älskar | {jack/arcadia} D5 suite, day3

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Cait
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Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 21, 2024 2:12:14 GMT -5

if looks could kill

älskar | {jack/arcadia} D5 suite, day3 Nov 15, 2023 9:46:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Cait on Nov 15, 2023 9:46:00 GMT -5

arcadia lumiere-fray

“I need to find Jack.”

I’m not really asking Tigs for permission, but I’m grateful when she doesn’t object to me leaving her on her own. Equally so when she doesn’t pry into my motives, or cast a sideways glance at me for abandoning her to go and see a boy. The whole situation with Jack was something we’d avoided talking about. I could lie to the rest of the world and be perfectly fine with it, but the bond between Tigs and I keeps strengthening the longer we stick together, and the idea of lying to her doesn’t sit quite as comfortably with me. I know it’s not good – that it will only make things harder in the end. But I don’t focus on that.

Now, if I was a boy who’d just killed someone for the first time and made himself Public Enemy Number One along with it, where would I go?

The electronic doors of the District Five suite open to me too quickly, too readily, and it almost feels like a trap. Deja vu to a night that feels like a lifetime ago clamps down on my wrist, sinks its teeth into the soft flesh there. The room is eerily quiet, but the Jack-shaped lump in the middle of the bed tells me my initial instincts were correct to check here first.

Seems awfully convenient that we keep meeting up with each other in our bedrooms.

He doesn’t move, excepting the shallow rise and fall of his exhalations. He gives away no sign of having heard me enter, and with his body safely tucked away underneath his bedsheets, it’s unlikely he saw me walk in, either. Like this, he’s just a boy trying to hide away from the world. But Nessa’s words are still ringing in my ears, reminding me that he’s a killer now. That in itself should be enough of a reminder to keep my distance – or at the very least, keep my guard up.

So someone tell me why I don’t even hesitate to peel back the doona and crawl into the bed with him??

“Hi!” Okay, no, too bubbly. Gotta chill. “Hi,” I force levelness into my voice, but it probably doesn’t matter what I say or how I say it: he’s not okay, and nothing’s changing that any time soon. I peel his hands away from his face and try to look at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes just yet.

“What happened, Jack?”

Under the covers, I don’t need to put on a show. There’s no reason for me to reach out to him and grasp his hand like I do, squeezing tightly. But eventually we will need to emerge from this cocoon and face the world yet again.

For now, I’m okay to let the cameras think what they want to believe.

scavenges chemical pools
RcC6RA6SOK1-8
2 | Acid-Resistant Gloves [+2 Hands]

BY CHELSEY

1-8

Last Edit: Nov 15, 2023 9:47:14 GMT -5 by Cait

i always used to be into writing sort of modern abstract
lyricism stuff (that were like) slight vague indications of a feeling.

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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last seen Nov 21, 2024 23:42:26 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

älskar | {jack/arcadia} D5 suite, day3 Nov 16, 2023 16:50:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Nov 16, 2023 16:50:53 GMT -5

jackson reeves

Jack was surprised at how comforted he felt by the darkness of the District five floor. The pulsing neon track lighting, the quiet hum of various engines and power sources rumbling below-foot. It looked a bit like the world's wealthiest single man was allergic to florescent lighting in there, but the essence of his home was there. At least more than it was anywhere else. The television screens were still on, flashing with white and black static and honestly doing most of the heavy lifting in terms of actually lighting the room as Jack trudged across the tiled flooring.

His clothes were still in a heap at the foot of his bed from the night the Capitol gassed the tributes. The bed was still well-made and waiting for him, a debt of a night's sleep still being owed, velveteen texture glinting sapphire blue off the hissing screen. He didn't need an invitation to bury himself beneath the sheets, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. Machiavelli was dead. Dead. And so was Jimmy Garner, thanks to Jack's own hands. He held them out in front of himself for what might've been the hundredth time, half-expecting to see them coated in blood. What he saw instead was that his fingers were trembling. Using them, he wiped at a tickling sensation on his cheek and was disappointed to find that he was crying.

He was glad there were no cameras under the blankets with him. He sat there for several minutes, quietly letting the tears come and go, accepting the truth and then denying it to himself over and over. It was all his fault. None of it was. He could've saved Mac if he'd acted sooner. He hadn't realized he had to be the one to act at all until it was too late. None of it made him feel better because none of it changed anything: they were still dead, he was still a murderer, and the Games were still unfinished. Even the crying didn't help anything, not really, and once he got to the point of realizing it, he was shocked at how quickly the sadness was replaced by other bad feelings: anger, confusion- by the time he saw Arcadia walk into the room he wasn't even sure what to feel, so he just sat there in silence while she quietly climbed in bed with him.

"Hi!" she said, and then again in a much-less enthusiastic tone when she realized his state, "Hi." Jack did his best to play the part- in truth, he was very happy to see Arcadia. To know she was alive, and not pointing her knife at him was a small breath of fresh air amid the sea he was drowning in.

"What happened, Jack?"

