{burning paper heart} Pyrian.

Lulu
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{burning paper heart} Pyrian. Mar 7, 2013 22:29:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lulu on Mar 7, 2013 22:29:43 GMT -5

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east blind to west
i confess
i've been tunneling through
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As I walked among the strange, viney foliage in the peculiar garden, I found myself countin' the dead in my mind. It was easy to lose track—how far along were we? There couldn't be more than twelve left, not after all the carnage the past few days. Halfway there. We're halfway there, and still no one's managed to snuff out your flame. Halfway there, halfway to livin' or dyin'. Whatever it was that happened to me, it was refreshing to know, at least, that somethin' would be decided soon. That I wouldn't have to keep wandering through this unfamiliar place, treadin' on foreign, leafy ground, explorin' wild places and trying to decipher cryptic clues that seemed to be leadin' us on a wild goose chase. Killin' people was no picnic, either, though I realized I'd been getting unsettlingly used to it since I'd started doing it. Oh, and let's not forget watchin' countless idiots try and kill my twin brother—that probably took the cake.

The latest of Pyrian's assailants had been a cluster of creepy, tiny little moles that came out of the ground and tried to devour our toes, disregarding the fact that they were supposedly protected by boots. But those teeth were sharp as nails, that much was clear just from lookin' at the vile rats; I'd managed to spot them early and duck out of the way so that the one goin' after me missed entirely, but Pyrian hadn't been so lucky. I couldn't sign to him in time, so he found himself with a giant bite mark in his shoe, and a couple of toes bitten clean off, on top of that.

Leavin' Owen alone to reorganize our supplies and take inventory after our latest encounter, I helped my brother limp over to a grassy, clear area of the garden shaded by a couple of jungle trees. I'd decided to take it upon myself to try and deal with his bleedin' stubs of toes, dressing the wounds and applying pressure and all that jazz I'd learned durin' training week before the Games. This'll hurt,

[/color]I signed to him, wincing internally just thinkin' about the pain of losin' toes. He would still be able to walk—they hadn't nibbled off enough to prevent that—but it would be painful and slow-going. He would need my help every step of the way.

As I dabbed an antiseptic pad on his feet, I tried to distract him from the pain. Remember that time when we were out buildin' a bonfire in the woods, and that swarm of raccoons came and chased us all the way home, screamin' like little girls? I laughed aloud, delighted by the memory. That had been... two years ago? Three? Or when we accidentally set dad's favorite lab coat on fire and blamed it on his secretary?[/color] Swiftly my fingers began to weave stories of our childhood, the good ones, the bad ones, and the slightly frightening ones, all the ones that illustrated the lives of the Keeni twins. My hands moved with lightning speed, almost effortlessly, like they were commanded by my every thought; we were just that accustomed to the language we'd crafted together. Then there was when we stayed up all night plottin' revenge on Bear for somethin' he did to us, I don't even remember what anymore, do you?[/color] At long last I fastened the last of the bandages on his stubs, and I couldn't help but sigh. I miss it, Py,[/i] said my fingers, slowing to a forlorn and remorseful pace, matchin' my demeanor as they always seemed to. I miss it all. I miss everyone. But mostly I miss us bein' us, you know? I reached out to grab his hand, the hand that had been with me through fifteen-and-a-half long and wild years of life. The one that had been my only steady constant. My brother's. [/blockquote]

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waiting to meet him
in perfect positioning
you know just what i'd do
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Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 22:30:14 GMT -5 by Lulu

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{burning paper heart} Pyrian. Mar 8, 2013 2:05:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Mar 8, 2013 2:05:08 GMT -5

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There were three tributes in this arena who were powerful, perhaps undefeatable. There was Asunder, who could kill a girl with his flaming arrows and deadly precision in a matter of seconds. There was Owen, who had slain a fair share of tributes with his mighty sword and battled fearlessly through countless wounds. There was Gypsy, who had at least three corpses in her name, including the deer she had bested with merely one toss of a knife shrouded in her special flame. And then there was Pyrian, the boy who couldn’t walk straight because a few moles had nibbled his toes off. The shame was almost as unbearable as the agony in his blood-coated foot. It now held the worst of the wounds that littered his body from head to toe, including the purple suction marks left by the swarm of leeches. Droplets of blood oozed out of these miniature incisions, but the stings of pain were ant bites compared to the fire engulfing the stubs where his toes once rested. He was forced to limp excruciatingly slow, each step summoning a new wave of shocking pain until Gypsy led him to a clearing basked in the shadows of a few high trees.

