{Louder. Than. Bells} <Aya>

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Lulu
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{Louder. Than. Bells} <Aya> Feb 22, 2011 14:13:07 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Feb 22, 2011 14:13:07 GMT -5

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i took the stars from my eyes, and then i made a map
and knew that somehow i could find my way back
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It was a rather dreary morning; the towering trees of District Seven stood under an overcast sky and there was a feeling of humidity in the air that suggested it was going to rain but hadn't yet. Occasionally a few rays of sunlight would poke through the clouds and sneak through the leaves, casting shimmering, bright circles in the dirt, but for the most part the day was incredibly drab. Shea was not particularly bothered by this, though - the whether only interested her when it was nice. Although if it started raining, she wouldn't mind that. Rain was nice.

The fifteen-year-old was far from alone as she skipped through the forest; for one, she had her younger sister Kenzie toddling along on her small feet right beside her. Normally Shea didn't take Kenzie along on her adventures, seeing as she was only four, but this time it had been necessary; their mother had gone off somewhere the previous night and hadn't been back by the time her daughters had awoken that morning. Shea wasn't too worried - Mum tended to go out a lot at night, sometimes leaving just after unfamiliar men came and sold her strange substances under the cover of darkness. Shea had questioned what these were once. "Just medicines, I haven't been feeling too well lately, darling." It sounded plausible enough to her, so she never brought it up again. But when their mother wasn't home, it was her job to look after Kenzie. So that was what she did.

And then, of course, there were her ever-so-present faeries. They were always with her, always flitted around her head and spoke to her inside her mind and kept her company when she was all alone. There were more than one that talked to her, but she had never named any of them; why bother? And we don't want names, anyway - shouldn't our opinion be what matters in this situation? Sometimes they were rather critical of Shea; the one in particular who had just spoken to her was rather irritating sometimes. She tried never to get annoyed with it, though - after all, this one had such pretty wings; translucent, intricately pattered things that glimmered even on a day with as little sunlight as this one. How often she had tried to point out the beauty of her faeries to others, but no one could ever see them like she did. Not even Kenzie, though the little girl sometimes liked to pretend she had faeries of her own. Shea knew she didn't, though - her own faeries whispered the truth in her ears. There were no others present.

Her destination today was the sawmill on the outskirts of the district, a place she knew very well. Her father, who had been a lumberjack, had had friends there. Before he got chopped to bits by someone he beat in a card game. That has nothing to do with this! There's no reason to bring it up. This particular faerie had a habit of being cynical, which was a quality Shea had always lacked. She would always rather look at the good in something than be skeptical of it, a quality she had no doubt inherited from her father who had been an optimist in the truest sense of the word. All I'm saying is watch out, kid. The whole world isn't your friend, so maybe you should stay away from sawmills full of huge, muscular, angry men who can knock you out with their little finger if they really want to.

"I'm not saying everyone's my friend!"

[/color] Shea retorted aloud, perhaps a bit more sharply than she had intended. Kenzie was too preoccupied with scooping up as many leaves as she possibly could hold in her arms and then throwing them up in the air to notice her outburst. No, but you think it. She watched as the faeries shook its head at her just before fluttering off somewhere out of sight. It would be back, she knew. But she paused to contemplate what it had said. Did she think everyone was her friend? Well, she would like them to be. She didn't see why they couldn't be. It was better if everyone got along, right? Besides, she was a friendly person. And friends were great! Not that she had ever really had many. For some reason, people dubbed her 'abnormal' and tended to avoid her. Why they did so was still an utter mystery to her.

That would be because you see and hear us, dear. A different faerie flitted by her ear now, speaking in hushed tones to only her. Shea frowned. Why should other people care whether or not she had faeries? If anything, they should be jealous. How much fun could their lives be, living all alone like that? Shea had her constant companions right by her side, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

The sounds of the mill filled her ears as they drew nearer - grunts of workers, thuds of axes and logs being moved, the whirring of electric saws. These were all sounds that Shea was familiar with, living in Seven, although admittedly she much preferred spending her free time skipping through the forest than in the vicinity of such imposing machinery. She hesitated to go too close to anything with a blade, and the voices in her head always warned her otherwise. Well if you'd like to get your arms severed in a chop saw, just let us know. We'd be happy to point you in the right direction. But sometimes socializing around the mills was nice, because some of the better-natured laborers did remember Mr. Lovelace fondly and humored his daughter when she wanted to spend her day observing their work.

