be so lucky to have a place like that to grow up in, and to have so much family."

@cress-meadowforge

"Oh," the word popped on Fleur's lips, her shoulders sagging with disappointment. But a lady never sulked. It aged her prematurely. So she fixed her expression, recovering as she unfolded her napkin, placing it on her lap, "yes, Cressida has mentioned how lovely you've been in helping navigate her condition." Her countenance was placid, smoothed, free of any shaping or scrunching that might have implied tone. It was no secret that Cress' mother hadn't been much of a mother at all. She'd been raised largely by a litany of nannies, women who took care of wealthy children to provide for their own. Cress wondered if there was some remorse there now, some envy that her daughter had sought comfort from another maternal figure -- a kind of guidance and support Fleur herself couldn't provide. But Fleur was unreadable, even to her. "We're so grateful."

Myron hummed a note of agreement, a low hmm. His eyes, though, did not make contact. He was as he always had been: present, but not. Here, and not. Fleur's eyes flitted to Slate.

"How was the rest of your tour?" One had been the first stop, a spectacularly fresh wound for Slate and Cress both. The beginning of victorhood for him, and the end of a sisterhood for her. Cress' chest ached at the thought of Calli, the tangential reference to her or anything that may have touched her at some point. But if Fleur felt the same sadness, she did not make it known. "Impressive how they already have you mentoring. You know, not everyone gets the chance, regardless of talent. Like dear Montgomery," Fleur clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Cressida, I don't understand why you refuse to mentor. You're in no condition to be throwing yourself about the training center, and Sheen is a sweet boy -- don't get me wrong -- but Snow knows he could use the help. He's not exactly bringing victors home."

Ah, Cress' head tilted curiously. Was it there? Just then? A hint of emotion?

But if Fleur blamed Sheen's mentorship for Calli's loss, then it was a fleeting accusation. The champagne arrived and was poured, and Cress lifted a glass, though she had no intention to drink it. "It's bad luck to toast with water," she explained, touching Slate's shoulder with an affectionate protectiveness. There was no danger here. Not really. Still, she preferred him close.

Fleur nudged Myron, who took up the mantle, assuming the responsibility of articulating the toast. "To our families," he nodded, curtly, but he lingered for a moment, as though weighing freshly-found words upon his tongue: "Our family." Fleur tutted, denoting her approval, and Myron huffed, pleased and proud.

@slate-skylar

[hestiaember]

Hestia bit back a comment about one year still being far too long for her comfort. She then swallowed a second comment about there being plenty in Twelve for her to rescue. She needed Fulvia to like her, she was Slate's sister, and her relationship with Slate was already tenuous. "Was it-- she-- hard to get? Not to suggest you'd replace her," she added quickly.

"Well…" Fulvia replied, her expression brightening with enthusiasm in response to the other woman's question. "Kitty is quite extraordinary, you see. Unlike the common cockroaches found scurrying in homes or elsewhere, she belongs to a special breed." Her hands gestured with animated excitement as she continued, "Typical cockroaches have a lifespan of about a year, significantly shorter compared to Kitty's potential longevity. However, she's nearing the end of her journey, and I find myself at a loss as to what I'll do once she's gone."

[hestiaember]

"They... they can live that long?" Hestia asked, working hard to not seem alarmed-- she'd only just seemed to get Fulvia's guard down, if only slightly. She wanted Fulvia to trust her, she was important to Slate's life, so she was important to her too. "Do all cockroaches live that long?" It gave her a new perspective on the ones she'd lost track of that did worm their way into the house in Twelve.

Fulvia's tension eased as the woman echoed her sentiment, her gaze lingering on her companion as she observed her pet with cautious interest. "Oh, about three or four years," she remarked, her hands tracing a rhythm against her thighs. "It's been a while since I first got her, I can't remember the exact date."