Break My Bones {Ro}

Break My Bones {Ro} Jan 7, 2015 11:57:00 GMT -5

Post by Death on Jan 7, 2015 11:57:00 GMT -5

c l i c k m e r c e r
s o n - b r o t h e r - a r t i s t

> >: point of interest 1

> >: the earth spins at 1700 kilometers an hour and yet we feel nothing but the wind.

> >: it blows and howls against my window at night and against my ears as I walk. I try to keep my collar up, but it feels like the wind keeps changing directions.

> >: i take the edge of my collar once more and prop it up around my neck, hoping the stiffness of the solid corduroy will stand up to that merciless bully that enjoys bringing more snow and ice and chill our way. It's time like these I want to be like our little gray tabby and curl up in front of the fireplace for hours. maybe I'll do that once I get home.

> >: point of interest 2

> >: people have followed me home for as long as I could remember. Whether they needed help or they were just hoping to shove me into a mud puddle at the first opportunity was almost as chancy as the Reaping. Win some, lose some, but boy, when I lost some, I really lost.

> >: in most houses, broken bones were a rarity. Something that allowed a kid to get a fancy cast and the ability to lay in bed for longer hours. Not in our house, however. Dad grew up almost constantly in casts and three of his five children were destined to do the same. Luckily Casey and Tesla ended up like Mom with normal bones.

> >: i've learned how to be careful about bones breaks, however. It's taken nearly eighteen years, but I haven't broken anything in six months-- which is a new record for our family. I beat out Farad's record of 5 months, 1 week.

> >: point of interest 3

> >: the people trying to follow me home this time don't appear to need any help. They all have thick coats and at least one extra layer of fat on them. There's three of them. All male. I catch glimpses of their faces in the shop windows as I pass by them.

> >: should I go in to one of these shops? Would they just wait outside for me, or would they move on to another victim? Have I seen these men before?

> >: perhaps they're the grown kids who used to think it was so hilarious that little Ampere Mercer would break like a milk bottle when you dropped him. perhaps they used to be the kids who I beat at the games we'd play in the school yard and who would later follow me to make sure I would never make the mistake of winning anything ever again. Of course, I'd take my broken ribs or arms-- or even the occasional nose break-- like a champ, because I was a champion and I liked winning. I wasn't going to let some little shits get in the way of my victory.

> >: point of interest 4

> >: i'm not taking them back to my house. I'd rather take my lumps than show them where I live. Where Tesla, Farad and my mother live because if they would mug a scrawny, pasty kid just because they could, then I wouldn't want to know what else they'd do for a good time.

> >: my first instinct is to start running, but to start running, I need to know where to run to. I'm not the fastest-- loose joints also come with the brittle bone territory-- but I know these streets inside and out. Hopefully I can just make a few quick corner turns and give them the slip.

> >: i walk faster. Not enough to look worried but not slow enough for it to be a coincidence. I wonder if they're still following me. Is that the drip of water from the rooflines and window casings or are they the quiet padding of ~~tiger~~ feet.

> >: i'm on the ground and my tailbone and hips hurt enough to make me cry out in pain.

> >: point of interest 5

> >: it appears that melting ice is just as, if not more, dangerous than regular ice. Probably more because I can feel the frigid wetness of the water that lurks on its surface.

> >: will I even be able to get up and move?

> >: I try to move my legs but it's just too painful. I'm stuck. My heart beats like an EDM bass-- fast, insistent. I can almost hear it pounding against my risb.

> >: Hey, squirt. Looks like you fell down. Why don't we help you up.

> >: one of them picks me up and drags me back a few paces to the alleyway I had just passed.

> >: Help!

> >: I'm yelling and trying to flip out of his grasp, but my hips ache like they're being repeatedly beaten with a frying pan. My vision tunnels, but I manage to hold on.

> >: Help!

> >: Shut up, pasty.

Break My Bones {Ro} Jan 14, 2015 12:53:38 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Jan 14, 2015 12:53:38 GMT -5

Leianna "Lei" Phiabac

It was these kinds of kids who never learned.

The ragamuffins and thugs. The one who left blood stains on the gravel and barely cried when Lei came upon them, bones twisted in impossible directions and eyes so unfocused it was hard to tell if they were really seeing her. The kinds of kids she had to drag home time after time, warning their parents that next time it would be straight to the Detention Center. Fighting would not be tolerated in District Three, even if the kid she had found was the one who had gotten the shit beaten out of him. If he had thrown a punch, he was part of the fight. Her threats were partly-empty. The Detention Center was no place for a kid. Not a kid with broken limbs anyway. However, a Peacekeeper had to do what a Peacekeeper had to do.

Finding this one wasn’t too difficult. Leianna was on patrol, looking for signs of trouble. She was attracted like a moth to light to the sound of echoed shouting coming from a nearby alley and when she stepped within its mouth was unsurprised to find a group of boys, fists beating, legs pumping, one on top of another who was screaming loudest of all. It didn’t last long. The sun reflected off of Lei’s white uniform and in a moment, several of the boys were scrambling past her. She reached for one hastily, but her hands clawed air and her shoulder, refusing to extend anymore, screamed in protest. The Head Peacekeeper of District Three was getting old.

Back in her younger days, when her hair had been black instead of silvery-gray and her uniform’s breastplate didn’t weigh her down, she would have one in each hand, held by the scruff of their neck. A little squeeze and they’d be down for the count, to be brought in for questioning. But, Lei could no longer move so quickly nor squeeze so hard.

Sighing deeply, she approached the only boy left. The one who had been tackled. The patches of dirt-brown snow around him were caked in blood and it was hard to tell where the boy was bleeding from exactly. His nose? His forehead? Another sigh escaped through Lei’s lips. This was her least favorite part. The clean-up it seemed. The Head Peacekeeper of District Three was left to clean-up the messes of criminals she could hardly catch. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her back, Lei reached down and grabbed the shoulders of the boy, dragging him to his feet.

“Where do you live, kid?” Her white gloves were being stained in red blood and brown dirt, but Lei didn’t flinch as she gave him a little shake, her voice gruff. . “C’mon. I’ll bring you home.”

This technically wasn’t her job, was it? She hadn’t seen this kid fight back at all. That means he was just a victim of a crime. Her hand twitched, made to move to the radio at her hip. Shouldn’t she be calling in reinforcement to find the kids who had done it? Then, she tightened her hand around the shoulder of the kid. For what? To maybe find them? To maybe find them, give them a talking to, maybe a whipping and send them on their merry way? These kids never learn. These type of kids grow up. Grow up and become Peacekeepers and fight bigger kids. The scars on Lei’s face began to itch uncomfortably and with another deeper sigh, she gave the kid in her hands another jerk, holding him at arm-length.

“Where am I taking you?”