I'm Sorry That We're Hopeless[WT]
Jul 10, 2011 20:08:08 GMT -5
Post by WT on Jul 10, 2011 20:08:08 GMT -5
((OOC- I forgot how difficult she is. Holy crows. Okay then. Sorry about that. D: Hopefully this'll get easier- and the posts will get better- with practice.))
Very rarely did the Capitol allow travel between Districts. The government vastly preferred to keep citizens where they were born, thereby minimizing the flow of information and keeping membership in unpleasant things like uprisings to a minimum. Occasional mail and movement were allowed for companies that needed to ship things, but that was about it. As for permanent moves, forget it. Unless an entire District was in upheaval and the Capitol could benefit from it- for instance, the massive migration of farmers from District Five to Ten to make way for oil refineries in Five- almost nothing could convince Panem’s powers that be to let someone relocate.
At the age of five, Ayane already understood this. When she was very small and asked for Kima, Themba just told her that her aunt would come home soon, but eventually they reached a point where he had to explain or let her distrust him for the rest of their lives. As young children are wont to do, she accepted it and then ceased to think about the matter at all, unless Kima was brought up, for months on end.
So when Kima was allowed into District Seven for a short time during the Games, Ayane was prepared for the halting explanation that her aunt could not stay and Ayane could not go home with her. (After all, a victor had to stay in her District. And children were orphaned all the time; why should this one be given special treatment?) With an almost eerie calm she hugged Kima around the neck, then trundled off to her room to draw clumsy pictures to send with her second mother. Between the small sections of the Games that her aunt allowed her to watch, the girl pushed out images that were just barely recognizable as the two of them, or the two of them with Themba, or places around District Seven. Kima wasn’t allowed to see them until the day she left, when little Ayane pressed the crumpled pages into her hands.
Before then, Ayane had promised herself not to let Kima see her cry. She did so, of course, but only at night when she thought her aunt wasn’t sitting outside the door listening. How could she not? Her mother had gone to the Capitol to play a game, and never left; now her father was going to the same place, and Ayane didn’t expect to ever see him again. But at that moment, when Kima clutched the drawings to her chest with one hand and tangled the other in Ayane’s hair, the normally-cheerful girl had to press her face into the woman’s knees and sob. Here her aunt was leaving her too, and soon she would go to a home for children without parents, a place where she would know nobody and be cut off from everything she knew. Watching Kima step onto that train was, as far as her young mind could comprehend, the end of the world.
So when Jana came to the front door, Ayane was ready to go. Her few belongings (her father’s ring, her mother’s sweater, the bird Jana had carved for her some time ago, some pencils, and several changes of clothes) were wrapped in a blanket, which she had pulled out to the living room of what had been her father’s house. Over the course of the morning she left several times to meander around the house, her restless energy building up into a need to move even if she didn’t actually do anything, but she always returned to the couch. Most of her time alone was spent perched on the edge of the cushion next to her bundle, kicking her legs while she waited for the people from the orphanage to come get her. Never in her short life had she been sadder, lonelier, or more terrified.
Luckily, it was not the voice of some frightening stranger that reached her through the door early that afternoon, but a friend. Ayane’s head shot around at the familiar sound, her entire body perking up a little bit as she slid from the couch and ran to the door. “Jana!” Fumbling with the doorknob, she pulled open the entrance and barreled through almost before it had passed her, all but attacking the teenage on the other side with her enthusiastic hug. “Hi,” she said emphatically, looking up to offer a toothy grin. In the excitement, her general disappointment with life was briefly forgotten, shoved back by an attention span that could only deal with so many emotions at once. Unfortunately, as she continued to speak she was reminded of it; her grin slowly faded and her grip around Jana’s legs slackened as she remembered that she was supposed to be afraid. “You shoulda camed yesterday. Auntie Kima was here, but she goed because the Capitol said she couldn’t stay and now I have to go to an o- or- place. But its good to see you.” With a herculean effort she beamed upward, not wanting this friend of her father- almost another aunt, really- upset. Themba definitely wouldn’t want that.
