past the stratosphere, I can catch fire // [epa]

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past the stratosphere, I can catch fire // [epa] Oct 6, 2023 14:37:22 GMT -5

Post by admin kay on Oct 6, 2023 14:37:22 GMT -5

MACHIAVELLI HOPE

Mac stared at the bottom of the glass bowl which had once held no less than three flavors of ice cream: coffee, chocolate peanut butter and a green one that could have either been pistachio or matcha. A slurry of melted cream pooled. He could drink it but his stomach, absolutely filled to capacity, protested. Still, maybe just one more spoonful --

A flicker of red out of the corner of his eye.

As quickly as his bloated belly could manage, Mac hauled himself and his tray up, sticking his ice cream spoon in his mouth. He hustled to catch up to Jackson Reeves at the conveyor belt which would magically whisk away their dirty dishes and cutlery. All of it would be presented anew later that evening. He found the machinery, the efficient chores, to be one of the most charming parts of the Capitol.

"How's it --" he started and then, realizing he was near incomprehensible around the spoon, fished it out and deposited it on a tray. "--going, Jack? Can I call you Jack?"

Mac lifted his eyebrows as he turned around to survey the room. He leaned just a bit closer to the muscular tribute from Five. "Machiavelli Hope. I've been thinking that guys like us could do a little good here. Like some charity work, you know?" Mac drew his gaze from Jackson to settle on some of the smaller, younger tributes. "They probably need all the help they can get."

[ title lyrics from "jericho" by iniko ]

credit hesper hart 🐺 d9f

credit [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨

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— 🥀 —

past the stratosphere, I can catch fire // [epa] Oct 6, 2023 21:43:45 GMT -5

Post by hesper hart 🐺 d9f on Oct 6, 2023 21:43:45 GMT -5

Sometimes, it only took a look. Jackson wasn't certain why the surname Hope was ringing as significant to him, but he knew when he heard it, even back on the train when Lysander made them watch the other reapings on the train, that he was interested in establishing some sort of connection with him there. He'd expected there to be some sort of formal conversation, where they tested each other out to make sure the fit was right first. That was closer to how his interaction with the boy from Ten had gone earlier, only the difference between now and then is that Jack knew exactly why the last name Emberstatt was important. In fact, there were a lot of really terrifying names in this year's batch of tributes. It would've been all too easy for him to convince himself he was out of his depth, but he was committed to going out and trying. And, as it turned out, in the case of Machiavelli Hope, all it ended up taking was a look.

He liked what he saw enough, and Jack the same.

"I've been thinking that guys like us could do a little good here. Like some charity work, you know?"

Jack peered back at him again, following his gaze to the rest of the tributes dining throughout the room.

"They probably need all the help they can get."

It was true: while many of the names this year were recognizable to some degree, many were not. Why, Jack's own name was at least well-known within Five, and he didn't even consider himself a part of the crowd he was referring to here in the Capitol. Fray, and Garner, and Forrester, and Hope, and Emberstatt, and Izar- people like that were sure to have eyes on them at all times in the Games and would be fine. That was part of the reason he'd even tried speaking to Emerson at first earlier, anyway. As for everyone else? Well...

"Who'd you have in mind?"

He felt a bit odd, looking at everyone, sizing them all up this way. But in another way, it felt nice to separate himself from them in some form. He wasn't just a tribute, he was- he was- Well, he supposed technically, right now, he was only a lot of good potential. And potential could be wasted.

"I'd prefer we avoid the career districts. They're all a bit too okay with what goes down in there, career or not."

As he finished his thought, he saw Emerson enter the room. He stuck his hand into the air vaguely to wave the kid over.

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

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past the stratosphere, I can catch fire // [epa] Oct 12, 2023 10:24:18 GMT -5

Post by d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris on Oct 12, 2023 10:24:18 GMT -5

► ► ►

It's his Paw who finally orders him to go grab a plate of lunch.

He's been curled up by the window on the tenth floor, flipping through the pages of a novel that seemed interesting enough from the summary — but as of the last few chapters, he finds that it lacks substance. It doesn't move him, so much as it simply distracts him. Beggars can be killed on national television if they don't train enough, sure, but they can never be choosers. He sighs when Mace speaks the command, made worse that not only is this man one of his mentors, but also literally his grandfather. His hands are tied, a prisoner coming to terms with his new station more and more each day.

