the screams all sound the same // {cait & meg}

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the screams all sound the same // {cait & meg} Jan 26, 2013 21:39:31 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 26, 2013 21:39:31 GMT -5

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Alone, I fight these animals.
Alone, until I get home.

[/i]

After a full day of napping in the camouflage station, unnoticed, as I lay my head upon the mountainous rocks, it's about time to get serious. The games have become such an imminent subject by now, and seeing as how little training I've actually been doing outside of maybe the plants and the first aid stations, I'll be the first dead for sure. Then again, why prolong the pain?

The weapons here are so much more real than I ever could have imagined. A sword has always been a mere image in my mind, another picture on the television screen, another page in one of my storybooks. In the fantasies that shaped my childhood, swords were always such valiant objects, held only by the hero. In this world, can we still say the same?

Carefully, I make my way over to the swords, my eyes wide with both fear and curiosity. Oddly enough, it seems as though most of the Careers have gotten bored of showing off their impeccable skill and have found something else to fill their time. I crouch down to pick up the sword that lies before me, wanting to finally grasp it in my hands, but at the same time, afraid that someone, anyone, will see just how incompetent I am in the subject of wielding a sword. For a moment, all I want to do is run upstairs and hide beneath my words of my diary—the ones that both comfort me and haunt me every night, reminding me that I still haven't told my mentor, Klaus; I still haven't told him his sister lives in my house. However, I manage to push the hopes and fears away and focus on the task at hand.

My hand trembles slightly as I touch the sword. I begin picking it up and almost drown beneath the weight of it. How is it so heavy? Once I finally manage to hold it out in front of me, it shakes a bit before falling from my fingers and landing on the ground with an obnoxiously noisy crash. I bite my lip, trying to hide my eyes from the other tributes who are probably laughing at the ridiculous girl who couldn't even hold up her sword. Worse, I can't even imagine the Gamemakers' faces.

I ain't no hero.

[k, don't even know what this is but whatever.][/size][/blockquote][/color][/justify]

meg.
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[M:-1850]

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the screams all sound the same // {cait & meg} Jan 31, 2013 4:16:02 GMT -5

Post by meg. on Jan 31, 2013 4:16:02 GMT -5

MEELA AHLI BIRDBROOK.

[/color][/font][/i][/right]

VII.

[/color][/font]Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves[/color]
And Immortality. [/right][/tt]

You are deep in a book on edible plants in arid climates, engrossed in the colour plates, trying to absorb as much of the information as possible. The mould-spotted book is old, wrinkled pages indicating water damage, and is out of place amongst the glossy, impersonal Capitol-issued novels that sit shoulder-to-shoulder like peacekeepers. To tell the truth, your reading is not too fantastic, but what you lack in skill you make up for in effort, for you really pour yourself into this title. You dedicate as much energy as it would take to throw a knife or pull a bow into each squirming sentence, trying so hard to use yet another one of those skills that every other tribute takes for granted.

I have always been interested in books. They tell a story, like each of you do, but they never tell me their secrets. Not even for the briefest amounts of time; they are never my friends.

A sudden clatter and an echoed giggle awakes your from your passionate reading. While you’ve been dedicating yourself to something that you are subpar at, it seems that a tribute you are not familiar with has been doing the same, in a manner somewhat more obvious. I don’t expect you to react in an audible way; perhaps quietly pity her a little, but nothing more. Surely, this is one thing I should have learnt about humans by now: you are always full of surprises.

You peel your calves away from your thighs, move from your floor-seated position to the girl. “Honey, why don’t you, uh, come this way?” are your words as you lead her to the knots station. I like the way that the colour that highlights your mind is not of the pity I expected, but of dedication, of warmth, of wanting to help.

At home, in a similar situation, you would have laughed along, and meant your chuckles. But here, there is something about the almost-hilarious desperation of the situation that has turned you into a kinder person. Can you feel my breath on your ankles with each step? Is that what scares you, or are you wanting to please what comes after? I shouldn’t worry, Meela, because if all goes to plan, you will be staying here with me for quite some time. My intention is to make you my friend – no, my sister, someone I have known all my life and love desperately. You don’t need to please anyone else.

