♞ No White Knights ♞ [Riordan/Salome]

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Tom
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♞ No White Knights ♞ [Riordan/Salome] Feb 24, 2017 22:17:18 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Feb 24, 2017 22:17:18 GMT -5

Don't be afraid to fall.

Fear was only created by the heart. A basic emotion to lock away the insides of a heart, putting up walls to allow a person to hollow themselves out. Only bones and flesh left in a walking mistake. An answer wrong, but couldn't quite get erased from the reality of society. Riordan Einfallen was a mistake since he was born. His parents made it clear. His adopted brother had made it clear. I hate you. The world that he lived in had made it clear. Wrong. That's all he was. A wrong person with a pathetic excuse of an existence. Cassiopeia's words still run through his head. Why did he volunteer?

His answer would have been to die, weeks ago, but now he didn't know. Why was he fighting to live still? Running away was more of what it was, but there was no running from death. Death would catch up to him eventually, but why should he even try to fight it. Giving up wasn't his style, but if he truly didn't want to live, then why continue to fight. There's nothing left for him at home, but an empty building, stone headstones and wooden coffins deep in the ground. There was nothing left for him, but empty promises and broken dreams of a life he once wanted to live. This was his final act of the show. He always knew that he would give in to his wants eventually, but everything he's ever done was not supposed to come to an arena where nothing makes sense.

He's falling.

He's always been falling.

Deeper and deeper into despair.

Until he finally lands with a pressure of air. Knees colliding with the solid dirt ground in the exact same spot he had jumped in. Eyes staring at the hole for a second too long. Cassiopeia was nowhere to be found in the area, only his shattered thoughts and bleeding roses. Their blood casting red upon the ground around it as he huffs in annoyance. Remembering that Anarchy had been in the same area he had been, but in another place. Another place that he swore was a different time. A different world from his own. Another half to him that he never knew. Maybe he had been crazy the entire time and imagined half of the tributes in his mind. It wouldn't surprise him, but he still had to keep looking. He still had to find Anarchy and learn that she's alright. Alive. He had to make sure she was. He'd deal with Cassiopeia later and on his own terms.

Bones are chilled to a frozen state of disbelief as he can fear himself more than anything before. Death wasn't a fearful idea to him as he's acted it out time and time again. He's accepted that death was going to take him to his final show where he could perform for the rest of his time. Death wasn't something he wanted now. He wanted to live. Not for everyone else, since everyone was dead, but he was scared. Scared to face what he's truly faced in all of his life. No idea of if his dream would be his final resting place. He didn't want to know where he would end up, as he's committed the worst acts a person can. Never once did he believe that he was too selfish to want to not be with Jequirity.

Salome appears before him and fear disappears for a second. He wasn't alone. Not again. Eyes scan the raven-haired female that he knew little about, except that she was a kind soul. Nothing like her cousins who had murdered. Silence fills him as he can watch her carefully. Something in his heart beats in joy that she is safe. That he isn't left alone again. Terror of being alone again filled him with dread. Never will he remember what it was like to have loud rooms of lines being practiced in the dark. No violins playing a beautiful medley as he watches from afar. A smile never wavering from his face. Memories of the days that were the best of his life come crashing back to reality as Salome speaks to him.

"Thank you. There's still good here - you'll feel better if you remember that."

Good doesn't exist in a world created out of violence and evil. Temptations lie within the souls of every single person. His own temptations of selfishness filling him with fear and bravery. Though some would consider it stupidity. Good didn't exist in a world made to destroy itself out of anger and power. A sigh escapes his throat as he feels her arms wrap around him. A hug. Tears prick at his eyes for a moment as he remembers what it feels like to be hugged. It's been so long since anyone has even given him a piece of affection, that he had forgotten the warmth that fills his stomach. Then it ends so suddenly that he wants to ask for another, but shakes it off. Salome was the enemy, just like himself.

Words filled with pain and exhaustion escape his lips.

"Good doesn't exist in this world. It is only for the foolish."