As much as he doesn't feel like smiling at strangers who inevitably have to die for him to live, filling his gut when it already feels like his stomach has become a pancake flipping over and over, he knows that he has no choice. The calm of his face betrays the storm within, the quiet knowledge that no matter how influential his name is, or how beautiful his songs might have been when he had the tools to sing them, none of those things truly improve his chances of winning. Drop him in a fight against one of the careers, and he's certain they'll have him skewered quicker than he can strike back. That's why he's been pouring all his focus into learning self defense, trying to up the odds of at least being able to handle combat long enough to find an upper hand.

But even turtles can be ripped from their shells. The hardest bark on the tallest tree can be cleaved in a single swing.

Regardless, his manners outweigh the worry and stress in his mind. "Yes, sir." He hops to his feet, careful not to slouch or take his sweet time walking. If he chooses now of all times to begin his teenage rebellion, then he's screwed. He's not sure if it can wait, but that's what he has to hope for. 'Let me go home so I can be a menace. Let me go home so I can hurt, and regret, and drag my family into my despair.' What he wants more than anything is to leave the arena and go back to being the person he used to be, bright and fearless and as charismatic as his father, but he knows now that he's lost that version of himself. He just can't stay like this. Not forever.

Fifteen is no age to be immortalized.

Walking into the dining hall, he finds himself pleasantly surprised when Jack Reeves waves in his direction, as if calling him over. He waves back with a small smile, before visibly coming to an understand that, 'oh, he actually wants me to join him.' The notion surprises him a bit, he and the boy from Five had only had one other small exchange when they first met at the camouflage station, but even then Emerson couldn't deny the presence of the other redhead. He was older, confident in a way that seemed cool and collected, and their short conversation had been enjoyable. Relaxed.

He draws in a big inhale before approaching Jack and the boy beside him who he doesn't recognize, honestly a bit grateful for the excuse to put off eating his lunch for a little while longer. Nodding once to both of them, he comes to a stop before them, settling his gaze on the familiar boy first. "Hey, Jack. Gotten any better at your makeup skills?" His smirk is playful, teasing. "I never could figure out how to make my skin look like a rock. How do you even make gray dye?" Then he turns his attention to the other, still offering a polite grin, but a cautious one all the same. "Hi, I'm Emerson from Ten. What's your name?"

'He is someone who might die. He is someone I might kill. He is someone who might kill me.'

Breathing out through his nose, Emerson orders the anxiety to go away. It serves him no purpose here, not right now. As long as the blades are sheathed and the only weapons he can see are spoons, he can swallow down his worries. Friend or foe, the least these other guys deserve is the fair chance to prove which side of the scale they fall on. And if he's analyzing them, then he must expect the same in return.

This game is no less critical in the absence of weapons.

^{{ fox }}

Last Edit: Oct 14, 2023 20:47:33 GMT -5 by d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes

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bloomtodeath

past the stratosphere, I can catch fire // [epa] Oct 16, 2023 0:57:26 GMT -5

Post by [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨ on Oct 16, 2023 0:57:26 GMT -5

🐺

These showmen, these pretty boys with golden surnames. Wolf thought Javier would be the last of them but he was only just the first - a hall full of them, they set her survival instincts on high alert.

And then; an idea. Stealthy little girl made of twigs, biting down on the insides of her cheeks, tasting blood. Lurking in the shadows, doing everything to escape the light -- and yet. And yet, let them be showmen. Let them twirl, smirk, hold their heads high. Be bold, launch themselves into battle. Wolf can hide in plain sight, underneath the light. They could be distractions. Very loud distractions.

Her mind twists, cogs spinning. Wolf doesn't seem like much. That's the beauty of it. And although she hates to indulge in the brilliance of her surname and all that comes with the Turing family, she cannot deny an idea when she sees one. Not in here, at least. It turns and molds, taking shape - these beautiful boys and all their bravado,

and there is Wolf, quiet, in the corner.

Out of sight, out of mind.

And yet she stares,
sinking into the thought of them.