this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats

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I'm a riddle, wrapped inside an enigma, wrapped inside a taco.

this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Jan 12, 2013 20:39:27 GMT -5

Post by Ally is tentatively back on Jan 12, 2013 20:39:27 GMT -5

I take the West train,
Just by the side of Amsterdam.
Just by my left brain.
Just by the side of the tin man.

I trust my instincts, as a general rule. I'm not stupid enough to trust anyone other than myself, obviously (because everyone else is an idiot), but my own instincts are unfailingly reliable. I've staked my life on my instincts countless times, and will continue to do so for the forseeable future.

(Two doors that looked just the same and an alarm going off and it's the only chance but which door- Left. It's left.)

I had a good feeling about this recruitment rally from the first whispers. Ella Dahl was cooking something up? I revel in the possibility of destruction. (My soul is a mangled, soot-covered wreck of a thing.) So I dragged Capitan along, obviously, for protection... But the explanation of why I'm inviting nice, stupid, Lou along eludes me.

"It'll be good for you." I tell him with a false smile that's nothing like my real one- but nobody's seen that one for sixteen years, so he won't be able to tell. (The truth, if I even know what that is anymore, is that I need a friend if I'm to make the decision to go to war, which is what Dahl's proposing, underneath the standard twenty layers of bullshit.) "Trust me." (You shouldn't.)

He sighs but nods, and I almost smile as I turn and stride out the door.

Several hours later, I'm standing in an alleyway outside a dodgy bar, studying Kaelen Dempsey and wondering if I really want to trust this guy- his speech was great and all, but his reputation doesn't exactly make me like him. (I'm not one of those people who believes that those who deserve death shouldn't be granted it, but senselessly killing people because they violate his personal morals... Even I have limits.)

Then again... The social order's a bit chafing. Logically, it's not the Morenos fault that the district's streets are packed with poor and starving people, and I probably wouldn't have even been bothered by the fact that they were if not for the unfortunate twist of my childhood that left me stranded and starving for over a decade.

(Eh. What the hell.)

I nudge Capitan. "Got a pen, big guy?" I mumble. He rolls his eyes but digs one out of his jeans pocket. "Grazzi." I say with a smirk. I scribble down a note, tongue between my teeth as I try to think of the best way to phrase my preposition. I pay the bare minimum of attention to the sparkly girl that makes her way through the crowd, but my head snaps up almost to fast to track when I hear a familiar voice.

"Annastasia you better keep that bullhorn mouth of yours shut or the Morenos will hear you from here and you’ll ruin us all."

Oh. My. Fucking. Ripred.

I shove the note at Capitan and speed my way through the crowd to a very blonde, very stupid figure, from whom the familiar voice emerged. He's just standing there, looking a little shocked at the words that just emerged from his mouth, if I'm to be honest, and quite clearly not hidden in the crowd as he should be after provoking someone who, it looks to me, could eat him for breakfast. (Almost everyone could eat poor Lou for breakfast, why did I ask him to come?) I reach out, fast, and latch my hand onto his elbow, and then start tugging him back in Capitan's direction. "You are absolutely moronic, you know that? You don't just go to a thing like this and start provoking people. You, especially, shouldn't. In case you hadn't noticed, you are, in fact, as threatening as a puppy." I huff and shake my head, fighting hard to keep my voice low enough that only he can hear. "Less than most puppies, honestly." We get back, and I half-shove, half-tug him against the grimy wall. "Stay." I growl.

Capitan, anticipating my next request before I have to make it, hands the note back, calm as can be, and I kind of want to hit him, but instead I focus on my own sloppy penmanship, the scrawl littering the scrap of paper in my hand.

"I'm sure you'll appreciate it if I make this note short, and I am trying to be at least a little gracious, just this once, so here it is. The rather bulky man handing you this note is, officially, the one who runs a medium-sized gang- they've been conducting raids, using explosives recently, and are actually at least moderately successful.

