prologue one
"Nothing is more certain to mortals than death, nothing more uncertain than the hour of death, since it is to come upon us as a thief, in the night."
- Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, "Letter CV"
i.
Parties in the Capitol are always a thing of wonder. Air sweet with the perfume of ambrosia. Shining decorations and blinding lights. Extravagance lurking around every corner, no expense spared when it comes to the ravenous appetite of partygoers.
Osric Kissinger is no stranger to parties. He prides himself on hosting some of the most entertaining soirées in all of Panem. Craving a good time? In need of a high? Desperate for sex? Well, look no further. As the resident playboy of the eternal metropolis, it's no secret what goes on inside the halls of his home. Truthfully, Osric is proud of the reputation he's built. Why not live life to the fullest?
This is a lesson he learned as a young boy.
He was a child on the cusp of puberty, stressing over every little thing. Between tests and middle-grade crushes, Osric felt as if the world was ending. Emotions waging war inside his tiny body, heart and mind at constant odds. His mother, tired of watching her son crumble, offered a guiding light that would illuminate Osric's entire worldview. Stirring a cup of mint tea, Idella Kissinger, in a voice as soothing as a siren's song, introduced the family motto: Non ut diu vivamus curandum est, sed ut satis.
We should take care to live well, not long.
Focus on the joys of existence, for mortality is a clock ticking down the seconds you have until expiration. The Mockingjay Rebellion was a stark reminder, mercilessly stealing his mother away from their family. Since that day, Osric has been chasing the adrenaline rush that is corporality.
While the tabloids might hail him the Prince of the Indulgence, Breaker of Hearts, Lover of All, he has to say, Catalan is giving him a run for his money.
Despite the woman's eternal resting bitch face, she has a remarkable eye for detail. Elaborate floral centerpieces, sequined fabrics, gilded cutlery, and illuminated seating is carefully laid out across the grounds of the Presidential Palace. Sweetmeats, sugared treats, and addictive drinks swirl around the partygoers on opulent trays held by servers outfitted in shades of blue.
If he's being honest, Osric is thoroughly enjoying himself. Another successful Victory Tour ends tonight; all thanks to his fabulous leadership of course. Being the Head Gamemaker is no easy task, yet he makes it look so effortless. Without him, the whole operation would be in shambles. Frankly, Catalan should pay him more.
Reclining on one of the plush lounge chairs, surrounded by golden lights and beautiful flora, Osric is content to watch the sea of Capitolites intermingling like schools of fish. He catches a glimpse of the star of the evening, their latest Victor, entertaining a handful of colorful party guests. Admirers for the past year, anxiously awaiting the boy's return to the Capitol, clamor for his attention. Osric has to admit that the boy is quite captivating. Supple lips, creamy skin, and onyx lashes beckon him forward like a shining beacon.
He's delighted that the boy survived his arena.
Osric wishes to sample this forbidden fruit, but Catalan made it clear years ago that the policies of the Snow administration were to be put to an end. He supposes that's what you get when a district mongrel steals the seat of power and elopes with the heir of the Elvey fortune.
A shame, he would pay handsomely.
Nonetheless, Osric has other ways of achieving release. Erasmus, his pet at home, has been instructed to stay up later than usual tonight. Districtsmen are scum, it's true, but some taste just as sweet as any Capitolite.
As the party hums on, Osric calls for one of the attendants stationed to his left. He's in desperate need of a refreshment after all the politicking of this evening. A sparkling liquid of cerulean is brought over, bottled in an elegant crystal pitcher. Capitol above. Catalan went all out to celebrate the fishing district's newest Victor. A bit cliche if you ask him, but who is he to deny free drinks?
Osric holds up his glass for the server, preoccupied with watching one of the screens displaying the events of last year's Games. Watching his Lovecraftian city sink into the murky depths never gets old. He still feels proud, last year was certainly his crown jewel. After years of going back to basics, Catalan finally allowed him to splurge.
Smart woman. Judging by the ratings, the Capitol is ready for a return to form. A renaissance if you will. Osric is one to never disappoint.
When has he ever before?
A jarring splash of wetness jolts Osric out of his viewing. "You blubbering imbecile! Do you know how much this suit costs?"
"I'm so sorry, sir. Allow me to help," the server apologizes profusely. Osric slaps his hands away from his soaked torso, offended the man would dare touch him. The idiot would further damage his suit, after all.
"Really, they couldn't hire any Avoxes for this party?" Osric addresses the dolt without looking up at him.
Note to self: Make sure the staff at his apartment know how to pour a drink.
"Sir, please. I can't lose this job."
At the tone of the server's desperate pleading, Osric finally glances up at the man. He sports the navy mask that indicates to tonight's guests that he's an attendant, bejeweled scales reflecting the golden glow of the twinkling lights. Gorgeous brown eyes stare back at Osric behind the vizard.
"You have quite the mesmerizing set of eyes."
"Oh. Um, thank you. Sir."
It's cute how sheepish the boy becomes after the compliment leaves his lips. Perhaps release can be found at this party after all.
"How about you take me to the nearest powder room and help clean up this mess?" Osric purrs. "It's the least you can do after destroying my expensive suit. Do you know how much a Bancroft costs nowadays?" The promise of Erasmus in his bed no longer holds weight. He should feel bad about seducing this poor man.
At this stage in his life, it's practically child's play.
