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alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

knuckles white dry | h + a | post bb Feb 18, 2024 15:53:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Feb 18, 2024 15:53:52 GMT -5

We lay in the snow outside of the cabin for what feels like hours. The liminal space between sleeping and awake. Our eyes gleam like shards of ice from the windows as our backs lean against the worn wood. Safe but not. Alert but complacent.

The cold is harsh enough to dull the ache in my bones.

I palm a snowball, nearly tempted to throw it at Axyl, but I smash it against my face instead. The cold feels good for my swollen eye. Pops had taught me that trick, back when I was stupid enough to miss ducking as his fist came roaring at my face.

We'd been between districts then - someplace that wasn’t quite Two and definitely not Three or Four. The inbetween. Kinda like now.

“Bro, that was seriously fucked up. Are you good? Like…I dunno, can you walk or nah?” I ask Axyl, because the silence has been stretching between us for what feels like miles and lifetimes and after I hauled his ass outta that cabin, we haven’t spoken.

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Last Edit: Feb 18, 2024 15:55:03 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

pogue
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1,811 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

knuckles white dry | h + a | post bb Feb 19, 2024 8:54:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Feb 19, 2024 8:54:42 GMT -5

It's not long before they collapse into the snow, blanket of white begging to coat their skin. There's a frost that nips at his skin in the morning sun, cold and ice curling at the edges of his fingertips, reminding him of his own mortality, blood and flesh and everything in between.

But all that flowery bullshit does not matter. Because fuck-

Axyl's brewing a witch's concoction of expletives and venom, sour words dancing on the tip of his tongue and spilling out into the snow in rough and tumble. He swears, there's a layer of white that begins to melt with the fire that's coming out of his ears, seeing red and feeling it too as he palms a half-shattered knee, makeshift splint wrapped in torn up uniform shreds.

A real poet laureate of swear words and sworn vengeance, muttered underneath his breath into the wind, that's all he's ever been.

"Dude, that was seriously fucked up." Hugo's voice pulls him back from one cliff and places him on another, tuning back into the world he's been dropped into as he turns to face his ally. "Are you good?" NO!

"Like... I dunno, can you walk or nah?"

Axyl stews on the words, harsh and sharpened, none of them directed towards the boy who'd saved his life but not nearly enough emotional intelligence to navigate the conversation delicately enough. "Wasn't looking and the fucker got a lick in on me." There's the evidence in a broken knee, throbbing pain and threaded fire underneath his flesh. "Piece of **** and ** ****** ******** **** and ******-"

There's a flash of red, camera atop a tree pointing down on him and Axyl stops himself far too late, smoke from the gun he's fired off clouding his lungs and his vision. ".... thanks." He finally mutters to Hugo, choking on his own fucking pride.

"I can-" He nearly sputters a statement before moving to prove himself, gritting teeth to teeth as he pushes himself to his good knee and then, finally, to his feet. Shaking in his own ambitions, "Yeah, I can hobble the fuck out of this goddamn arena." Middle finger to the sky, then to the cameras.

"We should keep it pushin'." He throws out, nearly falling into Hugo before regaining what little composure he was graced with.