sickness | {tristen} | Hunger Games: The RPG

dars
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sickness | {tristen} Jun 11, 2015 17:22:14 GMT -5

Post by dars on Jun 11, 2015 17:22:14 GMT -5

NICO DAVENPORT

WHEN I'M PLAY PRETENDING

'Thump, Thump, Thump' goes the heart that won't stop beating. 'Thump, Thump' it demands within his chest, pushing him forward: one step, one breath, one day at a time. It is a sound he has learned to ignore over the years -- a sad truth, for he pretends not to have the very thing that keeps the breath in his lungs and the color in his eyes.

"Thump, Thump, Thump, it applauds, and it is times like these he hates most, when it wants his attention too much for him to overlook it. For, even when he wishes his heart did not beat, it still remains a fighter inside him. Even when he begs for it to just give up, it refuses. And times like these are all it asks for in return. Times like these, where it just wants to be heard.

But that is just the problem.

What is it trying to say?

Nico has never been a very good listener. Even as a child he had trouble taking orders. He was the worst in fact, at everything. He had always been sure of it until the day he had broken a rule and wandered off a bit further than he was allowed. He was met with a fenced community of children, all strewn about in their leisure time. He longed to be one of them, to climb the fence and play alongside them, but he couldn't. It was not allowed. He was allowed to look in, though. He was allowed to smile as the other children waved at him, or even speak when a few of the more curious ones came over to peer at him.

One of these people was named Reese. And he was nice in a way that Nico didn't understand, like he had known the boy for years prior to that day. Reese fixed the damaged boy that Nico once was, and when Reese was the one that needed fixing, he was taken away before Nico had ever gotten the chance.

It stung for a while, his absence, but with time he had grown to accept it. He rarely even thinks about the boy anymore, but this day deserves an exception. At first, he was unsure if the boy lying in the bed in front of him was really Reese. His eyes had been closed and in the years that had passed he had grown. But the second his eyes fluttered open Nico knew.

'Thump, Thump, Thump' his heart screams, but the rest of him remains silent.
Reese, Reese! I'm so happy it's you! I've missed you so much! I'm so sorry I didn't come for you, I'm so sorry I lied! But I'm here now, I am! And I missed you! I really missed you! thoughts sear across his mind, but they are not good enough. Reese deserves better. There is nothing that is good enough, not after what he has had to go through alone. Come on, heart, tell me what to say! But there is no answer, so he swallows his air and takes a step forward.

"I've found you."

WHEN I CAN TAKE BULLETS TO THE HEART

ⒶⓀⒾ of Adoxography, Transit, and GS.

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

lucia valentine [d8] 🐞 tris
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sickness | {tristen} Jun 11, 2015 18:50:26 GMT -5

Post by lucia valentine [d8] 🐞 tris on Jun 11, 2015 18:50:26 GMT -5

REESE LACHANCE

[presto]

ARE YOU REALLY GONNA
LOVE ME WHEN I'M GONE
I FEAR YOU WON'T
I FEAR YOU DON'T

[/presto]

Sickness;
there is a sickness flowing through my veins, and there is a disease in my heart.

It's a sharp, quick pain that wakes me -- one that strikes at a pace much live a viper, one that leaves you paralyzed in Hell for a frozen second. I lurch forward, lips trained to scream out nothing but a slight whimper, and my arching back feels as if it could propel me into the night sky like a forsaken comet. But it doesn't. I cringe for a slow moment, then I fall back: back onto the coffin that's yet to become my permanent home.

(Not that I know what such a thing is.)

My fingertips brush across the sheets beneath me, my shaking legs trying to relax against the faint jitters that resonate throughout the marrow of my bones. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to return to my slumber. It's always easier to sleep the days away, and without my periodical jolts of agony, I swear I would have been pronounced comatose by now.

(Here lies Reese LaChance: death by ~~disease~~ dreams.)

I exhale, eyelids and body becoming less tense with each passing moment, and my form beginning to once again lay silent on the hospital bed. I count my breaths for a moment, before I block away the world. Each breath is a sword, sharpened to a deadly edge on each side. Life's a beautiful thing, and maybe somewhere locked in my mind I have a reason to survive, but-... Death.

Death is quick -- instant, painless. It's a sudden numbness, then nothing.

(Life's merely beautiful; death is ethereal.)