Eyes glance to hers as he wipes some stray tears from his eyes. A sigh as he places his hand on his hip and other grasp the top of his snapback. Salome wasn't a dreamer like himself. Dreams of the pain vanishing as he found the field of flowers. Salome was too optimistic for her own good. After everything she'd been through, with cousins dying, he would expect her to feel something more than optimism for the world. A small frown pulls at his cheeks, until he turns it to a smile. Voice catches the air with an apology.

"Sorry. I.. just... Good things don't come to me."

Foot grazes the ground as he notices plants of sorts, he begins collecting the bundles that he could use for later. Brain remembering the time with Brooke. Flowers and plants being braided into his hair as her soft and kind eyes listened to his every word. Brooke needed to be okay. Brooke needed to be alive. Anarchy needed to be alive. The Eckharts needed to be alright. Diorite needed to be alive. Scarlett needed to be alive. They all needed to live. He wouldn't know what to do if they all perished like Zanita. Heart beats as he thinks of the night before. The touch of her hands burned into his skin as lips had connected. A closeness to someone who had been just as broken as himself. Eyes glance away from the Izar as he wants to cry again.

Don't fall Rio.

Eyes catch a silver parachute approaching him. Curiosity fills his chest as he reaches for the package, opening it as soon as it's in his hands. Crayons are inside. Silver and Lavender to be exact. Eyes roll as he notices them and quietly sets them away, pulling the gold one out of his pocket. Curiosity fills him as he thinks of things that the capitol would want them to do with it. Ideas fill his mind, until he decides what he wants to draw. A smirk pulling at his lips. He had no weapon, might as well draw one, right. Curiosity fills his stomach as he prepares to draw on the ground. Eyes concentrating on the ground beneath him.

Gold touches for a second, fear almost wanting him to stop, but he continues. A blade forming on one end, perfectly created with his precision. A smooth pole attached to the blade, giving him room to hold it. A smile pulls at his face as he notices the straight lines he makes, shading in the blade to give it a sharper look of gold. Only one more thing is attached to the drawing, a charm attached by a tiny chain that comes to a tiny violin, the size of a coin. Eyes scanning his masterpiece, he smiles with everything in him. A weapon that he wished he had. A sigh escapes his throat as he smiles back to Salome.

Next, he pulls back out the Silver crayon. Eyes it carefully as he shrugs again to himself. A circle appears first, with an opening at the top for a canteen. A silver glint from the sides as he stares at the metallic color. Shading in the canteen, with silver, he smiles back to himself. Perfect like everything he has done that was artistic. He wasn't an artist, but he was an actor. It wasn't too hard to draw, but still, how he wished they had gotten normal items from bloodbath and not some dumb crayons. A frown fills his face as he turns to Salome again.

You're not alone, Rio.

He was alone, more alone than he could even imagine.

Don't be afraid of falling. I'll catch you.

The world was made from fear and fear alone, but there was still some bravery left in the world.

Salome Izar had that bravery.

Even if she didn't know it.

(Actions done in this post:
-Riordan receives his sponsorship of a silver crayon and a lavender crayon
-Riordan collects 2 bundles of medical plants and 1 bundle of edible plants
-Riordan collects a bundle of firewood
-Riordan draws a Gold Glaive and a Silver Canteen)

Made by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan

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♞ No White Knights ♞ [Riordan/Salome] Feb 25, 2017 2:55:02 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2017 2:55:02 GMT -5

How much sorrow has filled your life?

Could you put it into buckets, like a collection of pebbles, until your sadness spilled over the sides and into the dirt? You could sing the elegies etched behind your eyelids line by line after all the death that has come to your family. You wept over them—forgiven because you were so young, and just a girl—frightened that life could end so soon. Each was so easily struck down and forgotten, what became of their memories? The destruction that came in death’s wake was enough to shake foundations—Sampson turned bitter and spoiled, like bad meat, while Deval had gone and rusted clear over, fading to dust. They were reminders that in death’s shadow, life suffocated until what remained until what remained looked nothing like what had been.

