save your scissors | {lalia} | blitz

admin dars
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save your scissors | {lalia} | blitz Sept 27, 2015 17:10:15 GMT -5

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Post by admin dars on Sept 27, 2015 17:10:15 GMT -5

D U S T Y N

As the train rolled away, Dustyn felt himself begin to fade. He was becoming a memory already, wasn't he? Becoming a "used to" instead of a "will be"? Bette's cries still echoed through his mind. He still saw her falling to her knees and allowing the grief to take her whole. He still heard Arty's words: "Tell her I love her." He still felt the warmth of Carson's tiny, tiny little arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

But what he wondered, though, was how long they would remember those things.

He found himself absent-mindedly chewing on strawberries and staring at Bette's flowers within the gentle hum of the train's engine. The world outside was a blur, but hadn't it always been? And his District partner had recently taken up shelter in the seat next to him. Neither spoke for a while. He wondered if she was excited to be on that train, if she already knew she wasn't just going to be a memory, or if she was like him: hopeful but not convinced.

He swallowed down a bite of fruit and nodded to the girl. "Quite a day, huh?" He held out the bowl of fruit as a sort of peace treaty. He wanted to be her friend. Either she understood how he felt or she could help him to change his feelings and... and he thought perhaps this girl would be his best shot. "Want some? They're really sweet."

Her eyes.

He had only just noticed the way they were structured: more alien than human. Her pupils were slits like that of a cat and the color was vibrant and sort of gave her the feeling that she was a poisonous creature. Honestly, she probably was: Most were. "By the way... your eyes are sort of incredible."

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

L△LIA
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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

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save your scissors | {lalia} | blitz Sept 27, 2015 20:03:18 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Sept 27, 2015 20:03:18 GMT -5

you don’t mess with love
you mess with the truth

Circe Lyons was the accidental back-up plan you never thought you'd need and when you take a seat, you feel her ghost and how it sat here before you. You’d known she’d die from the beginning, familiar with her devotion to Elya, and your heart broke for her over and over and over again throughout the Seventieth — when she volunteered for a suicide mission, when the girl she loved fell by everyone’s mistake, when she took her last breath. After the Bloodbath, you had renamed all of your hope after her, convincing yourself you might have been wrong for the second time in your life. It wasn’t out of greed for a hunk of gold, but with a legitimate wish for her to come home.

It is a common misconception that you are heartless. You cared about those girls.

You still do.

This train is haunted, but it seems only your sight can see what hides in the shadows. The boy beside you seems to have no interest in the souls that came before the two of you, sucking down strawberries as he stares into your eyes. “Quite a day, huh? Want some? They’re really sweet." You recognize the moment of fixation, knowing it well. “By the way… your eyes are sort of incredible.”

You don’t blink. Instead you let the corner of your lips hook up and into him, making escape impossible. Casually plucking the strawberry from his fingers, you take a bite and lick the juice from your lips, staring him down. There’s something even sweeter about his face, just begging you to sate your hunger with something more substantial than fruit. “Your eyes aren’t so bad either,” you reply with a girlish laugh haloing the words, masking the double edge. No, this is definitely not a bad boy. Even with all the ghosts lurking around, you are by far the worst thing in the room and, yes, that feat does make you rather incredible.

In the background, the television is replaying the Reapings. Your gaze flicks between the screen and your District partner’s face, plotting your strategy days, weeks in advance. Queen Corléon knows the Game has already begun and that you are looking into the face of your potential pawn, bishop, rook —

King?

Those strange, slurred pupils catch on an the image of the giant from Eleven, almost too large to fit into the frame.

No. The king is yet to come.

A knight perhaps, naively convinced his armor is shining. Would he try to save you? Your smile is a perfect picture of innocence, bashful enough to appear genuine. “Some people think I’m scary. I’m glad you’re not one of them.” In the wake of these words, you swear you can hear Circe and Elya snickering knowingly to each other. To this day, however, they keep your secrets. This boy doesn’t need to know about the blood on your hands until it’s his own. “I’m Beretta,” you murmur just softly enough that he’ll need to lean in to catch it, holding your hand out to see if he’s willing to offer up his own in exchange.

