tinkerings and puppet strings . mattio/chevi/marr
Oct 1, 2016 16:15:16 GMT -5
Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Oct 1, 2016 16:15:16 GMT -5
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[presto]  [/presto] |
Atticus Manor This day marked two whole years that Atticus Manor had to look death in the eyes. If anyone in before those two years chose to ask him if he could handle it, he would’ve shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He wasn’t raised into a family of physically strong warriors like some of those in the more fortunate districts, nor did he have the confidence to fight with bravery and honor. Atticus instead lacked a backbone and hid behind people like Sol and Nell and Astrid. For two whole days, he masked himself out of insecurity. Time after time he’d witnessed death with a front row seat, and four times he was the person who made the last strike, his blade bearing the burden of brave, strong beings. Death scared him, yet he begged himself to take a knife to keep his allies, his friends, alive. Unfortunately, Atticus couldn’t do the same from Ross and Hypatia. They were the first people to be under his mentorship, and he had high hopes for them both. Them winning would have meant he could fall back from the hot seat a little bit. Ross was a lone wolfe but was strong. Atticus thought that he may have been the one to survive and tell the tale of the Seventy-Third Games. However, to Atticus’s surprise, he died early on to a mutation that seemed way too strong. The skeletons and firey cats were nothing compared to what Ross had battled that one day. Maybe it was the fact that he was in his lonesome that cost him his life. Hypatia had a lot going for her, too. She had a group of strong allies that made sure to keep each other safe. Hypatia lasted longer than Ross, but not by much. The day that the blonde girl from Eight and Hypatia split apart from the two boys, Atticus had a gut wrenching feeling. He felt nerves. He watched it with that country kid from ten in the Seventy-First, a split due to sketchy yodels caused him to be speared to the chest. But he didn’t die. Hypatia, on the other hand, suffered. Her and the Eight girl killed one of their opponents, but the girl from ten avenged the other, killing Hypatia. At that point, Atticus was ashamed. He wished both might have lived through that, survived against the odds like he had. For both to die so soon put a huge amount of embarrassment on his shoulders. The first-time mentor was ashamed that he couldn’t have done better; he wondered for the rest of his time in the Capitol if there was something he could have said, any advice that could’ve helped them. -- Fast-forward one year and it was reaping time. Atticus peaked around the gigantic throng of potential tributes. He felt the nerves in the bit of his stomach arrive with the thought of any of these teenagers getting reaped. Emotions were never his strong suit, but slowly they had begun to come to his mind. Happiness, sadness, anger, excitement, embarrassment, shame, pain. Now, he’d only feel the negative groups. The Reaping was quick and to the point, just as it was last year. They wanted to make things quick and efficient. The girl reaped was named Deja, a young, red-headed girl. Atticus hadn’t seen a young one like her be reaped in District Three in many years, and he hoped that people of higher age would take her spot, but none did. Saffron was young when she was crowned, but only because the twist was you had to be young. Atticus’s jaw dropped a little when he realized that he’d have to hold a burden of someone of that age if she died. don’t think that, Manor. she’ll live. have a little faith. The next was an older boy name Bolts. It was a convenient name for someone from District Three, due to the amount of tinkering that happens. Atticus saw potential in him, and the victor smiled when he realized that if luck was on the male tribute’s side, he’d have a very good chance of surviving. Both of them looked like they were absolutely petrified, but Atticus couldn’t blame them. Who wouldn’t be? Atticus examined them as they stood on the stage, noticing neither were exactly bulky or with huge muscle, something that could help them out in the Games. But the prominent feature of both was themselves appearing to be intelligent. Both looked smart, which is a good trait to have in a life or death situation like this. Atticus squinted in thought. To him, they seemed like a good strong pair that could win. However, appearance isn’t what gives the Games their fame. It’s the luck. Luck was the only thing that made Atticus win. He didn’t have strength, he didn’t have courage or bravery, he didn’t have emotion to know right from wrong. It was the fact that he was in the right place at the right time. He prayed to Ripred that his own luck would rub off on them. Atticus didn’t want to let them down like he had Ross and Hypatia. He wasn’t good at being sociable with them, and it cost them their life. Atticus traveled toward the train to begin the journey to the Capitol. Already he muttered words, phrases, and sentences, practicing what he could say to Deja and Bolts. He wanted the best for them. Atticus tried to think of ways to appear hopeful and honest at the same time. That’s what he wished he was given. The people around him when he was a new tribute were comforting and told him that they believed in him. When he went from tribute to victor, he thought they told the truth, so he carried on that strategy to Hypatia and Ross. He realized it was a lie when they died, and he noticed that it was only false hope being instilled in their brains. Atticus stepped into the train, ready to start a fourth journey to the Capitol. Each car changed a bit, the furniture or technology getting more comfortable or more advanced, respectively. When Atticus reached the car that contained the food and beverages, he took a moment to pause. Mr. Manor had never touched a glass of alcohol in his entire life, but he’d learned that although it is very unhealthy for the human body, it is a good way to loosen up your nerves. He looked at the collection of alcoholic beverages, trying to find one that sounded appealing. Atticus was never a loose, chill, kind of person, so how could it hurt to try and find a way to prevent that. He decided that it wouldn’t be very beneficial to be shy around people who are using him as a guide to survival. One had an image of a strawberry and was labeled “VODKA” on it. Atticus debated whether or not to try it, but ultimately, he knew it would benefit Deja and Bolts, and himself even. He couldn’t be up tight for all of his life, and this would be the only way to loosen up. He took a glass, pouring the strawberry flavored alcoholic beverage into it. Trying to be quick and efficient, he raised the glass in the air, sipping into alcohol for the first time. It was strong, the taste at first making him want to spit it out, but then it soothed his body. There was no immediate difference, so he continued to drink until the glass was emptied, and then he took the rest of the bottle with him. He went to the dining car, where both red-headed tributes sat. Atticus approached them, taking his last few moments outside of the conversation to recollect what he wanted to talk about. One last sip, for good luck. He took a big gulp from the bottle, which by now was two-fifths emptied. He blinked twice before sitting across from Deja and to the right of Bolts. ”Getting reaped, it’s..” Atticus began to talk, but had to pause in order to find the right feeling to approach them with. His first instinct was an expletive, but that wouldn’t give any sort of hope at all, genuine or ingenuine. He set his bottle to the side of the table in front of him. ”It’s an uncomfortable feeling.” There was no better way to describe it than uncomfortable. Even just the train seemed like a whole new world of wild rides and unsuspecting twists and turns. Atticus took a tiny sip of his strawberry-flavored beverage, and smiled. It tasted good. It was a new feeling, but in his opinion, it was a good one. A good one for Deja and Bolts, and a good one for his future. made by ghosty |
