safety measures [nyte]

cameron
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MY SHIT IS TOGETHER - Shy Aubergine

safety measures [nyte] Sept 27, 2015 13:41:33 GMT -5

Post by cameron on Sept 27, 2015 13:41:33 GMT -5

H E A T H E R
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o o o

Standing in front of that crowd, her back upright and her feet evenly spaced, Heather had never been so absolutely terrified. It took all of her strength to not break down right there in front of the entirety of her district. But, as her mother had trained her, she kept her eyes open, her lips slightly pursed, and her chin just high enough. It wasn't until she had been ushered off by her escort that she even had processed what was going on. And that's when it hit her.

She was going to die before her birthday.

Nothing had ever hit her that hard before. Her heart beat stopped for a second and all her breath left her body. This was supposed to be her year. Seventeen was supposed to be the best year of her life, and now she wouldn't even reach it. Her escort looked at her questioningly, as she had stopped moving forward, and she regained composure with her mother's words floating through her head.

The next events soared past her. She paid no attention to what anyone was saying, and when her mother entered the room to say her goodbyes, Heather just smiled, kissed her mother's cheek, and left.

Soon, Heather was heralded onto a train, something she had never experienced before. The takeoff was rough as the machine lurched forward into motion. She held on to the sides of her seat, not sure what safety measures should be followed. The escort left her and the male tribute, who she hadn't really paid any attention to yet, in the caboose. Heather watched as the scenery started to race past, and the robust trees of her home disappeared behind her. Her eyes rested on the window, not really looking anywhere. Her thoughts danced around her head but she couldn't grab onto any of them. They were too elusive, too quick, always just out of her grasp. And Heather sat like that for a long time.

After a particularly bumpy patch of the ride, Heather lost her focus on the window and her preoccupation with not thinking was dashed. She looked across the train at the boy. He was cute. And his hair looked soft. Even though he didn't have a last name, which was pretty freaking weird. She contemplated speaking to him, but ultimately decided against it, despite his soft-appearing hair. Instead she trained her eyes back on the window.

Aw, hell, she couldn't handle it. She had to speak to him. It was nagging at her now. And she needed an excuse to one day touch his hair. Being silent wouldn't let her accomplish that goal. And it was a very serious goal. Boys' hair was her 3rd True Love in Life. So she looked up, staring him dead in the face, and said the first thing that came to mind.

"My birthday is in twenty days."

o o o

maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]
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safety measures [nyte] Sept 29, 2015 0:27:39 GMT -5

Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Sept 29, 2015 0:27:39 GMT -5

D R A C O

I've been in the justice building once before. There had been a vase, made of gentle whites and light blues something beautiful in wood-paneled rooms turned dark from heavy shades. It had been shattered against the wall, the soft scream of breaking plaster was much easier than using my own throat to do the same. Instead of crumbling to pieces in front of my friends, I destroyed the room with as much vigor.

This time I feel nothing. Or perhaps I am telling myself that to stop this agonizing fear crawling up my throat and resting on the tip of my tongue. I want them to think that I am fearless, that I think I actually have a chance of coming home because I really, really don't. I've never been much of a pessimist, honestly, I've been through so much that could break me that I thought I was beyond the point of such despair.

I wonder how fast they would kill me if simply refused to move. Surely, I could take down a few before that happened. (And sentence another soul to this fate? What if it was Garrett's name they pulled next?)

I go with the peacekeepers peacefully.

The train is a beast, engine roaring and hungry as we slip into its belly. I wonder, for a second, whether it will swallow us whole. A monster before we even enter the Arena. It seems a sort of cruel joke the capitol would pull, sending children off to war in the rib cage of a basilisk.

Sun flares against the dirty glass lining this trolley, my fingers take to tracing the tear stains settled there. As though this growling mess of gears and oil is weeping for us. For me and this girl who is not Margaret. I have not spared her more than a haphazard glance these long centuries we sit. I'm scared to know her, to face someone whom will be my enemy in mere weeks. It's not smart to form attachments. If I were a smarter man, I would speak to no one and I would survive. I've never needed others for that.

"My birthday is in twenty days."

The words sting more than they should. It takes a long while for my eyes to find hers, instead they sit upon the curl of sunshine hair and the way it is so carelessly radiant. Birthdays. I have not thought of those for a long while. This was my last year wasn't it? One more birthday and I would have survived this. One more birthday and I would not be sitting here with this poor, lost thing.

"Happy birthday, then." I give her a slight nod, standing up and trying not to fall on my ass as the train squirms restlessly. It seems almost intent to make a fool of me. "We should celebrate, what do you say? Nothing wrong with an early birthday present."

Anything to banish this heavy silence. It'll kill me faster than any weapon could.

