Slipping | {open} | Hunger Games: The RPG

chelsey
District Mayor

[M:-650]

728 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 2, 2016 17:22:46 GMT -5

queen of inactivity

Slipping | {open} Dec 30, 2011 18:37:02 GMT -5

Post by chelsey on Dec 30, 2011 18:37:02 GMT -5

ambrose aisling

district (o n e)

Had it not been for the lack of Sun this day, and Ambrose's continual struggles and frustrations over the little to no lighting, she may have never stepped out of her home in nothing but her silk gown and thick, wool petticoat. It seemed that all the masses of clouds in District One only huddled over the Aislings' household, and everywhere else held the sunlight she so desperately needed in order to complete her painting. It has not yet reached 6 AM in District One, and all through the house, everyone was fast asleep. She hadn't dare awoken her Avox, Beth, to assist her in carrying her paint materials for her while she searched for a spot with more lighting, not after last night, where Ambrose deliberately screamed at her for dropping her perfume on her rug. It was embarrassing behavior, to react that way for something that could be easily removed. Since that act, Beth did all she could to keep from crossing paths with Ambrose. At the memory, Ambrose blushed with shame. She'd find a way to make it up to Beth, but for now, she needed to clear her thoughts with painting.

And so, Ambrose's adventure that morning began with her somehow balancing six tubes of paint, 5 paintbrushes, three blank canvases, and a small wooden tripod with only two hands while walking uphill towards the patch of grass that overlooked much of District One. Usually, the route she takes is overload with traffic of cars and people. But, considering the time, only few cars zoom their way by, without a backwards glance at herself. Ambrose are among the few people who venture out to walk in the snow and cold. She studies the way she breathes in and out, and how the white fog seem to move as she does so. She takes mental notes of this so she can somehow incorporate this in her paintings when her foot steps on a chunk of ice and all thoughts of breathing and fog is lost as she tumults to the ground - paint, brushes, canvas, and tripod going down with her. She lands on her bottom, and a mound of snow cushions her fall, but still her back bone is not spared during the crash. She rubs her bone, only to find it feels worse when touched. "Great." She mumbled. "A bruise. Just what I need." One of her paint tubes roll onto the road, where a car streaks by and squeezes it open, a splatter of bright blue against the white snow. To make matters worse, her new white coat is suddenly damp with the snow melting onto it's fabric, a miniature avalanche taking place on her own clothes. Her pale cheeks turn even more white than they already are, partially from the cold and partially from the embarrassing chance of anyone happening to see her slip.

Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to have woken Beth up, after all.

Last Edit: Jan 7, 2012 20:47:54 GMT -5 by chelsey

"Isn't this the point of being young?"

^ bless avalon's soul ^

WT
Retired Staff

2,134 POSTS
Pronouns: they
last seen Sept 10, 2021 1:50:54 GMT -5

time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

Slipping | {open} Jan 7, 2012 20:24:10 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jan 7, 2012 20:24:10 GMT -5

Up. Right and over. Twist and down and jab.

Once, Feleci would have done this in her own living room, away from the prying eyes of commoners other Careers. She would have used her own sword, a shiny new one that whistled as it sliced the air, as opposed to this dull, poorly balanced artifact. Now, with her weapons long since pawned away and her living room barely big enough to practice the hand-to-hand moved she preferred, she had no choice but to come here and borrow supplies.

Swipe left, twist out, pull back, Up. Left again.

Strangely, in the midst of practice, she didn't mind so much. Gripe and moan to herself as she would, anything was worth it to feel the rush of air—or flesh—against her sure fingers, to revel in the one form of power she had left after her fall. Within the euphoria of a session going well, she could even find optimism. There were advantages to going to a training center; noisy crowds were a good way to train her against her bad habit of succumbing to distraction, and one never knew when the Gamemakers might decide to give tributes used or poorly-made weapons. Maybe this exposed her strengths and weaknesses, but if she entered the Arena, she would only do it with one of these people at the most.

Feleci ended her kata with a spinning flourish that should have been a work of art, but almost toppled her over. Flustered, she pulled her borrowed sword to her side and glanced about furtively. No one seemed to have noticed; everyone in the area was going about their business, sparring or practicing alone or cleaning some piece of equipment or another. There weren't a great deal of people anyway, it being obscenely early; it must be nearing six now, but Feleci had arrived at five in the morning, when only the hardcore Careers (or those with no other option) were up and at it.

