My Frostbitten Spirit [Lalia]

Kire
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Pronouns: she/her
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My Frostbitten Spirit [Lalia] Sept 28, 2015 23:21:05 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Sept 28, 2015 23:21:05 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

Third Person, First Person, Says, Thinks

He doesn't do anything but stand there. There are surely whispers about him, about how he was odd and about how he was creepy - the later made his mouth curve in a smile that could only have added to the effect. He had been standing there, in near-complete stillness, for almost an hour by this point. Despite not seeming to do anything, Someith was training. He was learning the habits and attack patterns of those around him. Most of them had little to no skills with weapons and so he quickly grew bored with them. Hannah, one of the three girls he had picked out of the group on the first day as potentially being useful to him, seemed to have at least some ability. His approval of his choices grew slowly each day as he saw how they worked at training and how they did improve. Still, they were merely pawns in this Game. He would be the king, and the Gamemakers could play their best game of chess but he knew his would be better.

There were others out there with talent in fighting. People with edges like him, edges that would meet and parry. They would all have the same weakness though, and that was feeling. He, on the other hand, had no such baggage. Concern, affection, like or dislike, they didn't have any hold on him. He was violence, brutality, and pride. None of them could compare to him, especially as they broke from the strain of pain and death. That was his life, though, and he would live as comfortably inside the arena as out. Finally he would show the world that he was to be feared, that Krearns were not weak and shameful.

She caught his eye in moments, but he stayed as he was. She was an edge, a blade to bite and tear, and perhaps she might be interesting - at least for a time. His gaze locked on her, taking in her movements. Yes, she was certainly interesting. Perhaps she might even think of entertaining him. His tongue lightly traced his lips, quickly wetting them. He was glad he hadn't chosen her, she would be so much more fun as opposition. Standing there, silent as death and just as empty, he waited for her to come to him.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

L△LIA
RP Tutor

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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

My Frostbitten Spirit [Lalia] Sept 29, 2015 12:53:15 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Sept 29, 2015 12:53:15 GMT -5

pick a petal
eeny meeny miny mo
a n d f l o w e r
you’re the chosen one

A room glorified with this many weapons, complete with an abundance of designated victims, is a waste — if not an outright tragedy — when you’re told to do anything except inflict actual bodily harm. There is a silent frustration building up within you like withdrawal and it growls every time you lay eyes on an exposed carotid artery. Deep, wicked. You are being deprived of depravity when you were so explicitly promised that your nature would be sanctioned here. Practice is for amateurs. The Capitol needs to quit dangling what these lower District pawns can’t have and, more importantly, what you can’t have, in front of all of your faces; no one likes a tease.

You know you’re being watched, but you don’t acknowledge it. Ever calculating, you’ve been making your moves quietly so far, convincing everyone you meet that you are the personification of their hope. Sweetness and camaraderie for your District partner, electric lights and showmanship for your Mentor, a never before seen novelty for the Capitolite audience — your love is most sincere when you’re faking it. Black heart baby, you have a talent for being adored and you won’t settle for anything less. That includes the one watching you.

Machete in hand, it is held up before you with true intent. The polished blade catches the reflection of your lips — painted red enough to steal attention away from everything, even your own infamous eyes — as you silently preen at a smudge that was never there. Flaws don’t fuck with you. “I bite,” you promise your admirer, “but I’m disappointed that’s enough to keep you away." Sufficiently reassured of the undeniability of your presence, you apathetically discard the weapon you’ve been using as a mirror, tossing it over your shoulder. The trainer manning the station curses as he flings himself out of its deadly trajectory, but you don’t so much as blink. He does not exist to you.

There is a cliche about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, but you don’t subscribe to that strategy. You don’t have enemies; you have an army of human shields that fucking love you. When you finally flick your gaze up to meet his, you see your own reflection mirrored back to you once more from the blade of his eyes. It’s instantly apparent that there is already too much of you in him to ever love you like that, like sacrifice. The grin that overtakes your lips in response to this revelation is the birth of a new catastrophe.

