tide waller / d4 / fin

calla RP Tutor 2,121 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Apr 19, 2024 20:57:56 GMT -5 just a litle creacher	tide waller / d4 / fin Feb 12, 2017 21:42:25 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by calla on Feb 12, 2017 21:42:25 GMT -5 t i d e w a l l e r seventeen / district four angsty gay swashbuckler fc: maxence danet-fauvel #96aac6 / #6982a3
	Last Edit: Feb 21, 2017 22:29:47 GMT -5 by calla ⇀ tracker ↼ ⇀ 2024 upat ↼

calla
RP Tutor

2,121 POSTS

Pronouns: she/they
last seen Apr 19, 2024 20:57:56 GMT -5

just a litle creacher

tide waller / d4 / fin Feb 21, 2017 21:23:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by calla on Feb 21, 2017 21:23:57 GMT -5

T I D E W A L L E R ;

The name's Tide Waller. It's a fuckin' terrible name, believe me, I know. Not to mention it's painfully ironic, but we'll get to that tragic tale of woe later. I'm seventeen, practically an adult in society's eyes, even if I'm never treated that way. I have everything I need in District Four; loving parents, an annoyin' little sister, a pretty secure livelihood, ~~plenty of friends,~~ and a~~n un~~healthy amount of fear.

Painful, cold fear, clawing up through his throat and stealing the warm air from his lungs. The suffocating fear that enveloped him in cold darkness, icy tendrils of death that surrounded and squeezed the life out of anything that came too near.

Fear, you ask? Well, yeah, it's pretty important. You see, fear is what really makes the world go 'round. Know what a guy is afraid of and he'll dance for you, as long as you know how to pull the right strings. Everyone's afraid of something, even if that something is irrational, like spiders or thunder or apples.

Or water.

Anyways, where the hell was I going with this. Fear, right.

Take my old man, for example. He was afraid of being like his Pa, so he grew up bein' a little shit, wore some weird clothes, and caused a lot of general mayhem around the District. Lucky for me it seemed to rub off. See, if I was afraid of ending up like my Pa, well, I'd be fuckin' screwed. We look a hell of a lot alike, got the same wispy dark hair and slanting eyebrows. He also shared his thin hooked nose, even if mine's been broken a few more times. We got the same eyes too, a weird shade of blue-grey that's clear on our best days and stormy on our worst. It does sucks that I got Pa's height, even though I can see over his head, I'm barely 5'7". Ended up with his lean build too, a sun-kissed body thin from training and chasing after my bratty little sister.

"What about Tide's sister? She's pretty hot, eh? Wouldn't mind gettin' in her-"

CRACK

"You got a death wish or somethin'? Don't you fucking talk about her like that."

"Calm down, dude. Can't you take a joke?"

The scars on the flat of my hands match the callouses that they run over. Scattered remnants of old bruises that slowly faded away like memories. Sometimes, if I focus, I can still see the dark colors blossomin' across the split knuckles from that night.

Blood streaming from his nose, the red dripping into his mouth and down his chin, staining his face and splattering on the fine sand below. The foul copper taste makes him gag. Hands fisted in another boy's shirt, he's screaming while the other boys try to peel him off of his target. Rage and the smell of alcohol flows from him in waves.The smell of the blood mingles with the whisky in the air, the scent burning the boy's senses as his knuckles split and crimson runs down them in rivulets.

I always liked to use my hands, it didn't matter if it was for makin' those fancy little fish hooks, or if it was for holdin' a sword. Fencing's my specialty, a more civilized sport that takes brain as well as brawn. Fist fights are always too messy and too... unpleasant.

"Get 'em off! Fuck, guys, help me!"

The boy was hauled off, stained red as he viciously fought against the arms holding him.

"Dump 'em in the water or somethin'. I don't care, just get 'em to wake up. Crazy fuckin' bastard, I think he broke my nose."

Dimples and a shit ton of freckles, the things I wasn't too pleased about, I got from Mama. She always called the splatter of marks across my face and shoulders constellations, comparin' them to the stars that reflected off the water. Poetic, but it didn't really make me feel any better. When I got older, I grew into Mama's high cheekbones and her full lips. My Pa always said she was a looker, and judging by how I turned out, I guess I believe him. See, I also got that sharp jawline, the kind that attracted all kinds of attention, not that I'm complainin'. Mama's delicate bone structure was something that she passed down to both of her children. She treated us like glass, always scared that we'd break something with those fragile limbs she gave up.

Pale limbs, bruised, but not quite broken, floating dead in the water. Blood wound around them like slender red ribbons, skin patterned with forming splatters of green and purple. The moonlight made him look practically translucent. The light ripples through the water, weaving through dark hair and creating patterns on freckled skin. Long fingers reach through the darkness and towards the surface, a stream of red follows him down to the bottom of the ocean. The feeling of falling, falling, falling.

There are lots of things a person can do to distract from their fear.