He first had to wonder if he would be able to talk about it without getting emotional- rule number one about show business: never let them see you sweat. Arcadia wasn't really his concern though, it was the cameras stationed all around the room. They couldn't know just how much this must have bothered him. Plus, should it have been Jack who explained it? Didn't it somehow make it more cruel if he spoke it out loud? She would probably never see him the same way. But then, she'd already asked and not telling her just meant she might hear it from someone else. So it really came down to this: did he, or did he not, wish to be present for the moment Arcadia might've decided to cut ties with him?

"I didn't want to use the vents," he explained. His voice sounded as tired as he felt, all low and gravelly. "I- I kept getting stuck. My shoulders were too wide." He'd made Machiavelli promise they wouldn't use the vents again. Now, he wished they had more than anything. "I'd used the elevator to come and see you, so I thought it was fine. But then when the doors opened, there were others. The tribute from Two with dark hair and Jimmy both jumped on Machiavelli right away, before any of us even knew what was happening. I begged them to stop. I told them- I told Emerson and Nessa to stay back because I didn't want anyone getting hurt, I told them all to leave before things got ugly. Nessa was begging them to leave with her. They didn't listen."

In fact, Jimmy had called Nessa a stupid bitch. Jack could hear the words echoing in his mind as he recounted it, each bloody detail just as horrific now as it was in the moment.

"I kept pushing them back but eventually Jimmy hit Machiavelli really good and he went down, so I- I- I stabbed Jimmy. They're both... dead now. They both died."

^{BY CHELSEY}

[jack scavenges the chemical pools too!]
grRW7Xm90Q1-8
[2 | Acid-Resistant Gloves [+2 Hands]]

1-8

Last Edit: Nov 16, 2023 17:00:40 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

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

Cait
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1,512 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 21, 2024 2:12:14 GMT -5

if looks could kill

älskar | {jack/arcadia} D5 suite, day3 Nov 17, 2023 11:31:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Cait on Nov 17, 2023 11:31:16 GMT -5

arcadia lumiere-fray

I don’t see it right away. The darkness of the room and the pickup of my heartbeat means I’m slow to fully take in his face. But as the light comes, I notice the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, and it’s hard to look at. It’s so startingly human, and so different to how Tigs had been after killing Maia that I’m stunned into silence at the juxtaposing reactions: day and night, yin and yang.

Jack’s version of processing death is a lot less chilling than Tigs’. I wonder if some part of me came here simply to get away from the destructive pathway she was spiralling towards – from the realisation that she was becoming someone I didn’t quite know how to be around.

It makes me wonder what kind of person I’ll become, soon enough, when my legacy writes itself.

I’m about to tell him it’s okay not to speak – that I’d sit with him through the silence until he was ready to move on. But he finds his voice and begins to recount the horrors of the day, not dissimilar from the ones I’d just run from myself. I listen quietly, my grip on his hand tightening instinctively the longer he speaks. When he finishes, he heaves out a shuddering breath, as if he can feel his own blade striking him down just as it had done to Jimmy.

I don’t know if he feels better or worse for having lightened the load. Not when we both know it’s a burden he can’t fully escape, no matter how many people he tries to share the weight of it with.

“I know. Nessa told me.” Of course, Nessa had conveniently left out the finer details of the whole encounter, but Jack doesn’t spare any part of it, no matter how ugly the truth might be.

Wasn’t it obvious? There were always two sides to every story. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to believe his version of events, but I can’t think of any reason for him to lie to me. To make me feel sorry for him? He hardly seems like the self-pitying type. To save face in front of me? Unlikely – our plan didn’t require us to like each other; it’s just a bonus that we get along well enough. He’s not a bad person. I want to believe that.

“I’m sorry about Machiavelli.” I hadn’t known him well at all, but judging from Jack’s reaction it was obvious there was some strong connection between the two boys. I try not to imagine the hopelessness he would have felt the moment Machiavelli had fallen. I don’t want to have the image of their pained faces reflected in spilled blood.

“This isn’t your fault, Jack. You were backed into a corner. Someone was always going to die.” I hear the sugary words I make myself say – all the things that anyone battling with their morality would want to hear – but they’re not insincere. I feel his shoulders relax slightly against me and know my words help somewhat, like they always do. For my sake, I want him to be okay, but it’s for his too.

“I know this whole thing with us isn’t… conventional, and maybe I’m not supposed to say this, but I do care about you.” My words come out quiet and rushed, muffled against his chest to try and hide them from the cameras. I’d seen his pile of ransacked items in the corner when I’d walked in. I already knew from my own sponsored items that the plan was working, but the confirmation that we were both reaping the rewards meant this was a good idea. That we should keep up the ruse.

I pull my face away from his side and speak more loudly this time, letting every tiny microphone pick up my cadence. “You’re not a bad person; I know you aren’t. And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re going to be okay.” I hesitate then, as I race through every possible scenario that might transpire in the coming days, weighing up which words will keep me alive the longest. I dig my nails into the flesh of my palm as I prepare to utter something that, contrary to popular belief, I’d never said to anyone before – thanks to my dreaming heart and hope for a happily ever after.

Yeah, fuck it.

“And I... love you. No matter what’s happened or what’s going to happen. Anything you need, I’m here.”

scavenges emergency showers
oJwxqvAlbN1-7
3 | Safety Shower Privacy Curtain