.Small.Steps. ~Semper~

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Rosetta
Retired Staff

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last seen Aug 5, 2020 8:28:28 GMT -5

.Small.Steps. ~Semper~ Jul 7, 2012 21:59:58 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Jul 7, 2012 21:59:58 GMT -5

LucaBennuStentori

[50686E][006363][034769][/center]

Left. Right. Left. Right. Stop. Breathe. Left. Right. Left. Ri-on second thought, stop. Breathe. And repeat.

Luca took a deep breath and continued down the smooth, marble stairs, lugging the heavy crate his master wanted brought down and his lame leg, that fell behind him as he stumbled. Left. Right. Stop. Breathe.

Luca paused and slumped up against the elegantly curved banister, feeling the smoothness on his back. The entire foyer, large and spacious, completely made out of white and black marble had the crisp smell of a new can of paint and he could almost taste the bitter chemicals in the air. Or maybe it was just because the crate in his hand carried paint.

Not a cruel man, Luca's latest master was just eccentric and unable to grasp the concept of Luca's lame leg. If he did, looked up from his work enough to, he might frown and say in his raspy voice, "Oh, use the back elevator with Valecia. Quick. Quick." The poor man had gone through enough lame or deformed Avoxes, the only ones he could afford, to have a back elevator, that smelled like sour milk and creaked and rocked to and fro, installed.

Walking across the foyer, Luca entered a short corridor and chose the first door to the right and was nearly taken aback by the strong scent of paints. This room was a large maze of canvases, some dry, others wet. Some were finished and others were half-finished and abandoned while still more were ripped in the angry rage of the frustrated artist. In the back of the room sat a hunched over man with wild white hair and bright blue eyes that stared intently at the canvas he was painting furiously upon.

"Over there," he commanded without looking up, "to the left. This one will sell. It will!" He was speaking to himself now, frowning as he did. He growled to himself in disgust as Luca carefully placed the crate and began to limp away slowly as to not disturb him.

The house had been his parents, Luca's master, and he had taken it after their deaths as it had all been paid off. However, how he paid for all else was a mystery for Luca's master was a struggling artist and he knew it too. The two other Avoxes with him, a girl named Valecia who'd gotten her foot caught in a machine when she was young, and Sebastian, whose left eye drooped and couldn't see out of it too well, would join him on the landing for their master's daily episode.

Luca began again weaving his way through the precarious maze of canvases, stopping to breathe every few seconds. Left. Right. Stop. Breathe. Left. Right-don't get your foot caught on the canvas! Luca's bad foot had caught around a leg of an easel and down it went.

For a moment, there was only silence, a vague humming of that easel fell into another and that into another like dominoes, downing four altogether. Canvas paintings skidded across the room, two of which leaving smears of paint across the floor. Luca's master looked up, paintbrush still poised against his canvas, eyes wide, bushy eyebrows up. And when it all had settled, all the sound in the world returned and Luca's master's episode happened earlier than usual.

It was exactly the same was usual, except rather than reacting to his own failure, he was reacting to Luca's disasterous action. His paintbrush fell to the ground with a soft thump and then he leapt from his seat, knocking the stool over and began howling like a wounded animal.

"My work! My work! Destroyed!"

He began tearing out tufts of white hair, eyes rolling madly in his head. Luca's heart was thumping against his chest, his own eyes wide. Despite being crazy, his master certainly wouldn't forget this. Right on cue, Valecia and Sebastian rushed in, blanket clutched in Sebastian's hand, a small ball in Valecia's. Casting Luca shocked looks, they rushed to their master's side. Sebastian knelt down to the man, who was shouting from his knees, and began wrapping him in a blanket and Valecia gently pried his hands from his hair and placed the squishy ball in his hands. Striken, Luca nearly forgot his role in all this, but then remembered as Sebastian made to get up. The boys supported the man in between, as usual, as Valecia saw to the mess that had been made.

"No," the white-haired man moaned in between his two Avoxes, "new canvas! I need new canvas!" Instantly, Sebastian offered their master's arm to Valecia, but Luca, guilt-ridden, held up his hand to Sebastian and nodded, pointing at himself. He'd go.

The air was hot when Luca joined it, the wind still. The bright hues of the Capitol did little to brighten his mood. Now he had to locate some new canvas for his crazy master. Artists.

It was almost in disgust that he thought the word, but then his mind flashed back to Zell. She was a stylist, one for the Games, no less, and he supposed she could be an artist. His eyes passed lazily over a screen in a nearby shop, showing the Games, but the screen was filled with blood just as scarlet as the paint on the floor and Luca hastily detoured, limping into a nearby park, greenery surrounding him warmly, brightly-colored children-one with bubble gum pink hair-laughing and galloping past, but Luca was too lost in a violet gaze to appreciate childhood innocence. If he ever knocked over any of Zell's designs, but might be angry for a moment, but then she'd laugh.