Perhaps you were weak. You wept at the loss of Benat, Iago, and Levi. You shrieked when your cousins jumped out from behind the barn. You kept your eyes down to the ground when you held your sister’s hand and led her through the market, ignoring the jeers of men you passed. Flashes of anger were seldom because you found no joy in conflict, only resolution. How many times did they talk over you, and you sat and smiled? You believed your cousins when they said you were gentle, when they laughed because they knew you would be the one to take care of them. While they stretched their wings to the sun, you had already declared you were content to scoop them up after a fall. Salome was the warmth that mended, a constant in a sky of Izars.

You tumble down into the darkness, yellow umbrella in hand. What did they see now? A girl that had survived the bloodbath. One that had stared down a career, and lived to tell the tale. She may have fallen into an open hole, but you still noted it as a victory. Now you threw caution to the wind, as though what waited on the other side was known. Where others kept their fears stashed inside, you put them on display for all to see. There was nothing strange in shaking at the thought of facing a massacre. You know the Izar boys were taught not to show fear (what was it about boys that had them afraid of fear itself), as though the virtue may be lost on the fairer sex. How could you ever know who you were, without all the scars?

The trembling that filled your hands and legs in the garden before do not overtake you now, though your stomach threatens to rebel into your throat. A whizz of dust turns your body from one way to the other, until the light blasts your eyes, and with a pop you’re floating down to the ground. Your yellow umbrella unfurls, and your heels touch down on soft grass. This world is the same and yet it is not—the hole on an opposing side, mutts dotting the garden differ—and you spy only the face of Rio, not of the girl that threatened to tear the both of you apart. Your heart still beats fast in time; you had prepared to do much more with the blade hanging near your feet.

“Thank you.” You waste no time wrapping your arms around him. Perhaps he would rip out your throat, or worse—but here and now, he had taken to standing for you. “There's still good here - you'll feel better if you remember that." You step back to brush the hair away from your face. He looks as though the weight of the stars rest on his shoulders. Not that you could blame anyone for feeling as though the world was beginning to collapse (both as a matter of reality and figuratively). Still, you offer only your smile. There would be no fear in your eyes, no sadness. If he ever were to find himself, it would be after learning to stand on his own, without whatever he carried on his back.

Good doesn't exist in this world. It is only for the foolish.

“Well.” You have heard the refrain before. The capitol reigned on high, and all of you were fighting a game that existed before, and would exist after your deaths. He thought you foolish for believing good could exist here. Even you would not be spared from having to fight, maim, even kill. There could be no good when the aim was to take life. And yet. You had seen his act of kindness. That was stronger than all the hate and anger. These quiet acts of kindness were what reminded you to be human. There was still happiness, still hope. Death had no grip on what hope could carry.

Sorry. I.. just... Good things don't come to me.

There is no answer for him. You don’t know the first thing about Rio, or his life. Only that he carries his sadness like a shawl, tight and snug against his body. You watch him take one of his crayons and begin to draw. In gold comes the glaive—he aims to protect himself. The second item is silver, a water jug that is useful as it is sleek. Perhaps you would ask him to show you how to draw finer lines. Still, the silence builds and you itch. A canon sounds, and then another, and you look from him to the sky as a sea of fish scatter off into the distance.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” You bring your voice to a whisper, and move to lean in close. “We make our own happiness. It’s not because there’s so much good to go around. But there are little pieces, and if you find them, hold on.”

You have held on for sixteen years. Others found weakness in your joy. Yet there was none that could say you had not persisted. You found the strength to continue looking for the good, and giving what you had to give. That was humanity, was it not? You look him over once more and give a grin. What else could be done? Only for you to live in the moment—to create your own happiness. You start to wiggle out of your shorts, and toss away your grin jacket. You forget yourself in the moment, and move to take the vermillion crayon.

Your abuela would tell stories of knights. Men dressed in glittering armor rode white steeds to save damsels from their fates. Always men rescuing, and princesses longing to find their princes. But you were a common peasant (of which you took pride), and somehow you longed for a story where the damsels figured out a way to save themselves. Not that you didn’t admire the tales of their fabulous dresses. It’s here you reach for inspiration—ruffles starting at your ankles and exploding outward as you moved up. You imagine the finery of the red fabric draped around your tiny frame. The waist is high enough that you’ll be able to move and not drown in fabric. You press the crayon across your chest so that one shoulder is revealed (for an air of sensuality).

