Lilac Dore | D2 | Done! | Hunger Games: The RPG

Lilac Dore | D2 | Done! May 15, 2014 21:17:07 GMT -5

Post by goldskies on May 15, 2014 21:17:07 GMT -5

Lilac Dore
District Two
Female
Eighteen
Lyrics: Glory and Gore ~ Lorde

It's always about the g.l.o.r.y.
It's not quite the fame,
Or the money.
No, it always the glory.

"And the cry goes out
They lose their minds for us
And how it plays out
Now we're in the ring
And we're coming for blood"

"Harder, Dore, faster. Ya incompetent idiot. Ya weakling. Don't be such a girl."

My coach, Barabbas, yelled at me. The words hit me like a blunt object bursting out of his mouth. They did not sting. My fists hit the black bag over and over. Sticky white tape cut into my finger, wrapped around my fists. Thump, thump, thump. Barrabus wasn't pushing the right buttons. I would have to push myself.
I ached everywhere. I felt alive with a healthy ache that penetrated every inch of my body. My arms burned, sweaty, hurting, and tense with pain. From over my shoulder a voice hissed at me. From the shoulder a voice hissed at me. It was not Barrabus but my own pendant mind still nagging through the pain. I've been listening to myself long enough to tune out any good advice I give myself, though. Conscious gives no consequences. That's why I have Barrabas.

"What's wrong with you, Dore?"

I'm hurting. I ache. That's what wrong with me. No one is mean to be pushed his far.

"Ya don' listen. Pathetic."

Thump. It hit once more with a sickening smack that wanted to shatter every bone in my arm. Barrabas was finding my weak spots.

"You'll never get better."

Maybe he's right.
My punches started going weaker.

"Better pray to the prez they don' reap ya because you'll be dead in the bloodbath."

Smack.
The black bag swayed, creaking on it's polished chain from the gym ceiling. Barrabas had found my weak spot. The chink in my armor. I could see him smirking out of the corner of my eye. Now my focus was only on the bag.
I slammed that heavy bag which dwarfed me, exhaling so hard my already burning lungs stung. Sweat dripped from my upper lip, forehead, chest, back, everywhere. My black tank top was drenched in sweat water, I smelled like a gladiator fresh out of the ring. Everywhere I felt my body tense and it begged to collapse.

"I thought ya wanted to be a Career?" Barrabas screamed at me.

Those words stung. They stung deep.
My nostrils flared. My heart be so fast it felt like a monster growing inside of me. It thumped inside of my ribcage, an animal wanting to be free. With each beat my body racked with new pain. I could hear it in my ears. All my weak lungs could do was push out enough air to say,

"Yeah."

"I said, 'I thought ya wanted to be a Career?' Do ya?"

I was going to collapse and die. I couldn't breathe. I had only room in my consciousness to think of the pain. I screamed, the word destroying my throat,

"Yes!"

Wham.

"Tell me ya wan' to be a Career!"

His small black eyes and bushy salt and pepper mustache were inches from my face. I did not fear Barrabas. I feared my own incompetence.

"I want to be a Career!"

"Good now this black bag here is a big, strong tribute who lifts boxes at a factory in Nine. He will kill you with his bare hands. Kill him first."

But all I saw in front of me was dirty, sweat-ridden black fabric. I punched it. Barrabus walked away to yell at some other kid. I swung my legs around and kicked it from the side. Switch my feet, shift my weight, wham, I punched the trim from Nine, slam, I shifted my weight to my back foot and spring-kicked. The bag swung to the side away, hard.

"This is punching drills for your puny arms muscles, Dore, not kicks. Do those on your own time" Barrabas called from the other other side of the gym. I whipped my head around mid-blow. He was working with a male Career with bulging muscles and a blonde buzz cut.
The word Career burned bright in the front of my mind like poison I wanted to drink, but my body burned more. My lungs gave out. I collapsed onto the cold white gym tile.
I heard laughter. The other hopeful Career's of District Two laughed as I lay there heaving, choking on the stinging breaths my lungs still pushed out. My light purple hair was drenched in sweat and clung to my bony, aching pale face.
I was a mess.

Crunch

The blonde boy stepped purposefully on my face as he walked my, laughing at my shaking figure. Blood spurted all over me and the sweaty white tile from my nose.

Mercy

Did these people not know mercy?

But I did not need mercy. Even though that's what I wanted. I needed the glory.

"There's a humming in the restless summer air
And we're slipping off the course that we prepared
But in all chaos, there is calculation
Dropping glasses just to hear them break
You've been drinking like the world was gonna end (it didn't)
Took a shiner from the fist of your best friend (go figure)
It's clear that someone's gotta go
We mean it but I promise we're not mean"

I pitched my black bag on the couch that day and slammed the door to my room behind my. It rattled. I've broken doors before.

"What do you mean she broke the door, Elise?"
"She slammed it in my face and the top hinge cracked off. The glass in the door shattered and cut my feet."
"LILAC! Did you slam the door in you mother's face?"
"Yes sir."
"And did it break?"
"Yes sir."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I was angry, sir."
"Why?"
"Because she never listens to me."
"Lilac! Darling, you know that's not--"
"Quiet Elise. No one wants to listen to a crying, screaming little girl anyways. I think you should stay in your room for a few weeks and think about what you've done."
"She's got to go to school, Tomas."
"No, she doesn't. Do you understand, Lilac?"
"Yes sir."
"Then why isn't your ass in your room already?"