My family tended to lean towards training. I preferred the cold edge of an épée while my sister, Beck, was wetting her feet and splashing around outside. She never seemed to like violence, which means she couldn't protect herself. That soon became my job, even though I still hated her.

There wasn't anything special about the moon that night. It was larger than a sliver, but not quite full.

It probably would've been cooler if I had died on a full moon. Thanks for nothin' universe. You rob me of a quick death and a cool death?

He wondered dimly if the other boys were wondering where he'd disappeared to after he was unceremoniously dunked under. Or if they thought that this was just another joke that he was playing. He liked to do that sometimes.

Wait. No-no that's not right. That's Beck. That's my sister that plays all those jokes. Fuck, we're practically opposites. What's wrong with me? Drowning and all I can think about is my stupid baby sister.

I hope she'll be alright.

Beck had always called me headstrong, but I liked to use the word confident. I've never been the meek kind, always hiding my fear and speakin' my mind. I always gotta voice my opinion, even if my big mouth gets me in trouble. Bold words cover up trembling voices and shaking hands. My world ain't exactly sunshine either -

It's cold and it's dark and it hurts-

- I ain't into that sunshine and rainbow shit that everyone tries to sell. People need to cut that true love crap, in this day and age, romance is long dead. Besides, I've never been a relationship kinda guy. If you've got your eye on someone, you just try to enjoy yourself, no obli(gay)tions and no strings attached. Besides, I don't really need anything when I've got all the eye candy I need at the training center.

"C'mon Tide, it'll be fun. A bunch of us are going down to the beach tonight. And we've got whisky."

"I dunno, man. My Ma will kill me if-"

"Whats'a matter, man. You scared or somethin'?"

"Fuck you, I'm not scared."

Training had always been a welcome distraction from fear. That rush of adrenaline made me forget about the terror that seemed to follow me everywhere. Relieved me of the sharp taste of copper and salt that was always at the back of my throat.

The fear had always been bad, but I guess shit really hit the fan after the accident.

Ah, yes. The accident. That was the dramatic, but polite, thing that people called it. The traumatic accident of one 16 year old Tide Waller.

It's a warm night, the sticky heat making the boys shirt's stick to their backs. The whooping shouts of teenagers drifting down the beach and across the water, disrupting the still of the night. The coarse sand worked it's way into their shoes and stuck to their skin irritatingly. The pent up rage of the ocean churned and foamed at the shore, lapping at their ankles while they played their dangerous games.

I don't like to talk about it.

Or remember it.

I don't drink anymore. On those rare occasions when I'm feeling particularly reckless, I try. But the liquid burns and turns to salt water in my mouth, mixin' with the taste of blood as I bite my lip in fear. The bottle breaks and the glass always shatters, cuttin' my hand as I spit out the mix of tempting poison and copper.

"How much do you remember?" My sister would ask me after. the whole ordeal. "Any of it? I mean, that must've been pretty scary right? Even for you."

"No," I lie, "I don't remember."

Stop asking.

I did remember. No matter how hard I try, I still can't forget the fleeting fragments of that night.

The feeling of being completely surrounded by blackness, the cold seeping it's way into his skin. A layer of fog hiding the raging storm beneath his skin.

I still wake in the odd hours, when the moon is high and the stars are out castin' their light on us. I wake drenched in sweat and unable to breath, the taste of salt in my mouth and the feeling of caked blood on my hands. I've got to shakily get up and close the window, anything to stop the flood of moonlight and the brine of the sea to enter.

Beck asks me almost every month on the dot, as if she expects maybe one day I'll give her a different answer.

"No," I always say, "I don't remember it, Beck."

Please stop asking.

Her reply is always the same too, "Then come with me, Tide. We can take Pa's boat out together. You know he always wants the extra help."

"Not today, Beck. You know I'm too busy today."

She knows I'm not busy. Only so much time can be spent on making fish hooks, but she never comments. I guess I'm grateful.

I know what a lot people say about me, especially when I kick their asses in training. But their words aren't what I'm scared of. Not really.

"Didn't you hear? The kid's from Four and he's afraid of water."

"Isn't that strange?"

"I hear he went crazy and tried to drown himself. Thank goodness that his friends were there."

"D'you fear your own name, kid?"

I don't think I know anymore.

I don't think I know what I'm fighting for.

Last Edit: Feb 21, 2017 23:06:13 GMT -5 by calla

⇀ tracker ↼
⇀ 2024 upat ↼

calla RP Tutor 2,121 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Apr 19, 2024 20:57:56 GMT -5 just a litle creacher	tide waller / d4 / fin Feb 21, 2017 23:19:17 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by calla on Feb 21, 2017 23:19:17 GMT -5 Done!
	⇀ tracker ↼ ⇀ 2024 upat ↼

Deleted 0 POSTS last seen Apr 20, 2024 3:22:13 GMT -5	tide waller / d4 / fin Feb 21, 2017 23:56:54 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2017 23:56:54 GMT -5 "You rob me of a quick death and a cool death?" I LOVE THIS FUCKER