It’s fine. You still don’t see a use for enemies. Maybe you can’t use this one as a shield, but he’ll certainly make for an impressive weapon.

( C H A R A C T E R S )

Kire
Retired Staff

2,937 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5

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My Frostbitten Spirit [Lalia] Sept 30, 2015 13:41:43 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Sept 30, 2015 13:41:43 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

Third Person, First Person, Says, Thinks

He knew she had acknowledged him and so he let himself acknowledge her. The way she handled the machete as a tool, but also as a mirror, brought the corners of his mouth up in a devil's grin. She was intriguing, and he was going to parley and parry with her. Finally, there was someone worth his time. "I bite, but I’m disappointed that’s enough to keep you away." God - if there was ever a time when he might refer to the hollow beliefs of others this would be the time - she was delectable. The yelp and shout from the trainer at the station behind her, where she had casually tossed the weapon she held, sent a wonderful tingling along his fingers. He had so hoped that he might come across another like himself and had nearly given up the notion as ridiculous until she had caught his attention.

The apathy in her eyes made him want to take her and make her his own. They could destroy and wreak havoc together in a bloody wave of weapons and flesh. Even so, in the end he would conquer - he always did. She could be the queen to his king, but the queen was a piece that could be sacrificed to achieve victory. The king was the final rule, the final piece, and this game of chess would see its king stand beside the body of the last fallen pawn.

She has a grin on her face that was as sharp as the weapon she had flung behind her without care. A mild glance at the weapon - now being stared at in shock by the trainer - showed that she had strength and technique. How wonderfully alluring. Among all of these weak and useless people was someone who could share his enjoyment in spreading fear throughout the masses.

I want her. I want to make her mine. She can entertain me in a way that no one else can. Annora, Hannah, and Saxton can't compare to her. I feel my face match her grin with one of my own. She will be mine.

"Biting? No. I don't think anything would be enough." His grin took on a wicked edge, and the possession he felt leaked into his voice. Impulsive as always, he couldn't hide how much he wanted her.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

L△LIA
RP Tutor

3,574 POSTS

last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

My Frostbitten Spirit [Lalia] Oct 2, 2015 21:46:06 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Oct 2, 2015 21:46:06 GMT -5

BERETTA CORLÉON

tell me why my
l o v e
has got a gun

Desire is power. A time bomb, it will inevitably detonate and the strength of its force is dependent on knowing what to do with it. There is a fuse stretched out between your wild grin and the greed of this soulless boy who covets you. Just because he’ll never love you doesn’t stop him from wanting to play war games with your skin and you can tell he’s already willing to name a piece of himself after you in exchange — maybe even his heart. After all, it’s not as if he has a use for it.

Then again, you don’t know what you’d do with such a useless organ either. Target practice, you suppose. It’s only your vanity that bothers with collecting sweet nothings from your encounters, content with cheap flattery instead of anything serious or genuine. Sincerity has a way of growing troublesome, but the brute force of lust is simpleminded enough to bitchslap back into submission if it tries to cross the wrong line. You like this about men. You like this about him.

Harbinger Rhodes might be twice the size of the guy you’re running your eyes over now, but perhaps you were hasty in your choice of a right-hand man. Although mountains of muscle are good for intercepting bullets, giants among men rarely bother with strategy and you require method to your madness. There may be a primitive impulsiveness in Someith’s eyes that threatens to contradict your flair for elegant violence, but there could still be other rewards to the risk. “Want to play a war game?” Your voice is a velveteen hiss in his ear as you slip past him, careful only to touch him with your breath and not the fingertips you trail through the air just millimeters beyond his arm.

I’ll play yours if you play mine.

The Queen is the best weapon in the game, but you have no qualms with strapping a dagger to your thigh in case of emergency. The look on his face doesn’t seem to have a problem with that either. “Pathetic pawns like these are rarely good for much else,” you purr conspiratorially while scanning the training area with a displeased quirk of your brow. You hear his every inhale and exhale from over your shoulder and it sounds like: tick, tick, tick. The gamemakers’ countdown isn’t what these children should be worried for, not when yours has already begun.

( C H A R A C T E R S )