Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak}

JaneD
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Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak} Dec 17, 2015 18:45:45 GMT -5

Post by JaneD on Dec 17, 2015 18:45:45 GMT -5

marguerite harvard d2a (zori)

    The sun had woken long before Paige on Sunday morning. She could hear her father and brother laughing downstairs; she could feel a sunbeam falling onto her closed eyes, beckoning her into consciousness. Her groan filled the room as she tugged her blankets over her head to escape its blinding light, but instead of falling back asleep she lay wide eyed staring up at the quilted blanket covering her. It was made for her when she was born, and now the colors were fading, there were holes lining the edges, and it no longer had the length needed to cover her feet, but still it reminded her of her mother who had made the quilt for her when she was baby, and who made a similar quilt for her brother when he was born. Its colors are still vibrant and it usually sits neatly folded at the foot of the bed that her father and brother share as a bright reminder of what they lost.

    The front door opening and closing startled Paige out of her thoughts, she whips the blanket off her face and listens closely for noise downstairs. It seems eerily quiet in the house, all the laughing and talking she had been hearing all morning suddenly sucked up into a vacuum of silence. She supposed her brother and father must have left for a walk, judging by the sun streaming in, it must be a beautiful day. Rolling onto her side she notices a piece of paper and pile of coins sitting on her bedside table. A slender arm reaches out from underneath the covers to carefully jerk the paper from underneath the coins without them spilling over the side.

                                        Whenever you wake up, please go to the market.
                                        We are out of food. Love you!
                                        Signed Holt and, in very wobbly letters, Caden.

    Finally sitting up in bed Paige looks over to the small pile of money her father left her. Her stomach drops seeing it, and she knew without counting this would not be enough to buy much of anything. Her head hung in response to the cold metal weighing down her hand, anxiety and worry creepy in through her skin. A thought hits her. She hasn’t paid the market a visit in a while, and all at once she knew now how she was going to spend her day, and how she was going to feed her brother and father. At this thought a small smile creeps on her face.

    She dresses quickly in her darkest clothes, stopping briefly to pull her long hair back and out of her face. On the way out of the door she throws on her black cloak that has a home on a hook in the wall by the front door. It billows as she steps out, pulling the hood over her head and covering the sides of her face. Paige makes her way towards the market by going around the edge of town, sticking closely to shadows and dirt paths. Despite her precautionary steps, today feels uncomfortable to her and every few steps her head keeps spinning around to check that no ones following. Perhaps after more time than normal due to nervous backtracking, she finds herself outside the largest market in District 12. Paige kneels by a tree a hundred yards away, planning which areas to strike.

Last Edit: Dec 17, 2015 18:47:00 GMT -5 by JaneD

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Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak} Dec 19, 2015 1:21:57 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2015 1:21:57 GMT -5

Ringer Sperling

Winter had come. Ringer would not oblige to naming the season until it prickled through his skin and made the goose pimples rise; he could not form the word on his lips until the general feeling had passed up and through his body. That morning was as clear as any, sun rising through the darkness and scattering along the back wall through the patched curtains. The holes had come years ago, after a thorough wash to scour the dust, and never been patched since. Curtains didn’t need tending, not like hands or hearts, and so his mother had left the window dressings well enough alone. A chill crept through the drafty panes, crisp enough that he woke from his sleep with a start. Twyla was not at his side. His little sister, who clung to him in the night for warmth had already broken with the day—leaving her older brother to snooze through.

Mother had set the coffee, which bubbled and hissed the next room over. He could smell the aroma underneath the door, its stench piercing the air and filling his throat. Perhaps his tired eyes would widen, and he could be ready for the day. Here was the true test of winter, that the sluggishness that set about his bones would take a firmer hold, one that wouldn’t shake until the snow melted in April. For a boy that was slow and steady, the winter hindered Ringer. While the boys at school or the men at the mine would chatter on and life would proceed, he would stretch through time, dissolve into what were the long winter months. His bones ached, and his mouth ran dry. He could feel the stiffness—winter, as it was, a time for things to stay still.

This wasn’t to say he hated the world during those months. Quite the contrary, he found walking through the blankets of snow brought a solemn peace missing in the hurriedness of the fall or the slipshod days of summer. Long walks were better in the bitter cold of the black night, when the rest of the world had hidden away. Winter was a time for secrets, when the truth could linger on an eyelash and slide off the brow. There it would stay, caught in the cold, linger, persist until at last it too dissolved. Ringer liked to think the winter was the time when it grew too cold to tell a straight lie. Only the genuine survived the frigid night, kept blanketed by truth. He had more faith in the winter, when he could take his slow and steady steps to the market.

That morning he pressed on, knapsack over his shoulder, eyes straight ahead. He was wrapped in his father’s old coat. Three buttons were missing along the trip, and a hole down at the bottom of the lower side no one could see, unless he wiggled his finger through. Gloves were sawed at the finger tips, exposing his bony digits. He shoved them into his pockets and slunk as he walk, wondering what he would buy for what little remained in his pocket. As much as he loved the winter, the fall had been unkind—so much so, there would be hard times for the days ahead. He would do what it took to keep Twyla and his mother healthy; there was nothing more important now.

He lingered briefly as he rounded the corner where the market was. He stopped, slow and careful as he could be to stare at the girl not far from the tree. “Are you waiting for someone,” He began, his low voice betraying his thin frame, “Or something?” He knew quite well the answer from the look of her, but dared not suggest it. Winter was the time for truth. And it was the time for hard decisions, too.