To be as clear as possible, I run him.

I'd like to discuss this further, but later, when there's a little more room for discretion."

I purse my lips, breathing deeply, and sign it quickly, and then pass it back to Capitan. "Go ahead." I huff. "It'll have to do."

He moves off, weaving through the crowd to the box upon which Dempsey's standing, and shoves the scrap of paper at the gangly young man. I wince at the lack of tact, but then sigh in relief as I read his lips, "Ya might wanna take a look at that, I think ya might be interested."

It'll have to do.

Your time will come!
If you wait for it,If you wait for it.
It's hard, believe me, I've tried.
But I just keep coming up short.

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"For the friends that I lost...and those I have gained."

this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Jan 19, 2013 1:42:21 GMT -5

Post by Anarchy is BACK!! on Jan 19, 2013 1:42:21 GMT -5

Ghost watched as Kaeleen lost it after he spoke. He covered his face with his hand and shook his head. Sure it was a good tac, but it wouldn't work all the time. He glanced up as the man in charge and watched him. He knew how much damage he could do but having to take on a group of people like this could possibly be over the top. He listened as this man asked for people who could train who had experience in the training center.

He almost laughed at that. Sure the training center was a good place as any to get good at fighting. But if these people were really serious about going against a group that would most likely not play by rules...then they would need more than powerful fighters. Most of those that stepped forwards were fighters or in another area. One person that stepped forward would not be considered an instructor...but had the skills he needed and was looking for.

He looked at the girl...Scarlett Blythe...and assessed her. He hadn't realized that she was there before so she was probably good. He stood up and walked into the crowd. "Excuse me. Kaeleen. I understand that you want people who can fight like a career for this to work...but I also see that this is a problem. The Morenos will probably be expecting us to fight like careers and have a counter for that."

He looked around at the others and then back at Kae. "That is why I am going to propose a certain plan to you. A special group if you may call it that. Made up of theifs and sneaks. I'm not asking for many...but we could take the upper hand if a couple are taught how to fight like a wanderer rather than a career." He gestured towards Kaeleen. "But it's your call."

Last Edit: Jan 19, 2013 1:43:37 GMT -5 by Anarchy is BACK!!

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this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Feb 13, 2013 23:32:47 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Feb 13, 2013 23:32:47 GMT -5

[bg=080808][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px;]

a constellation of tears on your lashes
burn everything you love
then burn the ashes
in the end, everything collides
my childhood spat back out the monster that you see

A voice pipes up in the back of the crowd, and it literally takes all of my willpower to not bury my face in my hands. I have no idea what my uncle is doing roaming around the District at three in the morning, but for some reason I feel like a stereotypical teenager whose dad just walked in on him planning a house party under his nose. I half-expect to get dragged home by my ear, but surprisingly (and horrifyingly) I end up not being the only one commanding attention. Behold, children. Attend the tale of Kaelen Dempsey, terrifying criminal who was upstaged by his tightwad of an uncle.

"So. You have graduated from senseless killing to rabble-rousing, incitement, property destruction and borderline rebellion against the rich if not the Capitol -"

"Uncle Ambrose -"

"I thought my ill fortune was because no one wanted to be associated with the name Dempsey after what he was convicted of. But it went deeper than that -"

"Uncle Ambrose, can you not -"

"They call children like you rats. But rats are the only ones that can survive here."

"Uncle Ambrose!"

But before I can throw my hands up and utterly give up on getting a word in edgewise, his hand grips my shoulder, voice lowering until it's within the radius that only the two of us can hear. "I know you loved her Kae. As I love all my daughters. And in spite of your many failings I still...care about you deeply. And I’m more than willing to stick it to all the people I’ve worked for in the past. Lightwoods, Morenos. It makes no difference. They’ve all caused our family grief at some point. So I trust you. I’ll help in any capacity that I can and I’ll stand by you through this to the bitter end. And I suspect my daughters will help regardless of what I tell them to do. That is what family is for. Isn’t it?"

