b u r n s [yaron, blitz]

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skylarversion2

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b u r n s [yaron, blitz] Jan 18, 2012 20:59:38 GMT -5

Post by skylarversion2 on Jan 18, 2012 20:59:38 GMT -5

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She can't see the landscape anymore
It's all painted in her grief
All of her history etched out at her feet
Now all of the landscape, it's just an empty place

Her life sucked at being a life. It sucked at doing the things that a life does, providing conversation, providing food, providing clothes, providing love, providing the littlest things. She'd never even so much as gotten the opportunity to own a measly cat, even though you couldn't walk down an alleyway without a feral one rushing past you, mangy and destructive. She'd pet one before, left with a scar on her hand (looked even worse as she got older, what with the burns and paper cuts and just natural accidents).

She'd realized that she'd never really had a life after she'd reached the age of 10. Ten years of a life that the majority of kids had, a happy go lucky attitude. After her grandmother got sick, she was left with a haunting silence, an invisible sludge, not impossible to maneuver through but nearly.

She glanced down at the flint bar and magnesium rod, a lump of stringy, thin hay in front of her, char marks scattered across it. The table at the Fire Making station (she didn't like how it was called Fire Making, as if an insult. Why couldn't they have named it Ignition of Natural Items, or Flames Among Persons, Brought Upon the Earth by Persons? The Capitol could at least do them a favor and not make them think they were dogs. They were going to die anyway, right?) As she lost her focus and struck the bar with a bit of carelessness, a spark hit her hand. It was expected for her to have gotten used to burns, but they were burns. They burned. Her hand sprung back, and unfortunately hit the tribute behind her. "Oops!" she interjected, once again losing her focus on the beauty behind her.

WT
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b u r n s [yaron, blitz] Jan 18, 2012 21:39:54 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jan 18, 2012 21:39:54 GMT -5

Honestly, Yaron had no idea what to do with the training center. Everything in it, with the exception of a few things that she had learned from working with sheep (a tiny bit of tracking, some knot-tying), was utterly foreign to her. Weapons? Shelter? What use had any of this been back home? Come to think of it, what use was it here? No one was going to learn any of this shit in a week. All this did was give the Careers some time to freshen up their skills.

Since that wasn't a particularly encouraging thing to think about, Yaron forced herself to stop wandering aimlessly and pick a station. Without any aim to actually learn anything, she didn't bother to actually choose one, and just went to the closest. A young woman with a ponytail stood in front of it, bending over something. Initially taking her for one of the instructors, Yaron opened her mouth to ask for help when the stranger yelped and jumped back, hitting her. Surprised, Yaron jumped, then laughed lightly and reached out a hand to steady the girl's shoulder. Now that she could see the stranger's face, she recognized one of the other tributes, although she had absolutely no idea where the girl was from or what her name was.

Not that it mattered. "Look out there," she said with raised eyebrows and a lopsided smile. It was more hesitant than usual; even now, with the Games not even started, she was hesitant to do anything that looked too much like connecting to other tributes. With Shrol, it was different—these were her last days with her brother, and the Capitol could go to hell if they thought they were going to take that from her. But around the others... normally, the risk wasn't worth it. Yaron was a social creature, though, and sometimes she just couldn't resist. "It'd be a damn shame for a pretty girl like you to go into the Arena hurt."

That was both true and a lie. Seepie was pretty—not extremely so, but enough. It helped that Yaron had a weakness for long hair. But the last part? If Yaron could chop a limb off of every single non-Raidan tribute in this building, she would do it in an instant. Screw fairness. If Snow wasn't going to play fair, why should she?

Unfortunately, "I hope you die in a few days so my family gets one of their children back" made the worst pick-up line since "Hang on, I need to get my library card so I can check you out" (not her own, thankfully, although she had been subjected to it once). So for now, she settled on the white lie.

'the way we lived' in stylized text, with 'character directory' as a subtitle underneath

banner by Dars! <3

skylarversion2

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b u r n s [yaron, blitz] Jan 18, 2012 22:16:27 GMT -5

Post by skylarversion2 on Jan 18, 2012 22:16:27 GMT -5

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She can't see the landscape anymore
It's all painted in her grief
All of her history etched out at her feet
Now all of the landscape, it's just an empty place

"Look out there, it'd be a damn shame for a pretty girl like you to go into the Arena hurt," she'd replied.

Seepie had never really thought about sexuality, in fact she'd never really had an interest too. Her whole life was a constant battle to get what was necessary, the pleasure moments were just that. Moments. Moments are short, moments are seconds, moments make an impact but they're so little. She was a person that yearned for moments, because moments tended to lasting impressions, and thinking about who was pretty and who was not, especially with the focus of her life on the garbage that'd just been thrown out.

She'd never had a relationship, never had a crush, never had any moments where she'd gotten butterflies at another person's beauty, but the person before her (she'd stopped what she was doing and faced the girl, standing nearly the same height), was pretty, she guessed. It was a lot easier to determine what was ugly than what was pretty, what was beautiful, but Seepie definitely knew that she wasn't ugly.

"Oh, thanks, I guess," as if this moment, if it was to be labeled as such, wasn't that big of a deal. It seemed as if it was like the Arena was not where blood was spilled like water from a Capitolite's faucet. "You're not too bad yourself," there was a tickle in her stomach. This is flirting, right? "Hopefully my little arm didn't do too much to you, and if it did, I'm sorry. I just wasn't paying too close attention."

She glanced at the number on the girl's arm, reaching her hair back to her ponytail and pulling it over her shoulder. She'd thought she'd seen girls do that before, with their googly eyes and whatnot. "District 8?" She thought for a moment and then replied, "Yaron, right?" She was conscious that her brother (or at least she assumed, similar appearance with the same last name) was reaped as well, but don't speak of gloom in a time of gloom, right?