Still, the error had completely shattered her good mood, and suddenly Feleci couldn't stand the thought of staying here one moment longer. Glowering at nothing in particular, she made her way to the weapons rack and set down the sword, mentally cursing at the world the whole way there. Damn the two jobs that kept her from proper practicing hours. (She had to be at one of those in just a few hours, come to think of it—not a realization that improved her attitude.) Damn her mother for the disapproving glares that ruined even the slight practice that Feleci could work in at home and for landing them in that pest-riddled apartment to begin with. Damn the sweat that poured over her Damn herself, even, for her clumsiness.

Even her sweat-dampened clothing made her angry. Normally Feleci was more comfortable in training clothes these days, because she had always worn old, ragged outfits to practice. When she was going through the motions of combat, she didn't have to think about losing her old wardrobe and . But the sweat made her feel dirty, and knowing that she would have to take a cold shower to save on the heating bill enflamed everything. By the time she was bundled in her jacket and hurrying down the road, she was blind to everything but her boiling internal stew. Everything about her walk home—the fog, the crunch of snow beneath her feet, and even the periodic twinge in the wrist she had twisted too quickly earlier—blew right past her.

Against that, the girl on the pavement was nothing—at least until Feleci walked right into her. Not that she knew what was going on at first; all she felt was her right foot refuse to move forward, and then balance abandoned her, the unexpected disturbance giving her over to gravity entirely. She managed to roll when she hit the ground, sparring herself bruises but not the painful whack or the disorientation. In fact, rolling made her confusion worse. Glimpses of splattered paint and pale skin caught her eyes, breaking up the expected flashes of snow and her own dark skin and hair.

When the world stopped spiraling, Feleci dragged herself into a sitting position. "What are you doing?" she snapped in the general direction of the person who had tripped her without bothering to look at them. Her eyes were focused on her clothing, inspecting her outfit for damage. For a slightly ratty jacket, the care was useless, but old habits died hard.

((I know it's been a while since you've started this, but hopefully you don't mind a bit of a revival. ^^

This is my first post with this character, so sorry for any choppiness--I'm not used to her yet.))

'the way we lived' in stylized text, with 'character directory' as a subtitle underneath

banner by Dars! <3

chelsey
District Mayor

[M:-650]

728 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 2, 2016 17:22:46 GMT -5

queen of inactivity

Slipping | {open} Jan 7, 2012 21:38:15 GMT -5

Post by chelsey on Jan 7, 2012 21:38:15 GMT -5

ambrose aisling

district (o n e)

"What are you doing?"A voice hissed as two girls lay on the wet sidewalk, both evidently in pain.

Before this moment, Ambrose still sat on her bottom - an aching pain seizing her entire back side as a throb enveloped her rear end. When she first attempted to pick herself up, she was only brought back down again as someone stepped on her ankle and also collapsed to the floor. She yelped at the pain and fell back to the snow, except, this time, she clutched her right ankle. The blonde took no notice to the person who toppled into the ground near her. At least, not until she sneered at her.

Incredulous, Ambrose bit back with her own irritated remark. "What am I doing?" She retorted. "I am worrying about my injured ankle, which you impaired. Now, what are you doing?"

Ambrose was in no mood at all to deal with an impudent person, not while her silk dress and coat suffered from the melting snow. She immediately stood erect, even though it pained her, but it would pain her all the more to see that her valuable clothing became spoiled.

Now standing, she shot daggers at the delinquent that caused her to slip, yet, again. The "criminal" fell a few feet away from Ambrose, and she currently checked her clothing for a mishap.

Ambrose rolled her eyes as she bent down to collect her fallen items. While doing so, another pain stabbed her back bone, and she shot straight up, her hands instinctively grasping the injured area. Her eyes turned into slits directed to the girl with dark hair and even darker skin. She placed her hands on her hips and snarled, "This is just fantastic. I've got bruises to spare because of you."

Ambrose knew that the bruise on her spine wasn't a result of the person before her, but she had to put the blame somewhere.

Other than herself.

She continued to glare, her previous good mood spoiled since the moment she first took a fall. Her enthusiasm and muse for painting were killed, and she couldn't suppress her ultimate feelings of disappointment and anger, which she couldn't help but lash out on anyone who came in contact with her.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

OOC: It's fine, I was actually hoping that someone would reply to this thread. [: And your post was great, no need to apologize.

"Isn't this the point of being young?"

^ bless avalon's soul ^

WT
Retired Staff

2,134 POSTS
Pronouns: they
last seen Sept 10, 2021 1:50:54 GMT -5

time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

Slipping | {open} Jan 8, 2012 18:12:53 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jan 8, 2012 18:12:53 GMT -5

"Maybe if you weren't sitting in the middle of a walkway, I wouldn't have stepped on it." The comment was much less biting than Feleci's last, partly because it was a little absentminded and partly because she was simply less annoyed. Finding that her clothing was unsullied, if a bit wet, had mollified Feleci a bit. She still wasn't happy about anything, but at least her third-favorite jacket was still presentable. The stranger's question went unacknowledged, but also unattacked. Just because Feleci was hanging on the end of the social ladder these days didn't mean she had to answer to some moron--what she was doing was her own business--but she was no longer upset enough to snap at anything that was said to her.