Last Edit: Sept 29, 2015 0:30:13 GMT -5 by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

cameron
Retired Staff

1,837 POSTS
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last seen Oct 3, 2024 17:10:15 GMT -5

MY SHIT IS TOGETHER - Shy Aubergine

safety measures [nyte] Sept 29, 2015 17:38:59 GMT -5

Post by cameron on Sept 29, 2015 17:38:59 GMT -5

H E A T H E R
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o o o

It took him a while to respond, and for a second she thought he would never acknowledge her. The silence of the room on top of the mechanical whirring of the train racing down the tracks unnerved her. Her mother had done a decent job of forcing her to never show negative emotions, a large contributing factor to Heather's steely composure when telling her mother goodbye. But being unable to express outwardly the pains one struggled with inwardly worked on one's physical wellbeing. Heather's nerves churned in the pit of her belly, tidal waves whipped against the walls, and this was one of those paining moments in her stomach.

Then he answered, and the storm immediately calmed, the ships able to cross the channels and deliver their goods. His words were kind, soft, and Heather felt like she'd known Draco for years. The mysterious, cold exterior she had felt from him moments prior evaporated.

After wishing her a happy birthday, he stood. Standing on this giant locomotive seemed counterproductive, but Charlotte Tenley had spent years training her daughter to be light on her feet, to never lose balance. While Draco wobbled, images of a younger Heather tiptoeing down the stairwell with a stack of books upon her head reemerged from the crevice in which she had stored them. The memories weren't pleasant, and it was years of agonizing training before Charlotte let her move on. For months alone she was stuck walking barefoot in the heat of the summer down the hills from their house to town, all the while keeping the books positioned firmly. The first month Heather barely reached the market, but once she passed that she always struggled on the uphill trek back home. Blister upon blister formed, the skin on the pads of her feet raw and bloodied, but Charlotte was never pleased.

And, of course, those feet had to be polished and pretty as soon as she returned home. What kind of lady has calloused feet? The kind that's made to hike the way Heather was.

"We should celebrate, what do you say?" Draco announced, and Heather bolted up from her seat. The train shook, but Heather's feet were planted and still. The idea of a celebration with a boy she had never met was entirely appealing, and an especially welcome reprieve from her head space. "Nothing wrong with an early birthday present."

She couldn't agree more. Finally, someone who maybe understood her Fourth True Love in Life. Heather didn't know proper protocol for Tribute relations -- Hell, a Victor hadn't come from Seven in ages, if ever at all. For that reason, and that reason alone, it seemed like Heather was at liberty to twist the rules however she wanted. Grinning wildly at her District partner, Heather had no choice but to follow the first rule she'd established for herself: Thank anyone who wishes her a happy birthday with a giant hug. She skipped forward and flung her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you!" She let go, and looked the boy hard in the eye, smile never fading from her face. If all the Tributes wished her a happy birthday, she probably would never be able to bring herself to attack anyone. "What did you have in mind?"

o o o

maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]
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safety measures [nyte] Oct 2, 2015 13:48:43 GMT -5

Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Oct 2, 2015 13:48:43 GMT -5

D R A C O

For the time being, I don't see them as enemies. The faces plastered all over flat screens, some paled with fear and others tinged bright green. Surely, many of them wanted this. Released their name into the air like caged birds, wings glistening under sudden sunlight and they placed themselves upon that stage. Heads held high much like her's, like Margaret. A girl who was as good as a sister to me until she wasn't. Perhaps I can somehow give myself permission to hate them, to see them as dragons and I their knight.

Perhaps I can hate the fools.

Heather's lips split open wide, revealing a smile so stunning that it might have taken my breath away (had I still been breathing.) She reminds me of a feline, leaping to her feet as though there was not a thousand pounds of screeching metal beneath her. There had been a few of those, wild things creeping through the trees whose harsh, brittle bark was once my bed. They were feral things, claws more than often breaking through even the most calloused skin I wielded.

She's not like that. She is soft, innocent almost. Her smile turns the world about three shades brighter in a way that I don't think I've ever seen. It's almost unreal to think that we have lived in the same place, perhaps walked the same paths for years upon years and yet the only time I have ever met her eyes is when we are both destined to die.

I wasn't expecting her arms to be flung around me like this, such an intimate gesture seemed out of place in a world so grim. But I find myself returning the gesture without hesitation, touches purposefully soft I place a palm on her upper back and I pull her close. For only a moment before it's over.

What did I have in mind?

Maybe I should have thought of that before suggesting we celebrate. Too late now. Too late for a lot of things.

"Er... I'm sure they have cake somewhere on this... thing..."

It's name rests on the tip of my tongue, perhaps left with the pieces of my heart that have not accompanied me, that remain in lush forests and stone cottages. "And wine, or something to drink. I'm sure we could make a wonderful party for two."

And forget everything else in the meantime.