time to get the chains out [Cato]
Oct 3, 2015 14:38:02 GMT -5
Post by arx on Oct 3, 2015 14:38:02 GMT -5
eirwen birch
district 2 - nineteen - the devil's spawn
My feet have grown numb to the cold as I race through the night, heels in hand, my feet pattering against the cool pavement. Run, run, run. I sneak a peek over my shoulder seeing the beams of flashlights dancing around the corner. I push on --- harder, faster, run --- ducking around a corner just before I hear the shouting of the Peackeepers come around the corner. ("Where you at, you bitch!") If I had the energy I would grin. I shallow out my breathing, catching my breath as quickly as possible. The lights get closer; I'm already gone.
I turn as many corners as I can and run until all I can hear are rats scurrying under garbage bins and the trickle of water in a gutter. It's been such a long time since I've had to run. Damn. Who knew that aging out of Career training could leave a girl so out of shape?
As my breathing begins to slow and my heart beats slower and slower in my chest, I laugh. Idiot Peacekeepers, thinking they could catch me?! I was the spawn of the devil, a creature of the night, the assassin of District 2, a member of the underground cult no one believed existed! No Peacekeeper would ever lay a hand on me. But tonight --- if I'm completely honest about the situation --- was a close call.
It was a high profile kill. No doubt there would be whispers about it when the sun rose tomorrow. There had been witnesses, enough that I couldn't get rid of them all, and I hadn't accounted for the women's partner who shined a flashlight on me the moment I ripped my knife from her chest. Sloppy. It had been ridiculously sloppy work. But the job was done, and now I was meant to return to Birch Manor.
I protested the order to return "home." It was one of only 6 times over the course of 4 years that I have questioned an order. Ultimately I was shut down like the good little assassin I am, taking the order blindly, but I still had no intention of going back. Did they know what it was like, living in a Career family as a 19 year old? I had been hated before I aged out, but now that I had zero chances of entering arena ... I wasn't a Birch in their eyes anymore. The best thing I could do now was get knocked up, slap my name on the product, and wait 12 years.
No. I wasn't going home to that.
I did, however, need somewhere to crash if I didn't want to freeze to death; I could see my breath appear in clouds before me. I sigh, shiver. I could always make a visit to --- Pathetic. I was so pathetic.
I roll my eyes at myself and make the next turn, the turn that would take me to the Blackmore residence.
The last time I was here it was --- rather disastrous. But I wasn't going to see the Blackmores, nor did I plan on knocking on the door and announcing my lineage to them. No, I knew exactly where Logan's room was (it was a mission you disgusting perverts) and exactly how to break in.
Step one: Be really fucking quiet. Step two: Now be even quieter. Step three: Climb to the window sill. Step four: Open said window--- "Fuck!"
I curse as the window refuses to budge. Locked? For Ripred's sake is it rusted shut of something? I sigh, curling up on the window sill and resorting to my only real option --- knocking. I tap on the window pane lightly, cup my hands and press my face to the glass.
"C'mon, Mr. Blackmore," I murmur against the glass, my breath fogging the window. "Let a fellow murderer in."
I turn as many corners as I can and run until all I can hear are rats scurrying under garbage bins and the trickle of water in a gutter. It's been such a long time since I've had to run. Damn. Who knew that aging out of Career training could leave a girl so out of shape?
As my breathing begins to slow and my heart beats slower and slower in my chest, I laugh. Idiot Peacekeepers, thinking they could catch me?! I was the spawn of the devil, a creature of the night, the assassin of District 2, a member of the underground cult no one believed existed! No Peacekeeper would ever lay a hand on me. But tonight --- if I'm completely honest about the situation --- was a close call.
It was a high profile kill. No doubt there would be whispers about it when the sun rose tomorrow. There had been witnesses, enough that I couldn't get rid of them all, and I hadn't accounted for the women's partner who shined a flashlight on me the moment I ripped my knife from her chest. Sloppy. It had been ridiculously sloppy work. But the job was done, and now I was meant to return to Birch Manor.
I protested the order to return "home." It was one of only 6 times over the course of 4 years that I have questioned an order. Ultimately I was shut down like the good little assassin I am, taking the order blindly, but I still had no intention of going back. Did they know what it was like, living in a Career family as a 19 year old? I had been hated before I aged out, but now that I had zero chances of entering arena ... I wasn't a Birch in their eyes anymore. The best thing I could do now was get knocked up, slap my name on the product, and wait 12 years.
No. I wasn't going home to that.
I did, however, need somewhere to crash if I didn't want to freeze to death; I could see my breath appear in clouds before me. I sigh, shiver. I could always make a visit to --- Pathetic. I was so pathetic.
I roll my eyes at myself and make the next turn, the turn that would take me to the Blackmore residence.
The last time I was here it was --- rather disastrous. But I wasn't going to see the Blackmores, nor did I plan on knocking on the door and announcing my lineage to them. No, I knew exactly where Logan's room was (
Step one: Be really fucking quiet. Step two: Now be even quieter. Step three: Climb to the window sill. Step four: Open said window--- "Fuck!"
I curse as the window refuses to budge. Locked? For Ripred's sake is it rusted shut of something? I sigh, curling up on the window sill and resorting to my only real option --- knocking. I tap on the window pane lightly, cup my hands and press my face to the glass.
"C'mon, Mr. Blackmore," I murmur against the glass, my breath fogging the window. "Let a fellow murderer in."
tough girl i'm in pain
it's lonely at the top
blackouts and airplanes
i still pour you a glass of champagne
tough girl whose soul aches
it's lonely at the top
blackouts and airplanes
i still pour you a glass of champagne
tough girl whose soul aches
