//Together We Will | Fall | As One// (Thundy!)

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sadniss everdeen
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nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

//Together We Will | Fall | As One// (Thundy!) Oct 23, 2010 18:51:46 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Oct 23, 2010 18:51:46 GMT -5

Ceannlaidir Neach-Tàrrsainn

~ Rebellion without thought is pointless, much as leadership without direction is doomed. ~

[/i]

and it's time to say our goodbyes
that have long been broadcasted on the winds of time
but have just now reached your innocent ears
because those tears are wasted
on someone like me

Long have the whisperings of another rebellion swept through the streets of the Districts. It came as merely a rumor from a half crazed resident of Twelve, swearing he saw people on several different occassions making their way down towards the lost ocean; a vast body of water that is still trying to recover from the pollution the forebearers of Panem subjected it to. People at first rejected his ravings as the ranting of a madman, swearing that nobody would be foolish enough to stand up to the Capitol and all its glory. For precaution's sake extra guards were deployed to erase the seeds that would potentially be planted within the mind of many a citizen. A dark time, filled with pain and hunger. They struggled, as they always do, but once again the mighty city obliterated whatever weak resistance these rumors stirred. Eventually, all thoughts of rebellion, chance and hope simply... faded away.

Years pass. Residents forget what it is to be free and whole, content with living in their lives always in the shadow of the Capitol. The wretched Hunger Games drag on, once again dragging innocents and not so innocents to their deaths each year under the guise of entertainment. Really, it's a poorly veiled threat almost everybody understands. Deny us, and we will destroy you. Yet, once again the streets murmur of an Uprising; a small band of nobodies that will bond together to become the catalyst that will rock the nation. People willing to risk all that they are, all that they have, in the name of peace. The beginnings of something special are starting to take place, still in the fragile stages of development but certainly something real.

Together we will bring the Capitol to its knees. But we need people. Specialists. Those that will abandon all that they have known with no guarantee for victory, but maybe just to instill a mere sliver of hope into the next generation, and perhaps the generation after that. The Uprising beckons. Will you heed the call?

Cemetary Gates, 1:00 am sharp. Tomorrow. Don't be late.

---

The message remains blinking, shimmering ominously on the screen as I take another sip of rum. Feet kicked up carelessly on the large oaken desk and ice clinking against the glass I again study the words, wondering if I missed something the first time. It's impossible, of course, but one can't help but wonder. Of course I've heard mutterings of the Rebellion's rebirth; a ragtag group of strangers uniting to orchestrate the fall of the Capitol. People all over know only vague details, none even sure if they're true or simply overblown rumors recycled from an age long ago. The very ideal is laughable, yet...

I hesitate with the mouse hovering over the bright red X. It would just be so easy to eradicate it forever, and go about my life as if nothing ever happened. But the one downside of having a photographic memory is that you can never forget. They stay with you, sharper than reality, until the day you die.

---

"What the hell is this?" A question rings heavy throughout the air, drawing the attention of all three brutes. Various faces swing my way; all scarred and marked with a tough life and age, but lined with the definite hard edges of cruelty. My surroundings lie in ruins, papers scattered across the ornate oaken floor and drawers tipped over to spill their hidden treasures in disorganized heaps. Chairs have been ripped apart and windows smashed, yet not a single alarm screeches to interrupt the fragile stillness of the night. A glance to the keypad shows that it is ready but not armed; disabled. Darren always keeps it on this late.

Moonlight is overwritten by the harsh glow that seeps in from the broken bulbs overhead, sparking and hissing with heat. One touch could send this whole house up in flames. Stuffing from the ripped cushions would act as tinder, it wouldn't take long for the blaze to consume all the precious work he's accumilated over the years. Still, that isn't the most pressing of my problems. Adrenaline doesn't even begin to make its appearance as I stare up at the hulking figures, heart thrumming steadily in my chest. Though they appear just as lackeys, there is the undeniable gleam of intelligence somewhere deep, masked by the ever-present hardness that paints their features in the most taunting light. It shows that they simply aren't thugs for hire, no. Somebody sent them with a specific purpose. Judging by the current rummaging and, is that blood?, they haven't found it yet.