"Oh, Luca."

Oh, Zell. How he loved her light, little voice. And she might lean over to him-

Drowning in her, all her, Luca didn't notice where he was going and with a great force, Luca Stentori found himself toppled over on the ground, his bad leg twisted uncomfortably under him. He moaned out softly in pain, the only noise possible for him to emit and rolled over onto his back.

One of the worst thing about being an Avox with a lame leg was when he was locked over, he couldn't yell at the person who did it and he couldn't get back up without a considerable amount of effort.

One of the things Luca missed the most about having a tongue and having a good leg was being able to depend on himself to do these things-like reprimand a rude person or get to him feet.

Now, if he wanted to do any of those things, he'd have to rely on another.

And the worse thing about that was: no one was willing to help an Avox with a bad leg.

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Last Edit: Jul 7, 2012 22:00:19 GMT -5 by Rosetta

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

semper
Retired Staff

2,354 POSTS
last seen Jan 1, 2014 0:57:11 GMT -5

.Small.Steps. ~Semper~ Jul 21, 2012 9:43:19 GMT -5

Post by semper on Jul 21, 2012 9:43:19 GMT -5

C H A R L I E O R Ü L T W O L V E R H A M P T O N

88bbcc - actions
ddeeee - speaking
997766 - imaginary person speaking

People don’t like you, and you don’t like them. It’s mutual. Much to your dismay, they avoid you because you are different, “unnatural,” not as “froo-froo” as them. But you choose to be this way. You like to be normal and not extravagantly dressed or decorated. Surgically altering yourself, as much of a taboo as it is to you, comes naturally to the Capitolites – your fellow neighbors. These people that surround you every day have whiskers sticking out of either side of their nose, stones embedded in their skin, hair dyed vibrant shades of neon colors, it’s a wonder that they look in the mirror and see themselves as “normal.” But no one looks at the burn scars covering your arms and view them as trendy. Your crooked nose isn’t of the latest fashion style set by the items fitted to tributes in the opening ceremonies.

This is why you stand alone in the park, or at least that is what you know everyone else thinks. But you’re not alone. Your two friends Tom and Abby are on either side of you, their eyes trained on the passersby just as yours are. You whisper to them poking fun at the oddities that some people are wearing or have dyed. One particular Capitolite, dressed and altered to look like a muttation, catches your attention. You snicker and quietly wisecrack with your friends, quickly diverting your attention when the object of your nitpicking suddenly turns in your direction. ”Oh ripred, that was close.” Abby puts a hand to her mouth to cover up the giggles. ”She would have come after us like probably acting like a real mutt.” This provokes a rip-roaring laugh from Tom and you quickly react by giving him a playful shove on the shoulder, though you can’t help but laugh along with him. ”Tom, sheesh, be quiet! She’ll hear you!” The lady mutt gives you and your friends an icy glare, though her eyes seem locked onto you solely.

You know what she is thinking. You know why she is looking just at you and not your friends. She doesn’t see them just like everyone else doesn’t. Just another reason other people avoid you. Your own mother, in her desperation to make her son like everyone else, tried to get you to stop seeing Tom and Abby, saying that they weren’t real. They tied you to a chair, shaved your head, put probes into your head and all you knew was excruciating pain. Your own mother, willing to put her very flesh and blood through so much in order to be “one of the crowd;” but it was all a lie. The supposed doctor was nothing but a conman, willing to fabricate as many lies as he could to keep you believing that he had the latest treatment. “It will work, I promise.” All his promises were empty. He did nothing but torture you to his liking, leaving you scared, both emotionally and physically. No one understands how you could ever be afraid to sit on chairs, but you are. They won’t fully comprehend why or how, and you don’t want to tell them. They’ll only laugh – the same way the doctor did when he walked away from you when you were tied to the chair, sobbing and screaming and begging for the electrocuting to stop.

”Is that an Avox?” Tom’s question brings you back to reality and your eyes quickly spot the lone Avox with an obvious limp. ”The poor guy.” People were avoiding him like a plague, though the children didn’t know any better. They ran right by him, happily laughing and playing, not brainwashed like their parents. Older citizens, you notice, are giving the Avox disgusted looks. It pains you to know that they look at you the same way, so you feel for the limping servant. You know what it’s like to be at the bottom of the food chain. They don’t think he’s crazy, though. He’s normal, just… unable to talk.

[/color] What could he have done to lose his tongue? Is he bad? Did he kill someone?