"Miss Lovelace." A worker whom she knew nodded to her as she entered the clearing in which the mill was located, her hand now tightly clasped around Kenzie's to make sure the small girl didn't run off and dive headfirst into a woodchipper or something of that sort. "How do you do, Simon?"[/color] Shea waved fondly at him. He looked oddly at her and raised an eyebrow. "My name isn't..." he began, but cut himself off when he noticed she wasn't paying close attention, and instead had her gaze transfixed on one particular conveyor belt. "Well, you know the drill. Don't touch anything, don't let the foreman see you're here, and for God's sake, don't let the little girl let go of your hand, please?" Shea nodded vaguely to show that she had heard, but immediately after started walking over to the belt she had been looking at.

You know, you really shouldn't brush off his advice like that. He's just trying to make sure you don't cause any - Oh, hush, I'm not going to do anything wrong. Look at the logs go! Shea watched intently as the logs rolled along on the conveyor belt, slowly but steadily. She observed the process of loading the logs on with great interest; the workman nearest to her was a skinny young fellow with blonde hair who looked as if he didn't particularly like being here. Why would he not, though? It seemed like a rather interesting place to work. "Hello, good sir!" The teenager put on her brightest smile and gave a cheery wave, hoping that the worker wouldn't write her off immediately as so many others did. "That's an interesting job you're doing. I wonder, have you ever tried taking a ride on the belt yourself? You know, when all the logs are off and everything. It seems like it'd be quite fun!"
[/blockquote]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
so i stayed in the darkness with you
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

[/color]

[/size][/center] [/justify]

Last Edit: Feb 22, 2011 14:23:35 GMT -5 by Lulu

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gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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{Louder. Than. Bells} <Aya> Feb 25, 2011 23:45:19 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Feb 25, 2011 23:45:19 GMT -5

the devil's in the details
devil's in the details
he's got your gold watch and chain

Alexander Hood —

At first, Alexander didn't think anything of the white noise ramble in the background — after all, she at work, and work demanded focus. Well, no it didn't. It ought to; for one, her younger siblings depended on the minimal income she earned for her labor, and if she were to get fired, it would be impossible to keep food consistently on the table, as she knew painfully well from experience. Also, as it turned out, (and as some workers she had known, however briefly, had discovered,) sawmill machinery was not good to daydream around.

Being able to surmise from the particular foreman pacing the other end of the mill that it was still fairly early in the morning did little to help Alexander's exhaustion; if anything, the time justified it. She'd been up since five in order to make her six a.m. shift on time, which was a bit unfair, in a way: the rest of the workmen could simply roll out of bed and trudge off to the factory, provided they'd sufficiently recovered from whatever drinking they may or may not have done the night before. Not Alexander, though. No, her morning ritual was far more intricate than normal, as passing off as a man on a day-to-day basis was still quite a feat for a sixteen-year-old girl.

But since her eldest brother, Alex, had died — the real Alex Hood — she'd legally taken over his identity in order to find work. Someone had to feed the kids, after all, and her good-for-nothing harlot of a mother certainly wasn't going to start all of a sudden. Running the family had been Alex's job from when he was twelve up until he got sick, and the responsibility had fallen fully to then-Phoebe after that. She'd realized no one would hire her — because in a labor intensive district like Seven, who could use the help of a little girl? — and taken over his paperwork and his persona when he'd died. She couldn't go back; she'd turned in his death certificate with her own name.

Perhaps this was why it took Alexander a bit longer than it should've to realize that the perky "Hello, good sir!" was actually directed at her. The voice, the tone, the words — they were all just so out of place here in the sawmill, and to be directed at her especially. She couldn't remember another girl of about her age — her actual age — wandering about in her place of work at all. Struck by an overwhelming curiosity and interest that seldom found her at work, Alexander finished fitting the log into the machine the conveyor belt fed it into — the bark would be stripped off of it mechanically, a process which took enough time to give her a quick break — and turned to face the voice that had addressed her.