I pretend that I can see the stars through my sheltered stare, though I know only padded ceiling lingers above me. I inhale through my nose, holding the scent until it burns. (I know it's just bleach and chemicals, but I swear I can smell the trees.) Although my mind has always been far too wise and cynical for my age, I feel childlike when I do not see the world -- when I don't see the pitying faces of the medical staff, the needles full of liquids ready to be injected into my system, and the blood on my sheets that serves as a reminder; a reminder that my days are numbered, that my thoughts are simply stars that cannot be fathomed into constellations, and that the knight I spent so many years dreaming about is-...

I snort out a breath when I catch myself about to think his name, and I shift onto my side. I curl up into a fetal position, prepared to let the silence become my haven for the time being, before the light comes; before the day begins, and I'm once again forced out of my thoughts -- pried away from my sanity, day by day, never able to sleep my self to death, never-...

I hear the footsteps, and my eyes split apart like lightning across the sky. At first, I fear I've already wasted my entire night, and that a nurse has already come to torture me, but-... Even if I wanted to breathe, I can't; even if I wished to close my eyes, I can't. The figure before me takes all that keeps me alive away in this single moment, and yet I still remain as nothing more than a shell.

"I've found you."

It's a dream. It's a dream. It's a dream -- Ripred, it's a fucking dream. I-...

I don't dream.

I haven't in years, and that's what sends my lips into a quiver, what urges my hands to start shaking. I raise my torso up, staring terrified at the face before me, yet lips creaking upwards. I haven't smiled in a long time, and I doubt I'm even conveying my emotion properly, but-...

"Nico," I whisper, almost in the form of a plea. His name comes out in a raspy tone, as if I'm frightened to say it -- that uttering it will cause him to disperse into nothing but mist. My knight has come. My knight has come. My-...

My savior has come.

It's been years since I last saw the young man before me, and he was hardly a man at the time. He's far more chiseled now, and the childhood attraction I had for him as a young boy suddenly changes into something far more primal, but I shake the thoughts out of my head.

Ripred, he's beautiful. He's strong. He's brave. He's-... Everything; he's everything.

Every shared memory of ours comes flooding back, and I don't even take the time to register the visions. I clutch onto him, pulling him into an embrace, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I spent such a long time convincing myself that dreams were just as dead as the things in the sky that I haven't seen in a such a long time, but-...

My dream now stands in my arms, and I-...

I shatter into a constellation, and he is the stars that hold me together.

table: zoë

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

dars
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sickness | {tristen} Jun 11, 2015 22:32:33 GMT -5

Post by dars on Jun 11, 2015 22:32:33 GMT -5

NICO DAVENPORT

WHEN I'M PLAY PRETENDING

"I've found you."

At those three simple words, he was falling through time, a ticking clock spinning in reverse, voices in his head fumbling from finish to start, moon after sun after moon after sun bleeding across the sky, and he was a little boy again. A familiar face beamed at him from a tree top.

They had broken the rules together that time.

Nico was not supposed to wander as far as the orphanage, and Reese was never to leave it's tall gates. But that day, they did. That day they had let the trees swarm their vision. Nico showed Reese the shallow creek on the edge of the woods, the one he'd always loved so much. They swam in it. They played pretend, laughed as they mimicked birds with their arms outstretched toward them. The day had been perfect, and as it had come to a close, Reese had laughed as he disappeared into the brush. "Come and get me!" he called.

"I've found you!" Nico had giggled when he found him, taking a step closer to the tree. (Even then his heart thump, thump, thumped inside his chest. Especially around Reese, he had noticed.) "Come down, Greasy. It's gonna be dark soon!" Reese climbed down with careful; precision. Nico hadn't known it until recently, but the disease was beginning to make a game of Reese's life, a game he was forced to play despite his own disagreement with the rules: He laid in bed all day in exchange for crippling pain and mental anguish. Nico noticed how strained the boy looked. "Are y'okay?" "Fine. Just... just tired."

Nico had only nodded, wrapping a hand around his friend's shoulder. "Then we'd better get you home!" He could hear the pain in Reese's voice. He knew it must have been hard, that he probably didn't want to talk about it: ~~("Does it always hurt like this?" "Sorta." "Is there a cure?" "Yeah, but it's too expensive." "Will you die without it?" "Eventually.")~~

But this time, he did want to talk about it.

"They say I'm gettin' worse, say they're thinkin' bout puttin' me in a hospital. One far away." "I'll just hafta leave earlier in the mornin to come see you, then." "You promise, Nico? That you won't leave me behind?"

"I promise."

"I've found you."

