a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ]

Kire
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a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ] Jun 10, 2016 21:47:12 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Jun 10, 2016 21:47:12 GMT -5

Kipper Finn

hold on to the thread
the currents will shift

Does, Says, Thinks

Your jaw still ached, even after nearly a week. Sleeping was difficult because no matter how you rested your head, your jaw would always pulse with pain. Most of the time, you were barely able to manage chewing food and had to resort to things like soup or mashed potatoes in order to gain sustenance. A broken jaw from being struck by debris was your worst injury - a blessing compared to others whose entire body was shattered - but you would have rathered it was a broken arm; at least when your arm was broken you could still eat.

Amazingly, you only had one other real injury aside from your cracked mandible. A long gash had been opened on your left arm by yet more debris, somehow not causing you to bleed out before rescuers had arrived. Between recovering from your two injuries, the few bruises you had, and the time that you had been unable to reach food or water, it had taken you this long before the medics would let you out of their sight. Now, you wandered through the cleared area near where the relief center had been set up, awed by the destruction you could see in the distance.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to use the bustle around you to recreate the district you had grown up in. When you opened them again, the aftermath of the tsunami struck you all the more deeply. One wave - one massive wave - had been all it took to ruin the one place you knew as home. The ocean, always the love of your life, had turned against the closest thing you had to sanctuary and smashed it. Broken hearted, broken jawed, you slump against the nearest wall and slide until you sit on the ground. Head in your hands, you wonder how everyone would be able to move on from this.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

ghosty
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a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ] Jun 11, 2016 10:30:22 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Jun 11, 2016 10:30:22 GMT -5

Monica Berne

little bear, little hear,
you're getting out of hand

Does, Says, Thinks

District Four. If someone had asked you probably a month ago if you would ever leave your district, it would have been denied faster than anything else you've ever done. Nothing would have prepared you for the chance to feel the salty air of the sea to assault your lungs, and the golden yellow beach that you saw there. And yet- it was not that. Grey dark beaches filled with a shattered building, and a shattered life. The air is not neat; not filled with the salt that the stories that Dad read to you with eyes slowly shutting from the hour, said they would have. It had the smell of mud, and felt heavy upon your skin.

It was the weight of the struggles of the entire district, and you felt all of them. Every single ounce was felt upon your young shoulders. But you felt the strength rippling inside you - you are not here to be weak, you are here to help. Dad didn't think you could do it, and you were out to prove him wrong. Show that you are the little bear that he adores. You could not go back in this state, with sorrow the emotion still held upon your young face. It cannot be so. He would never play it down anyways.

Your eyes slowly scanned around the streets. Although busy, it was nothing like Three. This was a chaotic place, and it's one where where you were thankful that you had the number of where you're from stitched onto the overalls you were given. And yet, in the chaos, you see a boy drift slowly to the ground. The path was cracked beneath your feet as you slowly weaved through the crowds, careful not to push anyone over, and your knee touches the ground beside his. "Are you alright? I'm here if you need help."

Kire
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a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ] Jun 11, 2016 12:48:14 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Jun 11, 2016 12:48:14 GMT -5

Kipper Finn

guide me towards you
know something's left

Does, Says, Thinks

You hear the footfalls without seeing who made them. With your head bent, staring at your knees, and your fingers covering your face, it is hard to see much more than the rough fabric of your clothes and the rougher surface of the pavement. The footfalls stop next to you, and a brief second passes before a voice reaches you as well. “Are you alright? I’m here if you need help.” Slowly you peel away the little bit of shelter you had given yourself, dropping your hands to your sides. Your eyes rise to take in the girl who spoke to you.

She was small - it was the first thing you noticed - everything about her was small. Her thin arms and legs barely looked strong enough to support her weight. Yet, she wasn’t sickly looking. Young, you realize, she must be a good four years younger than you at least. You drag weary eyes up her wiry frame until you meet the brown eyes that stare at you with shaky concern. It takes a moment before you can recall that she had spoken at all, let alone what she had said.

