Where The Wild Things Weave | Open

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[/i], he thought, giving her a smile of his own to try and lure her a little further. He needed to go from being a stranger to a friend as soon as possible. He needed to build trust, even through the both of them; who have never seen each other before this moment. This may not be easily gained, but he could attempt it. His teeth, almost pearly in color, were flashed to the girl in a grand, but brief, smile of his own.

He helped her up, though. It was a simple task, having the girl get up off of the ground with the use of both of his hands. During the swift process, he was as quiet as winter snow falling down onto the ground in an intricate, almost planned, manner. "I am sorry if I did not need to actually help, m'lady. I do not like to see others in distress, it irks me," He exclaimed to the frail girl, his words forming like words being written upon by a blank, white sheet of paper. The words would have been filled with a sort of malice if it weren't for the false accent covering up any words to hide the true intention of Ezra, "And you look so delicate, like a single flower in a dark basement. I could not stand there and not try to help you. I just hope that you don't mind my act of chivalry, m'lady." Ezra carefully grabbed her right hand when she had presented the both of them and twisted it around, but not enough to send a shock of pain through her wrist, just so that he could kiss the back of her hand with his cold, slightly chapped lips. She had an interesting set of fingers, though. Which caught his eye instantaneously after he kissed the back of her hand. Delicate fingers.. A trait that Ezra he himself had, perfect for weaving. He didn't mention this however, as he did not want to scare her off. That is, if the kiss on the hand did not scare her off already. One mistake, and the little game that he was playing with this girl could be over in a single instant. Like that, all he could think about was ruining things for himself. Quickly, he shook the thought of it off and went back to being as formal as he was before. He gently let go of her hand, flashing a second smile at the girl.

"Your mother is a dancer? An interesting hobby for someone that lives around in District 8, the district usually full of weaving. I would not mind to see someone dancing, though. What people put in dance is beautiful. It can be poetry, a story, or just for fun, on separate occasions," Ezra grinned, reminding himself of dancing and how the twisting of their legs had reminded himself of his own passion and his own hobby; weaving. He still couldn't stop thinking about it. But that is what happened to you when you truly loved something, you just would not be able to stop thinking about it at any given second. You could relate anything to it and find a reason to mention it. That's what love was. And that was truly the only sense of love that Ezra had ever felt over anything or anyone, "Truly, though, I love weaving. Dancing could never replace weaving in any sort of way, how you can put your own little personal style into what you create. You can truly create anything you want as long as you have enough drive to do it. You are limitless in it, and it is limitless in you."

The giggle drove him to give a laugh of his own. Yes, that was what had made him think she was dancing along the side walk and down onto the icy ground. The spin at the end, it made him think of it. But, she actually hadn't been. Ah well, he hoped for it and he could still imagine it in his mind as a dance of sorts. It really was, but the girl didn't acknowledge it. Either way, it was lovely for an odd reason that maybe only Ezra could have noticed, "You are cold, m'lady?" Ezra slipped out of the fully white jacket that he had on, revealing the also fully white long sleeve shirt under it. Quietly, he would wrap it around her shoulders and extend a warm smile. She was going to take the jacket whether she liked it or not. There wasn't a 'no' in the dictionary that he would take from her over the jacket. And he was used to the cold weather. But, of course, he was sure she might want to throw away the jacket later, depending on what form of pawn she would be in the near future if she would be becoming his friend.

"I am Ezra, by the way. It is very nice to meet such a lovely girl such as yourself. And might I ask what your name is?" His voice was gentle and quiet, waiting for a response to be gotten from the other. He wanted to hear her name. In fact, he was going to claim it. Use it; bend it; twist it around. This would be a name that he was going to remember for future use, surely, "And, I made that jacket myself. Do not say anything about me letting you have a jacket that isn't exactly that colorful as a whole, as I didn't exactly pay for it. Weaving helps with a lot of things, most of all, keeping warm in the winter weather and helps to attract some attention to yourself; if you want it." Even though he made note that she was just supposed to be a pawn, he did not mind giving her a simple gift. Sure, he was poor and being hungry was not exactly an uncommon or rare thing in his household, but he truly didn't care to give something to get something. In this face; future fun and toying around with the mind. An experiment, really, is what he was looking for after giving the gift. An experiment of wits.
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They pull
the strings on
the puppet...

Strings snap, and
the puppet is no more.

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In oddity, he had wondered why the girl was so quiet. He was hoping to get some general idea of a response from her, but for a while, she hung on the words that she had, when she was saying before. Did he push the barrier a bit when he had kissed her hand? Did he go beyond any boundary that she might have put up in defense of the strangers that she encountered? Had he damaged an already damaged person? After all, he knew little about this person. It would be worthless trying to hurt someone who had already been quite misconstrued. The expression of his face, though, did not show one of concern. Instead, he tucked that feeling away, safe in the back of his mind and made it clear that it was not allowed to come out. Showing a concerned expression after she had said she was alright? She may think that he was up to something, if she did not seem to have a screw lose. Who really knew, this girl may have simply had no idea what she was doing or who to talk to; how to talk to people. She could be a lot like Ezra, in a way, without the idea of how to manipulate someone. She looked like a person that could trust easy, though, and Ezra continued to prey on this, even though his immediate idea would be to flee and just let the girl keep the jacket that he had just wrapped around her shoulders.