It replays itself over and over in his head as he watches the sick boy. How selfish it is of him, to remind himself of a promise he has broken, possibly of a life he has ruined, as if it were nothing more than a fond memory. How dare him. But Reese is gracious enough to overlook it. "Nico," he whispers, and the boy smiles in exchange. "Yeah, it's me." He takes a step forward and leans in closer to Reese. He doesn't deserve one, but his lips are moving to ask for one. "Can I... Can I have a hug?"

Something about feeling Reese so close makes him more nostalgic than he has ever been. It is like he is hugging the friend he left behind in the woods all those years ago. But he no longer smells of the trees or the dirt or the creek. Here he smells... medicated, sterile. Controlled. At the same time, though, Nico remembers another part of the scent very well. He did not realize he remembered it at all, but it is there tucked beneath the bed sheets and the pills and the sad boy.

When they break apart, Nico has tears in his eyes. So does Reese.

But they must be for different reasons.

Or are they, after all?

Nico's tears drip with guilt. Reese's must be with disappointment, and they should be. Nico deserves to be labeled a disappointment. He deserves more than that. So he speaks. "Reese I'm... What have I done to you? What have I done? I don't- wha- h..." He takes shallow, rapid breaths. In, out, in, out, in out in out inoutinout.

"I've found you." was a lie. He has not found anything. He stumbled upon him on his first day at work. I'm a liar, he thinks. He did not find Reese. Reese was gone. Reese has been gone for years and Nico gave up his search long ago and now here he is. He shakes his head through the tears, amending his first statement.

"I've found you." was a lie.

"I've broken you."

Yes, that was better.

WHEN I CAN TAKE BULLETS TO THE HEART

ⒶⓀⒾ of Adoxography, Transit, and GS.

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

lucia valentine [d8] 🐞 tris
RP Tutor

3,306 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Jul 2, 2024 5:09:35 GMT -5

sickness | {tristen} Jun 12, 2015 8:51:58 GMT -5

Post by lucia valentine [d8] 🐞 tris on Jun 12, 2015 8:51:58 GMT -5

REESE LACHANCE

[presto]

ARE YOU REALLY GONNA
LOVE ME WHEN I'M GONE
I FEAR YOU WON'T
I FEAR YOU DON'T

[/presto]

Broken;
he says I'm shattered, wasted -- that he left me in a thousand different pieces, and he's right.

(But, it's ~~not~~ his fault, it's-...

His fault? ~~No-~~... Maybe?)

I peel away from his form, but my bony fingers still clutch to his limbs, clinging to him as if he were an anchor. I inhale, lips settling into an emotion far easier to display. (Disappointment? Sadness? A mix?) "No, you didn't," I assure, but the tone is weak. "I'm sure the doc's had somethin' to do with it, not you. This ain't your fault." I push myself off of the bed, legs nearly collapsing beneath me, my brittle bones not well enough prepared to carry my weight. My grasp on him tightens, and I steady my breath for a few moments, before lifting my gaze to meet his.

"How'd you get in?" I question, but the uniform he wears suddenly makes sense. I shake my head, all at once unaware of how to feel. My knight's the dragon, too. His sword is aimed at my throat, and his fire is scorching my skin. I-... I stare unblinkingly at him for a short while, as if looking into those deep, mischievous brown eyes will help me figure all of this out. He's come for me, but was it planned? Did he get a job working for these bastards, and was finding me just some sick perk to his day? He left me alone for years, and he promised. He promised to save me, to come riding on a steed of fire, and-...

My life's too short to argue, and I'm too tired.

(I'm so tired.)

"It doesn't matter," I say quietly, answering something that I myself asked. Who cares if this is all just a sick joke, or some tainted version of a childhood dream. At least-... At least he's here, for now. My closest friend as an idiotic little boy, my-...

My best friend, yes. Not a knight, nor dragon; not a savior. He's... my friend.

I bite my lip tentatively, eyes lingering on his outfit. "You here to do tests on me, now?" I ask, and I can't help but to let out a dry laugh. It'd be a beautiful irony, but-... Getting pissed on by life is hardly ironic these days. "Why are you here?" I urge, replacing my former question. Just why is he here?

(To be my solace, or my undoing?)

"You didn't have to come for me, Nico. If-... If savin' me is your intention, like you promised me all those years ago, I-... Don't waste your life on me, Nico."

(Live. Live it, Nico;
Ripred knows I wish I had that chance.)

table: zoë