You begin to draw rings tightly together on your chest and stomach, pressing around to make sure all of you is covered. The two stories became one—the damsel in her flowing red dress, the knight in her armor—one and the same. For good measure you sketch a star on the chest of the chainmail to mark your family, Izar, or stars.

You laugh as you watch it come to life, and give a spin. The metal clinks, and you give a wink to Rio.

Drawing on the earth, a canteen is next—though not the modern sort. This is the same the caballeros carried. It is circular in shape, with a spout at the top. You make sure to mark for where the cap can be unscrewed, but focus far too much time on the ornamentation of the front. You festoon a star to mark it as your own. You marvel how the sky blue a lovely departure from the red. At last you draw a strap so it can be slung over your shoulder.

For a moment, you could be happy.

[Salome Izar does a few things:

-Uses English Vermillion crayon to create Flamenco Dress Armor

-Uses Sky Blue crayon to create water bottle

-Collects 1x edible plants and 2x medicinal plants

-Collects firewood]

Tom
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Pronouns: He/Him
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♞ No White Knights ♞ [Riordan/Salome] Feb 25, 2017 18:11:18 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Feb 25, 2017 18:11:18 GMT -5

He's heard those words time and time again.

We make our own happiness. The truth of the matter was no one made their happiness if it was getting taken away from your grasp by something stronger and bigger than yourself. Riordan's tried to hold onto the happiness that he created, but every time something good happens, it's taken away from him in a moment's notice. He's loved and lost. Walking a lonely road of depression and downhill battles that tear the heart apart, chamber by chamber. Soon, he wouldn't have to feel that pain anymore. Soon, he could join them all in the field of flowers and the building of happiness that held all the memories of them.

Rio, c'mon! Lets practice our lines.

I can't Theo. I can't, there's too much to do.

It's felt like forever since he even could remember the original cast that had been so nice to allow him to stay in the Opera house like it was his home. Kind words and smiles filled upon broken children. Only crowns left from the deceased. Only a wooden coffin and stone graves that line up in uniform and anger. Jay was back home, watching him from afar. Death looming over Rio's own shoulders as he stares at Salome again. Cannons had sounded. Praying to a god that wasn't out there, all he could do was hope none of them were Brooke or an Eckhart. He could never forgive himself it had been one of them. Or both of them. As he listened to Salome's words all he can do is shrug in defiance. Words spill from his lips.

"I've tried. Holding on to the pieces of happiness there are. It doesn't work. Someone will take them away. I've lost every single person who cared about me. I left people behind because I'm selfish, Salome. I'm so fucking selfish that I wanted to join the dead ones that I love more than spend it with the living people I have left. You can say there's good here, but I won't be the one to find them here."

Hand lifts the snapback as he runs his hand in the hair that's matted down by the sweat of running from bloodbath and falling through a hole in the ground. There's no hope for him to hold onto. There's nothing for him in the world that was meant to be good. He didn't know Salome. He didn't know the Izars. He barely knew anyone for who they are. Only fragments of their lives that they decided to share with him. Secrets were deadly. Secrets got people killed. Anger was filling his blood, but he was also depressed. He's been depressed for so long that it feels like a piece of the puzzle that is Riordan Einfallen. A thing he can't shake from his body. A sigh escapes his body as he can see the drawings that she had made. A pretty dress and a water bottle.

"I'm sorry Salome. I need to get going. Stay safe, Izar. This place could use some kindness like yours. Though, next time, we may not be friends. So don't hold back."

A wink of his own towards her as he shrugs the tote on his shoulders. Eyes staring forward as follows his thoughts to the wind. Roses bleeding and shrieking with laughter in his ears. A field of purples in his mind. Anarchy's name upon his lips as he remembers that he can try to find her. If his suspicions were right, this was all real. Everything was real and exactly the same. They had gone down, not up. The arena was a mirror image of itself. A smile upon his lips as he turns back to look at Salome. A nod of the head is all that's left as he marches forward deeper into the rose garden.