Queen! The ghosts of your fellow merry murderesses heckle from beyond the hush, from death, from their undying home in your heart. Because, yes, you have one… just probably not for him.

( C H A R A C T E R S )

admin dars
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save your scissors | {lalia} | blitz Sept 27, 2015 21:29:01 GMT -5

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Post by admin dars on Sept 27, 2015 21:29:01 GMT -5

D U S T Y N

From the moment the girl's lips curled into a smile, he knew. She was a powerful force: a gale wind accelerating into a hurricane at a rapid pace and, oh, what was he? The sunlight on a cloudless day? The world had no room for brightness and cheer, Beretta had already learned that lesson and grown in the shadows like she was supposed to, hadn't she? He envied her for her ability to be so charismatic and charming. "Well, Beretta, you are still plenty scary. But I don't see why that means you can't still be incredible."

He watched her until she watched back, and his eyes fell to the floor. Yes, she was the storm that kept people from thinking about people like him. She was the rain and the wind and the destruction and the power District Two expected all of it's citizens to be: a perfect specimen. He knew everyone would love her, or fear her, which was all the same on camera. His skin met with hers for a moment and hoped flickered within him. Could this girl be his salvation?

Could she be his undoing?

In the end, if it were down to the two of them, he knew she would wear the crown and he an oak box with his name burned across the top. He knew it already. But what was to come of them before? He didn't see why he couldn't become friends with her: tributes in the past had always forged alliances and truces and even the most ruthless proved hearts pumped blood beneath the surface of their proud chests. If he died, or she, or both, it wouldn't matter if they were friends or enemies. What was the point in catching hatred in a golden box and designating it to the cat-eyed girl with a pretty smile and a soothing voice?

"I'm Dustyn." he said when their hands finally parted. He stopped himself from saying what was left on his tongue and dealt with the bittersweet aftertaste when he swallowed them down:

~~"And I need your help to survive this thing."~~

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

L△LIA
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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

save your scissors | {lalia} | blitz Sept 27, 2015 23:21:57 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Sept 27, 2015 23:21:57 GMT -5

BERETTA CORLÉON

you got yourself
in a dangerous zone
cause we both
have the fear

Scary is such an understatement that you almost laugh aloud and it’s only that flare of amusement that prevents you from visibly blanching at his small resistance. Ignorance is of the utmost importance. This is a knight made to fall on his own sword, a soldier unwittingly doomed to battle himself, and you fully intend to benefit from the best of his intentions.

Elya’s ghost gestures wildly from the other side of the table as she retells the story of the day you caught wind of a rat who’d been fool enough to brag about knowing the whereabouts of the peacekeeper who’d taken her eye. You chopped all ten of his fingers off with a butcher knife, although you’d known before the blade ever touched the first that he was a useless liar. Clearly he hadn’t known better before, but he’d certainly learned that lesson by the time it was over. You left the vermin tied up, unable to escape with those sad, bloody stubs. The last thing his fingers managed to free himself of was hunger, not death.

Incredible.

Widening your smile at the company you keep, it's as if you’re patting him on the head for a job well done. That’s better. Good boy. The way he says his own name reminds you of the last punctuation mark in a book. Finality and endings will come for him, but not today, and so you catch his pinkie finger with your own as he tries to pull away, snaring him. “I’ll look out for you if you look out for me, Dustyn. Promise.” The fatal trap of your touch might feel deceptively warm, but it’s certainly not optional. There’s more than one way to die and it truly would be better for him to do so as your henchman than as your foe.

“Are you excited to see the Capitol?” Nonchalantly changing the subject before he can see past your eyes to the snake tongue that confesses what kind of animal you really are, it’s only now that you release his hand. You want him to feel needed because he is.

You need him to die.

It’d be nice if the two of you didn’t have to make a grand ordeal of it. It’s only Elya who seems to disagree.

( C H A R A C T E R S )