Tearing Seams of Reality [78th D6 Train]

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Tearing Seams of Reality [78th D6 Train] Jan 31, 2018 13:35:10 GMT -5

Post by Tom on Jan 31, 2018 13:35:10 GMT -5

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[attr="id","teddyText"]The feeling is indescribable. The faint feeling of failure and disgrace coming across his chest, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. Never was his fault, but Ansel's photo is in his room on the train. There's no denying the feeling of failure that came with the male who killed Serena. Neither made it home to him. Two more deaths that District Six were mourning or arguing or disinterested in. Ansel was a madman to many. A killer born for the games and all he can do is hold his breath at the words he's heard. Ansel was no monster. Teddy had gotten to know him, even if he killed his district partner. He wasn't some monster, but a boy who wanted to get home. In the end, fate came to his death all Teddy had done was welcome Jacinta and gotten the photograph that meant so much to Ansel. A photo of his father that was close to Ansel's heart.

This year was unusual compared to others, children saved by two heroes, if you could call them that. They might have been idiots that didn't know what they were getting into, or they knew exactly what they were getting into and wanted it. Either way, two volunteers from District Six was unusual compared to his reaping and the one after. A deep breath of air as the train welcomes them on with open arms to a reality that no one knew was coming for them. A girl who's age reminded him of his younger siblings, who would be reapable soon. Heart ache is the first thing he felt when he watched her volunteer. A young girl who didn't deserve to be in a games so violent. All he could do was ignore the feeling in his stomach to get up and drink. Star's been getting him to try and stop drinking so much in the presence of the tributes.

Listening to her words, he pours himself a drink of something that fizzed with bubbles that rise to the surface. Vesper and Aeson were gonna be coming in any moment. Vesper was either too young to understand what she was getting herself into or knew what it was she was getting into. Aeson seemed much more capable of handling himself, but it doesn't ease his chest that seems to tense up at the thought. Then the car feels tense as his eyes land on both of his mentees who he can't read, hell he can't read people as well as he used to. A sorrowful smile comes forth as he greets them with calm words on his lips.

"Hey, Vesper and Aeson."

The silence grows thick in his mind as he holds the drink in his hand as he tilts it back taking a large gulp of it. Tired eyes of a man who doesn't sleep well glancing out the window to see if they've started moving yet. Getting up, he leans on the seat as he thinks of a way to not feel the tension in his heart and throat coming up. Words don't come forward right away, instead he sticks to his thoughts. Volunteers. Volunteers who gave themselves up to the games like it was anything else that could have made them better. Teddy's tired of feeling like he's collapsing on the inside. Mind wandering back to Tati who's words ring in his head. Karma was going to come back to him for his deeds. Karma would torture him just like the way that their blood mix along his hands no matter how hard he tried to wash them away. A phantom pain comes from his missing leg that's covered from his pants. Words come out of his lips as if the reality of the situation wasn't affecting his heart and mind.

"Why did you both volunteer?"

Eyes glancing from Vesper to Aeson as he crosses his arms carefully with a light frown. Volunteering wasn't something he knew. It wasn't something that District Six knew of often, except when the 75th came around. If only, he knew that he would be reaped after that games, he would have given life another chance somewhere else, but he has to live with his actions. The warmth that he can feel when sleep comes that turns into an overgrowing heat that tears him from his dreams of moving into Chester for warmth. Moments of memories that come across like a slap of the face. Teddy watches them with expectations upon his mind.

"I'm here to help you both, in whatever way that I can."

Help them in whatever way he could when he couldn't even help Ansel Khiev in an arena filled with death.

The reality of the situation was he didn't know what he could do for them.

The seams of reality were tearing right before them.

All he could do was watch as they go through what he did the first day after being reaped.

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Tearing Seams of Reality [78th D6 Train] Feb 2, 2018 15:27:57 GMT -5

Post by d4 tati pelotte [azalea] on Feb 2, 2018 15:27:57 GMT -5

v
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s
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a
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s
y

Sometimes people can make good decisions, and sometimes people can make bad decisions. I've always thought that the good decisions are always just looked over, glanced at and then passed on to someone else, maybe they lack significance or impact to hit someone straight in the heart. The bad decisions are soul-defining; they are the choices that make a person question everything they have ever done, ever said and seen and felt. I don't think that bad decisions make bad people.

Bad decisions make good stories.

Two years ago, I was only ten. World at my feet and mud up my side from finding that mudslide behind that rotting outhouse, bad decisions turned a nobody into a somebody. Names aren't worth much, if anything at all, but when there is a crown on your head and a list of names under your belt, you become everything to everyone. Teddy Ursa has all that and more; his name glitters with gold and silver and bronze. A knight in shining armour who rode in just as we needed him, he was the light in what felt like a dark that would last a lifetime.