As the other girl bent to gather her materials, Feleci wriggled all her limbs to make sure everything was in working order. Assured that it was, she stood carefully and patted down her unruly hair. Bothering with the stuff right after a training session was worthless, but doing something with her hands made her feel a little better. Following the same logic, she started to reach for the tube of red paint that she had bumped with her foot, but the other girl distracted her with another complaint. Cross again, Feleci straightened and returned the murderous glare. "I didn't knock you down," she grumbled. Even the ankle wasn't really her fault, considering that the idiot girl had been sprawled right in her way. How could she possibly be blamed for the idiot girl's back?

Forget the paint tube. The twit could pick it up for herself. Who carried paint around this early in the morning, anyway? Feleci refrained from tossing her head, knowing that her wild hair would only make the motion look ridiculous, and turned to go.

The painter, however, carried on as if the young woman she had tripped had neither spoken nor moved. Feleci huffed a sigh and turned her laser stare back on the younger stranger, only to have it fade into incredulous peering as the words sunk in. Something that resembled a smile quirked one corner of her mouth. "What do I have to say for myself?" she repeated, the words sounding more like a laugh than a question. She shook her head slowly. This silk-clad stranger almost reminded her of herself. Ordinarily, that was something that unnerved her, but this whole situation was so ridiculous that she just couldn't take any of it seriously anymore. "Do you always strut around like a caffeinated peacock, or is this unusual?"

banner by Dars! <3

chelsey
District Mayor

[M:-650]

728 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 2, 2016 17:22:46 GMT -5

queen of inactivity

Slipping | {open} Jan 9, 2012 13:40:32 GMT -5

Post by chelsey on Jan 9, 2012 13:40:32 GMT -5

ambrose aisling

district (o n e)

The girl stared at Ambrose as if in disbelief. She was just about ready to flail her arms in the air and repeat the question all the more, when a smirk twisted it's way onto the girl's features. The stranger repeated the question with a sly laugh that grabbed it's way to the pit of Ambrose's stomach and bit and poked at it. Ambrose could feel her cheeks grow warm, but luckily, she left the house this morning with enough powder layering her skin as much as the snow layering the side walk - the stranger wouldn't be able to identify any forms of a blush. But still, that mocking smile made the blonde want to grab her tubes of paint and splatter it all over her face - fortunately, she refrained.

"Do you always strut around like a caffeinated peacock, or is this unusual?"

The comment struck a chord in Ambrose, and she hid her hands behind her back so the stranger wouldn't see her ball her fists in anger.

"Only during weekends. On weekdays I prefer to strut around as a crazy rooster." Ambrose bitterly replied, pausing at this for a moment, before adding, "Well, it's either rooster or stepping on someone's ankle." The disheveled blonde offered a smile back to the stranger as she once more bent down to collect her items.

As her back faced the young woman, the teen wasn't aware if whether or not the stranger spoke - she paid no attention to her as of right now. Ambrose took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. No person should allow themself to be this angry so early in the morning. She thought to herself while piling tube after tube of paint. That creature must not be much older than me, what right does she believe she possesses to speak to me like that? Her concious responded to Ambrose asking her what right entitled her to react this way to an elder, but she shoved this unwanted thought away. Now is not the time to pile guilt onto herself, she could always do that later on - alone. And besides, her excuse is that she comes from a long line of some of One's most wealthiest and respected aristocrats, where as the person before her obviously doesn't share the same honor - at least, Ambrose judged this from her untimely and faded clothing. But, as the teen continued to recollect her supplies and thoughts, the guilt wouldn't give way. Memories of last night's inscident clouded her mind, and she couldn't help but remember the awful things she had shouted at her Avox. So what? Maybe I am a little spoiled. Her pride declared as she rised from the ground, all painting materials now intact. I'm an Aisling - I can act that way if I want to.

Now standing paralell to the older stranger, she felt the fire inside her slowly extinguish - only but a few flames left. The flames, however, are enough to keep her going, and she clenched her teeth before opening her mouth to say something.

But that thought was put on hold as a car dashed by and splashed both of the girls with freezing water - all of the supplies falling to the ground again.

The morning was completely ruined. She has yet to paint, slipped on a chunk of ice, earned one too many bruises, fought with a mere stranger, and now sodden her clothing.

Oh, the fire is far from being extinguished.