I feel as if it’s my job to continue existing. To get on with my life and continue to talk in self referential metaphors if only because I know some people can’t stand it. It is my job to make observations and think too hard about this thing or that thing or both. It is my job because I have nothing better to do than sit and think and remain detached while all too involved.
Socialite is in my blood, in my breeding. I can make my own thoughts and own creations all I want, but I will never not be a socialite. A product of the upper class. The only reason I can do the things I want is because wealth allows a great number of things.
Poverty offers freedom, but it’s an oppressed freedom. Everything is an oppressed freedom just by virtue of existing. At least I have variety on my side. It’s something.
I am not influential, but I am loud. I am not profound, but I am insistent. I am not important, but I have no reason to be out of the way. I want people to trip over me and get flustered. I want them to force a smile but curse me internally for being a nuisance. I am a nuisance, but I’ve never really seen that as a bad thing.
It is my job to continue existing, and that is something I take very seriously.
I went outside for walk today.
It was terrible.
bow to the king of Sassony
There was no response at first to her command, not that she could blame him. Many people - people being her past Tributes - refused to answer the high-pitched, slightly nasal voice of the famous Escort, unless Haymitch had ‘convinced’ them otherwise. Although she was incredibly aware that it wasn’t her bothersome voice that was the problem. No, it was her attitude, her stage persona, which had seeped in through the cracks of her shell, hitting the mess inside. Still, it was better to have an actual personality than to hide behind a false one all the time.
Turing her attentions back to the present, Effie’s petite hand groped around the silks and linens of her blazer, fishing for her mother’s pocket watch. Grasping the chain, Euphremia yanked it unceremoniously from inside of the tight garment, flipping it open with one smooth flick of her delicate wrists. She had wasted five precious minutes waiting for her longtime friend - or enemy. Or was it both? She wasn’t exactly sure anymore - who wasn’t liable to show, or move from whatever corner he had plunked himself down into.
Heaving an irritated sigh, the Escort raised her first again, pounding on the wood of the door with as much strength as she possessed - which wasn’t much - yet another statement bursting from her lips, an almost worried, hysterical tone to her words. “Otto, please!”
Begging wasn’t something a proper lady was supposed to do. But for all her trying, Effie doubted she was the definition of a perfect upper-class woman, contrary to the image she had created.
The Escort was frustrated, and her frustrations often led to the dreaded tears, which were pricking at her dull eyes now. The salt stung, the heat of the liquid burned and the water blurred. Euphremia had never thought that Otto Baxwoll, of all people, would ever make her cry out of sheer paranoia that something had happened to him. Or worse, that he had done something to himself. The Escort sniffed, blinking back the tears rapidly. If the man managed to get himself to the door, Effie didn’t want him to know that she had been worried about him.
Effie had always maintained a slightly sardonic, standoffish demeanor when around Otto, which, of course, had been shattered only a few times. Any sign of tenderness between them was reserved only for their parents, who, at one point, had tried to get them married, just so the money would stay in the upper floors of the Capitol. Any other emotion besides their obnoxious, mocking temperaments around each other would result in a fight, for one of them was always picking on the other.
And still, she was nervous for him, despite it all. Otto was, after all, Effie’s oldest and dearest friends (not that she would ever admit that).
The man’s grumble went unheard, as did his near accident with the so-called beast that hated Effie. Unfortunately for the feline, the Escort’s feeling for Balthar was mutual. Euphremia shifted, wringing her hands like an anxious mother. Only when she heard Baxwoll’s heavy footsteps did Effie relax slightly, holding her breath in apprehension, silently willing him to open the door.
Euphremia leaned forwards as the door opened only slightly, giving the Escort only a glimpse of the haggard face that sported a rather horrendous five o’clock shadow, which had once belonged to Otto. The Escort had heard that grief could do horrible things to a person, and she had even experienced it to a degree when she was younger, and her father, Nero, had ‘died’. Still, she hadn’t expected Otto to stop functioning entirely.
Her lips split into a tight smile that lacked the usual warmth reserved for close friends as she made a soft sound that might have been one of surprise or relief. The already drawn smile of Trinket’s faltered when he spoke, sliding off of her face entirely at his last statement. She looked vulnerable, almost… hurt, if one had to guess. Her eyes roved of what little she could see of his face, searching for any hint of emotion. She had never been good at reading people, really, and of course, she found none.
“I—” She began, her voice faltering as she glanced down, suddenly interested in her skyscraper heels. “I was worried about you, damn it. There’s no need to snap at me!”
Effie looked all nice and put together like she always did, but that didn’t mean Otto was about to say so. Certainly not. But he was pleased to see her. Still, he had asked her a straight forward question, and he wanted an answer. No one had bothered to properly visit him until now. What gave? Had something happened that he ought to know about? Was something wrong in the perfect world of the Capitol? Otto doubted it, but once Effie spoke up he found he was rather surprised by her answer. He took a step back as she glanced down and shook his head though his expression remained neutral.
“You were worried about me?” he asked, some of the normal amused lilt returned some to his voice as he looked at the woman who stood outside his door. Now, Otto wasn’t surprised that Effie had the capacity to care. That wasn’t t at all. What he was struck by was her desire to care about him. It was almost…sweet. Had he been in a better mood Otto might have genuinely accepted the words, but he wasn’t. And of course Effie’s next words didn’t win her any points on Otto’s invisible score board that was visible only to him. “I didn’t mean to snap,” he replied firmly, his expression losing some of its neutrality as he gave Effie a quick but harsh glare. “I was only yelling. Who knows, maybe you lost some of your hearing from all the cheering,” he added dryly. His fingers wrapped tightly around the door handle, but he didn’t open it any farther.
Oh, but she really was trying wasn’t she? She’d come all this way, and Otto had an inkling that she hadn’t done it for her health. Well, not entirely anyway. She’d noticed his absence from social society and had found it somewhere within her to take the time to come and find him in the place she knew he would likely be. It was either that or nowhere at all. Well, it was all pretty fucking touching, but Otto was not known for his skills in the area of hospitality. He was a party attendant. Not a party thrower.
Still, he ought to invite her in. It would be the polite thing to do, and it wasn’t like his home was unorganized. He’d hardly toughed anything for months.
Slowly, Otto opened the door a bit more, Balthy finding a comfortable spot and sitting behind the man’s legs, peaking out from behind them at the woman in the doorway. “Forgive me,” Otto grinned, though there was hardly any joy in it. It was an expression of expectation and hardly genuine. Even with a moderately improved mood he wasn’t up to the task of smiling fully. Maybe if she didn’t bother him too badly, he would even find entertainment in Effie’s presence.
A farfetched thought, but it stuck in there.
“I’d imagine you’re not just here to stand in the doorway and yell at me. Seems like a waste of your time, and you, Miss Effie, never waste your time,” he continued, his eyes widening some. Well, if actually opening to look less like he was half asleep counted as wide. Otto wasn’t going to say so, and he tapped the side of the door idly. “Would you like to come in? You’ve caught me in the middle of something, but I can always make time for you.” His voice wavered slightly in half-forgotten humor, but at least it was something. The fact that any humor at all was more than a little impressive given his capacity for thought. “Would you like to come in?” he said with a nod toward the sitting area that was closest to the door.
d’awww/i’ll cut you