There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade]

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kousei ♚
Mentor

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now and forever

There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade] Dec 19, 2013 14:25:52 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 19, 2013 14:25:52 GMT -5

Jordan Scoff-Reye

LISTEN

"Mantel Scoff"

Who would've thought you could be condemned to death simply by someone speaking your name?

"Mantel Scoff"

Fuck District ten. Fuck the Hunger Games. Fuck Panem. Fuck everyone associated with this trash district. I hate them, I hate them all. They mocked him, they tormented him and they jeered at him. And where is he now? He's dead and he'll never be seen again. Today is that day, today is the day I have to organise his funeral, me and mom went to the justice building to collect his corpse. Dad was too depressed to go himself, he has been to depressed to be doing anything recently they broke him just like they broke Mantel's body and his spirit. We did everything, we got his coffin ready, it's fine wood, symmetrical, coffin padded to accommodate his twiggy little bones.

I think this is one of the only times I've actually seen dad shower and actually move since we moved in. I guess going to his own son's funeral was the least he could do. The small house we live in is empty and silent, my mother is already ready and so am I. White shirt and tie, grey pants, it's the best I could find and it's still not enough. Nothing I do is quite enough for Mantel is it? After dad is ready in his clothes he figures it's about time to go, I think so to. But I don't want to go, my head is telling me that I'm obliged to go but my heart is screaming no. My heart is telling me to not go out in the open, my heart is telling me I'm not ready.

But I still have to go. Was Mantel ready to go into the arena? No he was not. Was I ready to see him go into the arena? No. Was I ready to see him die? No. Why am I never ready? Why am I never ready for what life throws at me? I want to sink into the ground and never re-emerge, I don't want to stay here, this district is trash, this district is rubbish, this district is cruel. How dare they! How dare they laugh, snicker, jeer as my brother, my half-brother stepped into that arena. I bet no one cared, no one cared except for us! As I step out of that door I feel the cool breeze hit me and that breeze is enough to send chills down my spine and make me want to float away. Like a feather I wish I could float away and be free when discarded.

My father is holding back sobs, I'm not sobbing, Jordan Scoff-Reye doesn't cry, not for anyone, not for anything. I guess it's those little childish thoughts in my head that keep me moving, it's what keeps me coherent and it's what keeps me stable. I bite my lip, after twenty minutes we're finally at the old graveyard, rows and rows of deceased district ten tributes line the graveyard. I don't care about them, I will never care about them, they were nothing to me. People in District ten pitied me and I didn't accept their pity.

But as I walk closer and closer to the 60's section it's evident that no one bothered to attend Mantel's funeral despite most people knowing. Well that's no surprise is it? It's not like I could expect anything more from this shit hole district. My blood boils in my veins and rattles my very being as I break away from my family and go into a slow jog, surely someone came right? Surely there was that one person who cared for him right? Surely someone saw the good in him? Surely someone saw that he radiated of innocence right? Surely someone cared for my little brother, my little brother who would break if you threw a book at him but dreamed at the prospect of a true friend.

Wrong.

And then I reach the gravestone, his gravestone, his final resting place that me and mom picked out for him. "Can I have a moment alone please?" I request and my family understands and they both walk away, leaving me all alone, well not all alone, my brother is with me.

Mantel Scoff
Thirteen
65th Hunger Games

The gravestone fills me with rage. No words of thanks, not even anything personal on there. Just three lines, three lines summarize my brother's life when he meant so much more than three lines. I scream and kick the stone gravestone.I turn around and look at the coffin, it's open, an open coffin, I don't know who requested it. I walk over to the coffin and see it held up by steel strings, it'll be closed and slowly lowered into hole, never to be seen again. I walk up to his corpse, it's just laying there, completely still.

I look at his pale skin, his pale cold skin that will never be warmed by blood again, his chest will never rise and fall again. I will never hear his heartbeat again or hear him laugh, or defend him from this place. I'll just be all alone, the bastard child that never should've happened. I look at his pale face and notice the stitching alone his neck, probably sewed his head back on. After that bitch thought it would be appropriate to mutilate his corpse. But what the Capitol fails to hide is the sever burn he suffered jut before he died, I run my hand across his forehead and down his cheek.

