Get a good Feeling [Open]

The wind sliced at Thistle's flushed cheeks like a sea of sharpened blades and tugged at the thick mound of curls atop his head. While he ran his feet kicked up a combination of dirt and snow that left a rather noticeable trail in his wake. Thank goodness the youth wasn't some sort of forest creature else a trail like that would have certainly gotten him killed, and there were plenty of people in the Seam with empty stomachs like his. As he ran Thistle paid close attention to his breathing and made sure that with each inhale there was enough to keep him running and singing. Running was hard enough, but Thistle enjoyed the obstacle singing presented. Besides, the vibrations of his voice naturally heated his chest and kept him at a comfortable temperature. The golden rays of sunlight were a bonus.

He would have continued that way along the snowy dirt path for another half hour or so, probably even sung a different tune, until...

"Nice voice you got there."

Thistle dug the heels of his gray sneakers into the ground and hopped about a foot or two before he came to a complete stop. His head moved in different directions while his mind tried to asses the situation. Where did that come from, he thought while he placed his hands on his hips. He knew he had stopped way too fast and could feel the result beneath his broad chest. His lungs were screaming for air, so he took a couple of short breaths before he heard, "Over here." The voice echoed in his left ear and Thistle turned accordingly. He was glad to see that there actually was a face to the voice. For a second he would have considered that the noise had come from a jabberjay. Boy I'm stupid.

Thistle flashed his two fingers above his head in response and made his way toward the kid in the leather jacket and shades. He looked familiar to Thistle, like an old friend, or an acquaintance, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't quite give the stranger a name.

"The name's Cedric, case you were wonderin'."

Nope. Didn't ring a bell, then again they could have met when they were younger. He looked like a Seam guy, or at least more like a Seam guy than Thistle did. He probably had gray eyes behind those glasses. Thistle was willing to bet so, but with what? He was flat broke. Only when he was a few steps away from Cedric did Thistle finally notice the beauty that was slung over his shoulder and in his lap. Sure it was old and beat up and probably a family heirloom, but Thistle new a guitar when he saw one, and that was sort of never. The shock clouded Thistle's mind and rendered him speechless. Were it not for Cedric's extended hand he probably would have stood there for a few more seconds in bewilderment. "You got a name, too?"

"Yeah," Thistle grinned and took Cedric's hand in his own. "Thanks by the way." He was referring to Cedric's earlier comment. "Name's Thistle." He released the kid's hand and took a step back to survey the instrument. It was odd to see one outside of school. The Capitol wasn't very found of music, except for their crappy anthem. The guitar was made of genuine wood, but what kind he wasn't sure. It was too beat up to tell. A couple of strings were missing too, but Thistle bet Cedric had figured out a way to make it sing. "That's a hell of an instrument you got there," Thistle said with a wide smile. "Wish I could play one." He moved a bit closer then lowered himself with one knee to the ground. "Do you?" he asked with his left eyebrow raised.

Thistle was positive that his question had struck a chord in Cedric. He could tell by the way Cedric removed his shades and leaned his head against the tree that it was a very personal chord, and for that Thistle was sorry. He hadn't meant the musician any harm. The seventeen-year-old thought it was a pretty laid back question; a question people of District 12 often asked him A simple yes or no would have sufficed as a legitimate answer. Maybe he doesn't like his life here, pondered Thistle while he watched Cedric pinch the bridge of his nose, as if the action could ward off some unpleasant memory. The last thing Thistle ever wanted to do was cause anyone pain. He hated suffering and wished to wipe it off the face of the earth. His poor mother was suffering and each day it tortured the youth to have to see her curled up like a ball on the floor. Sometimes it was too much.

Panicked, Thistle parted his lips to form an apology when Cedric's response cut him off. "Unfortunately," was the guitarist's reply. A sick and heavy feeling of dread burrowed its way down into the pit of Thistle's stomach and made him feel uneasy. He had really screwed up this time. It obviously wasn't his place to ask Cedric those questions, and now he had to deal with the repercussions of his action.

For a moment it didn't shock Thistle to watch Cedric sling the guitar over his back to leave. Thistle didn't deserve the man's company after behaving so inconsiderately. It was probably best that they parted this way. Disappointment hung over Thistle like a veil and filled his pale cheeks with blood. He had ruined his chances of possibly making a friend and he wasn't about to let himself off the hook. With a heavy heart he turned to face Cedric once more. What he saw confused him. Is he waving for me to come? Really? A bit wary Thistle rose to his feet and silently followed Cedric down the dirt road. It only took Thistle a few seconds to settle his thoughts and stomach ache to realize that all Cedric had wanted was to distance himself from the tree and pile of dirt. If Thistle had to guess he would say that it was the spot that held the unpleasant memories, and were he in Cedric's shoes he probably would have done the same thing.

"Let me tell you something, kid, I've got to get out of this place. Too much bullshit to deal with."