“I… I’m alright, I guess.” Your voice is slow, like your mind is playing catch up with all of the events that had brought you here. There is such a long list that it takes time before things begin to go back to normal speed. “Just still reeling a bit from all this.” You nod absently at rubble around you, indicating the destruction that gripped the district. The number 3 stitched onto her overalls catches your attention and you stare at it for a time. She was so young, why had they let her come from Three to such a mess like this? Blinking twice before looking back into her face, you ask the question without thinking about how silly it was. “How old are you?”

On hills and waves on stormy days.

ghosty
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a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ] Jun 12, 2016 8:24:37 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Jun 12, 2016 8:24:37 GMT -5

Monica Berne

little bear, little hear,
you're getting out of hand

Does, Says, Thinks

You cursed your questions the moment his hurt eyes turned towards yours. Nothing you said could have eased the pain on his aged face. He was older than you, and easily twice the size; Dad wouldn't be happy, but he was no older than the people who you work with inside his own factory, and he didn't care then, so why would he care now? You knew it was different, and yet, you didn't care. You were no more at risk here than anywhere else; it was Panem, nowhere would be entirely safe, right?

"I'm alright, I guess. Just still reeling a bit from all this." Your head nodded slowly at his words, the speed echoed at the pace of the words he spoke. You wondered what would happen if the roles were reversed, the painful scenes of the places you knew crumbled into nothingness. You did not begin to wonder what is going through his mind, fear that the pain he's feeling becomes your pain; the nightmares of a power you can't face rested heavily on your conscience too bright that it might blind you. His discomfort at speaking his words shows he is not okay- perhaps from the injuries, perhaps from the thoughts he's trying to hide from you.

You remember that you are not at home; here you are a little girl who is two young to be any help, not just one of the workers. You signed up to be helpful, and that you are, but beside all the others that left your district, you could have been mistaken as a mistake. You were here to disprove all of that by any means.

You heard his voice once again, "How old are you?" Turning your head towards the boy again, a small laugh crossed your lips, despite yourself and the situation. "Twelve. And you?"

Kire
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a broken state of being [ Kipper / Monica ] Jun 12, 2016 10:38:56 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Jun 12, 2016 10:38:56 GMT -5

Kipper Finn

and we're all allowed to dream
of the next time we touch

Does, Says, Thinks

She laughs almost immediately. You feel a heat rise in your face but try to fight to keep from being too embarrassed. Clearly, the question was just as stupid as you had realized in the moment after you asked it. Before you had brought up her age - which you knew couldn't be very old - she had looked concerned and thoughtful, perhaps with a flicker of compassion and fear. Now, though, she was a little girl who giggled at you. Silent, you shake your head at your own foolishness. When you look up, though, she actually answers your question. "Twelve. And you?"

Twelve. That was right around where you had figured before. It shocked you that a girl of this age would have been allowed to travel here, in the middle of all of this mess, and not kept under close supervision. True, you both were still quite close to the Relief Center, but that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. Scared, desperate people were liable to do anything if they think it will help them - and sometimes even if it won't. You shook your head again, not understanding. To you, it was a good thing she had come up to you and not any of the other slumped forms with their heads in their hands. You couldn't trust anyone else, right now. As for yourself? You wouldn't do anything to this girl. If anything, you should send her off back to the Relief Center, or perhaps walk her there yourself. You could always find another quiet place to wallow in your self-pity.

"I'm seventeen." As you say it, you realize how strange it is to say your age before your name. Back in the makeshift hospital, all of the staff had read your name off of the clipboard at the end of your bed. Now, without a page telling your life story to rely on, you had to remember what interaction took. Stiffly, you push yourself up to stand on your feet. You were a good bit taller than the girl and you looked down at her. "I'm Kipper. What's your name?" Pushing your hand out, you offer it in a shake. There, set things to rights. That felt like the proper thing to have done.