holly arts of war >> cryowake '95
Oct 11, 2023 0:57:30 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 11, 2023 0:57:30 GMT -5
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Okay, let's see if we can't Save the World Pt. II this motherfucker.
- Ltn. Harriet Baines. (December '95).
She sends a command for each of her soldiers to meet at an unusual location - above ground. Typically this indicates training is about to presume, and they would, in a way, be correct to think that. This is an exercise after all, just not one they've done before. Kip or Feline are the two she thinks will struggle the most, for much different reasons. She awaits at an attention, her posture as straight as a board with her chest proudly beamed. Her hair is in a tight bun - a signal that she means business.
Yet, she sips from her coffee. Different.
"Good morning, soldiers. We have waited for the Capitol to go dormant, and we have synched accordingly. Today, I want to take a new approach. Something I don't believe you lot are quite ready for." She marches down the line, stopping only at - you guessed it - Felicity "Feline" Carrow, mullet and all. "Especially, you." In a slick sign of defiance, Feline eases her shoulders, rolls them just like a petulant, petty teenager rolls their eyes at their mother.
I am not your mother.
You'd be wise to remember.
She'd be heartbroken to figure it out herself.
Harriet takes center again in front of the elevator's door, barking a Hut! command and matching salutes with the rest of her quadrant. Beam with pride. "Excellent. Attention!" She says once more as she clicks the red emergency exit button with gentle precision.
The doors open, and the chilliest of winter breezes kisses her on the cheeks. It reminds her of exploring what was left of Appalachia, a Pre-historic mountain range. Her espionage resistance picked off to just her, Sparrow, and Figgy. They made it, finally, to the top. All that just to recover a lost black box from a Capitolite hovercraft they'd rather suicide bomb to protect than handle over with dignity. But they won, the resistance won.
It always will, because you can't kill a spirit.
"Merry Christmas, kids." She says, motioning to the blinking radio towers over the horizon. They flash reds and greens, a symbolism she's not sure some of these newer generations would even know as Ripred. What she knows as Christmas.
"It's not much, but I also have hot chocolate. Your mission today is to: be thankful." For yourself, for me, for each other.
For life, for our purpose. For Panem.
( threads open for cryowake christmas ! )
