mirages // achilles x flint (calla) blitz
Jan 8, 2018 4:50:27 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 8, 2018 4:50:27 GMT -5
Much to Flint’s disappointment, his Day One at the Capitol died promptly and time transitioned into Day Two. The invitations came, cursive writing welcoming all district dignitaries to a carnival. And, after a brisk clothing session which consisted of Flint throwing different layers of fabrics onto himself, he stands in awe amid a fairyland of silver and blue.
Past the array of varicolored houses and booths, is an elongated line of spires and peaks lighting up for the night. District one’s luxuries and amenities were a child’s toy compared to the Capitol’s holographic charm.
There are ghosts of District one and a broken mansion in several of the faces he glimpsed on his way here. All adorned and slapped with a coat of paint, yet not quite adorned to rival the Capitolites’ eccentricity. He caught sight of a girl with bejeweled horns jutting out of her forehead earlier. Wild.
The supervised tour rule is a slight buzzkill ‘cause he would rather explore in solitude. He snaps out of this reverie and gawks for the tour-guide’s signboard but instead, he finds himself blinking owlishly at an eerily familiar face.
“... Achilles?” The name reemerges misty flickers of the night they’d spent together, on a bed, intoxicated on each other’s breaths and a green light hanging above them.
Past the array of varicolored houses and booths, is an elongated line of spires and peaks lighting up for the night. District one’s luxuries and amenities were a child’s toy compared to the Capitol’s holographic charm.
There are ghosts of District one and a broken mansion in several of the faces he glimpsed on his way here. All adorned and slapped with a coat of paint, yet not quite adorned to rival the Capitolites’ eccentricity. He caught sight of a girl with bejeweled horns jutting out of her forehead earlier. Wild.
The supervised tour rule is a slight buzzkill ‘cause he would rather explore in solitude. He snaps out of this reverie and gawks for the tour-guide’s signboard but instead, he finds himself blinking owlishly at an eerily familiar face.
“... Achilles?” The name reemerges misty flickers of the night they’d spent together, on a bed, intoxicated on each other’s breaths and a green light hanging above them.
Tag: calla