"Absolutely. I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you," the server pauses as Osric rises to his feet, at least a head taller than man. "If you will follow me this way, sir."
The attendant quickly turns on his heel, eager to make up for his sin. Osric leaves behind the garden party without a glance back, his focus entirely on the man's backside. What a glorious thing to behold. Osric itches to be rid of his trousers.
As the pair walk through the perfectly trimmed hedges, moonlight catching on the pearls woven into the leaves, Osric can't help but smile to himself. Holding the title of Head Gamemaker has really done wonders for his sex life. No wonder his father was reluctant to give up the position.
The server leads him up the cobbled path, past terraced lawns, and stone walls, to one of the outdoor bathrooms. Osric wonders if Catalan has ever personally used the porcelain throne inside.
Much like the Palace itself, the building is made out of white stone. It's amusing to think that this bathroom costs more than a home in some districts. Dirt-streaked dairy farmers would be lucky to eat even the tiniest crumb off the mosaic floor. The server knocks twice on the oak door, and when there is no response, opens it for Osric. With a smile, he waltzes into the room. A click indicates that the man locked the door behind them; perfect, Osric wouldn't want some drunken fool interrupting his fun.
Before the young attendant can wet a washcloth, Osric crowds up behind him. He slots his chin on the man's shoulder, pressing his mouth against his right ear. "Take your mask off."
The man is trapped between the marble countertop and Osric. He can feel his smaller companion stiffen. "I can't, sir, my boss would fire me."
How innocent. Osric likes it when they play hard to get.
"I can pay you triple the amount you're making tonight. Now be a good boy and let me see that pretty face," he whispers, pressing a kiss on the soft skin of the other man's neck. Osric looks into the mirror, making eye-contact with those doe-like eyes.
Elegant hands shake as they push the dark mask off, finally unveiling the server's visage. Osric's breath catches; the attendant is one of the most beautiful creatures he's ever seen. Lush lips, caramel skin, perfect eyebrows, and a blue buzz cut grace his vision. Osric is too caught up drinking in the man's reflection to notice his smirk.
In a flash, the boy turns to face Osric. He can feel the youth's breath against his lips, teasing and overloading his senses. Now with his back to the counter, the server sensually rubs his fingers on Osric's chest. Frigid hands work their way up his torso until they rest on Osric's broad shoulders. He can't help the smug grin on his face.
No matter how much they refuse, they always come around. Every. Single. Time. Without. Fail.
"Please tell me your name. I would love to know who is about to suck my dick."
The ethereal man pushes them away from the counter until they're standing in the middle of the grandiose bathroom. Blue-haired Angel raises his eyes through dark, full lashes and locks full on to his.
"Death."
What?
Before Osric can fully comprehend the answer, he feels a cold slice across this throat. Hot liquid immediately drenches his front, spilling out of his body in a fountainous spray. The young man takes a few steps away, allowing Osric a clear view of his reflection in the mirror.
A large gash on his throat beams back at him.
Osric dumbly raises his hands to the wound as he watches the scene with wide eyes. He tries to step backwards, but instead slips on the blood pooling at his feet. Osric hits the ground hard, the impact jolting him from his shock. He tries to speak, but only blood bubbles from his lips. The room is spinning and his movements become numb with shock.
This can't be happening.
As Osric twitches in a pool of his own blood on the once-pristine marble floor, gasping for air, he hears the young man speak from above. "You know, this was much easier than expected. I thought you'd prove more of a challenge," the boy teases, a pout gracing his angelic features. "I guess we both were left dissatisfied tonight."
Brown eyes stare into his soul as the other man slides a thin knife back into his sleeve jacket. Osric tries to shout, cry, plead, anything. Gurgles only come from his mouth, echoing off the decorative walls.
"Don't try to talk silly, you'll only die faster!" The blue Devil laughs, crimson beginning to reach his glossy shoes. "This was fun, but I have to bounce. Sorry to be a cocktease, but I have a party to get back to."
Osric watches helplessly as the man tugs on his mask, making sure it looks neat in the mirror. His vision begins to blur. His pulse begins to slow. His breathing begins to still. Osric can barely make out his murderer's lithe figure slip out of the bathroom and back into the chilly night. What will his family think? Brother? Father? Mother? He's only just getting started, the youngest Kissinger ready to make a name for himself. Osric can't die a disappointment! He's not ready! This isn't fair!
He shouldn't be here. He was—He—
Osric can't finish the thought. His head falls back onto the freezing floor, body finally sapped of strength. The embossed and coffered ceiling is the last thing that he'll ever see. One artfully painted hand reaches out for another. An angel plummets from the Heavens. Pink clouds and silver wings float around his vision as darkness tightens its grip.
One thought plagues Osric's mind as the pumping of his heart fades away into stasis:
Who ordered the hit?
Hi.
So, yeah. This officially exists now.
Welcome to the Post Tenebras Lux verse! I'm excited to embark on this new journey. While this is an SYOT, I have already collected the majority of my cast. Open spots are being filled currently, but only through Discord. If you are interested to join me over there, don't hesitate to reach out. If not, I hope you decide to stick around for the tomfoolery that is bound to happen.
Thank you to everyone that has supported me this year. Love you lots, I guess.
More prologues are on the horizon, so stick around for those bad boys.
Again, thank you for taking the time to read this story. Now, let Struggle in the Dark begin!