To Alexander's great shock, not only was the voice's owner looking as young and as chipper as she sounded, but the girl who was speaking to her also seemed to be dragging a small child along with her. Her eyes reflexively widened in panic at the sight, and her first uneasy glance was cast towards the foreman. There was no way that Alexander's crotchety and often sleep-deprived boss would take kindly to the sight of a presence that was scarcely more than a disaster already set up to happen, given the right nudge. Fortunately, the grizzled man had abandoned the spot that he'd been pacing in favor of what she could only assume was a light nap before the end of his shift in the plant's office. After establishing that her job was fairly secure in the moment — because (and maybe this was paranoia) she was positive that being in the vicinity of, or, Ripred forbid, taking a break to speak with someone who clearly did not belong, with a child in tow, would doubtlessly be enough to cost anyone their employment — Alexander ran a hand through her hair, sending sawdust and chips of bark into the air, and returned the greeting.

"Hello, then?" Though she never let her inflection rise too high, the response was more of a question, a blend of "Can I help you with something?" and "Why are you talking to me", leaning more towards the latter. Although Alexander did like interacting with other people — new faces in particular, considering that she seldom allowed herself the luxury of offering up her secret for inspection by a larger than necessary group — her conversation skill had grown a bit rusty from disuse, and didn't allow her to pose any further questions before the the strange girl began speaking again, this time rambling about the conveyor belt which Alexander was operating. The worker's eyes widened in horror at the prospect of anyone — this girl or the child with her especially — climbing on the machinery because it seemed like it would be fun.

"Certainly not," she insisted hurriedly, growing steadily more convinced that this rogue girl was a hazard to not only those around her, but the sawmill as a whole. Only two options regarding how to handle the new and unusual danger occurred to Alexander: she could try to divert this girl's attention and send her somewhere else to become a liability to a different worker on the plant floor, or she could try to distract her with a brief bout of conversation. Casting an eye on the log that was still loaded in the machine let her know that there was still a good minute, minute and a half before she needed to load another tree to be shaved; this would hopefully be all she needed. Alexander coughed, throat dry as always from the sawdust. It was sometimes uncomfortable, but it was an even trade, as the frequent coughing gave her voice the gruff, masculine edge needed to maintain her façade when she spoke. "'S way too dangerous," warned Alexander, gesturing at the device that was currently stripping the last half of the log of its bark. She'd need to load another one fairly quickly. "'Sides," she continued, "'s not like I've got the time to. I'm always busy working; I've gotta be." Furrowing her brow in mild curiosity — an interest in what the other girl had to say that she wasn't sure if she feigned or not — Alexander added an afterthought: "Not you, though? No work for you?"

Last Edit: Feb 27, 2011 10:03:15 GMT -5 by gm bourgeois decadence [aya]

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Lulu
Retired Staff

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{Louder. Than. Bells} <Aya> Mar 6, 2011 17:26:55 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Mar 6, 2011 17:26:55 GMT -5

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
and in the spring i shed my skin
it blows away with the changing wind
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Something that bothered Shea very much about the sawmill was the ceaseless order to everything; everyone ran on a tight schedule, there was an exact number of laborers that ran each machine, and each task had to be done according to a set pattern. Haul the logs. Load the logs. Split the logs. Or whatever it was they did. And then it repeated...over and over again. Didn't the workers grow tired of the endless tedium? Every day, for hours on end, they did the exact same thing. Often it was a particularly strenuous task, too - this was to be expected, seeing as they worked with heavy logs and dangerous machinery. Why did anyone's daily life have to be so boring and difficult? Shea much preferred spontaneity - it was more fun, because who wanted to do the same thing every day?

They do it because they need the money, of course. One of the faeries perched on her shoulder explained this with a slight hint of exasperation, as if she should have known this already. Shea ignored its tone - instead she contemplated its words. Why do they need money so much? It's only paper and coins. In the fifteen-year-old schizophrenic's eyes, money did nothing besides cause problems. Her mother constantly fretted about money. Her father had been killed because he'd beaten another man out for money. There were so many poverty-stricken people in her district who were so sure that if they had a nice, big wad of cash all their problems would cease. The Capitol had more money than the districts - was that why they had so many nice things? Why did money command the lives of every single person in Panem? You need money to live. To eat. To eat? Shea didn't like eating; she found it time-consuming. There were better things to do than eat, and most food didn't taste that good, anyway. Besides, they were repulsive, the things some people ate. Meat. The idea of eating an animal disgusted her. And not just the things they ate, the way they ate. Stuffing their faces like savages! So she tried to avoid eating whenever possible, but acknowledged that others might need to. Oh. Okay.