A flicker, a spark. Nobody would have known that when his name was picked and called, he would be standing strong in a few weeks time. Blood on his hands, a bleed of emotion on the brain but he didn't die. Bad decisions make good stories; he's murdered, he has beaten and punched and kicked.

Bad decisions, good intentions. I think that is what makes Teddy Ursa different from everyone else.

I have good intentions. I'm sure of it.

"Hey, Vesper and Aeson."

Bright eyes meet with his: dulled, uninspired, tired. He should be ready and raring to go, bursting with every tip, trick and cheat that could make Aeson and I come home. But I can feel it, I can feel it when I look at him and when I stand by him; an ache in his heart and the situation like a bullet to his head. Cold, cold, colder yet and colder still---can't he be strong just once more? For me?

Yes, maybe it is selfish to want it and to have a sense of reliance on someone else. But that is why he is here, and if I'm here and don't use every opportunity to my own advantage, if I don't gain an insight and learn how to get the cards, play the cards and win the game---

---why did I even bother?

I have a family to think about, a new brother or sister on the way and I just want a few nice things to tart up the nursery. My heart is telling me to provide a sense of security and step into the shoes of the big sister I've hated being so much.

I have something to prove; rags to riches, roads to bridges, weak to vicious.

"Why did you both volunteer? I'm here to help you both, in whatever way that I can."

"I want to do my family proud." I say, I'm sure of myself, I know it, I know it and I know I can. "I want to give them the finer things and be a good big sister for once." And there are countless things I could say to try and convince Teddy Ursa that I am worth his time, but I think my situation is pretty self-explanatory. Twelve and knowing that hope is what my family needs right now, and so that is what I have to give them. Hope, and in the process, I'll make history. I have to.

Maybe everyone else wants that too, but I can feel something innate within me that wants it more. Hunger and thirst, I'm on both sides of the spectrum and at every point in the middle. Different moments awaken different beasts in a person, like monsters under the bed, what doesn't challenge you---won't change you.

Bad decisions, good intentions. Glass eyes and desperation.

"So, Mr. Teddy Ursa, please help me win."

kousei ♚
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now and forever

Tearing Seams of Reality [78th D6 Train] Feb 3, 2018 18:52:45 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Feb 3, 2018 18:52:45 GMT -5

a e s o n kight .

Shadow Svenin never thanked you.

("Oh Ripred, lead our son's soul from darkness.")

One visit turned to two, and then two turned to three. Your sister told you she loved you and Ava told you not to die, but it was Shadow Svenin's eyes that burned holes through your being. He spoke in a way that could only be measured in drips and dregs, a way the radiated control and never losing its composure. You were his saving grace with black wings, and dark words and yet he spoke to you like he was greeting a stranger from the street. You looked into his eyes and it was as if he knew you would take the reaper's scythe from from his neck and slice your palms on the blade.

Left in silence, you threw your head back and let laughter fill the room. It drowned the scrawled words upon rotting pages and tapped your fingers against your knees -- there would be no saving grace for you.

Ripred save your soul; what a fucking joke.

That crown of brimstone and blood would be pried from your dead fingers and decayed flesh; scripture never told you what that special place in hell would be like. A legion of broken skeletons and torn souls sit beneath your foot; they've all seen that special place before you. A dead god won't be your saving grace; only crimson stained flesh and bruised knuckles.

You press your index finger into your back when men in white swing the door open. They contrast with your dark wings, pacing you from the justice building towards the train. You breathe, spotting your sister in the crowd before pausing in front of the train carriage before the doors open and you're met with the form of Teddy Ursa, prosthetic leg clicking and drink in his hand.

You sit, fingers drumming against the leather seat and one leg over the other. You watch him, a man clad in glory and still drawing breath into his living lungs. You remember the boy with the golden spear but too much heart; you never cared much for legacy but he left an impression in your mind like those words of scriptures that inked themselves into your skin at six years old. You see the bitter irony, a man with one leg presumes to be your light to survival because he carries the simple gift of breathing.

You should laugh, but instead you're left with apathy.

He asks questions for the simple purpose of seeing inside your mind. Why you volunteered is something only you'll be allowed to see. "I don't think it really matters now, all that matters is that we're here and one or both of us will be dead." You say simply, shrugging your shoulders. You volunteered and so did this girl who looks no older than fourteen.

Dumb bitch.

You hear her tangent but you don't listen, your mind tends towards oblivion but fluctuated towards awareness. Nothing can leave an impression deeper than the scripture and judgement scrawled across those yellowed pages anymore.

("Oh Ripred, save us from sin.")

You tap your fingers against your knee and just watch.

"Someone's enthusiastic about this," you say simply, lazily rolling your eyes. "But based on last year you're probably putting your faith in the wrong person."

Faith is a funny thing, it's never put in the hands of people who've earned its call.

Saving grace can't be found in the scripture of a dead god on yellow pages, no more than they can be found in the words of a living man who still wastes away with every stolen heartbeat.