D7 ♡ Lena

D7 ♡ Lena May 31, 2013 3:50:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by clover ❁ on May 31, 2013 3:50:28 GMT -5

It's ever so odd, the way most would swear the house has been empty for years. "There used to be children living there," say the elderly, "but I don't know where they went." It's true that many years ago the most peculiar children were sent to Miss Partridge - those without parents, the ones that the system didn't wish to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, however, they're still there.

Of course, the first to reside in the Partridge home grew up. They lived their lives after leaving - although many would swear part of them still lurked in the corridors, refusing to let it go. As the years turned, one after another, and each Games went by, more unwanted youngsters appeared on the doorstep. Each one, Miss Partridge took under her wing. They weren't naughty or uncontrollable - but each and every one of them was similar in that they were decidedly peculiar.

For a house of oddities, the streets of District Seven are no haven. They are filled with eyes that bore into skin and avoid the children on the sidewalks, uncomfortable with their very presence. Because of this, Miss Partridge created the perfect sanctuary in the gardens that surround the old house, and it is there they almost always stay.

It's hard to say with whom the fault lies - should the authorities have done a better job finding homes for the children? Should the citizens of the District embraced them with open arms? Perhaps the children themselves should spend less time frolicking in their secluded paradise and more time 'fixing' their differences. Either way, nobody - (not even the kindhearted and stern Miss Partridge) - can argue with the truth. The children are very strange indeed.

Even more so than the young members of the household, Lena is clueless and innocent. She's sweet, with a timid smile always dancing on her lips and words rarely spilling from her shy mouth. When she does manage to say something, she stumbles and stutters over her quiet words. This chronic fear of speaking is not, however, the peculiarity that got her into Partridge House. Almost a year ago, the child gave birth herself to a baby, which resulted in her being banished from her home. The circumstances surrounding the pregnancy are unclear, however they seem to have led to Lena's incredible fear of the truth - she openly deceives and lies without understanding her actions. She's in no way malicious - just entirely unreliable and unstable, plagued by a guilt that makes her near unreachable beyond her sweet smiles. Despite being the only true mother of the house, she's one of the most dependant, unable to act of her own accord and too nervous to venture far from the garden.

D7 ♡ Lena Jun 9, 2013 7:00:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by clover ❁ on Jun 9, 2013 7:00:11 GMT -5

[presto]

lena partridge
seventeen
district seven

[/presto]

"They scream: the worst things in life come free to us. And we're all under the upper hand."

INFORMATION

NAME

Lena Partridge

AGE

Seventeen

DISTRICT

Seven

OCCUPATION

Mother

FACECLAIM

Yumi Lambert

CODEWORD

Odair

BIOGRAPHY

Liar, said the voices in her head. "Liar," said the people with scolding faces and harsh eyes and furrowed brows. Lena, she said to herself, over and over, before the voices blurred and the two words became one. It started a long time ago - so far back that the faces in her memory have become blurry and the words broken and disjointed.

"Lena, is there something you aren't telling me?"

Her mind stopped. Was there? She decided that there couldn't be. Surely a girl as kind and sweet as her would never deceive her mother. "No, Ma." (But there was something, wasn't there, right at the back of her mind, hiding behind a cluttered abyss of darkness. Almost as though she couldn't quite reach that something - she grasped for it, but fell short.) No. Shaking her head, Lena smiled as reassuringly as she could manage.

"Tell me the truth, Lena."

A frown. Lena asked herself what the truth was. Was she keeping a secret, after all? If her mother's face was a canvas she could not understand, her own mind had become a page filled with foreign words and scattered numbers. "Ma, please," she begged, beginning to doubt herself. Perhaps she had forgotten something. Remember, Lena. (For a moment she could see the cold night and the bitter snow and the feel of his skin upon hers and the following morning and the weeks that followed it where she was ever so ill.)

"Don't you dare lie to me."

No, no. She mustn't dare, she couldn't, she wouldn't. She had to find the truth and bring it to her mother. Perhaps that would restore the smile to her lips and the stern, comforting glow to her eyes. Sitting across the table from the sixteen year old, she simply looked cold. Cold! (Cold like that night. Which night? Think, think, think.) It was gone again, and back again in the time it took Lena to run her fingers through her hair and replace them on her stomach. Gone. And then the bump there, so slight, but firm and secure and definiate.

"Are you pregnant, Lena?"

She shook her head. "No, Ma, I'm not,"she whispered, because she wasn't She couldn't be, and yet her mother's eyes pressed into her and demanded a different answer. "I'm not." She believed this. Her voice was comforting - it separated the jumbled flashes just beyond her grasp and gave her something to feel. Surprise. Yes, that seemed about right. (Thank goodness, now I know, I'm not a liar and not pregnant, not anything at all, just Lena again.)

"Liar."

