sewn together | {Byrony/Ventus} | Hunger Games: The RPG

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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sewn together | {Byrony/Ventus} Jun 16, 2014 23:42:50 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Jun 16, 2014 23:42:50 GMT -5

ventus blanchard.

[presto]

am i better off dead?
am i better off a quitter?
they say i'm better off now
----
district seven
eighteen
falling apart

[/presto]

It seemed my lips weren't ever going to stop tingling from the shock of Bryony's against my own, but eventually they did. Somewhere between the time when I laid my head down to rest (even though I didn't get any) and the time when the sun kissed the horizon and beckoned me to work, the feeling in them had faded. And as wonderful, as amazing as the feeling was, it didn't change the fact that I had almost died. That was almost treated like a cow up for slaughter, except the cows at least got the decency to be murdered in the quiet, all on their own. My death would have been a good thing.

A few days passed, each one filled with work in which I hardly noticed myself going through the motions until my father was tapping me on the shoulder, asking when I would be ready to go home, and then the rest of the time was either spent in front of the television, watching the pre-game interviews or sneak peaks, or trying and failing to sleep. I couldn't face Bryony... not after he had seen me so broken, and until I was whole again, I didn't plan on seeing him. He was supposed to be the broken one, not me. He was the one that was terrified of his own shadow, not me. I was supposed to be strong for him, and in three seconds everything went up in flames.

My mother seemed to notice the differences in me more than anyone else, always looking at me with this horror stricken look, like she felt so miserable for me, but that was just it, I didn't want her to. I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me, not her, or my dad, or Bryony.

I sat in the kitchen watching an over-view of the tributes training. A lot of the footage was filled with Gavin's face, usually with a hatchet in his hand, or with him talking to the girl from Two, as well as a few of the others. Good. He was already doing far better than I ever would have. An unbelievable need for him to leave, for him to not die in vain over a cause as lost as me was an enormous weight on my shoulders, and I was beginning to think that he was one of the few that actually did have a chance.

Mom walked in, a gentle hand against my back. "Why don't you run to the market for me? Well, for you, really... clear your head a bit?" I didn't say anything out loud, probably because I would only sound as broken as I was, but I nodded and took the small list of things she had written down and a wad of cash before exiting the house. The night was young, still early enough that I could see everything in a violet haze, but dark enough that I doubted anyone would notice the tears that kept falling down my cheeks.

"Straighten up!" I begged myself. ""Just pick up the damn pieces and put them back together!" But pieces were replaced by tears when it came to things I was picking up, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop.

Until I saw something that gave me no choice.

I was extremely close to the market, only a few hundred yards when I saw them. A crowd of them all surrounding him, a few of the bolder ones ducking in and pushing him, him, him.

Bryony.

His demands to be left alone were futile, and I realized this was a chance to redeem myself, to be the helper rather than the helpless, and I surged forward, slamming into one of the boys in a matter of seconds, and then having pushed Bryony behind me in a few more. "Leave him the fuck alone, or you'll wish you had."

- - -

table: tristen

Last Edit: Jun 18, 2014 12:06:06 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

pthalorarity
Career Tribute

535 POSTS
last seen May 31, 2020 17:33:55 GMT -5

sewn together | {Byrony/Ventus} Jun 20, 2014 0:23:11 GMT -5

Post by pthalorarity on Jun 20, 2014 0:23:11 GMT -5

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

I sigh as I gather the last of the ingredients I need in the market. My grandmother has decided to go on another baking spree and as it is my day off, I was more than happy to accept her invitation to help. What I was not excited about was having to answer her when she suggested I invite Ventus Blanchard along with me. Of course, that really wasn’t anything new… but the reason had changed. I have spent the last several nights laying awake at night wondering and waiting for him to call on me. I haven’t seen nor heard from him since the Reaping… since he kissed me…

There is a stabbing sensation in my heart as I think about it. I had finally let my guard down and given him an in… and then he disappears. It’s reasons like this that I know I can only trust my family, and sometimes not even them. The worst part is every time I close my eyes, the nightmare of Reaping Day replays itself and goes much more horribly wrong, and I have no one to tell, no where to hide from it… I suppose it doesn’t matter though whether Ventus leaves me in a dream, because he’s left me now in reality as well. I wonder what I did wrong? Did his feelings change? I always knew he was too good to be true in the end. There was no reason for a guy like him to be with some broken joke like me.

I’m about to leave the market with my haul when I hear the usual hoots and hollers of the gang of alpha males from my year at school. Usually when I’m with my brother or family they don’t bother me too much, but today, I’m alone. I know instantly I’m in trouble when I hear the first shout my name and soon enough they are all upon me cracking various jokes and nudging me. I try to ignore it and keep walking despite the burning blush of anger and humiliation that stains my cheeks. I can’t disregard them anymore though once the first pushes a bag of apples out of my hands, sending the content spilling across the dirt road.

“What is wrong with you?” I muster as I quickly try to collect the fruit.

As usual I am met with laughs and jeers as another pushes me when I return to stand.

“More like what is wrong with you!? Still crying about those nightmares big baby Bryony?” one chants.

I contort my face and glare as hard as I can. There’s nothing I can say back that I haven’t before, and it never does me any good anyway. I try to keep pushing forward past them, but another blocks my way before shoving me back as they practically circle me. My instinct is to call for help as I’m not too far from the market, but I know that would only earn me something worse from these guys in the end.

“Come on, Bryony, why don’t you grow a pair and put up a fight.”

Another laughed, “Yeah, what would you have done if it was you getting Reaped, no one would have volunteered for your sorry ass.”

“Probably would have been killed first.” The group laughed.

“Come on, I said fight!” the first one said again, this time ramming himself into me.

I’m able to brace myself well enough not to fall over, but I can tell me shoulder was going to bruise. Before I have time to prepare myself for another hit, someone else has charged in, but instead of hitting me, I am being shielded. His voice rings in my ears and the memory of his scent envelops as my face is buried into his back. The urge to cry hits me strongly again because the hurt of this last week hits me anew and I am simultaneously mortified and embarrassed that he is seeing me like this. This was one of my fears from the very beginning.

Laughing, the group of guys rolled their eyes and began to back off. Ventus was older and clearly well muscled from his line of work. The group of merchant boys weren’t as bold when it came to him.

I can hear their snide comments about being lucky I had a “boyfriend” to protect me now and that we would meet later. I swallow back the lump in my throat that I didn’t even know was there, and I bend down to start picking up various items that had fallen out of my shopping bags in the process of getting tossed around. My eyes are welling with tears before I can stop them so I remain low to the ground as I try to muster words. “I… I could have handled myself…” My voice cracks, even meeker than usual as I try to hide the pain in each word. I know he can see it in my burning cheeks though, and I hate myself for it—for not being good enough for him...

Last Edit: Jun 20, 2014 0:24:00 GMT -5 by pthalorarity

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