show me a way to the sun {fuzzy}
Oct 8, 2017 4:30:05 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Oct 8, 2017 4:30:05 GMT -5
[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]
Parsnip. Mint. Pennyroyal.
I recognize most of the plants the trainer has laid out - at least, the ones that grow in District Twelve. The ones we cook in our meals and buy from the apothecary's for our medicine cabinets. The ones sold in black markets for unmarried girls to brew teas from, should they wish it.
Others, however, are deceptive. There are shiny green poisonous leaves that look just like some of the spices we keep at home, mysterious mushrooms that can give you a stomachache, cause hallucinations, or just outright kill you, and plants that can make your skin blister just by touching them.
And there's no guarantee that the arena will have a food source at all. I remember the year where there was no food, no water, no wood, not even edible mutts. A year that seemed calculated to kill off Districts Eleven and Twelve quickly.
I glance over at the weapons table again. Everything there looks so utterly unfamiliar; a knife that is a weapon is far different from a knife for chopping vegetables or slicing bread, and honestly -
I'm scared.
Scared of the Careers milling about the place, of looking like a fool in front of them and being marked for an easy target that they'll try to kill first. Scared of the tributes who volunteered for a chance at revenge, the ones who shoved their way to the stage, eyes filled with hatred and anger.
And the rest of them? The ones who cried on stage, the ones who tremble and freeze and break down?
I look back to the rack of swords and knives.
I'm scared of thinking about having to kill them.
Back to the plants. Thunderwood, thorn-apple, rue. The kid next to me is puzzling over an umbrella of white flowers - my first thought is wild carrot until I notice something odd.
Unlike carrots or parsnips, the stem of this plant is hollow. My brother once traded some Seam kid for a whistle they'd carved from one; when Father found out, it was the only time I recall seeing him panic.
Until the Reaping.
Back then, he could snarl about wanting to kill the kid for their mishap, but now he is powerless against the Capitol.
"That's poison-parsnip," I blurt out to the boy. "Looks like a wild carrot, but you really don't want to be eating it."
OOC: ♛ scandal
mila breukelen
Parsnip. Mint. Pennyroyal.
I recognize most of the plants the trainer has laid out - at least, the ones that grow in District Twelve. The ones we cook in our meals and buy from the apothecary's for our medicine cabinets. The ones sold in black markets for unmarried girls to brew teas from, should they wish it.
Others, however, are deceptive. There are shiny green poisonous leaves that look just like some of the spices we keep at home, mysterious mushrooms that can give you a stomachache, cause hallucinations, or just outright kill you, and plants that can make your skin blister just by touching them.
And there's no guarantee that the arena will have a food source at all. I remember the year where there was no food, no water, no wood, not even edible mutts. A year that seemed calculated to kill off Districts Eleven and Twelve quickly.
I glance over at the weapons table again. Everything there looks so utterly unfamiliar; a knife that is a weapon is far different from a knife for chopping vegetables or slicing bread, and honestly -
I'm scared.
Scared of the Careers milling about the place, of looking like a fool in front of them and being marked for an easy target that they'll try to kill first. Scared of the tributes who volunteered for a chance at revenge, the ones who shoved their way to the stage, eyes filled with hatred and anger.
And the rest of them? The ones who cried on stage, the ones who tremble and freeze and break down?
I look back to the rack of swords and knives.
I'm scared of thinking about having to kill them.
Back to the plants. Thunderwood, thorn-apple, rue. The kid next to me is puzzling over an umbrella of white flowers - my first thought is wild carrot until I notice something odd.
Unlike carrots or parsnips, the stem of this plant is hollow. My brother once traded some Seam kid for a whistle they'd carved from one; when Father found out, it was the only time I recall seeing him panic.
Until the Reaping.
Back then, he could snarl about wanting to kill the kid for their mishap, but now he is powerless against the Capitol.
"That's poison-parsnip," I blurt out to the boy. "Looks like a wild carrot, but you really don't want to be eating it."
OOC: ♛ scandal