Heart combusting at the memories of everyone he knew. The laughs, the tears, the love, and so much more. The wooden building in the fields trapped in his mind as he can picture it in his head. Zanita's lips still burnt into his memories. Living for him was like dying, suffering through a new world of punishment. This was his suffering that he had created himself through selfishness and broken promises. This was his garden of blood that stuck to his hands, even if he never killed a single person, might as well have as he let them down. That was useless now. He needed to focus on what was at hand.

Finding Anarchy.

She was alive. She had to be. Anarchy was his friend and the only person he wanted to see now. Anyone else who got in his way be damned. Anarchy could handle herself, but so many canons had gone off. So many deaths and he was still in the dark of it all. That was what this games. Blinded by all the craziness of the arena and the truth of the matter that there was no good in the world. Selfishness ruled over them all. Feet move down the rows and rows of roses. Eyes scanning everywhere for Anarchy.

Keep looking, Rio.

Made by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan

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♞ No White Knights ♞ [Riordan/Salome] Feb 26, 2017 1:54:48 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Feb 26, 2017 1:54:48 GMT -5

Rio buffets you with his suffering. You are not so simple to believe that just speaking joy into existence will remove his pain. It is one thing to believe there is hope, it is quite another to see it on the horizon. For a man like Rio, one that has known the depths of misery—either he would take the pain and find that there was still joy, or he would turn acrid, and believe the world was against him. And so he would be against it—each of them, as though they were the same monsters that had caused such grief. You saw the pain consume your cousins; you imagined that the weakness came when the bad had outweighed the good. Rio wanted nothing of the happiness that you offered (intangible, ephemeral) but embraced what he could feel—pain. A man like Rio likely thought bracing with pain, and managing not to break was what made him strong.

There is no strength in hiding away from pain. Tears were not an enemy—stopped up eyes did not mend a torn heart—but the inability to cope was. You had grown up so soon, dear child, your old soul had seen the pain and suffering of a generation. The boys—because it was usually the boys—lashed out against tears, or sweetness as though it was a disease. But perhaps your strength lay in embracing the bad and the good. You had already cried, and felt the fear that gripped your heart. There was no shame in touching what made you human; your life was much fuller when you could know each part. You felt sorry that Rio was so pained he could not embrace the hurt—that those same dead souls would have rather had him know he was more than the pain.

“I don’t imagine to know,” You whisper. The truth set you free. You never liked when people apologized as though that would take away pain. Or worse still, when they claimed to know what the other was feeling. You didn’t know who had hurt Rio so, or why he let the hurt grip him so. But you could be here, in this moment, to listen. Hearing his pain could be enough—you hoped—to make him know you still had hope. “But I’m glad to have met you, Rio.” He runs his hand through his hair. Were you wrong to think that he was man? Were there any men here, or was this a proving ground for boys? He would become one when all was said and done. Of that much you were certain.

I'm sorry Salome. I need to get going. Stay safe, Izar. This place could use some kindness like yours. Though, next time, we may not be friends. So don't hold back.

You don’t believe that the time will come. A part of you already feels stretched thin; another believes he will come much closer to the crown. A boy like him could go home and start anew. You would be a ghost of yourself, a life split apart from all you’ve ever known. No—you knew that there was no going home again. While you would not run open arms into death, you entertained no ambition that the crown was yours. All the better for District Eleven to see what kind of strength you truly had. You give another nod and a smile at him. “Farewell.” There is nothing more to say to a boy that is so decided. So it goes. He leaves you alone, just as you had started.

You hear a canon sound, and then another. A shiver runs up your spine. For a moment you look up at the sky, and stare at the flying fish in the distance. You would have to find Gentian and Molly. Were they safe? But the question sits in the back of your throat, and you start to taste bile. There’s the sound of movement from the other end of the garden. You are still a part of this game, no matter how you dare to play. Besides—there is still good to do, child. You steel your heart and press onward.

[Salome leaves and heads further into the rose garden]