Very rarely did the Capitol allow travel between Districts. The government vastly preferred to keep citizens where they were born, thereby minimizing the flow of information and keeping membership in unpleasant things like uprisings to a minimum. Occasional mail and movement were allowed for companies that needed to ship things, but that was about it. As for permanent moves, forget it. Unless an entire District was in upheaval and the Capitol could benefit from it- for instance, the massive migration of farmers from District Five to Ten to make way for oil refineries in Five- almost nothing could convince Panem’s powers that be to let someone relocate.
At the age of five, Ayane already understood this. When she was very small and asked for Kima, Themba just told her that her aunt would come home soon, but eventually they reached a point where he had to explain or let her distrust him for the rest of their lives. As young children are wont to do, she accepted it and then ceased to think about the matter at all, unless Kima was brought up, for months on end.
So when Kima was allowed into District Seven for a short time during the Games, Ayane was prepared for the halting explanation that her aunt could not stay and Ayane could not go home with her. (After all, a victor had to stay in her District. And children were orphaned all the time; why should this one be given special treatment?) With an almost eerie calm she hugged Kima around the neck, then trundled off to her room to draw clumsy pictures to send with her second mother. Between the small sections of the Games that her aunt allowed her to watch, the girl pushed out images that were just barely recognizable as the two of them, or the two of them with Themba, or places around District Seven. Kima wasn’t allowed to see them until the day she left, when little Ayane pressed the crumpled pages into her hands.
Before then, Ayane had promised herself not to let Kima see her cry. She did so, of course, but only at night when she thought her aunt wasn’t sitting outside the door listening. How could she not? Her mother had gone to the Capitol to play a game, and never left; now her father was going to the same place, and Ayane didn’t expect to ever see him again. But at that moment, when Kima clutched the drawings to her chest with one hand and tangled the other in Ayane’s hair, the normally-cheerful girl had to press her face into the woman’s knees and sob. Here her aunt was leaving her too, and soon she would go to a home for children without parents, a place where she would know nobody and be cut off from everything she knew. Watching Kima step onto that train was, as far as her young mind could comprehend, the end of the world.
So when Jana came to the front door, Ayane was ready to go. Her few belongings (her father’s ring, her mother’s sweater, the bird Jana had carved for her some time ago, some pencils, and several changes of clothes) were wrapped in a blanket, which she had pulled out to the living room of what had been her father’s house. Over the course of the morning she left several times to meander around the house, her restless energy building up into a need to move even if she didn’t actually do anything, but she always returned to the couch. Most of her time alone was spent perched on the edge of the cushion next to her bundle, kicking her legs while she waited for the people from the orphanage to come get her. Never in her short life had she been sadder, lonelier, or more terrified.
Luckily, it was not the voice of some frightening stranger that reached her through the door early that afternoon, but a friend. Ayane’s head shot around at the familiar sound, her entire body perking up a little bit as she slid from the couch and ran to the door. “Jana!” Fumbling with the doorknob, she pulled open the entrance and barreled through almost before it had passed her, all but attacking the teenage on the other side with her enthusiastic hug. “Hi,” she said emphatically, looking up to offer a toothy grin. In the excitement, her general disappointment with life was briefly forgotten, shoved back by an attention span that could only deal with so many emotions at once. Unfortunately, as she continued to speak she was reminded of it; her grin slowly faded and her grip around Jana’s legs slackened as she remembered that she was supposed to be afraid. “You shoulda camed yesterday. Auntie Kima was here, but she goed because the Capitol said she couldn’t stay and now I have to go to an o- or- place. But its good to see you.” With a herculean effort she beamed upward, not wanting this friend of her father- almost another aunt, really- upset. Themba definitely wouldn’t want that.