Family. The word hits me with more force than it should, slapping a dumbfounded look onto my face. Not too many years ago I had sat in my uncle's living room, the two of us laughing and talking politics while I asked the cruel heavens why they couldn't have given me him for a father instead of the pathetic excuse for the one I had. I had assumed that my stilted concept of family had all flown away on a tide of wanted posters and whispered gossip, but… I still care about you. Something uncomfortable and almost-painful swells in my chest, my mouth hanging agape and eyes blinking sluggishly. I wasn't aware that anyone had ever cared. But now is not the time or place for sitcom-perfect family reconciliation - We're Dempseys. In all reality, tearful smiles and hugs and promises that everything will be all right is simply not something we do - so I swallow hard to erase the obstructive lump that's formed in my throat, nodding sharply. "Thank you."

It's as if Uncle Ambrose flipped some kind of switch in the crowd - where there was terrified silence before, now people are stepping up, colored with a bit more optimism, a bit more vigor. For the first time tonight, I get the fleeting hope that this could be going somewhere. Beryl Shore seems won over by whatever it is we've accomplished here, extending his hand, and for once I don't hesitate to offer my own in response. He's got a strong grip, like someone who knows what he's getting himself into, and I can only hope the same can be said for some of the others here. Through the rabble, a stocky, older man comes shouldering through, looking menacing until he shoves a folded note under my nose.

"Ya might wanna take a look at that, I think ya might be interested." Frowning slightly, I take the scrap of paper from his hand, squinting to read the scrawled message in the glow diffused from the streetlights outside the alley.
I'm sure you'll appreciate it if I make this note short, and I am trying to be at least a little gracious, just this once, so here it is. The rather bulky man handing you this note is, officially, the one who runs a medium-sized gang - they've been conducting raids, using explosives recently, and are actually at least moderately successful.

To be as clear as possible, I run him.

I'd like to discuss this further, but later, when there's a little more room for discretion.

[/i][/blockquote]Eyes narrowing, I track the man's progress back through the crowd, see him stop next to a tiny little runt of a kid and whisper something to him. The kid nods, looks satisfied. Well, this is interesting. A pee-wee explosives expert. I can work with that. The beginnings of a smirk linger at the corners of my lips, and I'm starting to feel almost optimistic until -

"Excuse me. Kaelen. I understand that you want people who can fight like a career for this to work...but I also see that this is a problem. The Morenos will probably be expecting us to fight like careers and have a counter for that." Douchebag McGee from a few minutes ago is back again, all cavalier bravado and exuding an attitude that tries to take charge. As a wanderer, he should know that there's no such thing as a wolf pack with two Alphas. There's trouble brewing here, a tension pulling tightly in my limbs as I glower at him and he keeps talking. "That is why I am going to propose a certain plan to you. A special group if you may call it that. Made up of thieves and sneaks. I'm not asking for many...but we could take the upper hand if a couple are taught how to fight like a wanderer rather than a career. But it's your call."

Okay, let me stop you right there, asshat. See, there's this little thing called hierarchy, and we have to follow it. Me? In the context of warfare, I'm in charge of everyone here. You? You're underneath shit. You are the shit stuck to my boot when I cross the gutters. And me? I'm the one that creates shit like you.

It takes every bit of willpower I have not to verbally decimate him, the sole reason being that despite already being a massive thorn in my side, he does have a point. Biting back a tide of scathing insults, I press the pads of my fingers against my temple, shutting my eyes and taking a deep before snapping back into a full-on glare, my voice a hiss. "You will pick them yourself. You will train them yourself. And when they die, their blood will be on your hands. You will still answer to me. And you will not give me further exposure to your attitude. Those are my terms. And since I'm in charge, I get to call dibs on the ones you can't have."