A boy no older than two years old stands with his father, holding a very small and very pale baby, wrapped in white blankets in his hands. The man's eyes are filled with joy as he cradles the baby the sleep and the young Jordan looks with amazement at the baby. "You see this son? This is your half-brother, he's very special but very weak but you can make him strong. You may not see each other everyday but look out for each other okay?" The young Jordan smiles and nods his head quickly, clearly excited. "And his name is Mantel, and he'll grow up to be big and strong, just like you will be. You'll make sure of that right?" The two year old Jordan nods his head again. is father lowers the baby for a moment and lets Jordan look at it, smiling he hovers his index finger over it and out of nowhere Mantel wraps his little pudgy hand over his finger. Jordan giggles with joy.

"I love you already M-Men-M-Mantel."

My body trembles and shakes as I look at the body. I reach into my pocket and grab the banquet of flowers I picked for today. "Wh-what happened to growing up big and strong like me huh? What happened to trying huh? WELL YOU TRIED AND YOU STILL COULDN'T! YOU DIDN'T TRY HARD ENOUGH! What happened to me looking out for you huh? WHY'D YOU HAVE TO LEAVE LIKE THIS? THIRTEEN YEARS ISN'T NEARLY LONG ENOUGH! WHY?!" I'm screaming at the cold corpse now as my arms shake uncontrollably at my sides.

Why? Why couldn't you try harder?

Narrative

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charade
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There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade] Dec 19, 2013 19:37:02 GMT -5

Post by charade on Dec 19, 2013 19:37:02 GMT -5

Mayor Marlboro McFadden

I have to admit that I did not hold out much hope for either of our tributes to make it home this year. Though I tried to reassure Mantel, I knew that his physical weakness would make him a target for stronger tributes and Saffron was just too gentle. (Sadly, I doubt Saffron will ever consider herself to be such anymore.) I watched the games with a fervor that most people wouldn't understand. Most would prefer to block out the cruelness of the quell twist, but I, and people like Mace are the ones that must carry the burden of leadership. We must do the hard now, that others cannot. Saffron has become the youngest victor since Aranica Petros, and the youngest victor that ten has had in recent memory; perhaps the youngest in all sixty-five years for our district. I am...sorry for her. Yet some part of me is relieved to know that only one family needs my sympathies this year. I have been Mayor for three years now, and the funerals have yet to become any easier.

I walk towards the tribute graveyard slowly. I'm not as fast as I used to be and the cane only slows me further. I can see some people in the near distance and can only assume that they are the rest of the Scoff family. Mace tends to stand out and I don't see him yet. He and Saffron will probably be arriving together as they've had to be together for the whole of the victory tour. I can only hope that the Scoff's hold no ill will towards the little girl for attacking Mantel during the course of the games. I had tried to get Mace to ensure that that did not happen, but in the arena I suppose even a familiar face from home means nothing in the face of fear. I will have to remind myself not to judge Saffron too harshly for that, because she had to do whatever it took to survive. Still, I am exceedingly relieved that her hand is not the one that slew him. Hmm. That's right. She lost a hand. Fourteen years old and missing a limb to a sword-strike. That shouldn't be. Injuries like that are for old war horses like myself.

Upon haltingly passing the graves marked for the sixtieth games, I begin to hear the sound of a youthful voice in pain. A child is screaming and shouting at a plot marker and a coffin. If I read the file correctly, this will be Mantel's half brother. As mayor, I'm expected to research these things. I only manage to make out the last couple of words but I the ones I do understand are painful. The boy mourns the loss of a life cut short. I suppose its times like these I'm l'm glad I never had children with my ex-wife. I arrive at the grave in question and see that Mantel has an open casket, pale face with eyes closed, any damage suffered in the arena done away by the capitol before they sent him back. I tip my hat to the parents and greet each of them in term, ignoring the respectful muttering of 'mayor sir'. Today, I don't wish to be the mayor. Today I simply want to be a citizen paying his respects to one of the strongest boys I've ever had the chance to meet.

Of course, as Mayor, I am expected to give a eulogy of sorts and so I shall, but not until some other people have shown up. The turn out for the funerals varies depending on how well known the tribute was and how large the family is. Its never a good feeling to see so few people; it gives the impression that nobody cares. I hate to admit it, but its more likely that the rest of the district is gearing up for the inevitable party that is to come to celebrate Saffron's return. But for the Scoffs, there is no cause for merriment. And for that I am truly sorry. I tip my hat at the lad and take a post beside him, leaning on my cane. "Your name is...Jordan right? I'm Mayor Mcfadden. Your brother was a brave young man."

