sunrise at 06:42 | charlie & teddy

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shrimp
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sunrise at 06:42 | charlie & teddy Sept 4, 2017 13:43:41 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Sept 4, 2017 13:43:41 GMT -5

[attr="class","shrimp_parallax"]

The walls are stark white, the room all corners and straight lines. Charlie glances at the window, the screen filled with a beachside scenery, the cawing of seagulls and a lapping ocean softly plays in the room. Gently, she reaches for the control and turns it off. The image that replaces it is of a cityscape, dark for once and without the beeping of taxicabs or monorail lines. The skyline is a peach speckled with apricot.

Her eyes turn towards the boy in the hospital bed, mere feet away from her. Charlie adjusts herself in her chair, placed at the foot of his resting place. She shrugs on her thick cardigan, knit from sheepish wool and dyed a warm gray. Somewhere outside a pigeon crows.

Xenia, her former assistant, advised that she not come; there's no guarantee that she wouldn't be attacked the moment Theodore Ursa opened his eyes, no guarantee that one of the most important women in Panem today would leave with her head attached to her shoulders. Charlie paid her no mind, pouring her assistant a cup of coffee as they sat at the gamemaker's kitchen table three hours ago. Then, sighing, Xenia called the training center, letting them know that a visitor would be there shortly, that the escort needn't appear. There was, of course, no mentor to contact.

There's a slight throbbing in her head, she attributes it to the lack of sleep. Instead she simply looks on, pupils scanning, brain analyzing. She crosses her legs, puts her hands in her lap. It's been two days since Teddy Ursa was brought back from the arena on the brink of death. Yet the medicine has done its wonders - he looks almost completely healthy.

(Her mind traces back to a mayor who smiled as blood trickled, who fell in love with his own, who donned an eyepatch in revenge. Appearances mean nothing.)

When his eyes flicker open, she doesn't smile - her face is as neutral as the walls. Her voice however, is quieter, a barely detectable roughness sewn into her timbre.

"Good morning."

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Last Edit: Sept 4, 2017 13:45:55 GMT -5 by shrimp

Tom
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sunrise at 06:42 | charlie & teddy Sept 4, 2017 20:34:43 GMT -5

Post by Tom on Sept 4, 2017 20:34:43 GMT -5

☾

There's only whispers of reality that come through in the stillness of the dark. He's been in and out of consciousness for what felt like years, but could only have been a few days. Whispers of injuries that didn't quite heal right or the wounds that Lux Pelotte had forever cut into his skin were upon their tongues. He's had dreams through it all. Nightmares that don't let up. Lux Pelotte's words as she cuts into his cheek. Her eyes stare at him as the end of the final battle happens before him. It's all nightmares about her for the first night.

The second night were dreams of the place that they were in. The salty smell of ocean water that seems to stick to the nostril with both a pleasant and horrid smell. The smell of corpses that lay on the island of the dead. The heat that radiates from the land of black glass and the molten rocks that chased him down the volcano. He can feel the black sand against his feet as he tries to breath, but can't for a moment. Then he can hear Emberly's words. He can hear the clashing of blades again. He can hear Ree Fer's dying wish.

It all vanishes as his eyes open to white walls that were the same as the hospitals back in District Six. For a moment, all he can think of was that it was all a dream. Something that he imagined and could be cured because he injured himself, but as soon as he looked down, he could see his leg still missing. Dreams. Realities. All he wanted was to rest, but as he looks to the window, there's an image of a cityscape that could only be provided by the capitol. Before the arena, he had messed with the damn thing, trying to make it a normal window, but never truly figured it out. He had a chance to now if he wanted.

Fingers twitch as he looks to the foot of the bed once more, noticing her. One of the three that he could recognize as the people who scored him. The humans who lost their humanity in some shape or form. Heart tells him to swing for her with a fist, beat her to a pulp, but this wasn't the games no more. There wasn't a reason to kill, even if he's already done it. He knew that he didn't want to. He never had. Instead, he moves his hand to his cheek which was healing rather well, compared to the sloppy mess that he would have done.

Green eyes meet the cold neutral blue ones. He doesn't speak, but he had heard her words of a good morning. He doesn't dare move a single finger as he stays neutral. He wasn't exactly angry, but he was frustrated. He couldn't exactly explain it and he would never be able to explain it. There were more of those emotions to come, if things were going to be like he expected them to. He did outlive twenty three others, three of which he had taken with his own weapon, that was not there now.

"Morning, Ms. Garnet."

It's a moment when he stops breathing, but he tries to be as polite as he can. Ma would roll over in her grave if he had not been, especially to a woman who had the control to end his life in mere moments before. Though, she couldn't do anything now, he still didn't want to try her patience. Smiles weren't meant for heartless. All he could do was tap a finger against the bed sheets. Their whispers were still there like a haunting voice in his mind. They had made it out. He had made it out. He was alive. It was still a strange feeling.

"Not to sound rude, but why do I have the pleasure of your presence here today?"

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shrimp
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sunrise at 06:42 | charlie & teddy Oct 2, 2017 21:16:44 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Oct 2, 2017 21:16:44 GMT -5

[attr="class","shrimp_parallax"]

Why is she here?

That's a good question.

"Honestly," she says, arms crossed, voice soft. "I'm not sure."

When Kirito Miristioma stepped into that hovercraft, Charlie Garnet had a lot more on her mind than making sure her Victor was safe and no longer homicidal. She had the President's crosshairs on her back, a population screaming over overpowered muttations and all she wanted to do was lie in her bed with a bottle of something sharp. So, frankly, for a while that's all she did. She hadn't left her house for the first three months, taking meetings through the phone. And then, silently, quietly, she had transferred back to the Environmental Effects department. A year later, she realized that she had barely remembered the boy who escaped her domain.

Only when a letter had arrived with a wax seal adorned with wheat had she decided to take a day off of the 76th, and finally turn back to the 70th. And she saw a monster, a breakdown, a splintered half. When tributes that still remained in her mind died, he was still there, laughing. Or, perhaps he would claim, it wasn't him at all. And when Kirito had stared at her with an eyepatch plastered over his face, Charlie could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She's watched the recap this time, and she understands her victor's story. So she looks at him. Really looks at him. His finger is lightly tapping against the bedspread. The space where his leg would be is concave. His eyes are green.

"But I made a mistake, last time. And I won't let it happen again. And besides, I have something for you."

She reaches into her cardigan pocket, placing the object onto the table next to Teddy's bed. It's a simple picture frame, holding what seems to be a wrinkled piece of paper, letters scratched on the surface.

"The others weren't very interested in your speech," she says. And it's true - she still remembers the guffaws and the snorts, the disinterested tossing of the letter onto the ground. "But it reminded me of someone. And he's still alive today." And apparently, so are you.

She looks out the window, at the lavender that begins to coat the horizon, roses and lilac dotting the clouds. She thinks back to the violets and mauves of the arena, the saturation levels off the charts. If Teddy bothers to look, he'll see the bags etched under her eyes, the slight bloodshot lines of her corneas, the minute trembling of her hand. Her mouth remains as thin as ever, not a trace of a smile. After a few moments, she sighs. "I suppose we can never replicate it," she says, to no one in particular. She turns back to the victor.

"The doctors will advise that you get a prosthetic - it works well, for you and for the cameras. Not the same, of course." She thinks back to Elya Johnwayne, Lethe Turner, Heron Kimberling. "But go with your gut. It's your life, now. You've earned it." She nods ever so slightly.

"Congratulations."