{captured ghosts // geebs | closed
May 21, 2012 15:38:08 GMT -5
Post by aya on May 21, 2012 15:38:08 GMT -5
Wide eyed and up in arms,
My little brother was a solemn one
He always had his quiet corner
Stark Harper —
As she waited in the wing of the Justice Building where the tributes were kept before they were shipped off to the Capitol, Stark's excitement refused to dissipate any. In fact, as each new minute passed, her foot tapped faster and faster on the beneath her seat. She didn't know if these rooms were used more than once a year, but the wooden floorboards had grown worn from obvious pacing. Stark refused to get up until it was time to leave, positive that if she did, she'd be overcome with restlessness to the point where she'd try to force her way out of the room. Though that was certainly a way to make an impression, Stark aimed to stay on the good side of the Capitol officials, since her status with them could ultimately decide her post-Arena fate.
However long she had to wait here was the most frustrating thing to Stark, who just wanted to get into the Arena already. She didn't want to wait around for her family, who, in all likelihood, wouldn't show up at all. Not that she wanted them to. If her father showed up, she'd probably let him in for a few awkward minutes; if her mother had the nerve to reappear after ditching them all, Stark would slam the door in her face. The only member of her family — the only person, really, unless her Bandmates decided to show up out of the blue — that Stark wouldn't mind seeing was her little brother. They had an interesting relationship, to say the least, but it wasn't all bad. And besides, she needed someone to give her switchblade to; she didn't want her most prized possession confiscated by the Capitol authorities.
After what seemed like forever, the door creaked open to reveal the tall blonde boy. Though she was still as anxious as she'd ever been, it was as if she suddenly remembered how Starks behave; she ceased the foot-tapping instantly, folded her arms, and stared him down, letting him to speak first. What did she have to say to him? If she'd said goodbye regularly, she'd've done so that morning, instead of leaving the house via her bedroom window. How was "see you in three weeks" any different from that? Even so, a small part of her was glad he'd come, for more than just a way to pass the time, and for more than just someone to hold on to her knife for her. Though neither of their parents meant anything to her anymore, and though Stark had done much of her growing up outside of the house, he was still something that had remained relatively constant her whole life. If nothing else, she had to respect that.
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