Open to All [But Bruce is watching for Wanda...]
Of all the things he had to do as the “Former Victor Plus Working For The Capitol”, coming to these parties were one of the things he hated doing the most. While he didn’t mind being in the Capitol itself, the bigger issue for Bruce was the lavish parties. It was still hard to accept the fact that he grew up in an impoverished district and now was surrounded by such opulence. True, he had a very different childhood than most did in his district, but he still knew poverty all the same. Just seeing the amount of food around that went to waste or was part of the night long binge-and-purge made Bruce want to stuff his pockets and send things back home.
He accepted a glass of something that was pushed into his hand and used it for a bit of liquid fortitude. He could handle most things and put a fake smile on his face for the rest — but it was the crowds that would forever get the best of him. He remembered the dedication of his own Arena all those years ago; the way his gaze still focused on the spot where Betty had fallen and his own rage had taken hold of him. He had made it through most of the evening only by a lot of alcohol and a Capitol-esque smile on his face. That night, however, he had destroyed the suite the Capitol had provided to him.
If anyone ever was pissed at the damage, they never billed him for it. He figured the hotel staff had been too frightened to mention anything or say that he owed them.
As Bruce approached the spread, he caught sight of the small sign proclaiming risks and rewards. He warily eyed the drink in his hand and sighed. He really should have known better than to just take and drink something provided by the Capitol. He wasn’t feeling any effects yet, so may as well finish what he had. The food, however, wasn’t entirely appealing and he didn’t feel like playing Russian Roulette just yet with the Capitol. Maybe in a few hours when he wanted to keep drinking and not look like a sloppy drunk. Tony Stark usually had that category sewn up at events like this.
Walking the grounds, Bruce found himself staring off in the direction of the tent that boasted tours of the Jungle. It was sickening to see so many Capitol socialites standing in line to point and gawk at spots where innocent youths had killed each other. He hovered somewhere between the tent and the buffet tables, keeping an eye out for Wanda. She had to be around, he just didn’t know if she’d want an ear or if she’d be in the Jungle near Pietro’s spot.
Bruce stared into his drink. There really wasn’t enough alcohol in the world tonight. Maybe he should give in and hope one of the treats were a hallucinogen.