Looks of horror and anger appear on your face as someone trips the Avox, making him fall and land in an awkward-looking position. Even though he’s some distance away, you can tell that he’s in pain – and the person that caused it is laughing at him. Anger suddenly overwhelms you as your face twists into a snarl. No one is stopping to help him even though he appears to not be able to get back up. Why aren’t they helping him? Sure, he’s an Avox, but he’s still human. Someone would at least help me if it was me instead of him.[/color] But no one is moving, only staring, some even pointing and laughing.

You suddenly lunge forward, running in the direction of the fallen Avox and the culprit who caused the whole thing. ”Get the hell away from my Avox!” You realize that it’s a risky move to claim someone else’s Avox as your own, but what else could you have said? The poor man could be punished if you only helped him because he had fallen, but if he were your own, you were free to act.

Swerving around the Avox, you charge at the culprit, coming to a short stop just before running into them. More of a bluff move than an attack, really. But the move satisfies you. Fists clenched tightly at your sides, you snarl at the grotesque-looking Capitolite before turning around and walking back to the Avox. A quick glance tells you that Tom and Abby still have yet to move from where you left them, but they are watching you curiously and approvingly. You extend your hand down to the Avox to help him up, feeling the disgrace-filled glares of the onlookers boring into you. Two outcasts of the Capitol helping each other out. I can only hope this guy doesn’t get in trouble for me helping him.[/color]

[/color] [/center][/size]

i hear the mountains calling me home

Rosetta
Retired Staff

1,872 POSTS
last seen Aug 5, 2020 8:28:28 GMT -5

.Small.Steps. ~Semper~ Aug 11, 2012 23:39:52 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Aug 11, 2012 23:39:52 GMT -5

LucaBennuStentori

[50686E][006363][034769][/center]

Laughter stung worse than any wound. Luca's knee had hit the concrete path hard, scraping it, and he winced, but that pain was nothing compared to the resounding chuckles. Had Luca had a tongue, had Luca had an actual working leg, he might've retaliated, his hands curled into tight fists, his cheeks burning. But, he was an Avox with a limp. And so, he struggled on the ground, trying to pull himself to his feet, head turned toward the ground as if to deflect the laughter and stares. It did no use.

And this guy must've thought so too.

Because the next thing Luca knew, that guy, a random Capitolite, was barreling towards whoever had knocked him aside and did Luca just hear this guy call him his Avox? Raising his head slightly while still remaining respectful, Luca saw as a young man, not much older than him, intimidating the one who'd tripped him. The nearby Capitolites muttered amongst themselves at this strange man's outburst, but their attention didn't last and soon they were once more pre-occupied with themselves. The silly man who had spoken up for Luca now turned and offered him his hand.

In all his time being an Avox, Luca had never once received help from a single Capitolite. He had had many masters. His first master had been a stubborn bastard. A true Capitolite. But, he had loved her. She was an Avox and she helped him in more ways than he could count.

Every night, she'd creep, silent as a mouse, to his room. It was right down the hallway from him and he would be waiting in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart hammering and the door would creak open and a shadow would fall across him and then her warm arms.

They couldn't speak, so they talked with their hands and their lips and their arms and their warmth would intertwine and they'd suddenly become one, one entity, and they loved each other. The bruises on her back and his no longer hurt and their tears dried on their face.

Days were shorter when he knew the night was coming. She helped him through the day. He loved her. She loved him.

And then, her belly began to swell.

Her rough, callused hands pressed his to her stomach and his heart stopped. He could feel the life inside of her, stirring, twisting, and filling his hand. And suddenly, his savior vanished, snatched away by his master who beat him and sent him on his way.

He didn't even know what happened to the baby, but he knew one thing: for the moments he had with her, he helped her.

He knew who was capable of helping him and who wasn't. She had helped him, she had saved him. A Capitolite wasn't capable of genuinely helping someone. They allowed his tongue to be ripped out and bought him like some trinket. Like some toy. And they battered him and made him bend to their will. He was there to help them. Not vice versa.

And so, Luca, head bent politely, didn't accept this stupid man's hand. His erratic actions proved he wasn't trying to make a fool of Luca. He was probably some poor, crazy boy. He thought he was helping, but his outstretched hand certainly didn't carry the same warmth hers had.

With much difficulty, Luca pulled himself to his feet, his bad leg quivering and aching. Then, he faced the boy who outstretched his hand.

Innocence. It was written all over his youthful face and for a moment, Luca felt bad for this boy who he'd turned away.

But, why? Why had he helped?

In fit of curiosity, Luca hunched over as if his stomach were paining him and slipped a piece of paper from his pocket, along with a pen. Then, in careful, small letters, he wrote: why did you help?