Except perhaps yourself. Is that who you’ve impressed by standing up in front of these careers, by making yourself an easy target? Is that who you’ve made happy by telling the girl that “there are much more lethal weapons that swords, you know,” though you don’t really know, because you’ve never used a weapon against someone before? Who is the most important person in your life right now, Meela? I would have thought that it was me, but perhaps you are different to the others in this training centre.

Perhaps it is yourself.

[/SIZE][/color][/font][/justify]
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too,[/color]
For his civility. [/right][/tt]

{Dickinson, Emily. 'Because I could not stop for Death' Poems: Series 1 (1890)}
{Palate}

[/center]
[/SIZE][/font][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jan 31, 2013 4:30:15 GMT -5 by meg.

ines izar d11a 🖤 cait
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if looks could kill

the screams all sound the same // {cait & meg} Jan 31, 2013 8:04:01 GMT -5

Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Jan 31, 2013 8:04:01 GMT -5

Here I am waiting
I'll have to leave soon
Why am I holding on?
We knew this day would come
We knew it all along.

[/i][/blockquote]

My days in the Training Center had mostly been spent watching from afar, standing in the corners of the room, unseen by prying eyes, studying the competition. And if I was to be honest, I was terrified. To wait and watch as each tribute took up a new station, eventually finding their forte, and see first-hand how skilled they were, worried me beyond words. And what could I do? Nothing. I was a nobody, standing in the background, blending in, never drawing any attention to me at all. All I could do was blend in the shadows, and when you’re up against 23 other people thirsty for your blood, even the most skilled of escape artists can never remain hidden for too long.

I’d never been good at making friends. Those that had stuck around, drawn in by my looks, above anything else, soon discovered that I was not somebody you’d want to be friends with. The manic attacks that rocked me each day that I was still breathing would have been enough to scare anyone off, if the hostile front I put up in the first place didn’t seem to work. However, I knew deep down if I was to survive even one day in that damned arena, exceptions were going to have to be made, sacrifices given and walls put up to stop others getting too close. I did that anyway, was there really any difference in it at all?

The room is full of people throwing around weapons without a care – some using them skilfully, others… not so much. A clatter is heard just to my left, and as I glance over and see the girl bending down to gingerly pick up the sword she had previously been using so incompetently, I stifle a laugh, keeping it loud enough for the girl to hear. (That’s not how you make friends, Belle.) The weapons station has been left practically deserted, the big tough Careers having grown tired of the same old things – you can only throw around a mace, watching it manoeuvre in your hands as you control its every move, for a little while. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself to go and meet the clumsy girl, however, I’m beaten to the weapons station by another girl, seemingly harmless, and whom appears to be around my own age.

Oh, great. Two foolish girls for alliance partners. Yet it was better than nobody at all, and it was obvious that most alliances had already been formed. If I was to getting anywhere, I had to make an effort as soon as possible.

My two targets start wandering off towards the knot tying section, which I find amusing because, really, knot-tying isn’t a very good survival skill to have when you’re fighting for your life. And yet, I was desperate now, and so I slowly wandered over to the station where the two other girls were, emerging from my shadowy realm that reminded me all too much of home. On my way over, I pick up a knife from the weapons station, and with a quick glance at one of the tied knots hanging from a desk, I throw the knife at it, watching it cut the thread and slowly fall to the ground. (Was there need for the dramatic entrance, Belle?) I clear my throat and let the words escape before I can regret spitting them out. ‘I saw you drop that sword over there. Not so skilled, are we? And I don’t want to be rude, but knot-tying probably isn’t going to save you when you’re in the arena with nothing but a little piece of string to save you. I don’t know much, I admit, but I know enough, and I can help you – both of you – if you want it.’ The venomous offer hangs in the air, and I gaze intently at them, waiting.

How brave are you?