saudade } ana&justice { blitz
Jan 21, 2017 4:21:12 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale on Jan 21, 2017 4:21:12 GMT -5
Lips part to drink in neon lights, scarlet on your mouth and purple around your wrists — and parties have always been a good excuse to forget. Bodies grind against ghosts and fingers wrap around one another in promises that won't be kept, but beyond all the red grins and exclamations of joy, you've always known the darker truth of this place. No one goes to a club just for the hell of it; there's no satisfaction to be found in whispering secrets to familiar shadows and being the midnight lover of a stranger, but if there's even just a slight chance of feeling any comfort, reckless things cease to seem so bad.( and it's true what they say: rose-colored glasses make all of the red flags just look like flags )
Each person in the closed space is trying to escape something, demons gnawing at their ankles and acting as anchors, and even your own marrow has been left exposed to the wolves that circle around you. There's a lost faith and a lover you've pushed away that are tying a string around your throat, but right as you feel yourself start to suffocate from the pressure that is being applied, you turn away and crash into another soul that is wandering through the darkness.
You recoil from the contact, breath becoming raspy as it passes by your teeth, and you brush off your dress as if the man across from you has stained you with his sins. You think yourself Atlas, a walking tragedy of a girl that so many want to treasure and rescue from herself, but there's only so much that you're able to carry. When you finally look up at his face with an inhale, you see dark hair and dark eyes — and his freckles are the only things that break the illusion of who you're longing to see. You know this boy and you know what parts of his story have been edited and presented neatly for the public to study, and while you do not stumble or break your back to bow in his presence like some would, you have enough respect for the victor to incline your head in greeting.
You can only imagine what the Games does to a child — because that's what he had been — and there's a sudden softness to your features that is not often seen. "Sorry," you say in a firm apology, stepping away to give him some distance. Feline eyes look him over, and a wolfish grin creeps up the side of your face. "Justice Fray — it's a pleasure to finally meet you," you start, not wasting the time to feign being unsure of his identity. Every rich girl this side of One knows who the famed playboy is, and the majority of them have one goal scrawled down in their diaries: 'seduce the latest wonder boy and win his heart. Make mother and father proud.'
You laugh at that thought, keeping the joke to yourself and reaching out a hand to Justice. You're not interested in conquering this boy — to win his love when you already have someone who's claimed ownership of every shard of your being — but the two of you are here for a reason; one might be searching and the other might be running, but that doesn't matter to you. You live and you die, eighteen years or more spent kissing a loaded gun and wondering what's after all of this, so you might as well exist in the moment. He won't save you and you won't fix him, but it's a nice enough thought.
"I'm Anastasia," you continue with a playfulness, looking down at your suspended hand and inviting him inside of a home that's slowly crumbling in on itself. "C'mon. You must be here for something, yeah? Let's go find it together."
