melody in e minor (thompson)

florentine, d4b ❁
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melody in e minor (thompson) Sept 25, 2024 22:16:06 GMT -5

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Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Sept 25, 2024 22:16:06 GMT -5

florentine.

i have been exploring, lately. i've made a new rule for myself: if there is a door, i must open it, and see what is inside. so far, i've gotten kicked out of the avox quarters, the kitchens, and three different hallways which all looked exactly the same. the swipe cards are sometimes a problem - of course, as a lowly district kid, i am not authorised to access a significant part of the building. but i'm working on it.

today, i found the rooftop. this is a place it seems that i am allowed to be, because there is netting strategically placed between myself and jumping to my death, and the door is unlocked, and mr. goody two shoes from two is already up here, making a racket. i don't think he would be here if it was off-limits. as i get closer, i see that it's a flute he's huffing on - he must have brought it from home, because personally i haven't been offered a single musical instrument in the whole time i've been here. i'm glad, because my rendition of für elise on the piano would probably expose me as a fraud right there on the spot.

i sit and watch the kid play for a while. if he notices me, he does not look up - he is fixated on the noise he is making, which is somewhere between decent and painful to behold. credit to him, though, to be prioritising a half-mastered art form at a time like this. it's almost optimistic.

the rest of the rooftop is empty; a swimming pool, rippling and over-chlorinated, lays between me and the boy, who's name i believe is thompson. i've been watching him, because from what i've gathered, he's an academy kid, but he doesn't speak like one or act like one or shoot fire out of his eyeballs like one. it's eccentric, for sure.

respectfully, i wait for him to come to a pause for a breath before i interrupt him, announcing my presence by calling out across the pool.

"what's the plan, then? is it a lullaby-based strategy?" i do not intend to be mean; quite the opposite, in fact, but when his eyes lift to meet mine i catch something there i do not like. he looks like that time i ran over a rabbit with my bicycle and it made eye contact with me right before my front tire collided with it's face.

i try some damage control. "you're really good, though. where'd you learn to play like that?" fact is, i don't know anything about what makes a good or bad woodwind player, but i am am a good liar, and i say it with conviction.

Last Edit: Sept 25, 2024 22:17:34 GMT -5 by florentine, d4b ❁

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thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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melody in e minor (thompson) Sept 26, 2024 10:51:47 GMT -5

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Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Sept 26, 2024 10:51:47 GMT -5

He hasn’t really figured out how he feels yet, but maybe that’s why he’s on the roof level of the training center. The boy brought his flute with him like any normal night. It’s how it went back home, too. Escaping to the corner of the Harvard home to let his thoughts run. His thoughts float in the air in an array of keys, taking the thoughts to the stars, where maybe they could mean something.

The air feels crisp, different from how the smog has affected the air back in two. He sleeps with his window closed now, otherwise he has to smell the shit in his sleep. Sometimes, a breeze would disrupt the distant life of Saturn City, causing the plants to rustle. It’d make the small smell of chlorine travel over, making him scrunch his nose. All he could feel was the people of the Capitol celebrating their lives, the ones they never had to consider the worth of. Was he worth fighting for? The boy shakes his head, pausing the tempo.

He paused to enjoy the nightlife of the Capitol. He wondered how it’d feel to live like them. He wondered if, maybe, his mothers were somewhere in that life. It’s hard to fathom that Thompson’s actual parents would have landed in the Capitol, but he hopes they would. It’s safer to feel that they’d be much happier, surrounded by their love, than decorated in shit.

Thompson thought he was alone. He hoped so. Realistically, it makes 0 sense to think that would actually happen. It’s the capitol. From his previous experience, every single open space is tacked up with microphones, and there’s probably a camera somewhere. He’s physically alone, which did enough. His hopes were interrupted by a distant voice, causing the boy to jump and whip his head around.

”What’s the plan, then? Is it a lullaby-based strategy?” His cheeks flush red. Thompson was hoping he wouldn’t be antagonized for his music up here. It was rather embarrassing to have a flute be his symbol of home, but it truly was him. Thompson was an artist. Their eyes meet, and something reminds him of that aggression the boys back home had. Not that it’s on the forefront, a sly smirk, a curled lip. ”You’re really good, though. Where’d you learn to play like that.” The flush never leaves his boyish cheeks, but the feeling of embarrassment begins to wash away.