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade] Jan 12, 2014 0:21:21 GMT -5

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jan 12, 2014 0:21:21 GMT -5

It is cold, bone chillingly cold. It sinks through the flesh, straight to the bones. Being a victor, Mace can afford the best clothes in the entire district. Woolen under garments, thermal layers, a down coat. Even with the hood pulled up, fur-lined gloves and a wool beanie for good measure, he shivers on the porch of his victor house. At the window, Regalia watches him. He hadn't asked Julian to come; someone needed to be home with Juliet. Despite all her years at the community home, Reggie didn't have a maternal bone in her body. Sew could probably watch the toddler for an afternoon, but Mace didn't like to ask. That hadn't been in the vague list of expectations when he'd hired Sewanee Clark. He hated to inconvenience one of the few people in the world who actually respected him for who he was. Not Victor Mace. Just Mace. So he bundled up, putting on layer after layer, until he puffed out inches from his form. No doubt some impoverished journalist would write that he'd returned to his old eating habits. He tried not to care.

He tried very hard.

Mace stamped his feet on the porch, warming them, before crossing the row of houses. It was still strange, to be able to cross the street and have someone answer. He reveled in it, practically skipped every time he had a reason to call on Saffron. He knocked, the leather gloves soft against the heavy door. Despite the occasion, he drew up a smile for Paige and Mrs. Lowe, a smile that skewed to one side after years of disuse. Mostly he only trotted it out for Julian. But more and more he found reasons to bring it forward. For Juliet. For Whicker. For Kieran. For the victors. Always for Julian. And now for Saffron and her family, too. He waved goodbye, the smile fading as he turned back to the cold, cruel task ahead of them.

He waited until they passed out of the victor's village before speaking. "Better if we avoid the middle of town," was all he managed, even though he had an ever-growing list of questions for her. At the top, at the very top, he simply wanted to ask, "how?" How did she survive? How did she go on, even when she was at the brink of death? Had it been something he said - something he could repeat? Or was it her mettle, the very essence of her, that made her different than the other nine tributes he had mentored? But he could never bring himself to ask, because knowing meant one answer, and if he failed to bring home any more tributes, then it would be undeniably his fault.

Instead of asking, he steered them in silence. The graveyard wasn't far from the city center, and yet it felt like miles. Each step his footfalls grew heavier, threatening to root him to the ground. Anything but to enter the place where nine children laid buried because of his failure. As they neared the entrance, he though the screams might be his own, until he lifted a hand to his throat and found it empty. Or choked. It was hard to tell. He flipped his palm, offering it to Saffron and then folding his fingers over her delicate hand. He paused, just under the ornate stone. He could not ask her how, but he was ready to be honest with her. To treat her as a victor, not as a tribute. Because how could he be her friend, when the basis of their relationship was a lie?

"I - When I said it was worth it, before," he started, his throat closing by the word. He brushed his gloved thumb over the back of her hand. He forced his grey gaze to capture her own. "This ain't never worth it. This only is what it is." Another scream rent the air. Mace closed his eyes. "A payment for the debt we'll keep on owing, the rest of our lives." He shook his head, unable to say more. He took the shortest path through the cemetery, ignoring the gravestones that pressed closest. At least Elon was buried far away, under the gritty soil of their home.

It was a very small comfort, as he lifted his free hand to grip Marlboro's shoulder. "Sorry we're late" he breathed, ever apologetic when it came to breaches in etiquette. He nodded to Jordan, his gaze sliding over the boy to the casket.

He'd been wholly unprepared for an open casket. So few tribute funerals featured them, he'd actually forgotten it was an option. Mace froze, his hand dead in Saffron's. Mantel had never been the most animated of boys, but he had been alive, concerned, worthy. Now he was nothing, just waxy skin and closed eyes and absent. If the conversation continued, Mace wasn't aware of it. He was lost in Mantel's slight limp, his beseeching eyes, the price he'd paid to have Saffron standing, red cheeked and healthy, at this side.

