young, the giants ➳ train [d7]

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young, the giants ➳ train [d7] May 28, 2023 10:30:55 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on May 28, 2023 10:30:55 GMT -5

Maybe it's all my fault.

How stupid I must be, forsaking God to do what any other girl my age would do but with a man. My mom spends her last words with me drilling my head with more of it, the last chance she gets to tell me she loves me and she spends it for condemnation. How could I - where did she go wrong, what did that girl do to me. That's what she asks, and I don't look her in the eye, facing out the window with my arms crossed as she berates me and Dot both. That trashy little rat, look at me damn it, and that's when I do - she grabs me by the jaw and forces my wet eyes to look at her's. This is what I wanted, right? When I asked Dot to kiss me in front of her, in front of everybody.

It must have been, mama, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, but don't tell her, tell God now. He's the only one willing to listen, she says, and I don't even think that's true. He's killing me for a reason, mama, and she says he sure is. I wonder if she means that, if she's as angry at me as God is. I wonder if she hates me, if she did all along - if he does too. God, what have I done? Do I regret it, or do I just regret being open about it? She leaves and my father never comes, instead it's just me and the empty space where I think God is looking at me from, and I feel naked in this red dress.

I expect my dad to come, but he never does. Neither do my brothers, nor my friends. It's just me and that quiet place until the peacekeeper comes, and he motions and I follow. There's no reason not to - I've always been better off obedient. The only love I ever got otherwise was from her, Dot, the girl with the silver hair. With her goodbyes against mama's, I just wallow in on myself as I board the train. I don't know what to think anymore, other than here I am, a few weeks away from none of it ever mattering anyways.

Thinking like that, I might as well kill myself now; I don't care what I come back to, I just want to live. I deserve that much, at least.

It'll be harder when I start to say the same about the others - two out of twenty four, all I know is myself and the young boy with me. If I'm to do this, he just has to be that: another boy. He isn't a part of my home; after today, I don't even think I have a home anymore. Just myself and four strangers on the world's worst train ride. Get used to it, even if I live I'll never escape this train. I look to the victors and they look just as dead inside as I imagined anyone caught up in this would be. 28 dead kids since Mr. Pryce came home.

I look to Torian Vice - 29.

"So," I start early, catching my reflection in a chalice and wondering how many ghosts must be looking back at me. There's a moment I don't know what to say - how do I introduce myself when I don't even know who that is anymore? I've been tossed in the air so high I don't know what'll be left when I hit the ground, but if I have to sit in silence any longer, God help me so- "Mr. Pryce, first impressions?" I say before sipping something bitter and blood red.

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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young, the giants ➳ train [d7] May 28, 2023 12:21:19 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on May 28, 2023 12:21:19 GMT -5

^{YOUR DREAMS ARE INCREDIBLY LOUD TONIGHT
YOU'RE CREATING FOREST FIRES}

Mackenzie was struck that morning with the realization that of the eight years Violet had been alive, half of it had been spent with divorced parents. Four years of living right next door to the woman who gave birth to her, but only ever getting to see her in the rare occasion that she decided to leave her bedroom every few months or so. Four years of Mackenzie asking his own mother to watch her when he was going to be in the Capitol doing two people's jobs for the price of one: trying to save some of the most outlandish, strange individuals from Seven he'd ever met. Four years of knowing he was never meant to be a primary caregiver in any sense and yet being forced at every turn to be one. Four years.

Half the time he told himself he was ruining everything- his daughter, his tributes, anything he could touch. The other half, he remembered that the alternative was letting Violet become a Salazar. And there was no amount of damage he could do to Violet that was worse than that.

As for the tributes, it wasn't anything new. Once his own mentor got him out of his arena and his pants, she was done doing her job until it would someday convenience her again. He knew all of his failures were his own to bear in that regard- so many second place finishes but never another win. Coupled with the fact that he couldn't rid himself of tributes like Orville King or the fucking Forresters, the last decade or so of Mackenzie Pryce's life had grown particularly dim.