The young man in front of her didn't look as if he ever had much to eat himself; he was incredibly skinny with very little muscle for a man who worked with heavy logs all day. But he worked, clearly, so if the faeries could be trusted, then he clearly wanted food. Well, he seemed to work very hard, so didn't he deserve some food? It seemed only fair to Shea. Life isn't fair, though. Maybe he's got someone else he needs to feed. Maybe he's not only working to feed himself. You never know. But I want to know. Shea had a habit of butting into other peoples' business; she didn't mean badly, she just liked to know things about people. It made her feel smart, like she fit in, like she was special. If there was one feeling the eccentric teenager loved, it was feeling special.

He doesn't seem like he really wants to talk to you, one faerie acknowledged as the boy responded to her enthusiastic greeting with nothing more than a curt "Hello, then?" Oh, he's just shy. That's it. People she came across were often shy. Or at least she assumed they were, seeing as they were always so hesitant to speak with her. They always warmed up eventually, though...or they suddenly remembered something urgent they had to do and scurried off, leaving her to speculate for a brief moment but then shrug it off in indifference. Shea didn't need new people to talk to; she had her faeries, of course. But it was always nice to make friends. She liked friends. Maybe this boy could be her friend? Sure, he was older, but he wasn't that far from her size. There's something odd about him. I don't like it. Oh, quit being a buzzkill! Look, see? He's talking now. He clearly enjoys my company.

"'S way too dangerous. 'Sides, 's not like I got the time to. I'm always busy working; I've gotta be." Of course, that must be because he wanted food. Perhaps Shea should have brought him some snacks; he could have eaten them, and then maybe he wouldn't have to work so hard. Perhaps she should have brought Kenzie some snacks, too; the little girl was tugging on her arm in impatience. Well, Shea wasn't about to take her home yet; she was having a fine conversation, and she didn't have enough of those lately. "Not you, though? No work for you?"

She contemplated this for a moment. No, no work for her. She didn't want to work, nor did she really need to. Her mother ate elsewhere often, not at home, and since Shea didn't like to eat it was really only Kenzie that needed feeding. And that wasn't a problem; they did have a small amount of money left over after they paid the bills every month, and Shea often went gathering in the woods. Even though she wasn't particularly knowledgeable in other areas, Shea was a master at recognizing edible plants, berries, and various fruits that could be found in the vast forests of her district. Well, we help with that some, as well. Don't take all the credit. This pleased her mother, also, who always stressed the importance of organic foods. So everything was fine, and Shea didn't need a job. Besides, there were better things to do than work.

"Well, people work to get money for food, right?"

[/color] she asked, shaking her head quickly at Kenzie as the four-year-old squeezed her hand once more. "I'm never really hungry. I don't like to eat. So no work for me."[/color] The fifteen-year-old shrugged, as if this were no big deal, and watched in interest as another log rolled along the conveyor belt. As she did this, she briefly speculated that if she had to work, this would be an interesting place to do so, with all its mysterious machinery and so many people about. But of course, they would never hire someone like her. She was too slim and weak, and besides, she couldn't spot a single female working in the area at all. Ah, well. She'd much rather spend her time out in the woods, anyway. "I'm Shea, by the way. It's very nice to meet you."[/color]
[/blockquote]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
the waters turn from blue to red
as towards the sky i offer it
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

[/color]

[/size][/center] [/justify]

Last Edit: Mar 6, 2011 17:28:13 GMT -5 by Lulu

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gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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"GUNNERRRRR~"

{Louder. Than. Bells} <Aya> Jul 10, 2011 13:37:28 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Jul 10, 2011 13:37:28 GMT -5

What would you think of me if I told you
I haven't slept in weeks?

Alexander Hood —

As soon as she had finished asking the hazard of a girl whether or not she worked, Alexander's attention quickly snapped back to her own labor. The log that had been in the machine before had had finished and moved on to the next piece of equipment, meaning that a new log needed to be transferred from the previous station, where the leaves and branches had been hacked off. She cast a quick glance at the rogue and her little charge, silently begging that the two would stay put for a few brief moments while she fed the new log into the bark stripper.

It wasn't particularly attention-consuming work that Alexander had been assigned that day; she much preferred her regular task of removing the extraneous limbs off of the trees that passed through her sawmill to the monotony of the bark stripper, simply because it offered a small bit of variety beyond log size. For this reason, she allowed herself to devote more attention to the girl's response than to the machine that the mill worker operated; her job on this day was completely perfunctory, requiring only the bare minimum of conscious acknowledgement, and the hazardous girl was certainly a great deal more interesting than the device that removed bark from trees. It wasn't a big feat, but Alexander would still give her that much.