A tear rolled down her dark cheek, landing in her lap. It was the first of many - (crying, that's sad, that's upset, she knew how to do that and it was right) - she couldn't meet her mother's eye.

go mad
for a couple grams
and she don't wanna go outside
t o n i g h t

The office was cold and dark, and nobody had reminded Lena to bring a coat. It wasn't just that - in the week since her parents had sent her to the other side of the District to live with her Aunt, she'd forgotten to eat. Her hair was unbrushed; work unattended and shoes left unused by the door. When questioned on these things by her Aunt, she had shrugged. (Nobody told her to to do these things, and so she didn't.) When her Aunt pressed her further, untruths would spill from her mouth like carefully woven tales; her face earnest and puzzled. That was how she'd ended up at sitting with the pale councillor, staring at her feet.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Lena considered this. Did she? It was often hard to tell what she did and didn't know. She'd taken to guessing, and watching the eyes of the person asking. Usually, they held the right answers. "Yes?" Lena was rewarded with a tight-lipped smile, and she relaxed for a second. She'd always been a sweet girl; eager to please, quiet and reserved. Since the beginning of what her mother insisted was a pregnancy and she was sure was nothing, people had stopped pinching her cheeks and patting her on the head and begun to look away when she passed. Mama said she was showing. Did that mean that the broken, scattered shards of right and wrong were clear on her face when people saw her in the street?

"And why might that be, Lena?"

Lena blinked. (Why was she there? Surely physiologists treated the insane, not good little Lena. Was she good? Still? Ever?) Dragging her mind back to the question at hand, the girl buried her face in her hands. "It isn't me you were supposed to see. I'm not... I'm not Lena." She wasn't Lena. Not Lena. (That was okay. She didn't have to be Lena, not now that being someone else might be better.) She focused on breathing for a little while, and then made to leave. That was right. She had stumbled into the wrong appointment. When the receptionist had asked her if she was Lena, she had lied. Not her. Mistake.

"You don't need to lie to me. Sit down, please."

She sat down quickly. Instructions were good - easy to follow, simple to carry out. For those, she didn't have to rely on herself to bridge the gaps. Questions were the problem. "I'm lying?" she asked, bewildered. She supposed it was nice to know. For a moment, she remembered the time when she had been able to trust herself - this amused her. She met the eyes of the therapist, giggling quietly. (It was ever so funny, wasn't it? Was it?) Her eyebrows knitted together, and the peels of laughter subsided as quickly as they had begun.

"Now, dear. I've found somewhere for you to stay after you've had the baby."

Lena's lip quivered. Stay. Stay. Stay. The word jabbed at her, flashing in her mind. It was wrong, ever so wrong. She swallowed, counting her breaths. One, two, three. Four, five, six. That was alright. That made sense. (But why didn't her mother want her anymore and what was this about a baby? Could it be something to do with that thing she couldn't manage to think about? Was that a baby? No, she was nice and demure and ever so shy. She wasn't pregnant.)

"You do know what's going on, don't you, Lena?"

Lena knew what was going on. Her mother had told her she was a disappointment and to get out of her house. She had spat the L-word, the one that wasn't quite Lena but meant almost the same thing. Her Aunt had done the same, scolding her and despairing. (How was she supposed to know to eat when nobody said she must? And surely everybody forgets to put on their shoes when they go for a wander in the snow every now and then?)

"You're confused. You're pregnant, you're going to have a baby. Your family doesn't like it; but that's alright. Once the baby is born, you're going to live in Partridge House, where you'll both be looked after. Everything will be okay."

With this, a stamp was planted on her file. Her lips parted slightly and she smiled warmly. "Oh, thank you," she gushed so quietly the woman had to lean forward to hear her words. Nodding appreciatively, Lena glowed. "Thank you so much." For the next few months, the community home remembered to insist she ate and drank almost every day.

it's too cold outside
for angels to fly; an angel will die
covered in white, closed
eyes

"What's her name?"

Lena grinned. She knew this one, surely. "I'm confused. I'm pregnant, and I'm going to have a baby. My family doesn't like it; but that's alright. Smiling demurely, the girl took a deep breath. Her audience was looking on with mixed reactions - a couple of raised eyebrows greeted her eager gaze. "Once the baby is born, I'm going to live in Partridge House, where we'll both be looked after. Everything will be okay."

"But you're holding the baby and this is Partridge House."

It is? It isn't. No, no, other people are right. Lena was wrong; but all of the voices outside of her head knew what they were saying. When the lady trimming Lena's hair told her it was such a lovely shade of brown, so dark and straight and glossy, Lena smiled. It was nice to know. And the baby! The baby! She was sitting in her arms, ever so quiet, just like Lena herself. "Her name is Mabel." This was true; cemented in her mind and certain. Baby Mabel smelled like powder and sweetness and milk. (She was perfect and this was right all the time, not just sometimes.)

"I can talk to her if you want. I can talk to anything - tables and chairs and sandwiches and babies, too."

Lena nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The people here seemed much better than the outside people. Already, it felt to Lena as though they understood the dark place between certainty and confusion. (Dare she call it sanity and insanity?) Here, she decided, answers weren't quite as important as intension. For a girl who always meant well, this was comforting. Baby Mabel stirred as the children introduced themselves one after another, occasionally announcing that they light fires for fun or are actually a china doll. Okay. Good. All of it, very, very good.

"Thank you."

Lena said this a lot. (This, like please and thank you and you look nice today miss were all good things that were right almost all the time and that were easy to remember.) What was even better was mumbling to Mabel - she didn't mind either way.