I take a long time combing the crowd, isolating the faces I decide I don't want to lose. Maybe they'll be lieutenants. Maybe they'll be squad leaders. Whatever they are, they're mine. "All right, I want… Beryl Shore. Ender Winters. The kid with all the tactical stats. And…" my eyes finally land back on the little kid tucked into the shadows, the one who'd sent the massive thug over with the note. "And you, the midget with the smirk. The rest of them are fair game, Ghost, so take your pick. Everyone I just called, up here to talk to me. The rest of you clear off. Remember, tomorrow at midnight."

my songs know what you did in the dark
so light 'em up, up, up
light 'em up, up, up
light 'em up, up, up
i'm on fire in the dark, woah

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[/center]

Ally is tentatively back
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I'm a riddle, wrapped inside an enigma, wrapped inside a taco.

this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Feb 15, 2013 7:48:14 GMT -5

Post by Ally is tentatively back on Feb 15, 2013 7:48:14 GMT -5

And no one saw!
And no one heard!
The just followed the lead!
The pictures in his mind awoke...
And began, to breed.

Capitan speeds through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, looking like the cat who's just gotten the cream- or however that metaphor goes.

He gets way too close, right in my personal space even as I attempt to duck away, but he determinedly whispers in my ear, "He didn't rip it up. He even looked interested, though that might've been me reading it wrong."

My lips twitch into a satisfied smirk before I've consciously given them permission to do so. "Fantastic." I mumble, attempting to scrutinize the tall young man. (Not much older than I am, and that's one of the scariest things about him.) But unexpectedly, he's looking right at me, studying me, and for someone who grew up in the embrace of gentle shadows and under the blows of less-than-gentle ghosts (Or should I call them Rats?), that'd be terrifying even if it wasn't Kaelen fucking Dempsey looking at me like that. My smirk almost, almost drops.

Except his lips are twitching, and I have just enough of a spark of stubborn pride to strengthen my expression enough to make it a challenge- take me up on my offer, you'll see how much trouble I am.

But then the asshole wanderer with the enlarged cranium has to open his mouth, and part of me wants to dash my brains across the wall.

"Excuse me. Kaelen. I understand that you want people who can fight like a career for this to work..." Maybe because Careers are scary good at what they do? "But I also see that this is a problem. The Morenos will probably be expecting us to fight like careers and have a counter for that." And now I'm seething, because nothing makes me angrier than stupid people, and this guy counts on about fifty levels. They'll expect us to fight like Careers because that's a sensible method! They're brutal, and we can't afford to be any less than that!

And the dolt isn't even done. "That is why I am going to propose a certain plan to you. A special group if you may call it that. Made up of thieves and sneaks." And that just makes my brain stick for a moment, as I look around the gathered mob and wonder if I came to the wrong place. I don't know what it's like wherever the fuck this guy's from, but I know for a fact that nearly everyone in this alleyway is a thief or a sneak, if not both. "I'm not asking for many...but we could take the upper hand if a couple are taught how to fight like a wanderer rather than a career." And, how successful do wanderers tend to be? The next words, however make me give a little chuff of laughter at the moron. "But it's your call." If you're going to claim more authority than you have, don't turn around and go belly up immediately. That's just common sense.

I nudge Lou softly and nod at the guy. "Get a load of that asshole, thinks he's got more than dust bunnies in his big head." I whisper at my blonde companion, smirking again, but lazily this time.

And then I notice that Dempsey looks pissed.

And not normal pissed, the way that most people always seem to look, but I-will-disembowel-you-and-strangle-you-with-your-small-intestine pissed. "You will pick them yourself. You will train them yourself. And when they die, their blood will be on your hands." And okay, that's a bit harsh, but what can you do?

(Bodies littering the streets like trash and it's not anything new except they'd be all bloody instead of peaceful and oh, no.)

(That will not be me.)

"You will still answer to me. And you will not give me further exposure to your attitude. Those are my terms. And since I'm in charge, I get to call dibs on the ones you can't have." I have to give Dempsey some credit, he makes everything sound like a command, and one that he can easily enforce.

