] Ezio Laskaris | Capitol [ fin

ℰzio ℒaskaris

Dear rabbit, my legs are getting weak... chasing you
And the snowfields... Wouldn't seem so big, if you knew

I sit here in a dark room, surrounded by mysterious noises and children. My features are cast into shadow so that my brown hair looks almost black and my green-gray eyes are dark. I watch everything around me with a wariness that I hope the others feel. It will keep us alive, or at least some of us. Having been thrown into a situation so much like the one we were used to watching - the Hunger Games - and not being a part of, it was hard for me to keep myself from letting my fear for myself overtake the responsibility I knew I held. I was the oldest here, eleven years old and I was the oldest. Fitting that I was eleven when there were eleven of us. We were as even a split between boys and girls as you could get with an odd number.

Of course this wasn't what my life had always been like. In fact, it had only been in the last two weeks that this had come about. I traced my finger against the rough concrete of the bare floor, my perch on the rug angled so I had most of my back facing the others. I didn't trust the darkness here. In truth I had always had some wariness for the dark - I had thought myself old enough for horror movies but that wasn't the case, I did have nightmare now and then because of them. Since I was eleven, and nearly a teenager, I knew that I had to stop being afraid of the dark. It was hard though, fighting the voice in your head that is yelling for a light because you can't see. Still, I needed to fill my place as eldest.

That this blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry...
And I've captured you once, but it wasn't quite right...

I had never had to deal with other children, aside from my friends, before this. I was an only child and not overly outgoing in meeting new people. The truth was that I saw my peers as less mature than me and therefore difficult to deal with for long periods of time. It was a premise my parents liked to agree with, and as such they treated me to spending more time acting like and adult. I went to parties and gathering with their friends and associates, was taught manners beyond what most of my fellows knew, and dressed up like a small man. I liked it in the beginning because I thought that it meant that I was an adult, but then it all began to wear on me.

I like being able to impress people with my maturity. I liked appearing like a little gentleman and hopefully being seen as older than I was. Maybe I wanted to feel important, or like I was better than other people. It's really childish if you look at it that way, and maybe that's why it makes the most sense. We all want to feel special, though, I realized that from watching the adults, from the moment we're born to the moment we die we all want to feel special.

Oh rabbit, my claws are dull now so don't be afraid...
I can keep you warm, as long as you can just try... To be brave!

The problem I had was that I now felt like I was some sort of puppet or doll that my parents were manipulating and molding. I felt like I had no control over who I was anymore and all at once everything turned from me thinking I was special to thinking that people didn't even see me anymore, but instead saw the person my parents were creating. It was to the point that I would insist on going around by myself so I might have some moments of rest from what may as well have been an over-tight coat. Not that anything really fit me very tightly, everything on the more fancy side of dress wasn't quite designed for a boy of my size and it wasn't as though I had all that much to me. I was always rather thin, and while my parents would tell me that this wasn't a bad thing - my father insisting I would fill out while my mother promising that girls would find me quite attractive - I was never so sure.

Feeling rather ridiculous in the clothes I had just been put in by my parents, I was focusing more on fixing the cuff of my right sleeve - which had a slight lacy coating on it that made me grumble when I first saw it - than on my surroundings. A pair of slight hands reached down and grabbed the wrist with the stubborn cuff and I heard a voice from above my head saying that she, it was clearly a woman, could help with it. I let her, looking up into the face of a woman I would soon know as Polly while she adjusted my sleeve. Finished that, she fiddled with the buttons on my coat and straightened my clothes so that I couldn't turn around and I most certainly couldn't move so that her accomplice could cover my head with a cloth bag.

Yes I know I'm a wolf, and I've been known to bite,
But the rest of my pack... I've left them behind.

And that is how I ended up here, sitting on a rug in a giant warehouse that I know is full of death. I'm the eldest and sometimes it's great but more often than not I wish I wasn't. Having to look after these other kids wears on me in more ways than one and I have to try so hard not to snap at them. I don't always manage. Something in me always warns me that raising my voice could attract something ghastly but I don't know if I should care because what could there possibly be in here to attack us? Even so, the barking and occasional howling of the dog - or dogs - that I know are lurking in some distant corner makes me shiver.

I don't like this fear, it makes me feel like I'm no better off than the younger kids. I have to be, though, in order to get out of here. Even if I do have to outlive the others, I would. This is my own Hunger Games, I suppose, and I could never let myself be anything less than the Victor. Memories of watching others come to victory are what I use to drive me forward. Leon Krigel stabbing Siren Baitwell in the chest, Patricia Valfierno with her steady features. I would be like them. I had to be.

And my teeth may be sharp, and I've been raised to kill...
But the though of fresh meat... It's making me ill!

The voices of the children I now guard are harsh to my ears like the screaming of seagulls. I'm getting restless. My fingers furl into a fist and grip the rug beneath my hands. If anything is going to happen, if I ever hope of getting out of here, I have to get off my butt and get searching. Even if I have to do it alone. I'm determined that I will not be found dead from dehydration or starvation, or any other menace that Himself has set up. Damn him, and damn Polly, I would get out.

I know that there are two parts of me. Half of me wants to get us all out alive, if only so I wouldn't have their deaths on my conscience, and half of me just doesn't care. I kinda like the half that is just out for himself. It makes me wonder if I would have already escaped had I been by myself. Without all of these younger kids dithering and whining about leaving or staying I probably would have already found a way out. But no, I had to stay and help. The least they could do is get their acts together and get going. We had to do something or we would all be dead in a few days.

So I'm telling you... That you'll be safe with...
Me, Eee, Ooo, Ooo...

I made up my mind then. I knew we had to go, and I knew that I would go no matter what. If they looked up to me so much then maybe they would come along. If not, too bad. I was done being daddy to kids only a couple years younger than me. I really hate other kids, I really really hate them. They dither and babble and blather and I am sick of it. I stood up and turned to look at the group. It was time to live or die.

And if they didn't stop clucking like chickens I might just kill them myself.

So rabbit, please stop looking the other way...
It's cold out there... So why not stay here, under my tail...?