Cedric couldn't have been a year or two older than Thistle, yet the youth couldn't help but crack a smile at the word kid. Sure the loner said it to assert his dominance, but Thistle never bothered himself over hierarchies, or place. In his quiet mind everyone was equal, though in reality he knew it wasn't true. Still, he brushed off Cedric's remark like he would a leaf in his hair come Autumn. It really wasn't that big of a deal anyway. "It's so easy," Cedric continued, "to get fed up around here. This place has got nothing going for the future of our generation. How much longer are we all gonna have to suffer for the benefit of The Capitol?"

The loner's words stung Thistle like a trackerjacker's venom. District 12 certainly was nothing in comparison to the other districts (aside from 13), but it was still home to the Doddersons. Sure there wasn't much to do, but Thistle enjoyed his life here, even though it was quite mundane. There was a sense of security and comfort that followed Thistle wherever he went, be it Town Square or the Hob. How could Cedric get fed up with such a peaceful place? It probably has something to do with that dirt pile. Maybe I'll ask him later. Thistle came to a stop and eyed the pebble Cedric had kicked. All this talk about the Capitol and District 12 was making him feel weird. What if a Peacekeeper was around? They'd be screwed then, unless they were caught by one of the kinder Peacekeepers, the ones who could be bribed. Thistle averted his eyes from the pebble and set them back on Cedric. He watched him turn his head in different directions and knew at once that they were sharing the same thoughts and worries. But then Cedric laughed and it caught Thistle off guard. He tried to hide his worry behind his smile, but it was a very weak attempt.

"Aw, screw it. We all know nothing in Panem'll change, no matter how rebellious the gossip nowaday gets."

"Gossip? What gossip?" The questions slipped out of Thistle's mouth so naturally that it unnerved the young man upon realization. He wasn't one for gossip and knew next to nothing about anything that took place beyond twelve's border. Still, he couldn't stop himself. "Are people actually trying to make change? Against the Capitol?" Self conscious of his questions Thistle dug his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. A cool breeze pushed him forward a few inches, but after that all he could do was stare at the ground. I've really got to shut up.


OOC: No worries! That's fine. I'm sorry it took me so long to respond. Not sure if this post is any good.

The clap to his sore back startled Thistle, but he kept his bearings and did so with a tight grin on his face. His dark eyes remained glued to the ground in an attempt to shield his flushed cheeks from Cedric's gaze. It was enough to be called a kid by an almost stranger, but to act like one in front of that stranger was a different story and the youth couldn't let himself look weak before someone so close in age. He did have some pride, even if it was only a sliver.

"Don't seem so worried, kid, people 'round here are too hung up on worrying if they'll be able to get food on the table in time. Not a worry to spare for starting up a rebellion."

"You got that right," Thistle muttered under his breath. Food had a way of controlling folks. It made them do things that they never imagined themselves doing, like dropping out of school to work two jobs, or something illegal, like hunting. The Hob itself catered to those who were in need of a bit more nourishment, but Thistle tried his best to keep his distance from that shady establishment. Last thing Thistle wanted was to mess with the law. Taking care of Saede was hard enough without Peacekeeper's breathing hot air down his neck. But what Cedric said was true. How could people focus on a rebellion when there were mouths to fill and stomachs to silence? For 12 it's impossible...but the other Districts?

The youth contemplated whether or not the loner had extra information pertaining to the other Districts and talk of uprisings, but his curiosity was hushed by Cedric's sudden movement. Thistle shook his curly head and tried to recall what else Cedric had dished out in the conversation, but no matter how hard he searched his mind he always came up empty. Instead, he decided to focus on the mine worker and on the smooth object the worker gripped tightly in hand. For a second Thistle considered making a joke about Cedric's apparent interest in pebbles, but the longer Thistle studied the musician the clearer the meaning of the pebble became. He's thinking of someone, the dark eyed boy concluded. Why else would he care so much about a blue stone? Probably has something to do with that pile of dirt too. Although Thistle itched to ask Cedric about the pebble he knew deep down that it was a terrible idea. A man's secrets were his own, as was his past, and no one had a right to them no matter how interesting they appeared to be.

The tension that seemed to eat away at Cedric's body warned Thistle to focus his gaze on something else. He turned in a half circle as if to scout the road for potential danger, then spun back on his heels once Cedric finished his talk on pennies. "Wish it were," Thistle again muttered, "cause if it was I might have chased after it." He ended his sentence with a light laugh and removed his hands from his pockets. They were warm and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

”So, you like singing, don’t you, kid?”

"Sure do," Thistle replied as he brushed his hands against his dull jeans. "Have been since I figured out I could when I was about ten, I think." Running a hand through his thick head of hair Thistle took up the lead and continued down the road. His voice poured out behind him like silk. "No one else in my family does, though my mom sometimes whispers lyrics like nursery rhymes. She sorta taught me most of the songs I know like that, by whispering." Thinking Cedric had heard enough about his hobby Thistle then directed a few questions at the guitarist.

"How bout you? Do you sing, or is all your energy put into making that gem sing?"


OOC: As was yours! Sorry for the wait.