I watch nervously as his eyes start going over the crowd. "All right, I want… Beryl Shore. Ender Winters. The kid with all the tactical stats. And…" His eyes are studying me again and I know with sick certainty that he's about to call attention to me, but part of me doesn't even care, relishes the attention.

(The part of me that started running when the alarms went off. The part of me that figured out how to read and started inhaling knowledge because I was tired of being ignorant. The part of me that was always Bean and never, never Julian.)

"And you, the midget with the smirk." And I let out another near-silent laugh at that, even when eyes turn to me, though I still have a very strong instinct to go hide, be safe, this isn't my fucking fight.

For once, my infallible instincts might be wrong.

"The rest of them are fair game, Ghost, so take your pick." I look sternly at Lou, making it clear that he is not to be a part of that operation, thanks. "Everyone I just called, up here to talk to me. The rest of you clear off. Remember, tomorrow at midnight."

I nudge Capitan with my elbow, point at Lou, "He gets in trouble, it's your head." I say cheerily, and then move out, slinking through the dispersing crowd to stand in front of District One's most wanted poisoner.

I stick my hand out, being as bold as I can manage, and hoping he won't remove the appendage in some gruesome way. "Since I'd rather not be known as 'The Midget' throughout the entirety of this war you and Dahl're proposing, let me introduce myself." I give a mock bow with an exaggerated flourish, mime tipping a hat. "Name's Bean. No more, no less." I let my -now trademark, I suppose- smirk reassert itself, "And I'd like to offer my assistance."

(And most of my mind scoffs at my gall, but there's that one part that's cheering.)

Marchin' along the railroad tracks.
They smiled real wide for the camera lenses.
They made it past the enemy lines,
Just to become enslaved in the assembly lines.

Last Edit: Feb 15, 2013 9:36:53 GMT -5 by Ally is tentatively back

sadniss everdeen
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this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Feb 15, 2013 17:41:44 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Feb 15, 2013 17:41:44 GMT -5

[img src="http://i49.tinypic.com/2uf64ao.png

.{and you know you're going to fall}.

[/size][/center][/font]

22 hours awake

[/size][/font][/left]

Part of you is surprised, but a more reluctant part is impressed. Kaelen was never one to command the attention of the masses - no, that was Kiera's job - and you can tell the eyes thrust upon him are the same ones he once thought nothing of, things he would never need. It's funny how tides change and now he's left groveling for even a scrap of their measly power.

But I suppose everything has to come to an end, even the reign of the false king. You shift in the shadows and the few that catch the hint of your threadbare dresses pay little mind; to them you are nothing but a beggar, another one thrown onto the streets by unfortunate circumstance. You wouldn't call you life a tragedy but it's certainly more than that, more than anything oyu'd care to think about. You've found a type of fragile peace in not-thinking, choosing instead to wander at all hours of the night and learn the streets like you used to know. The experiment you only dream about is starting to become a palpable reality - Patchwork is the only thing that keeps you from entirely losing your mind. Perhaps it will be the undoing of you, but you can't go terribly wrong with Kiera safe where only you can hear.

The little one that comes up to him sets you on suspicious edges. The others are pawns or tools (definitely tools, you think as you eye the one that calls himself Ghost) but he's stranded somewhere in the middle. Knowing Kaelen, he would even let himself get bossed around by a boy who talks big things but is even shorter than you... your sigh is heavy as you step out from the darkness, weaving through the dispersing crowd to where the family you sometimes wish you'd left behind stand.

What do you think you're doing? Kiera asks from your pocket, a little patch sewn in so she doesn't jostle about while you move. It's not the best, but it's what you can do with nothing to your name.

Your eyes roll, glancing down momentarily. "Helping our moron cousin not get over his head."

She scoffs at you, the sound grating to your ears, yet so sweet. It pleases a certain dark part of you that you are the only one to hold her voice ever again. Dad's right there. The hell you think he's gonna do, let you walk right back out? He's gonna drag you back home, and then where will we be? Far away from your crazy experiments.