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bloomtodeath

There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade] Jan 12, 2014 1:42:26 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Jan 12, 2014 1:42:26 GMT -5

♕ saffron lowe ♕

I have become a Capitol puppet, walking and talking from place to place without any of my own direction. I am guided by a hundred different hands and told what to do and what to say - and I do what they tell me, because if I were to be left alone I would simply do nothing except wither away. And I owe them so much more than to let myself slip away into the sky before my time. All 23 of them. (When I am left alone, even for just a minute, I feel myself slip back into the arena. Blank walls become my canvas and away I go, painting the bloodstains upon skin and the screams of them all and every inch of that terrible place that brought nothing but terror.) Momma keeps me busy - unpacking where I can with my one and a half hands, picking the colour of bed-sheets with a nod of my head, tasting winter cookie flavors with a smile or a frown. (She has always loved to cook. I'm just glad I can give her own space, away from the freezing January winds or the dwindling flames she so desperately tried to rekindle.) She does not press me, not ever - for her, a gesture is better than silence. And the silence between her and I is the only lack of sound that keeps me grounded to the present day.

Today, however, is a break from the Capiolites and their over-exaggerated adoration for me. They should not yearn for a glimpse of a murderer. They should not claim to love me, nor should they want to hold my hand, to steal me away, to have me hold their children or take my picture or breathe in the air I walk through. (Slowly, I taint them all with what I have done and watch their own skin crumble, just as mine did in the arena. They are shells of what could have been, what should have been. Of what I must now live with for the rest of my life.) And yet, I am not afraid of today. Nor am I excited. Today simply arrives at my doorstep whether I like it or not. I have learnt that there is no avoiding fate: it still hits you with the same force whether you are longing for it or dreading it. Momma has brushed my hair, pulled my clothes on, kissed me on the forehead and smiled. (She doesn't expect me to smile back, but I do. For her.)

And then Mace arrives. And I can breathe again, for the air in my home is too new, too warm. I daren't let my presence taint my family with what I've done - as the years pass on I'm terrified that it shall fill up the house entirely and they shall awake not to my screams, but my nightmares too. (23 souls fall through the air, lurk in my shadow, peer around the corners of my eyes and creak where my feet find the floorboards at night. For now, they're hidden within me, but should they get out, I could not live with myself.) Yet even though the arena is behind me, I still try my very best to be brave.

I step into the open air, surprised that my footsteps don't echo through the other empty houses. I imagine living here alone, as Mace had (of course, he has his family - but I could have a hundred Paige's and a thousand Momma's and still feel just as isolated), and shudder at the thought. (Is he haunted by his own 23? Or did he find a way to shake them off? Whether I want them to leave me or not is a thought I struggle with every day.)

The silence I find myself in between the other Victors and I is unlike any other. (Still, it rattles me, no matter how many times I think of myself as one of them.) When you've been in an arena, there seems no need for conversation. And on a day like this in which we march to an awful consequence of our aftermath there doesn't seem to be anything to say.

"Better if we avoid the middle of town," Mace finally manages, and all I can do is nod. A thousand questions bubble to the surface of my lips, but I swallow them down. They can wait - today is not a day to be selfish. It is a day to be brave.

I am not used to the twisting paths of the District Ten town - only the open fields and winding roads of our ranch and the ones around it. For a moment I let myself get lost in learning the pathway to the graveyard. Between us both, we know we're going to have to visit at least one grave every year. But I tell myself I'm learning so that one day I can lead more pairs of feet towards them too and force myself to believe my own thoughts, just for today.

As we approach, Mace takes my gloved hand in his and I smile. (He is a hand I can hold and not worry about tainting with my awfulness - this hand killed, this hand won. But he's just like me - a survivor.) A piercing cry slices the air and I flinch, knowing we're close. (The arena calls in the back of my head, Lucy's cries as she charges at me and falls to the ground float through my vision, and it takes all my strength not to buckle over in the snow. Be brave, be brave, be brave.) Instead, I keep walking.

"I - When I said it was worth it, before," Mace begins, and I turn to look at him in my anguish. I do not hide anything from Mace - hopefully I won't ever have to. "This ain't never worth it. This only is what it is. A payment for the debt we'll keep on owing, the rest of our lives." I turn to the approaching graveyard and breathe - in, out, in, out - thankful I can still feel air in my lungs and my heart pounding within me. That should be Paige, I think with sorrow in my blood.

But it's not Paige weeping over my body. It's Mantel's instead.

"And that should be me," I whisper with all the strength I have left, words tripping over sobs and stumbling over cries. "Not him. Me."

If this is the price to pay for my life, then I must be worth more than I could ever know.