But, that silence still managed to crack him from the inside out, like the snow that fell upon the ground and made his fingers feel numb. 'Numb, stay numb to the feeling that I am receiving. Stay numb,' Ezra had said to himself in his thoughts. The voice in his mind sounded a bit distorted from Ezra. It sounded like it had a bit of a darker pitch, and it spoke quieter. But, still loud enough to make itself known only to Ezra and the thoughts that surrounded it. Of course, that was what his actual voice sounded like when it wasn't trying to toy around with someone's heart like puppets on a string. His voice was a bit deep, but it had a soothing quiet to it. He had gotten the quietness not from his family, but the inability to speak with his actual, supposedly dominate identity. Or, at the time, it was the dominant identity. They still have their same ploys and tricks, but something about how he had developed himself now made him seem a bit darker in intent and it actually had less point to what he was doing.

Before, he may have just tried to get food off of someone else and he wasn't exactly trying to have fun. He grew into this person, a shell, a husk of a person, that loved to have fun by crushing others spirits. It was a sick and twisted game of the mind, but Ezra compared the game to chess. The monarch was himself. His family took the role of the queen, being the only other part of himself that he loved. The people that he made fall in love with him with knights on horses. Bishops were a little less lower class than the knights; they took up the role of people that catered to him. The people that could become obsessive. The rooks were also a part of himself; the shields that he put up around his manipulative identity. And, then, there were the regular pawns. The ones that he had used for fun, petty enjoyment. Monae, surely, was just a simple pawn to him and nothing more. But, she had struck him with the silence. It made him feel as if she had already managed to ruin the mission he was on; a mission to hurt someone. But, was she smart enough to notice that he was on the prowl for someone to manipulate? The thought ran through his mind again. What if she had heard about him before? Maybe one of the people of his past knew her; she could be a distant friend to one of the people he had left in shambles. Could she had been a friend to one of them?

Het let out a little cough from his mouth and let the hot breath hit his own hand as he coughed, not mentioning those idle thoughts that danced around his head like needles; sowing the white fabric that he usually had his nimble fingers on. His left hand had clenched into a cold, quiet fist but quickly, his fingers retracted back out. Finally, the silence was averted.. He had gotten a response, a simple thank you, that had told him all of the thoughts that had run through nhis mind were probably wrong. A good signal to get for him, indeed. And, it made a smile light up on his face. He wasn't sure whether he was happy she said thank you, or happy that she fell for the first of his tricks. He never could process that feeling; happiness. It seemed grotesque to the seventeen year old. Maybe it was because he had never known if he had ever experienced true happiness; only the temporary, shell of happiness that had been left behind after he got done with the victims. That's what he wanted to do this for; for the rush; for the feeling again. It was like a pill that you want to take, having a positive outcome for a while and then having a sudden down fall like you were sky diving into the air out of a plane or a hover craft of some sort, like the ones that they had in the Capitol. As soon as you hit the ground, though, the rush becomes a regret. All of the happiness that you once had is gone and in comes a flurry of pain from the sudden loss of happiness that you had managed to endure; an obliteration of hope. That's why he kept going back for more and more. One could classify him as an emotional savage, no, an emotional cannibal of the highest degree. All that he could manage to scramble out of his mouth after thinking for those odd few minutes that he had to think was a simple, "You're welcome."

It was not an easy word for Ezra of all people to say. He had, honestly, only used the words when he was truly trying, and he was trying hard to earn Monae's trust, even if they had only been in this moment for ten minutes at the max. The cold had set the mood; and their relative like for weaving had also connected them like fabric being weaved into something else or a patch being gently attached to a shirt. Something of that sort. The pang of happiness, or what he thought may have been happiness, clung to him when she had mentioned that she was a lacemaker. It gave him someone to relate to. It made him smile, even, let out a little chuckle from his chapped lips. It was all part of the game. Or, was it their game? It seemed that he had simply become of a pawn of the game as well when he became entrapped at the design of what she had just pressed against the palm of his hand. A word had come out of his mouth at that moment, a word that had seemed shy. It didn't pass that accent that he gave other people, but it did manage to say in that same quiet tone that he used to speak in, "Beautiful." And it was beautiful, the way that it had been created. The way that this design had been so fancy, well thought up and original. It was truly beautiful, even if it looked like it was only half completed, "Do you usually make it so.. beautiful? I do not think that I could ever come up with something such as this. I thought that my creations had a lot of beauty, but.. then I look at yours and automatically think of a burning jealousy; like brimstone. But, not a bad jealousy, a good jealousy. If that's possible."

Strangely for Ezra, he was being honest. He was a bit jealous of how the girl could do that with just grass and a bird's nest. Anything that he made himself was surely made out of fabric already made, but she had managed to get things from the land and the creatures that had maintained the land. Creatures and beasts that weren't the peace keepers or officials from the lavish Capitol though. Creatures such as a simple bird, which Ezra would not harm because it is not a human. For a moment, he questioned whether what he was doing was right in any way, shape, or form. It wasn't. But it did not stop him before and it would not stop him now because he had already gotten so close to the girl that he could almost feel his plan proceeding, "If we had known each other before this single moment, I would have made you teach me how to weave like-- like this. It looks.. quite nice. And not something that I would usually think to use to make pieces of clothing either. That's what makes it better, the thought that you put into it." Ezra tried to seem not too strange, constantly complimenting the girl. If anything, this was the one compliment that he could hold up to. The one that he was not lying about. Of course, this also meant that he would lie about not lying. If it ever did come to fruition that he was simply using her, he would admit it. He never complimented people, ever. The only people who deserved compliments were his sister, his father, and himself. No one else. With the smile fading, serenely, he slipped the prototype into his pocket and shielded it from other eyes. Another thank you would slip out of his mouth, and there, he fell into silence.

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