”I, uh, taught myself." Maybe all the personal reasonings could be shuffled aside, that wasn’t for her to know. Blair’s initials are encrusted in the flute, but his hands luckily cover them. ”The academy I went to was more arts-science, not fighting. So I liked the music part" He looks up at the sky. ”I would have brought a telescope, but this felt more personal." He thinks watching the stars is easier than becoming a part of them.

florentine, d4b ❁
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melody in e minor (thompson) Sept 29, 2024 21:01:13 GMT -5

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Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Sept 29, 2024 21:01:13 GMT -5

florentine.

when the flute boy says he taught himself, i get it.

i taught myself a lot of things. i taught myself how to climb a fence, how to ride on the handlebars of someone else's bike, how to smoke a blunt without coughing. i taught myself how to unlatch a bra with one hand, to sweettalk people's mothers, how to get snacks out of a vending machine without putting in the full amount of coins. i taught myself how to pretend to care, and how to pretend not to care. it's not hard to learn something all by yourself, if you need to.

"the academy i went to was more arts-science, not fighting, so i liked the music part," he says. so it is confirmed, flute-boy is a spoiled little rich-kid, too, just one who values presentation and superiority-through-knowledge over strength and physical dominance. i go back and forth over which of these two evils is more hateful. "i would have brought a telescope, but this felt more personal." i bet there are kids in district two who never even properly learn how to read, while this kid and his friends are all busy labelling constellations on maps of the sky, tongues poking out between their lips in concentration. it must be hard to see what's right in front of you, when you're worried about meteor showers and asteroid belts, whatever those are.

"that sounds like an amazing school," i say. amazingly pretentious, i mean, but also kind of cool, if you're into all that stuff. i wonder if my life had gone differently, whether i too would have learned to play instruments and spend my life thinking about far away, abstract things, instead of things so close and so real that they cannot be ignored.

"what were you going to do next?" i ask him, wincing a little at the past-tense of my question. i meant: what was the plan with all that fancy knowledge? but it comes out all wrong, the focus on the were.

"personally, i was really struggling for plans, so it's good to be off the hook," i shrug, i smile, i lie.

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thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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melody in e minor (thompson) Oct 1, 2024 21:03:14 GMT -5

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Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Oct 1, 2024 21:03:14 GMT -5

What was Thompson going to do next? The question presses down onto his chest like a one-ton weight. He never really thought about it. While the academy did plenty with arts and science and the world, what did that really have to do when his options are shit factories? The other girl tries to joke, saying she’s glad to be off the hook. He lets out a huff of a laugh.

It’s hard to really know what his plan would have been. Not that Thomas never expected to get that far. There was just not a lot in his life he felt like could accumulate to a future. Playing the flute was nice, but being some crappy bar performer wasn’t exactly ideal. Thompson wanted to have a purpose, but what would it be? He could always return his time back to the Harvard home.

”Well, the school was nice as it could be for a home.” He shrugs, kicking his feet slightly to process a good answer. Was it worth telling anyone all of his life story? He doesn’t know anything about her. Realistically, she could just be trying to lower his walls to shove him off the rooftop's edge. That probably wouldn’t go too well for her. Whatever. ”Maybe teach there. Something with music or music theory.” It probably makes him sound like some snooty elitist, but that’s the only thing he can imagine. Thompson knows what it’s like to have that safe space, so it’s only right to return it. ”But I never really thought that far ahead.” He studies the flute in his hand and looks back at the sky. The light pollution made it hard to see the stars, but some of them became clearer in the distance. "What brings you up top?"

The boy wasn't shocked somebody decided to come up top, too, but he was shocked that she seemed to be more interested in him than enjoying the space that she could have to herself. Thompson feels serenity and clarity when he smells the air and enjoys it, too. He doesn't need to perform here, as some people feel the need to do so in the training gym. Thompson can be, which is a loneliness that he misses.