Last Edit: Dec 19, 2015 1:28:13 GMT -5 by Deleted

JaneD
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Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak} Dec 21, 2015 14:42:24 GMT -5

Post by JaneD on Dec 21, 2015 14:42:24 GMT -5

Paige jumped at the low voice behind her, the chill of the air suddenly penetrating her skin and nestling in her heart. As she spun around towards the man, her feet twisted together causing her to fall hard backwards, her hood falling back to reveal a shocked face. She looked up and blushed as grey met brown in a questionable gaze. Trying to recover gracefully, she launched herself up, brushing the dirt off her clothes with rough, forceful pats.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s any of your business,” She told him with a slight forced chuckle. “But I was waiting for a friend.” Her tone changed to lofty, unabashed, assurance, and she finally looked at him with her eyebrows raised. Her hand lifted to brush hair out of her eyes. It had begun to fall out of the ponytail it was in earlier, with long, unkempt locks of brown hanging loosely to frame her face.

Distant voices murmured in the background, drawing her attention for a brief moment. The sight of a large crowd entering the market made her stomach clench. It was much more difficult to steal from stands when there were people every few feet, and Paige was never adept at pick pocketing. The frozen feeling dissipated to be replaced with a heat that traveled from the back of her neck to her checks. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes narrowed rather dangerously when a few seconds before they were wide with passive innocence.

She turned back towards the boy to give him the cold stare that her father had told her could pierce through amour. “Who are you anyway?” She took a step towards the stranger, squaring her shoulders and trying to appear taller than the five feet four inches of height she had been cursed with. “And what are you doing sneaking up on people?” Where she lacked in size she attempted to make up for in ferocity of tone.

Last Edit: Dec 21, 2015 14:51:20 GMT -5 by JaneD

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Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak} Jan 13, 2016 23:16:47 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 13, 2016 23:16:47 GMT -5

Ringer Sperling

Ringer was certain no one would confuse the people of District Twelve for being unkind. By and large, the sallow faced boy had his share of dust ups over little slights. It seemed a rite of passage to pop off at the mouth when someone was the least bit irritating. Others baited and took pleasure in making boys miserable. Ringer was not the type; he found his time alone much better. Wasted energy, worked into a frenzy and never satisfying, he felt fights were best left to the rest. Boys and girls had enough to work through here, with parents lost in mines, stomachs never full. What good was it to bring about torment when so much already existed. Better—Ringer never boiled, but kept the same steady temperature. Few things were enough to send him up and over the edge.

When the girl sniped at him from her perch, Ringer stared. He held his hands in his pockets, and gave a little smile. Truth would find a way, even here. She was a pretty girl, but tempered—looking for something, her eyes wandered too much for his liking. And all the questions were the surest sign that she wanted him to move along that there ever was. But Ringer was steady and steadier still. She looked as if she needed help, even if he couldn’t wrap his head around what that was. So, winding a little closer to her and giving a little shrug, he stared off at the people in the market. The morning was cold, but it hadn’t kept folks from coming out after all.

“Ringer Sperling.” He replied, hands still in his pockets. The Sperlings were nothing special—not names on a list to be known, and not the folks of desperation. There was a comfort in the normalcy. He feared little of the other boys, and didn’t see his name turning up in a bowl any time soon. He still had time with his sister, too young for much else than school. He gave another smile and turned back to the girl. She talked too much. Why did everyone always feel the need to prattle every last word into the air? Silence was easier, more powerful. He pulled out a cigarette and tucked it underneath his lip. With a match, he nipped at the edge.

“I came to market to look if I could find some things for my family.” He eyed her again, eyes tracing down her frame. “And who’s you? Just watching the folks amble in and out, yeh?” But nothing about this girl struck him as a type to be shy—at least, not from first glance. “Guessin’ you got stopped to catch yer bref or somethin’.”

JaneD
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Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak} Jan 19, 2016 21:04:13 GMT -5

Post by JaneD on Jan 19, 2016 21:04:13 GMT -5

This stranger, so far, had done the opposite of everything Paige thought he would, and everything she wanted him to do. Starting with him simply stopping to investigate her plans. She had crouched dozens of times beside this very tree scouting the market. It was in the perfect location to see but not be seen. And now it's compromised she thought bitterly to herself.

The second and most impressive, was the fact that he was still standing here in front of her, despite all her efforts to shake him off. Paige naturally introduced herself in a warm, welcoming way, so this cold facade she was attempting to portray was starting to wear thin. She found herself becoming a little curious about the boy, even though his unwavering presence was frustrating. Her eyes wandered over him once again, this time inspecting rather than a mere glance. He was taller than she, but then again most were, with dark hair sitting a top a pleasant face. She thought he was a little plain, but in no means unattractive, in fact she rather liked looking at him. His eyes were as brown as his hair, but had a knowing quality about them that she found her own eyes being drawn back to.

He spoke his name and she took a moment, chewing on the syllables. "Sperling" she repeated back to him. Had she heard that name before? It had a familiar ring to it. Maybe they had been in the same school? Even in the same class at one point? He said nothing and for a moment silence drifted heavily, in Paige's opinion, between them as she looked at him and he pulled out a cigarette bringing it to his lips. Paige felt uncomfortable in silence, she simply wasn't used to it. Every waking moment was usually filled with raucous from her loud and playful little brother, or else she was at school surrounded by the chatter of her peers.

Even though the silence made her squirm, she had not forgotten that she had asked him a question, and she was for damn certain going to get it answered. She began to bite her bottom lip, physically stopping the words that were threatening to cascade out of those lips. Finally, he broke the silence with an explanation of how he had come to buy goods for his family and asking her about who she is.

"I'm Paige. Paige Evans." She answered him more kindly than she had been before. "And I'm actually looking for things for my family too." Her smile turned a bit mischievous as she spoke. Well I'm not lying, she thought ruefully. "Do I know you? Maybe we had a class together?" Her head cocked to the side in a questioning way as all her malice slipped quietly from her shoulders leaving a sweeter shell behind.