"So Mr. Pryce, first impressions?"

And yet, a glimpse of hope.

Neither of his tributes in the 94th seemed to believe that if they talked to the trees, the trees would answer in real time, so he supposed that was already a nice start. And sure, on the surface there were several things he could discern: the boy, though younger, was clearly well-fed. The girl had a million things sitting on her tongue that her teeth didn't seem willing to let her say. He'd trained himself to look for things like that, potential marketing strategies.

"You both seem pretty sensible," he said, more as wishful thought than a confirmed suspicion. He couldn't say more in front of both of them unless they ended up seeming like they wanted to work together. No need in giving them ammunition to destroy each other instead of the others.

He hated how this part always made him sound: colder and crueler and more accepting of the Games than he ever wanted to appear. But the truth was that it was the only way to survive. No one who spoke out or took action against the Capitol or the Games ever made it too far, and most of them were erased from history's narrative entirely. When looking back, Panem remembered Imperiosa Ironsquall, the Haus of Crowe, lions and alligators and hungry snakes, the gigantic spider creatures of Harlan Godfrey's maze. Shotgun Ames became Adder when she won, and Terra Montague was banned from District One. Mackenzie could recall reading an article after the 90th which suggested Nowles Adroxis and Maze Armstrong were likely paired off in the mech tournament and killed just because both of them admitted to being rebellious-minded and the Capitol refused to allow it.

Mackenzie supposed it was a good time now to tell them not to do that.

"First thing is first: you are always being watched. From here on out, you both love this 'opportunity' the Capitol has given you, and are 'very excited' to prove yourselves if anyone asks. Got it? Never tell the other tributes you're afraid, don't sass Caesar in your interviews, don't prove the wrong point in your Private Training Sessions, and don't say anything that could be counted as treasonous anywhere where you could possibly be recorded. Or at all, for that matter." He made air quotes with his fingers as he spoke to emphasize both his point and that it was a necessary evil he himself only pretended to adhere to.

"I'm assuming you both at least know your way around an axe?"

Last Edit: May 28, 2023 13:09:57 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

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young, the giants ➳ train [d7] May 29, 2023 15:49:53 GMT -5

Post by Python on May 29, 2023 15:49:53 GMT -5

{ t o r i a n v i c e }

Torian was in a state of shock. It was rare to find himself speechless and without thought, but he had been thrust into a reality his brain could not accept. His mother's arms were wrapped around him, tears staining his awful striped-green shirt. In between mutters of "my poor boy" and "you can outsmart them, you must try'" he looked at his father, who was stoic. His eyes spoke with no uncertainty, a tale of hopelessness and acceptance. He knew his only son was dead.

Torn apart from his family, his home, he stepped onto the train because he had to. He did not believe in ghosts, but it was haunting to know how many people had sat in this train before their demise. His parents tried to shield him from such things, but viewings were often mandatory during school breaks, or during his history classes when something notable happened. Usually it was about what "not" to do.

Meeting victors had not been part of his bucket list. Mr. Pryce was more of an enigma than a real person. A concept. Something you talk about but never see, and yet when he started to speak, Torian scrambled for a notebook and pen so he could take notes. He knew his brain would memorize everything he said, but his lack of confidence in this situation was making him doubt his own abilities. Better safe than sorry. Pretend to enjoy this, don't admit you're afraid, don't talk back to Caesar-. Torian didn't know how he was going to become an actor overnight. Did they have classes for that sort of thing?

He gulped when Mr. Pryce mentioned the axes. "No, sir. I've never held one. I'm more of a science guy." It sounded stupid the moment he said it, but it was true. His family forbid him from engaging in those activities, and the gifted program allowed that exception. To think it would betray him after all this time. He should've spent more time begging his parents to let him try new things. How could he let this happen?

He was so screwed.