"Will you shut up?" You snap just as you step silently from behind them until you are next to Kaelen, casually winding your bony fingers together behind your back. "Not you." You say once you notice you've gathered their attention - except... "Actually, yes you," your eyes lock to Ghost momentarily, "you need to shut up. Soon, preferably. Maybe even now? That would be nice." Kiera grumbles and you subtly shift your stance, making her tumble around and spit curses. It makes you smile, slow and curling and altogether out of place on your lips.

It's a family reunion. How charming. "It seems the only time the Dempseys come together is when there are people needing to be killed." You muse, arching an eyebrow as you scan the (pathetic) force he's pulled up. Most of them are nothing more than children who want a cause to fight for, not necessarily meaning they want to fight at all. Some of the more expensive expendables have appeared to offer their dazzling support, surely, and anything with the name Shore tacked onto the end deserves nothing but mistrust. What is Kaelen thinking, giving his power away to these people? You can feel your father's eyes burning holes into the side of your dirty temple, examining your broken fingernails and stark cheekbones, but there are greater things to worry about. Like... who the hell are any of these people?

(You've seen the yellow eyes watching from the rooftops. They aren't malicious, no... more curious. You swear you've seen them before.)

"Now, I just have to... what do you think you're doing?" Your arms cross and your eyebrow arches. "You were always going on about choosing your allies and planning and all that crap when we were younger, but where did it go? You've given power to some guy who appeared from nowhere spouting bullshit and an ego complex, and might give power to a midget who looks like he should still be in a nursery. Either Colt has fried your brain - not implausible from the sounds I heard at night - or you've really lost your touch."

A pause, and you run your tongue along your teeth. It feels... nice, to interact with other people. Of course, the fact that you're enjoying social contact is a horror in and of itself, but you can dwell on that another time. "And all of you. Some of you didn't even know my sister. Why are you sticking yourselves in a war that doesn't concern you? Especially you, Wanderer with a severely inflated sense of worth. Kiera's telling me just to get rid of you right now."

Leave me out of this.

Why? It's your war.

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Last Edit: Feb 15, 2013 17:42:10 GMT -5 by sadniss everdeen

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this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Feb 16, 2013 19:30:25 GMT -5

Post by charade on Feb 16, 2013 19:30:25 GMT -5

It was an odd sort of feeling, the type where it felt like his heartstrings had been severed with a knife and the beating organ had splashed down into his stomach acids. Why else would his heart be burning so hard? There she was. Twelve years of playing with dolls and reprimands for a sharp wit and a sharper tongue. Some parents play favorites, forcing their children to pick sides and showering that child in love only when they felt like it. It had been like that growing up and Ambrose had learned to distance himself in order to avoid getting hurt. It took losing two of his six daughters to realize that was the last thing he ever needed to do. Not when he still had five children left. And so she stood there, refusing to mince words and prattling on about things in the matter of fact tone that young children are wont to have when the world still makes sense and if someone said something then it must be true. A pang stabbing at his soul reminded him that it was hard for children to remain innocent in Panem, but damn if he wasn't going to try.

Weeks she had been gone and not a day had gone by where he didn't wonder how Blair had become so adept at not being found. Each of his daughters was different and each responded to things differently. The truth of the matter was that each of them required a different style of parenting and though he was still figuring that out himself it would be daft not to appreciate the fact that while the Dempseys were similar they were so diverse. The hardest thing was seeing the gauntness of her cheeks and the smudges of dirt on her hands with broken fingernails callused palms bulging pocket likely hiding a doll dark hair darker irises darkest circles under her eyes where had the child been hiding away all this time spitting harsh words like a sea-cobran attacking a tribute when did she start sounding so grown up for twelve years of age. It was like the floodgates in the canals of his mind had been released, and yet he forced himself not to cry. It would be folly to show weakness in a crowd like this, it would undermine his nephews efforts among other things.