My door does not have glass in it anymore.

I dabbed my nose with a rag as I stared into the frameless mirror in my room. My arms are tone but not muscular. My stomach is flat but lacks any defined sections of muscle. My skin is pale and dry. The blood has already dried on my face and I have use water to wash it off. I wear plain, practical clothes in black, blues, and dark greens. No conquerer wears pink. My lilac hair is dark at the roots and bleach-white in places wear the cheap color has washed out. It's long, tumbling over my barely-there breasts in a dying sort of way. I'm glad my hair is long, and quite thick, because it hides my large ears that stick out. I've mistreated my poor hair so much. It's supposed to be curly but I've dyed, bleached, and straightened it so much it just looks like the lifeless collection of cells it is with the occasional kink and bump or wave.

My eyes are small and narrow. Heavy lids cover dark eyes that lack life. They never sparkle, they only shine. They shine when I feel malicious. Which is rare but too often.

"Get out of my way kid," I spat, pushing the scrawny freckle-faced creature aside.
"Hey, stop it! My glasses!"
"Oh? And whose going to make me?"

I don't know why I'm such a bully. Maybe it's because I feel weak. No matter how hard I punch that bag it will never fall. No matter how strong I am my heart will always be that of a coward. How can I defend the weak if I my self am weak? So I have to settle for making everyone else feel weak in comparison.

My large, square lips hide my teeth which are all straight except for the front top two which one crosses in front of the other slightly and they're both crooked. My teeth are not white or yellow. They are somewhere in between. I don't smile much. When I do, it's with my lips pinched together tightly. Not that I have much to smile about nowadays.

"Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)
God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)
Chance is the only game I play with, baby
We let our battles choose us"

I threw myself onto my bed and burrowed into the covers. They are soft and the sweat makes the purple cotton sheets stick to my skin. I got up at four-thirty that morning so I could showed, eat, and meditate. I think it's funny how meditate rhymes with self-hate.

Meditate
Self-hate
Just wait
One day
I give
you
Your fate
I hate
Myself
You can
go to hell
It's too late
to amend
I'll just
defended
who I am

I do yoga after that and work out until I have to go to school. Truth is, I hate exercise. The kind that makes you strong, anyway. I love to kick, swing, block. Girly, as Barrabas would put it.

"Why would ya learn to defend when you could learn to crush?"

Most of all I loved to run. My feet hitting the pavement in the early morning. I used to skip the gym sometimes just to go run. Barrabas hated me for that. I didn't care. It wasn't him I was trying to impress.

"Only cowards can run. They leaner to run to run away. Coward."

Barrabas's voice hisses in my head. I can just see the bits of spit flying from under his mustache. I quit running after that.
Cowards never get the glory.

"You could try and take us (oh-oh)
But we're the gladiators (Oh! Oh!)
Everyone a rager (oh-oh)
But secretly they're saviors
Glory and gore go hand in hand
That's why we're making headlines (Oh! Oh!)
You could try and take us (oh-oh)
But victory's contagious"

I started training a little over two years ago, when was barely sixteen. When my aunt died.
Celestia was my father's sister and she was nothing like him. She was the only person in my extended family I liked. She was poor, especially for District Two, but she made it all right. Mother used to ask her to babysit me almost every day when I was younger. When I was older I came over my choice. I remember once, when I was fifteen, I was at her house. It was small and clean and it smelled like cheap air freshener.
"You're going to do something fabulous, okay, Lilac?"
She always made me cookies when I came over, even though Mother had me on a no-sugar diet. Back then my hair was shorter and snow-white. Still dark at the roots, though. We used to talk about boys. Every few months it was a new boy I liked. We talked gossip and the Games and anything at all. She was a mother, sister, and friend to me.

And then she killed herself.

I know she was going through a hard time. I knew she had struggled with depression for years. She really didn't have anybody but me. No one ever married her. My father's family practically disowned her for something she did I never found out about. She was poor. And till my mother used her as a nanny. Treated like hired help and never even paid her.

But why wasn't I enough?
She could have lived, for me. Didn't she want to live for me? Didn't she know how much she would hurt me me? Scar me? Wound me? She was the thing that made me strong. Now she is gone.

Gone
Not strong
Pain
Hang on
It won't
Be long
Before
I stop
the world
But I can't

I haven't liked any boy since.
Now all I have left to care about is the Games.

I want to win the Games. I want to wave the throngs of adoring fans because I will finally be enough. I will be strong. I will win. I will have all the glory. No pauper's death for me.
I want to be a conquerer. I want to watch people fall at my hand, bleed at my touch, cower at my name. I want to be strong. I want the g.l.o.r.y.

"No-one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed
The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home
Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises, we'll always win at this
I don't ever think about death
It's alright if you do, it's fine"

Yeah.
"We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves
Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes
Wide awake in bed, words in my brain,
"Secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?"
Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means"

I want the G.L.O.R.Y

THREADS:
in the dark, we come out & {play}