"Well, people work to get money for food, right?" Alexander wasn't sure if she nodded in affirmation. That was certainly where the vast majority of her meager income went, anyhow; her family depended on her as the breadwinner of the house, and they'd certainly have trouble even struggling by without her working. There were time, however, that the small sum that she brought home had to be put towards something else, and the thought recalled the to-buy list that constantly dragged itself back to the forefront of Alexander's worried mind: Owen had outgrown another pair of shoes and the real Alex's weren't even large enough to hand down; the family's old and only cooking pot had finally rusted through, rendering it next to unusable; there was a leak in the roof that required nails to be fixed, assuming Alexander could find someone to borrow a hammer from; they were down to their last towel, which was already fraying at the edges; etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. There was no shortage of needs for her family, but there hadn't ever been a time when there wasn't a great shortage of funds.

The log was fitted into the machine, giving Alexander another several minutes before she needed to return to work. Keeping one eye on the device, just in case the branch remover had done a poor job and the tree got stuck, Alexander angled herself so that she could see the girl that was speaking. "I'm never really hungry. I don't like to eat. So no work for me." She couldn't help the involuntary snort of envy that escaped her. Alexander herself could perhaps say the same, that she was never really hungry, but that was because she always was. She retained the same level of hunger the vast majority of the time and was just used to the gnawing, burning sensation of hunger in her gut. But it wasn't the same as not being hungry. She couldn't even view as something to be liked or disliked; it was just something that was, even if it was infrequent.

"What I wouldn't give to never really be hungry," she couldn't help sighing, almost forgetting to keep her voice low; the pitch wavered a bit in the middle. She cleared her throat to cover the slip, but dry as it was, the action just brought about a round of severe coughing, forcing her whole body to shudder. After it subsided, Alexander cleared her throat again. "Or," she started again, forcing a chuckle as she spoke, even though the subject matter really wasn't funny to someone whose family was constantly plagued with hunger, "what I wouldn't give to have little siblings who were never hungry. Maybe then I wouldn't have to work, either," she joked, even though it pained her a bit to say.

What would she even do if she didn't have to work? She'd probably still be sixteen-year-old Phoebe Lionel, and still in charge of her household, as she'd been for three years, when the real Alex got sick. But she could drop the façade; she wouldn't have to masquerade as her brother so she could keep her brothers and sister from starving to death. She could stop desperately worrying that the Peacekeepers would find out about her pretense, killing her and punishing the rest of her family for it. And being Alexander made the reaping even more terrifying than most people found them; after all, if she were selected, what would happen? The Capitol would have to find out, but they would still need their tribute, so then what? It was something that crossed Alexander's mind quite often, and she had a very vivid picture in her mind. She'd be killed, certainly, within the first few days, because the Capitol wouldn't want anyone privy to her deception. That didn't worry her as much as what would happen to her family. It would be so easy for them to arrange an accident, to punish her little brothers and sisters the same way that Alexander would be punished: with death.

This, of course, was assuming that Alexander was unlucky enough to be reaped. As a family, she and her siblings did have a tendency to be quite unlucky, but even so, she doubted that her name would be drawn at the final reaping that she would be eligible — before she reached the legal age of nineteen. She'd debated asking Owen — the second-oldest, and the only other eligible child of their family — to step up for her, but it was too much to ask of the boy who'd already done so much to help her out with their siblings. The only thing there was to do was to try not to worry, and that was the one big thing that not having to work would do for Alexander: she could stop worrying about everything. But there was no way that would happen; she'd accepted her fate as millworker, as breadwinner, as head of her household. And there was nothing she could do at this point to stop being Alexander. So there was no use thinking about it. "'S okay, though. 'S how it is."

She shrugged, trying to force herself to stop caring about hypotheticals. This was helped by the distraction of the girl introducing herself as Shea. "Alexander," replied the millworker. She offered her hand out for Shea to shake, although quickly withdrew it as she realized how grimy it was, wiped it off on her shirt (though this was equally dirty) and sticking it out again. After quickly glancing at the log once more — she still had a bit of time — Alexander turned to address the squirming child that Shea had with her. She couldn't stop herself; she'd spent her whole life looking after younger kids, and knew that most didn't like to be ignored. "And what's your name?" she asked, glancing between the two girls and the bark stripping machine, trying not to come across as fidgety.