At his sides his hands twitched like nervous rabbits nose as it was peeking out of a hutch at the patch full of crisp lettuce and crisper carrots. How could he restrain himself at a time this this and yet he had too, wanting nothing more in the world than to hug her tightly, clasped close to his chest and never let her go, wiping the stains off of her face and fussing about the loose strands of hair, a half dozen reprimands on his mind and the desire to grab her from under the arms lift her towards the sky to spin her about in the air and hear childish giggles because a child has no reason to be afraid when they know their father is never going to drop them. And yes, all around him, the murmurs and conversations of the gathering continued, Kaelen avoiding his gaze and giving orders like he was the head peacekeeper of the district, but Ambrose was deaf to it all and only had eyes for her. He stepped towards her carefully, as if approaching a feral alley cat that might misinterpret his intentions and bolt at the slightest provocation.

Children hate being embarrassed in front of family, but they hate being embarrassed in public even more. And though Ambrose didn't care what the parents of any of the children here thought about him anymore and so cared even less what the youth around him could think he decided in that moment to stay reserved and yet lt Blair know that every sleepless night was forgiven and every tear that was shed was now dry and no power in the world was going to stop him from ever loving his children. He wanted to be there to watch them grow up and bounce grandchildren on his knee, but it that instant he knew that if he needed to, he would die for any one of them without the slightest hesitation. "Blair?" He said softly as he laid a hand of her shoulder, the other hands knuckles lightly brushing her cheek. "It's late out." A half smile that threatened to break into a wide grin of relief at any moment touched his features and he knew he had only one other thing to say.

"Welcome home."

16 Jul 12, 23:43
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"For the friends that I lost...and those I have gained."

this is it, boys, this is {war} :: streetrats Feb 26, 2013 0:25:57 GMT -5

Post by Anarchy is BACK!! on Feb 26, 2013 0:25:57 GMT -5

Ghost really didn't expect anything more than what left Kaeleen Dempsy's mouth as soon as he asked for it. He had been told this many times before when he was younger. But back then, he was young and had no idea how to carry out a plan. Really all he did was go with what his gut told him (which led him to exile and thus to his friends most likely being killed). But now he knew what he didn't know, and he was ready to help them be successful.

"Okay, let me stop you right there, asshat. See, there's this little thing called hierarchy, and we have to follow it. Me? In the context of warfare, I'm in charge of everyone here. You? You're underneath shit. You are the shit stuck to my boot when I cross the gutters. And me? I'm the one that creates shit like you."

Ghost noticed a girl up next to the man and shrugged. She wasn't important at this time, probably only one of Kaeleen's younger sisters. When she mentioned Kiera, he knew that he had the right person. Another Dempsy. This was turning out to be one big cluster of careers. That was when he heard what Kaeleen said next.

"You will pick them yourself. You will train them yourself. And when they die, their blood will be on your hands. You will still answer to me. And you will not give me further exposure to your attitude. Those are my terms. And since I'm in charge, I get to call dibs on the ones you can't have."

Ghost nodded. "Deal." He then continued to listen to the man speak as he chose his people. He noted who he had chosen and nodded before looking up at Kaeleen. "As much as I would like to say who I will choose out in the open, I will not. The four which I choose will know who they are by a sign that will be given to them. They may get it tonight, tomorrow, or even three days from now. This is all to prevent people with prying eyes and ears from hearing. With that, I will go and make preparations for the training. Any four of you left could come under my training regime so be ready for when you are called."

He walked next to Blair and stopped. "You want to know why I fight? Because what your sister did and what Ella Dahl did and has caused will influence all of Panem. Yes...this is a gang war. Yes...it will show how strong gangs are to the other gangs. But hear me now...when this is all said and done...it will not be forgotten. There are still some rebels out there that learn from what goes on in the Districts...me included. Think about that." With that, Ghost stepped into the shadows and disappeared, as if he had never been there in the first place.