one { voice } to another // anzie

new

« Prev
1
Next »

Stare
Retired Staff

3,105 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 5, 2024 11:29:31 GMT -5

and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

one { voice } to another // anzie Jun 5, 2015 20:17:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Stare on Jun 5, 2015 20:17:56 GMT -5

one voice to another
one heartbeat
sisters and brothers
we are the remedy, the remedy

The sound of death is deafening in the Training Center.

I try to drown it out with hard work - my trainers acknowledged my ability to move quietly and lift heavy things but I have yet to successfully hit a target with any type of weapon - but even with my muscles aching and sweat matting loose strands of hair to my face I can’t ignore the clang of metal against metal or the grunts of others doing exactly as I am. It’s so strange, to stand beside them knowing that we’re all practicing the same thing. To know that they’re picturing my face on the dummies just as I picture theirs.

But that’s the problem. Every time I see their face instead of the featureless ceramic ones, my mind goes blank and the blade won’t strike. That’s not a part of the plan. I grit my teeth in frustration and nearly go limp with relief when the lunch bell rings, dropping the sword I was holding and instead grabbing the container I have strapped to my hip. I received more than a few disapproving looks when people saw it, but who they hell are they to judge? I glance up toward where the Gamemakers sit, watching us all, and grin as I lift the container toward them in a mock toast before bringing it to my lips and downing so much that it brings tears to my eyes.

At the dining area, however, I hesitate. I watch as people gravitate toward those from their districts and feel a little tug in my throat. For a moment, I almost think it would be better to have someone from home to share this pain. To understand exactly what’s going through my mind as I lift the blade. I cut the thought off before it can continue. It would just be one more person to kill.

Instead my eyes catch on a boy sitting not far away. I squint for a moment, searching for a name. It comes with a jolt. Krigel. Nat Krigel. I almost grimace, taking another swig from the container, before walking over and plopping down next to him. My lips twist upward into a smile that’s so close to genuine that I’m proud as I set the alcohol on the table in front of him, pulling my pocketwatch out and fiddling with it a bit. “Rough day?”

we are golden, yes we are
hear the thunder, see the stars
we are golden for all to see
we are golden believe, believe

анзие (Anz)
Retired Staff

1,547 POSTS
last seen Jun 14, 2015 16:34:46 GMT -5

probably away

one { voice } to another // anzie Jun 7, 2015 15:47:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by анзие (Anz) on Jun 7, 2015 15:47:18 GMT -5

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	NAT KRIGEL
	He's shot through with a lacking sense of purpose, fingers trembling, direction lost, his mind in shreds under the weight of this new anger. Nat’s furious, but not at anyone whose company he’s kept in the past hour or so. No, not at them – even if he probably has good reason to want them gone. You dragged me from the shadow and now I’m blind. But the light is warm and one day he’ll be in love with being his own person, lips parted for sweet breath as he breaks from this ocean he drowned in – drowns in, confusion and turmoil twisting in innocent bubbles that swirl in the wake of his struggle. Somehow he recognizes the burn in his lungs and the weariness of his limbs as freedom, and he doesn’t want to let it go. It’s like he’s spinning out of control, but it feels so sweet. So no, he’s not angry at Elya, or Circe, or Orion. He might even say that they’ve built some sort of kinship, a merry band of tribute siblings whose paths before them are filled with the obstacles their brothers and sisters have left behind in the wake of their stardom. They’re alike, the four of them – and a part of Nat wonders why he’d never seen it before. They’re brothers and sisters in disappointment, never going to reach for the same heights that their blood have done. But it’s never going to be a bad thing. All it means is that they would have walked their own path, made their own name. Been their own person. But despite all of this, Nat cited a need to be on his own at his newfound friends as he slipped by them on his own. He needed… to think. To work through the thoughts that struggled for dominance in his mind, the need to be Leon’s little brother, to be protected and loved and made by family – and up against it the rising desire to be Nat. Just Nat. “Rough day?” Nat raises his gaze to- What’s her name? Kiena. Kiena Ward, he remembers. Or was it Kiera? Something like that… He can’t quite help but stare, brows furrowed with contemplation. It has to be Kiena. Or something else he doesn’t remember. But Nat remembers her face and the unique way she dresses, remembers eyeing the flask at her hip and wondering what she’s got in it. Whatever it is must be precious. He says, “Something like that.” Nat fiddles with his fork, propping his chin in one hand. “Do you want to sit?”
	district 4 male of the 70th Hunger Games