marcus greenstone (philistines) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-04-12 13:15:00 |
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"I was just looking at this," Cicero said as Marcus entered the cigar lounge, passing him a magazine. The face of Vellum Spry beamed on the front, and Marcus shrugged, looking for the briefest moment as if he was nursing a toothache before he schooled his features back to bored smoothness. Cicero nodded sagely. "Used to be you." "I never took pictures of myself," Marcus said indignantly, accepting a glass of scotch from the waiter. "Thank fucking god for that, at least." "You were a fun group back then," Cicero replied. "Fifteen years, huh? Well, Pecan still has those legs. And Kennewick and Pere must be at what, thirty years out then?" "Twenty," Marcus interrupted sharply. "Sure, yeah," Cicero said, glancing down at his phone. "It's been a long time. But you wanted to talk about the boy, huh? I like Two, and I've never supported any other District, as you know, but I'm curious -- you aren't trying to secretly go against Brutus and Lyme, are you?" "My job is to procure money for both of our tributes," Marcus said mildly, lighting a cigar. "When I receive orders directly to the contrary from Brutus or Diana, I will stop doing that." "That's rich," Cicero snorted. "I've never seen seen a District better at picking favorites, Marcus." He stroked the wispy grey goatee. "We all know you favored Brutus and Lyme practically from the Cornucopia. But anyway, I'm still trying to recoup what I lost on you the past two years. I mean, you produce a tribute who can't feel pain and the girl still does better. And then last year -- two outliers and a go-kart. I should really go back to betting on horse races." Marcus's laugh was hollow. "There's no excitement in horses." "True. But the end of the day, girls from your district win. Boys from your district get second place. And --" "-- there's no prize for second place, yes," Marcus acknowledged bitterly. "But the reason Brutus and I won was because we had exactly what we needed when we needed it, and that's what both tributes need now." Cicero pulled out his checkbook, and then reached for the glossy magazine again. "You think this will be your boy, this time next year?" "On tabloid covers? Probably not," Marcus smiled. "Aeneas is more straitlaced than I've ever been, as you've seen in the Games and interview, but I like him." Cicero chuckled. "Hell, I like him too. But what's the point in Periwinkle dressing him in --" he inclined his head towards Marcus's current apparel "-- a damn suit like yours? I thought we were going to see a repeat of Forty Two, but all you did was get an old fan's hopes up. You were a knife-throwing camera ham." "You mean I was a little shit, but there's no point in repeating Games," Marcus sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Our tributes will win their own way, as they always have. Rocks and stubbornness, that's what we produce." "Your Games were fun." Cicero scrawled a sum on the check. "Yes," Marcus said, with something like longing. He reached for the check. "But as you were saying, that was a long time ago." |