With vines trying to snag his ankles every five seconds it wasn’t a simple task weaving his way through this maze of plants, but he couldn’t just give up right then and there. They were moles, for heaven’s sake; small enough to carry, and he had been pathetic enough to let them make a fool of him on live television.

All of Panem is probably laughing at me right now. He imagined their glossed lips parted into mocking, open-mouthed smiles as they cackled at his misfortune while he forever remained oblivious to the sounds of their voices. The thought made him grimace in mixed pain and humiliation as he lowered himself into a bed of grass and leaned against the nearest tree, leg extended so Gypsy could dress his wounds. He already knew what was coming when she drew the first aid kit, and grabbed his ankle to prevent himself from flinching once she began to apply the antiseptic pad. The sensation was terrible, a burning he’d never experienced before. Blisters from an open flame were one thing, but this was a complete loss of a body part. Pieces of him were missing, his blood was spilling into the dirt, he was losing parts of himself he could never recover. Next it’ll be my damn sanity.

A hiss of pain followed every touch. He squeezed his ankle and gritted his teeth to fight it, still scavenging for the bits of pride he had left. He had blinked tears away several times before, and so far none had managed to spill down his cheeks. Of all things he couldn’t cry in front of Gypsy; she was as tough as nails, and he was meant to be as well. Besides, he couldn’t give Panem the satisfaction of watching him crumble because of a few stupid moles, so instead of submitting to the pain he hardened his expression and focused on Gypsy instead of his blood. Her hands were moving fluidly in a considerate attempt to distract him with stories of their past, and even with the overwhelming pain he couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his features or the strangled chuckle that escaped his constricted throat. Yes, he remembered the raccoons; rabid, mean little things, they were. Ankle-biters, too, and the twins had been so frightened by them. But then afterward, we laughed like we always did. And the secretary, he remembered that too. Their father had been frustrated with her until he had quickly realized that she was not the one to blame. After that, he had tried to take their matches away. For a scientist, he’s can be pretty stupid. Some things would never change.

His arms shook a bit when he began to form signs in response, but he didn’t let the pain stop him from using his only methods of communication to talk to the one person he could ever have a conversation with. The memory of Bear and their revenge was a blur in his mind, but he could withdraw bits and pieces of it. ”I think he tried to hide our matches or steal your cigs or somethin', I dunno. I just remember you bein' super mad about it.” His smile twitched into a bitter frown when she applied the last of the bandages to his tender wounds. She grabbed his hand, then, her skin worn by the arena’s harsh conditions. He bit the inside of his cheek, realizing that he agreed all too well to her silent statements. ”I miss it too,” he signed, hands a bit steadier now. ”Everything’s changed too much, and it’s gonna stay changed forever. I wish we could just go back to the way things were.”[/i] He missed it all - the weekly bonfires, the troublemaking, the pranks, their playful chats, everything. There was nothing to gain from these games, nothing at all - except a friend, remember? You made a friend. Yet they had been doomed from the start. Both of them would have to die if it meant crowning his sister, but the image of Noah with his eyes glassy and his clothes drenched in his own blood prompted him to exhale a shaky breath and shake his head. Gypsy still didn’t know about what had happened between the two of them - at least, he didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure if revealing secrets was suitable in this wasteland of death, so he merely squeezed her hand and savored the moments they could still share, because they could be my last.[/justify][/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2013 2:25:49 GMT -5 by Python

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{burning paper heart} Pyrian. Mar 9, 2013 21:35:41 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lulu on Mar 9, 2013 21:35:41 GMT -5

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ice paved street
saved heat
running low
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My fingers were nimble from years and years of startin' fires and practicin' signing to Pyrian, so even though I had very limited knowledge of first aid I was able to fix his toes up pretty quick. Between dabs of antiseptic and fastenin' of bandages we signed back and forth to each other, exchanging stories of our past. It was one of those times where I was glad that I had my brother here, had someone to make waitin' for the unknown a little easier, a little less painful and uncertain. It was refreshin', to find this little bit of solace, because more and more lately I found myself wishin' I could've gone into this alone, without Pyrian. Without the added feeling of a sinking heart every time someone waved a knife at him. Finally I remembered why I wouldn't wanna be here with anyone else.

I wish we could just go back to the way things were, read his hands, and I could think of no possible way to express how much I agreed. We'd taken life for granted, Py and me, runnin' around, matches and lighters in hand, without a care in the world except what kind of mayhem we could cook up next. We'd thought the Hunger Games were worlds away; hell, I barely even watched them when we were on television, let alone anticipated being in them. Half the time I kept expectin' to wake up and realize none of it had even happened, and Py and me had plans to try and set a couple trees on fire that afternoon. But we're here. We're really here, and we're still alive.