Teeth gleam sticky bright in the lowlight as they turn their full attention onto me, weapons brandished but lowered. After my opponents pass six foot three I can't accurately guess how tall they are due to the craning of my neck and the odd angle, but I'd say the biggest is six seven. In short, massive. Muscles ripple just under the skin, walking trolls with little to no aspect of pain. For a moment it looks like they're about to ignore the little girl who doesn't even reach their shoulders, but a gleam of recognition sparks within the eyes of the smallest one. Damn it.

Specially designed and cushioned shoes squeak on the floor as I plan my escape, eyes darting back and forth for the best route of interest. Things have been knocked over to become potentially hazardous, but I'm certain that I can run faster than them. I just have to ignore that dying moan I can hear from upstairs, a whistling rattle that sounds something like a bleeding animal and gravel being crunched underfoot. A moment's hesitation - that's all it was - and it cost me, the brute practically blurring to my side and snaring my arm in a surprisingly gentle grip. The ring he wears digs deep into my ghostflesh skin, even as I twist to get away. It's hopeless, though, and I know it. They've caught me. "Well, would you look at that." He sneers, eyes glittering dangerously. "She walks right into our hands. Perfect, hey boys?" They all laugh as expected, though shifting uncomfortably under their leader's gaze.

As the oversized golden band that sits pretty on his middle finger draws a small trickle of blood, my eyes flick over to the design. An ornate C with swooping lines and shadowed with black, it speaks of one who's been the Capitol's lapdog for a long time. Throughout the years I've seen in on Snow's finger during his many speeches designed to promote obedience and hard-work. Still, what would it be doing on somebody who's destroying the house of a Capitol resident?

Another voice breaks through the eerie stillness, the crevice that shadows much of the floor giving way for an elegant man dressed in all black. Within his hand he holds a cane with a snarling dragon perched on the handle, teeth bared to the world and arched to enter combat. His fingers wrap around its muzzle - silencing it - the exact ring grating a small flaw in the otherwise perfect finish. Eyes glisten like a predator sizing up the prey, and a smirk on full lips showcases just the barest hints of straight, white teeth. Shaking his head slightly to make slicked back hair fall just over his shoulders, he glances at the two that are standing with their heads slightly bowed. "Get him." The man's voice is like velvet; rough on one side, smooth on the other, dark, and deep enough to drown in.

The two charge upstairs, feet making ominous thumping noises on the polished wooden stairs. A heartbeat, almost. Perhaps this is what the people before Panem feared long ago, the heavy charging of boots as the country called Germany came to take them far away from here.

Again they come down, now dragging a battered form between them. Bloodied hair hangs limp over his eyes and toes drag against the floor, but I'd recognize that rumpled shirt and worn expression anywhere, twisted as it now currently is in agony. "Darren." I murmur, not letting the faint stirrings of emotion show in my voice. My foster father looks up and gives a pained smile, attempting in vain to stand up straighter. Instead he's thrown to the ground at my feet, but I make no move to go to him. That's what they want, after all.

"You've been hiding things from us, Ceannlaidir." Dragon-Man states, appraising me with those taunting eyes. My jaw sets and I refuse to answer, glaring at the wall across from me. From his pocket he pulls a small bag; unassuming and plain but holding something I so desperately need. "This is a reminder that you are ours." Darren opens his mouth - blood dribbles from his lips - in protest, but a swift kick makes his teeth snap shut with an audible click. Need to get out of her. My mind takes pictures of the wreckage, trying to form a solid plan without an inkling of real thought. Window? No, too far. Door? Obvious. Downstairs? I'd be trapped. Besides, Monkey-Man has my arm in what could be a death-grip, for all the strength I have. "I've done all that you asked."

