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vi. sirens song
"IF I'M NOT drunk enough to strip for Snow by the end of the night, I'm killing myself."
Aphrodite huffs. "This is why mom hates you."
Icarus shrugs. "It's not like she loves you, either."
Aphrodite hits him.
"Can you two try not to stress me out for one night?" Clarence demands, high-strung and anxious. "Seriously. I'm going to get wrinkles because of your behavioral issues!"
Icarus gives a mocking gasp. "Oh, no, not wrinkles! The horror!"
"I'd kill myself if I had wrinkles," says Aphrodite solemnly.
"Stay calm. Stay calm. Breathe in, one. . . two. . . three. . . Breathe out. . . one. . . two. . . three. . . " Clarence closes his eyes and inhales deeply. "Just like your therapist taught you, Clarence. You can do this. It's one night."
Icarus mouths FRANK and points to the vein on Clarence's forehead while his eyes are closed.
"No PR nightmares," Clarence snaps, opening his eyes. "For one night. Please."
Then they're exiting the limo, escorted right to the grand entrance of the Presidential Palace. Cameras are flashing in the vivid darkness. It's blinding. People again are shrieking in adoration. One woman is actually sobbing.
Aphrodite takes each step towards the grand entrance slowly, careful to keep her skirt from getting caught in her glittering stilettos, their tapered heels producing a click clack against the tile, signaling to everyone that the Capitol's darling has arrived. Clarence has got her in this embroidered gold two-piece encrusted with jewels and it makes her look as if she's been swimming in gold.
Icarus is in pajamas.
He seems to fail to grasp the notion that pretty hursts. Aphrodite is painfully aware ━━ jewels dig into her skin ━━ but the pay off is irresistible. She'd rather suffer than be ugly.
Maintaining her swoon-worthy smile, she keeps her shoulders relaxed, back straight, jaw loose. They are led across a red carpet as fans scream for them on either side. When they sway through the open doors, it takes everything in her not to let her jaw drop. The overwhelming consensus is expensive. The drapes, the walls, even the crystalline chandelier look like they'd cost more money than District Two has ever made. Light and luxury dance together in dizzying sequences.
About halfway between the floor and ceiling, musicians float on what look like fluffy white clouds, but Aphrodite can't see what holds them aloft. Dining tables are elaborately set everywhere. Some surrounding fireplaces, other beside fragrant flower gardens or ponds filled with exotic fish, Aphrodite guesses so people can eat and drink and do whatever they please.