The thought of winning had crossed my mind a couple times, but I'd forced myself not to dwell on it; now, for once, I tried to imagine what it would be like. I imagined being in that final battle, my rapier ablaze with the weapon fire I'd mastered by then. Plastered across my face was a feral expression of determination and hatred and whatever else I'd be feelin' at the time; I had no idea what. I would tear my opponent apart fast, without even thinking about it in case I started to have second thoughts, but at that point I'd probably be too far gone to even care. They'd lift me out of this mystery of an arena, but I wouldn't let them fix me up and make me presentable because why shouldn't the nation see who I'd become as I left the arena? And when I sat on that throne, I wanted—no, needed—to be awarded a crown of flames. I wouldn't accept anything else.

Py,

[/i] I signed cautiously, beginning to pack up the medical kit, wiping some of Pyrian's blood off of my hands. What happens if one of us wins? Finally, finally I was bringin' myself to ask the question that I knew had been risin' like a brick wall between us since we'd both gotten Reaped. On one hand, I knew we'd both support each other to the final minute. But on the other, what if it came down to my life or his life? You're selfish, and you'd pick yours. That's what would happen. Would he pick his? And if one of us did win, how would we deal with knowin' that the other had died so that we could live? I knew at this point if I wanted to make this easier on myself I would have to leave Pyrian, and sooner rather than later. But how did you bring yourself to leave the one person who'd been with you your entire life? What do we do then?[/blockquote][/i]

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running out
we made this river a wall
it's a natural drought
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Last Edit: Mar 9, 2013 21:35:57 GMT -5 by Lulu

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{burning paper heart} Pyrian. Mar 10, 2013 1:14:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Mar 10, 2013 1:14:39 GMT -5

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What happens if one of us wins?

Since the day he had set foot on that stage in front of hundreds of cameras and thousands of eyes the prospect of victorship had haunted him like a lingering nightmare. He valued his life, his dreams, his goals, and his future, but with Gypsy sharing the experience it was difficult to imagine crowning himself when it meant watching her die. He wanted to be selfish, he had tried to be selfish and concentrated only on his own strengths and skills in the training center. But Gypsy was always there. They’d spent fifteen years of their lives together as an inseparable pair, partners in crime, a dangerous duo who shared identical passions and similar interest in causing mischief, and the Games wouldn’t change that. They had been Reaped together, as if fate had decided the two were tied together by invisible strings, and as much as it was meant to be it was also a terrible, terrible curse. Now, either one of them had to perish, or both of them would. There was no limbo, no “in-between”, no compromise. There could never be two victors. Only one Keeni could conquer the Games, and after long nights and dreadful mornings deliberating before the Games Pyrian had decided it would not be his presence that graced the cheering crowds of The Capitol at the end of this journey. Whatever was destined for him would lie in another world.

What do we do then? It was a difficult question to answer. Pyrian didn’t know what awaited those who died; would he just float around in empty space? Would he merely cease to exist and lose his mind? Or was there an afterlife, like those described in some of the books he had read? And would there be a line of perished tributes waiting to greet him? He didn’t know, he didn’t know what he would do when Gypsy won because he would die before then. Imagining her with a flaming crown and eternal fame was simpler. He knew she would probably miss him, but eventually she would move on and cherish a new lifestyle. She would bring wealth to the family, make new friends, continue lighting the fires that defined her as a human being and fierce spirit, and embrace longevity and happiness. She would be allowed to do whatever the hell she wanted, and he knew she would take advantage of it. He could play out the scenario in his head, her small frame draped in capitol attire as she walked across her stage and received her golden crown. He knew exactly what she would do, and he knew it was worth sacrificing himself for.

”I dunno. If one of us wins, there won’t be a ‘we’ anymore,” said his hands, moving at a slower pace from the weight of pain and infectious melancholy. He knew he wanted to protect her until the end, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to parting with her and losing everything. It was his life, after all, and losing everything in just one moment sounded terrifying. He didn’t know where he would go, what he would do, or if he would continue to exist at all. It was the thought of Gypsy smiling with her crown that reminded him he couldn’t submit to fear, and it was the image of her corpse that struck his heart and warned him that he could not fail.

”But whoever ends up winnin‘, she’ll be the one who deserves it the most.”
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Last Edit: Mar 10, 2013 2:01:53 GMT -5 by Python