He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, like the answers would be embedded in the highrise beams. The paper in his hands crinkles as his thumb rubs the staples holding it together. "And perhaps a bit more, yes?" Refusing to back down, I carefully copy his face and voice into my memory, where it is shelved away to be brought out any time I'd wish it. Even if it'll take me years, he'll pay for this. Dragon-Man smiles, and brushes past me with more force than necessary. A loud crack, and my eyes flash a brilliant blue in the reflection from a window up ahead; until now I have refused to show weakness, but I can't help the low groan and flinch as a rib gives under the sharp bump. Darren attempts to scramble to my aid but I wave him off, sucking in shallow breaths through my nose to stem the pain.

"Seems you don't need these this month." The bag rips and various vials tumble out, full of colorful little soldiers that rattle in their orange casing. With a nod one of the large men comes over and smashes down with his heel, grinding the pills into dust. Unedible. I'm going to have to be careful for now.

Without so much as a farewell they all simultaneously walk out the door, figures fading into mist and leaving chaos in their wake.

---

Hours have passed as I finally withdraw from the memory, almost feeling my bones become more brittle at the thought of the medicine tumbling away. My sides aches still with the cold air and damp surroundings of October, but I refuse to ask for help. I can deal with in on my own. Taking another sip of rum I let my tongue trace over my teeth, piercing clinking with each pass. Nightfall has long taken over the streets for today, bathing the houses in a melancholy veil of moonglow that illuminates the sad homes with no warmth. This place is a dead-end alley, where people rot in rooms of sweet smoke and talk about conquests long passed. Nary a single window gleams with light; and as I sit in shadow, I'm struck with the thought that perhaps I want more than that.

It's 12: 30 now, and the graveyard is only twenty minutes away if I take the daily shortcuts. One last long look at the now dark computer screen and I rise carefully to shrug on my trusted leather jacket; tying up my shoes and stepping into the frigid autumn night.
[/blockquote]

Ceann, I don't... what... why the hell didn't you shut up? We didn't need all that!

Last Edit: Oct 24, 2010 12:30:04 GMT -5 by sadniss everdeen

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
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cozy, queer af

//Together We Will | Fall | As One// (Thundy!) Oct 28, 2010 20:25:59 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Oct 28, 2010 20:25:59 GMT -5

I've never been to District One before. Not that that says much, because I've only been to my home and District Thirteen. My home and District Thirteen. I'm mistaken if I think that District Thirteen isn't my new home. It's not quite as polished and comfortable as being back in District Two, but it's where I belong now. Some would argue that I belong back "home", but I guess that's the point of this little endeavor. We are all people, are we not? We shouldn't be controlled like this. Children should not have to die because of this. I should not have been forced to train. But maybe that's just how this world works. People always struggling for control and power and money. It's survival of the fittest taken to a new, painful level. Us, people, children, everyone with families and hopes and dreams and capable minds.. and we come up with plans to kill and restrain each other. I've had enough of people telling me what I can and cannot do and what I will do and who I should be. The world is full of opportunities and no one should feel like they can't do what they want simply because someone else is keeping them from doing so. They should at least have that freedom.

I, of all people, would know that.

Even when I was little my parents talked of training me. It's a wonder that I wasn't turned into a mindless murderer like the rest of them, being forced to watch helpless teenagers kill each other even when I was barely even able to walk. It was far too long ago to remember, but I'm sure that I cried, seeing those teenagers die when I was that young. It was my parents' way of desensitizing me to it, but the result was just the opposite. I love my parents and all- I mean, don't I have to?- but they should have never forced me into it. I doubt that I'll ever forgive them. I'll never get back a happy childhood, but I'm not that bitter about it. It's not uncommon for people to train their children in District Two. They just didn't know better. Should I feel grateful? They always said how special I was, how strong I was. They saw something in me, so I should at least be thankful for that, shouldn't I?

