This isn't art [Seth Day 1.5]

This isn't art [Seth Day 1.5] Feb 22, 2017 11:47:21 GMT -5

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Post by * on Feb 22, 2017 11:47:21 GMT -5

"Wood is one color. It all cuts the same way."
-Seth Brogan

Pain and exhaustion already have set in. In more ways then I can comprehend, my mind replays the horrible visions of people fighting. Blood falling from wounds and the blood that has already stained my skin red. Pain radiates through my jaw and it hurts so freaking bad. I am literally having to hold my hand under my mouth to keep my jaw from moving as I ran away from the bloodshed that was my past. Affron was somewhere behind me when I took off. I halfway expected him to follow me since I had yelled at him and found that he hadn't been attacked and ganged up on as I was. I'm not sure why people decided that I was the weak link? Was it the leg?

"Assholes..." I grumble as my pace slows down. The wooden leg that replaces where my real left leg should not be sturdy enough to endure all that is to come in the next few hours or days. It barely got me around my district without tripping me up once in a while. However, the capitol tried to fix it as much as they could. New strapping and to counter react the aged leather that was used to secure the boot against my stub. It rubs though. Redness already aches against my skin and even if I massage it, it doesnt' go away. It's about as bad as when I first had to get used to it.

"Damn games." My voice cracks among the topiaries that I have found my way into. Unsure of how that came to be, I have to take in the scenery. The dripping red roses that looks as if someone's painted them an offset color of candy apple red. How is it that they don't die considering the paint, or blood, would be toxic to it?

Whispering winds flow into my ear, tickling my senses and a feeling of dread overcomes me. For the moment, I see a groove in the makeshift garden, in between the wall of green and vines. I look back to the mansion in a glare and wonder if my friends are still in there. If Marcus is still in there... is he still alive? Anger boils from within and I crumple to the ground. It hurts, slightly, the jostling of my jaw and I take to hitting the shrubbery beside me causing a reaction of limbs swatting me back.

"This... is ... STUPID." I scream despite the pain. I am lost and torn away from my alliance. I have no idea where Affron is. I never cry, but anger is my passion. The clutch is ripped open and the two crayons appear as I stare at them. "Ceruleon. Sea Green? Wha the 'ell am I supposed to do with these? Draw a bow on my head? What? Do you juss think you can give me crayon and I'll draw a feast? I bet sea green will taste lovely."

I fumble with the goggles around my neck, tossing the bowler hat aside. My jaw is killing me to keep holding it and in a moment, the strap to the goggles is being used to hold my chin up. I seethe through my gritted teeth and pick the crayons back up.

"Do you see these? These are crayons! You draw with them. These are not weapons!" I huff and immediately start scribbling on the ground several items, all looking similar but some more misshapen then normal. I am a woodsman, not an artist. I only know how to draw one thing. With each picture, I draw it menacingly with a hook at one end resembling part of a sickle while the rest of the weapon is nothing but a long blade. The hilt of the hatchet, I draw lines resembling a wooden appearance but trying to draw in the dirt looks like a cat pawing at the litterbox.

"See these? These are hatchets. Real weapons. Maybe you should take a lesson. This is the hunger games. Not the drawing games. Sheesh." I throw the sea green crayon down, and rest my back against the shrubbery once more. Relaxing against the many twigs. Unbeknownst to me, the drawing actually comes to life.

"Oh that is so cool!"

This isn't art [Seth Day 1.5] Feb 25, 2017 22:52:23 GMT -5

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Post by * on Feb 25, 2017 22:52:23 GMT -5

"Wood is one color. It all cuts the same way."
-Seth Brogan

Anger doesn't become me very well, hell, it makes me look like a complete ass, but it's who I've become in the last year. I've had to endure stares and voices behind my back. My father's woodsmen babying me and taking it easy on me in the years leading up to my accidentlly with my district partner. It's strange though how things have suddenly changed between us. How time has does wonders. I appreciate life a lot more now, but in the irony of it all, I sentenced myself to death for the same person who tried to kill me in the first place.

I shake my head. It is supposed to happen, somehow.

Before me though, the drawing in the dirt began to form. Astounded, the shape of the many pictures comes to life and is actually pretty close to what I've drawn. The hooked part of the blade on the top and to the corner, then the rest of the blade, long and sharp. A grin appears on my face.

"Now that... my dear gamemakers, is a weapon. It's called a woodsman's pal. Perfect for the field. Able to cut into a one inch diameter of a limb with one swipe. I'm sure it'll go straight through bone with a few quick whacks. What made y'all decide to give us magic crayons?" The color of the blades doesn't match the name on the crayon though. Sea green, if I ever saw it, I would imagine it would be a cheerful color. However, if it's any kind of green, it would suit a woodsman like myself. The men always talked about the green of the trees. The deep vibrant hues of the leaves through each changing of the seasons.

"I'm colorblind - you dolts!" I chuckle and collect the hatchets into my hand. As I do, I pull another crayon, CERULEAN, from the clutch and with a thought, I sketch an easy access pouch, a bag of sorts, that can hold them.

"A smaller opening so they don't fall out, but bigger at the end." I verbalize it so they listen, in case the item being drawn is actually based on verbal skills, too. What a waste it would be if it was based solely on drawing skills. "I can carve things out of wood, but dirt drawing..."

The crayon continues to become more in depth with the item. The thick sling like shoulder strap makes it look like an archers quiver, but not so sturdy; more flexible. Pleased, I lean back and await the final drawing to see what happens with it.

Instead, something catches my ears and four crayons float down into my direct path and I scoop them up without a second thought. "I like the way you think, Cricket and Hera. What are you wanting me to draw now?"

I look at the label of one crayon and it, too, reads Pine Green, on the toy. I shrug. "Keep sending the green ones. I'm sure I'll look good with an army of it." Of all the things I need at the moment, I hastily start to press the crayon against the ground once again. A small opening at the top and a long flat bag with a loop at the top, a clip, to secure it to my bag. A matching water pouch to complete the ultimate woodsmen's adventure pack. "Oh!" I take the crayon once more and draw a squiggled line across from one side of the pouch to the other as far as I can to the mouthpiece to accent that water was actually in there.

I move to stand, a task that is more difficult for me than a regular person. The wooden apparatus on my left leg doesn't cooperate very well, but it does what I need it to. "Marcus? Sage. I hope you're safe. I'm coming to find you. I promise I will. Just watch." However, my lips yearn for Marcus's to be near mine again. As I bend down to pick up the new water pouch, I have to know that he's still alive. I can feel it. Another feeling that seems to creep up into my gut is that in the end, only one of us can live. One of us is going to have to pay the ultimate sacrifice.

One of us will have to die in the end.

"Not today, Gamemakers. Save it for the finale if you really want a good show. Marcus and I are natural born enemies..." I peer into the gardens of a crochet match gone quiet and start my expedition to find Sage and Marcus. "but we are also stronger as a pair. We can take anything that comes our way."