in your life [ rade/kate ]
Jul 2, 2015 22:28:27 GMT -5
Post by анзие (Anz) on Jul 2, 2015 22:28:27 GMT -5
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| a blue tide pulling me under |
[attr="class","anziescroll"] Over the past three days Leon's turned distraction into an art form: sentences trail to silence as thoughts strike him intermittently, his mouth forms words he thinks he's hung by the clouds, his eyes slide past faces to focus on intangible forms behind them. On his mind is fixed the idea - no, the possibility of Nat returning home. He's not Nat's mentor anymore, but that doesn't mean his every waking moment is spent without his eyes glued to all the little things that tell him Nat's still breathing. He's not Nat's mentor, but that doesn't mean he didn't attempt to wring Arbor Halt's throat when he heard about the stuffed toys that Arbor claims not to have sent (and the case with the turkeys was an entirely different matter... that ended with similar results). He's not Nat's mentor - he's his brother, and all he wants is for Nat to come home. He stumbles, legs folding momentarily beneath him as he struggles for traction on the track. Leon catches himself on the side wall, fingers leaving damp trails like skid-marks to show where he's been. Nowhere but here. Here's as far as he needs to go, anyway. When Leon runs, he's never disturbed. At least, not by Avoxes without sympathy or Victors with amusement or Gamemakers who don't know how to keep their damned mouth shut. Demons, on the other hand, are always only a hair's breadth behind. The image of his little brother - at four years of age, damn it, his two front teeth missing in his white, wide grin - holding up a handful of sand to him on the beach flashes in Leon's mind. I can't let you join their ranks. So vivid is the image that Leon physically reaches for his brother's arm - the moment his fingers make contact with the picture in his mind's eye, it shatters, and the track is all that lies before him. Leon slows to a stop, breathing hard. Running his fingers through his hair, he glances around him furtively to make sure he's alone before pressing his palms to his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. God. He should head back - make sure Nat's still... He's not dead yet. But he has to make sure his brother is alright. And Gunner and Preston, he reminds himself. Despite everything, Leon shouldn't forget about them. Funny that his brother and Gunner were working together, now - so heartbreakingly sweet were their interactions that Leon sometimes had trouble remembering why Gunner was dangerous. Sweet, even with her lecherous comments and the casual way she kills. Heartbreaking, even with her wild tendencies and crazy doings. If Nat... couldn't come home, the pessimistic half of his heart hopes Gunner does, instead. But he can't count Preston out. That boy is a survivor. The towel soaks moisture from his hair; Leon drops it unceremoniously to hang around his neck as he paces to the elevator. His viewing room attendants should by this point be impervious to Leon's constant state of dishevelment - he doesn't bother pulling on a new shirt. Showers can wait. The Games never do. The elevator dings, and Leon comes to a stop in the face of Katelyn Persimmon. Twitching his lip up in something that resembles a smile, Leon says, "Headed somewhere?" He crosses the distance between him and the elevator - approximately one and a half steps - and hits the button for the appropriate floor. "Mind if I hitch a ride?" | [attr="class","anzieside"] [attr="class","anziehover"] leon krigel victor of the 67th games try to slip past his defense without granting innocence |