I try to rid the thought from my mind and focus upon the task ahead of me, but it still nags at me as I sneak through the foggy October moonlight. There really isn't much reason to be cautious about such a visit, but the darkness is making me anxious. It's doubtful that I'll be caught- who wants to spend their time walking around at night when it's unlikely that anything will happen anyways?- but even if I am I can easily pass for a Career-in-training who happens to be taking a midnight run to train. I used to go on such treks back in District Two, and I'm built to play the part. My parents didn't hesitate to teach me everything and anything that they could, and I fit the role nicely. I'm strong and I've been taught what to say when I need to be convincing. Even people that don't know me can tell that I was a Career, but that is usually judged more upon my outward appearance. Back in District Two, being a Career was celebrated, though I'm sure if I travel to another District people will be none-too-happy to see me. Senseless killers, most of them are, but I don't fall into that category. I am one of the exceptions to that truthful stereotype.

Although it might seem horrible, at least it does have one perk: I am not a killer- at least not yet- and people still believe that I am. They believe that I can be and would willingly allow myself to fall into the clutches of evil. Though I guess I don't look like a cuddly teddy bear either. As mean as it might seem, I sometimes like to scare people who don't know me. Especially any who walk around at night alone. I'll walk behind them and follow them until they realize that they're being followed and then I'll scare them. A large, ominous Career-type following them around in a creepy manner? The looks on their faces make up for the rudeness of it, even if I am a bit disliked afterward. People tend to think that I'm odd anyways, so I may as well add to the list.

Even so, there is a time to have fun and then there is a time to be serious. I should be focused right now; I should be worrying about the task ahead of me. This one person could greatly improve the Uprising's abilities in attacking the Capitol, and she cannot be lost. It was lucky enough that I learned who she was- I overheard some Peacekeepers talking about her not long ago- and another source also notified me that she was skilled with bombs. I know nothing else about her, but she is vital to the Uprising's success. Without bombs, we'll just be a bunch of kids with wimpy supplies and a silly dream.

The air is cold against the skin of my bare face, but thankfully I took the initiative of wearing a warm jacket. It's not the best of protection from the cold, but the inside contains wool fibers that help insulate the heat and keep me from being too cold. I'll have to find a more sufficient one for winter-time, especially now that I spend almost all of my time in District Thirteen or the wilderness surrounding it. For now, at least, it keeps me warm enough to keep me from shivering. Though I can't say the same thing for my face and hands. It looks silly, but I have to pull my hands into the sleeves of my jacket to keep them from shaking. It's a thing that children do who don't wear gloves, and the joke's on me. I should have prepared for the cold, because now I look foolish. I exhale with a shallow sigh and I can see my breath in front of me. My face feels almost numb from the bitter cold nipping at my cheeks, but I push onward anyways. I can see the cemetery gates now, but no one is there yet. As I reach the gates, I pause and peer into the cemetery before me and I can't help but be painfully reminded of death. I shoo the thought away because just now I realize that a figure is walking towards the gates not far away from me who I failed to notice before. Some Career I am, with my heightened senses and constant caution. Yeah freaking right.

My eyes have adjusted well enough in the time that I've been trekking through the deserted streets, but I can't quite discern the shadow walking towards me.

This is hardly the time to pretend or act cool, so my voice is clear and true as I speak. I don't even attempt to hide my hesitancy.

"Ceannlaidir..?"

[/color][/blockquote][/center]

Last Edit: Dec 5, 2010 2:10:56 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

warehouse

sadniss everdeen
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nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

//Together We Will | Fall | As One// (Thundy!) Nov 30, 2010 20:01:47 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Nov 30, 2010 20:01:47 GMT -5

Ceannlaidir Neach-Tàrrsainn

~ Why bother helping others, if only complications can arise? ~

[/i]

sometimes I wonder what it would be like
to have proper emotions or just a reason to care
but it isn't in my nature to worry about things
that are not and will never be there
maybe you took my heart when I was young

My fingers have already been numbed, and I've only been walking for ten minutes. Perhaps it's my poor circulation or tiny blood vessels, but cold never sits well with me. The bridge of my nose stings and I have to clench my jaw to avoid my teeth rattling in their holds; I'm already in a foul mood, and I haven't even met the idiot who's brought me out onto the streets at such an hour. I would have been perfectly content to lounge in my apartment with a glass of liquor and that soft hum of a computer screen for the rest of the night.