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

kousei ♚
Mentor

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now and forever

There's always time to {mourn} [Kay/Zoe/Charade] Jan 13, 2014 16:27:52 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Jan 13, 2014 16:27:52 GMT -5

Jordan Scoff-Reye

LISTEN

It would be a lie to say throughout my whole fifteen years of living that I had ever hated someone. Not even the kids who tried to break my brother's spirit, not even the Capitol for sending two people from this district to die practically every year; those kids were never close to me so why should I hate them? Some people say that all life is precious, but I never believed all the bullshit.

If all life is precious why is it treated as an object of entertainment?

If all life was precious my brother would be standing next to me right now, breathing and smiling, he's be acting human still. Not cold and dead in a coffin. If all life was precious I wouldn't be feeling this intense pain in coursing throughout my very being. If all life was precious this wouldn't be happening right now. It's all untrue, it's all just useless words that people couldn't back up. It's all a lie, just words that no one will ever possibly back up. And I hate it, I hate the words that aren't true, they are nothing but a petty lie. When Mantel was in the arena I was always watching, whenever he killed someone I was actually happy because who the hell were those kids anyway? It meant he was one step closer to coming home.

However something breaks my concentration from looking at Mantel's cold corpse. I can fight back the fangs of the coldness just this once just to pay my respects to my brother. But I hear footsteps, did someone hear me shouting at his corpse? I must've looked stupid, shouting at a corpse, it couldn't possibly be my family because they went to take a walk around the graveyard. My eyes quickly dart away from the coffin and to the source of the disturbance and I see someone who I never, ever would've expected to see at a place like this. The mayor, the person who runs the district. He's dressed in his fancy and expensive clothes and his fancy cane. I guess he would've known Mantel a bit after he was reaped, taking him to the train and all.

Does he really care?

Besides the family he's the only person who actually cared enough to come.

He walks beside me and stands next to me, leaning against his Cane and then he begins speaking to me. "Your name is...Jordan right? I'm Mayor Mcfadden. Your brother was a brave young man." I nod at him, swallowing a lump I can feel slowly forming in my throat. I then take in a deep breath, and then exhale. "Thanks I guess, i-it's just too bad his bravery didn't exactly merit anything." I say, looking around at this empty graveyard, it's just me, the mayor and Mantel. I wish he didn't have to go into the ground, left at the mercy of the worms and the dirt, he deserves more.

Okay maybe that was a bit rude. After all he is someone who cared enough to come. However before I can say anything I heard more footsteps, I spin around and see someone who I am surprised to see here, but they are also the last person I ever would've wanted to see here, Saffron Lowe. Her expensive clothes, her pretty much perfect condition, I can't even tell that she was even in the arena anymore. And beside her I see another person who I am surprised to see here, tall, imposing, Mace Emberstatt.

"Sorry Mayor sir, I didn't mean to be rude, it's just... barely anyone care and it makes me angry." I explain to him quickly before Mace and Saffron can start talking. I send a polite nod of greeting towards Safforn and Mace. After Mace apologizes for being late Saffron suddenly starts crying, she actually starts crying. Her words are almost inaudible, blanketed by her sobs. She has no right to cry... Her weak sobs make my blood boil and I know if Mantel were here he'd be angry as well, I don't care that he was her district partner, she didn't even know him before the reaping, she has no right to even pretend to care.

"You... You have no right to cry, how dare you act like you cared for him in any way," I'm only just starting, I haven't even finished saying half of what I have to say, I point to Mantel's cold and lifeless corpse, "You watched this happen, you left and watched him bleed out and you didn't seem to give a damn back then and you have the nerve to cry about it now? You didn't want him to come home in your place, well you got what you want, he came home in a coffin and you came home bathed in riches and glory, now you can have your victory parades, your endless supply of food, money, he died so you could live and you have the nerve to cry about him dying and you living, you didn't care, you stood there and watched him bleed out slowly and painfully. And you have the nerve to cry." I snarl, my face almost scowling. There's so much more I want to say, there's so much more I need to say to her. Anyone can care anyone can feel an ounce of sympathy, anyone but her. Anyone but her because her sympathy is unwarranted, it's a lie, and I hate lies.

How dare she act like she knows my pain.

"You sicken me."

I'm not cold, not anymore. I'm not cold because my blood is boiling with my red-hot rage.