Powder-puff [Ally/Geebs]
Dec 27, 2011 19:48:32 GMT -5
Post by nettle on Dec 27, 2011 19:48:32 GMT -5
nettle quinn
[/size]P O W D E R P U F F
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With her spine resting against the sturdy trunk of a pine tree Nettle brings her knees up to her chest and exhales. It's been a grueling school day. With the 60th Hunger Games slowly approaching everyone's feeling a bit anxious, however, that's an understatement for the teachers. The Dark Days. Again and again the knowledge is pounded into their brains. Biting her lip was all Nettle could do to keep herself from leaping up in the middle of history class and leaving school grounds. Sixteen years. Hasn't she had enough of this crap already? Yes, I get it. They died. Move on.
School is the least of her worries. A low grumble erupts from her stomach and signals that tonight is a "game night." That's how Thur refers to Nettle's illegal hunting expeditions. Sometimes Nettle thanks what ever worldly power is out there that she was born in District 7. Its enormity is what allows for such "games" to take place. Sure the Peacekeepers could hunt her down–that is if they caught her first–and punish her for her crimes, but how would they know? Could someone really be keeping track of the rabbit and squirrel populations? The thought humors Nettle and for a second she considers its legitimacy. Impossible, she silently concludes, then lifts herself up and off of the trunk.
It only takes Nettle a few minutes to reach her cozy, wooden abode. From an outsider's perspective the house seems too small to accommodate a family of three, but this her father, Rubus, did on purpose. He enjoyed having his joke on passersby and neighbors. It is no lie that District 7 holds the best architects in any of the 12 Districts, unfortunately her father had bore the title laborer. Still, Nettle adored her home and the spare rooms that her father had constructed beneath it. With a swift push the front door opens up into a space that carries the sweet scent of nuts and berries. Nettle moves slowly, her hunter instincts take over as she creeps toward the kitchen. Her attempt at scaring her sister-in-law however is thwarted once Nettle carelessly steps on an empty walnut shell.
"Here," Prima giggles as she hands Nettle a stack of colorful papers. It's the stack Nettle has created with her own two hands and must now deliver to the lowly paper shop in Town Square. "You ought to look down sometimes."
Nettle says nothing, rises on her toes, and plants a delicate kiss on Prima's brow. Grabbing a dark green jacket Nettle throws it on over her knitted sweater and rushes toward the square. Following her usual road Nettle takes in the scents of others dinners wafting out of windows and the occasional chimneys. The smells warm her chilled skin though they do little for her stomach. The crunch of light snow beneath her boots makes her trek somewhat enjoyable, but also slows her pace. The thought of delivering the papers late irritates Nettle and forces her into a light jog which she thinks she can manage, and she does until she hits the cobbled surface of Town Square. In the blink of an eye Nettle is on her back. The snow soaks into her hair and dusts her jeans like a sugary powder. With a groan Nettle pulls herself up, but only into a sitting position.
"Darn it," she mumbles. The papers are wet.