The Desert's Edge ➣ Gloss/OC

In gentle skies, a fury misinformed;

Chapter Three | In gentle skies, a fury misinformed;

"The time and my intents are savage-wild,

More fierce and more inexorable far

Than empty tigers or the roaring sea."

5.3, 37-39 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

Her parents had been hard working and realistic. They had instilled within Elara a certain level-headed foundation for which their daughter had grown from. With plenty of wit and common sense behind each and every action, Elara Winston is rarely described as being silly or ignoramus. She prizes intellect before humor, and has paved her way into the high ranks of Capitol society with her feet planted firmly on the ground.

It's funny how all of her common sense just flies out of the window the moment they reach the Tribute Center.

Keeping one hand on Graham's thin shoulder, Elara and Harley march their tributes inside. They had already explained to the kids that it's far easier to let the stylists do whatever they want, within reason. It won't be a nice experience, but it's important that they don't struggle. Elara had paid special attention to Graham, patting him on the back and telling him to be strong. He hadn't responded to her words, and it had made her feel like a lousy mentor. She's doesn't say anything else while the two tributes are whisked off by their stylists.

Harley grunts, "Come on." And the two of them start down the hall. It'll take a good hour, at least, for the tributes to be done over. Most of the mentors gather in the parade room while they wait, exchanging greetings and getting caught up with each other. Elara heads that way, too, with an eager gleam in her eye. Harley gets ahead of her, no doubt to go find Haymitch or Chaff, but Elara has someone else in mind.

She's turning the corner when a hand suddenly reaches out, grabs her, and throws her into the wall. The room careens for one split second as she gets slammed into the concrete, heart hammering in shock and fear, until –

Lips converge on hers before Elara has a chance to even see who has so roughly grabbed her, and the familiar scent of Gloss's cologne wafts over her.

"What the hell, Gloss – " she tries to say, intent on scolding him for his backward handling of her. He grabbed her and threw her into a freaking wall for God's sake – but he only drags her bottom lip between his teeth and mutters, "Shut up, Winston."

Well. She does shut up, but only to drag him closer with clawing fingers, getting him back in other ways. She rubs against him, hooking her leg around his waist and kissing him back with feverish intent. By the time Gloss groans and pulls away from her, his eyes are gleaming and his face is flushed just so, and the look he's sending her makes it fairly clear that her form of retribution has worked.

Leaning over her with his fingers pressed tightly into her waist, Gloss murmurs, "We have a lot of catching up to do."

She hums in agreement, fingers grasping the collar of his expensive looking suit, and breathes, "God I missed you."

The words make him soften, somewhat. At once, he transforms from the lethal, muscular Victor from District 1 into someone that only she knows. His eyes melt to a smoldering hazel, and the planes of his face relax as he reaches up to caress her cheek. She really has missed him. So much more than she can put into words.

"Me too," he whispers, so quietly that she barely even hears him. But she does, and Elara trails her hands over his chest with a sigh and looks up at him, wondering if her own transformation is as obvious to him as his is to her.