There was not a moment for him to fear punishment before he had pushed the note into the man's hand.

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^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

semper
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.Small.Steps. ~Semper~ Oct 11, 2012 10:49:08 GMT -5

Post by semper on Oct 11, 2012 10:49:08 GMT -5

C H A R L I E O R Ü L T W O L V E R H A M P T O N

88bbcc - actions
ddeeee - speaking
997766 - imaginary person speaking

It doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t take my hand. He’s probably been beaten and pummeled by who knows how many people, so there’s not much room for trust in there. To him I’m just another Capitolite – not some froo-froo one, but one by birth all the same. It’s a curse, really, being forced to call myself a Capitolite just because I was unlucky enough to be born here. I hate it. This place is filled with nothing but sick, grotesque people always looking for an excuse to one-up the rest of Panem. ”Look at how much better we are than you! We’ll take your children and force them to kill each other until only one survives!” I’ve seen all the tributes alive for as long as I can remember – all circling around the Capitol in their “snazzy” outfits, some dressed elegantly and others looking like something a stray cat spit up. Though I’ve never actually met any of them, I’ve seen their faces on the giant television screens. I’ve seen the distrust in some of their eyes; the hated, the scorn, the regret, the pain, the fear. I’ve seen it all.

And in this man’s eyes I see distrust.

I don’t really know what I look like to him. I don’t have on fancy clothes – in fact, mine are on the verge of needing to be replaced – and I don’t have any freak show-like tattoos or piercings or colorings. I’m as normal as I can possibly be in this rotten candy place.

”And yet you’re still above him in the social hierarchy.”

My head turns and I glance back at Abby, who has a somewhat scornful look on her face. I give her a questioning look but she just ignores me, keeping her icy gaze zeroed in on the Avox. Rolling my eyes slightly, I turn back to the man as he struggles to get up; my mind wanders and questions begin to appear. Is he hurt? Why is it so hard for him to get up? Is anything broken? I lower my hand back to my side and examine his clothing that’s typical for an Avox. ”You mean a servant’s clothes.” A threatening grunt escapes me as I shoot a glare back at her and she, in return, crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. ”Don’t be rude, Abby.” I hiss at her, but again I’m ignored. Figures.

My attention returns to the man once again and I find him hunched over as if he’d been struck in the belly by something. My mouth opens to voice my concern but then I see his hand moving – no, writing. He’s got a small slip of paper and puts it into my gnarled hand once he’s done.

Why did you help?

Why did I help him? Is it because I know what it’s like to be made fun of? Kicked down, face shoved in the dirt, being called every name in the book just because you’re “different” from everyone else as a result of something you had absolutely no control over. I don’t know what this man did to need an avoxing, but did he really deserve it?

”Of course he did! Peacekeepers only avox people that really deserve it for their crimes.”

”Abby will you be quiet! You aren’t helping this at all.” My hand clenches tightly around the small piece of paper as I whirl on my friend, venomous words slipping through shut teeth. I don’t understand why she’s all of a sudden being a prick to this poor man but it’s really starting to aggravate me. Tom stands silently beside her, looking even a bit ashamed of Abby’s words. I give her a quick and accusing glare before switching my train of thought to fabricate an answer for the written question.

Why did I help him?

I want to tell him that I understand what he feels like but that’d be like a slap to the face for him. I’m not an Avox so I really don’t know anything about what his life is like. I do, however, understand what it’s like to be beaten down for something you can’t change.

”Well…” I begin, trying to choose my words carefully. ”I thought…. that it was extremely rude for that person to hurt you like that even though you’re an Avox.” Okay, not as smooth as I’d planned. ”And then to laugh…. the bastard,” the hint of a growl slips through my voice, ”he shouldn’t have done that. And I guess that, too, you know, people look at you weird and they look at me weird. Not really because of my scars—“ I lift both my arms lightly to emphasize my burns ”—but because they think I’m crazy. They think I see people that don’t exist. They laugh at me and I hate it, so I wanted to give that rude-as-hell fool some cane because he laughed at you when you were hurting.” My eyes quickly cast a glance around us to see if anyone was watching. For a split second I’m terrified that I’m going to get him into trouble just because I’m talking to him, and then I realize that I have no idea how to treat an Avox. Everyone says you should be rough and harsh to them, but why? I don’t want to be bossy or mean especially when I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end. No one ever defended me when I was down. I keep my voice low. ”I didn’t mean to call you ‘my Avox’ either. I just didn’t think people would take it well if they saw I was trying to help just a random Avox. I don’t want to get you into trouble or anything.”

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i hear the mountains calling me home