But you wouldn't, whispers some part of my brain. Perhaps my conscious? I'm not entirely sure I even have one.

Still, it doesn't erase the fact that it is entirely correct. Whatever that shadowy voice says, it usually makes sense to the painful degree, prompting myself to listen to its reason. Case in point; I would have wondered for the rest of my life. While dramatic emails are not a phenomenon in themselves, a personal invitation with the stirrings of a secret organization is enough to turn heads. However, I'm slightly disturbed with how they managed to find me so easily. I've gone to great lengths to ensure no paper-trail is left behind, no codes are embedded in my conquests. Some things - such as years of test trials and medical records - can't be erased, but they can surely be covered up by impediments and troublesome legal status.

Frost crunches under my boots and bitter air bites at the piercings in my ears. Absently I roll them where they sit, wincing as the frozen surface comes to rest inside the cartilage of my ear. It's only October, and yet I can see my spiraling breath float in condensed clouds to where the street-lamps create hetero-chromatic rainbows in their midst. I lick chapped lips and shoulder gently through the hedges that tower above my measly four feet eleven, drawing ever closer to my goal.

There is no use questioning what awaits. I've already run through the possibilities dozens of times; what they want me for, how do I escape, what do they hold over my head? Perhaps they wish for me to aid in some suicidal conspiracy from the goodness of my heart. Sadly, that's about as likely as President Snow declaring that from now on, the Hunger Games will be laid off and he'll paint himself purple. But Dragon-Man flashes in my mind's eye, all cold and dark and angry inside with the cane that makes muted thunking noises on the hardwood below as he paces in a steady stream of Darren's blood.

Prioritizing is key. I need to find out what they want from me, and figure which way is best to proceed with the information given at the certain time. My brain takes snapshots - frozen pieces of memory - of the stragglers around the streets, trying to figure if one could be the leader of a rebel revolution. Yet, they all seem too haggard. Lonely.
Reaching the gates and noting that they are still wide open with the padlock heaped on the floor, I pad into the abandoned realm with my soles creating intricate patterns on the floor below. With each step there is a quiet hissing of decompressed air inside my boot, silent except to the well-trained ear. Buckles glint dangerously in the lowlight, and the moon makes my coal-eyes turn pitch black. Perfect reign for vampires and mythical beings in long ago fairytales.

Ahead there is a figure, with his hands drawn in to prevent whatever warmth remains in his fingers. Spine curved with an air of exhaustion, he seems much too weary for one so young. His voice is a trembling crescendo that he doesn't even bother to correct. Is this their leader?

"Ceannlaidir?" Apparently so.

With the hesitation in his words evident, I blow out a stream of frigid air from my nose and stalk over to him, peering at his face. Everybody might as well be a giant to me, but he's most probably a foot taller than I. Impassively I roam his features, dedicating the wide eyes, messy hair and long nose to my memory where they will be stored away to be drawn upon when necessary. Satisfied, I step back but keep my gaze unwaveringly on his features. "Yes." A pause. I should probably elaborate; not everybody can read into single syllable words like Darren can. What is he always saying?

Ceann, you have to be more social.

Ah, right.

"The cryptic subtleties and half-truths are lost on me. What do you want, and why should I help you?" Social perhaps, but I'll never be anything but blunt.

[OOC: Meh. Short, but yay post?][/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Nov 30, 2010 20:13:14 GMT -5 by sadniss everdeen