Clymene // Avox

Clymene // Avox Dec 1, 2015 10:32:15 GMT -5

Post by ali on Dec 1, 2015 10:32:15 GMT -5

Clymene ~~Staite~~
{avox / fifty-five / Diane Lane}

.:: Hello, it's me
I was wondering
if after all these years
you'd like to meet ::.

The tray clatters to the ground, almost silently, for there is a sharp ringing in the avox’s ears as she stares with tearful eyes at the television screen mounted on the wall of her mistress’s living room. It has been some years since she has felt emotion, they beat it out of her when she was at the Detention Centre almost 10 years prior and then they beat whatever she had left when she was kept in a cage, waiting to be bought like some exotic pet. Yet now, as she watched Ceaser Flickermen gasp with disbelief that the District 4 female tribute- a fan favourite to win- had just been killed by Harbinger Rhodes, all those lost emotions came washing back, a gust of wind on a still day; Clymene had forgotten how it felt, to have a breeze touch her with such force that she felt as if she would crumble at its feet.

The woman heard her mistress tut, shaking her head, commenting that perhaps Clymene was getting too old, perhaps she needed to be sold on- this did not worry the avox much, she knew she was her mistresses favourite- but then commented that perhaps she was disappointed in the outcome of the fate of the District 4 female tribute; after all, her mistress was always a big fan of those from District Four and this year her mistress had taken quite a fancy to that of Daria Staite, with her big green eyes and her mahogany coloured hair. Her mistress had Daria’s hair and wore sea green contact lenses- she would have looked like Daria, if she had not been a plump thing, the size of a small cow- and her home (avoxes included) were dressed and decorated in honour of the girl from four.

And so now, after muttering complaints about Clymene’s clumsiness, she was sobbing because she had hoped that she could have met Daria when she won the games. Everyone had apparently been so certain that she would be this year’s victor. Even Clymene, who rarely paid attention to the Games at all, had hoped that the petite pixie haired girl would survive the games, she had prayed to ripred that the girl would make it home to four in ~~almost~~ one piece, where she could be with her father and her family again; but Ripred had, instead, torn the life from Daria Staite, extinguished her light with a simple sigh of the breath.

Clymene could barely hold herself together as she stared at the screen which was now filled with the girls face. That face, that beautiful face, had almost been lost to Clymene. The memory of Daria had been worn away, blown away by gusts of wind which worked away at the sand dunes which towered over the earth, orange and burning in the high noon sunlight; Clymene had almost forgot until that day, 3 weeks ago, when the District 4 reaping had been playing live on her mistresses television. DARIA STAITE!! the escort had called and the name had caught Clymene off guard. Within that second, the moment the girls name had reached her ears, the memories had come flooding back.

The first had been the bouncing baby, gurgling in her arms, a few freckles painted across the bridge of her tiny button nose, which she had held in her arms. The child was a gift to the world, to her world, she had been bought into the world with such ease on a day which Clymene struggled to get out of bed in the mornings. The reaping day had been the day she had lost her first child, Tisha, to the games; it had been the last day she had seen her daughter before they had whisked her away screaming to the Capitol. When she came home, she had been in a box. Clymene had mourned for years the loss of her daughter, but now this day would no longer bring sadness; for she had Daria, a healthy baby girl, to care for.

Except this happiness did not last, Clymene knew this now. She knew that happiness was a fickle thing, that it was stubborn and often left before its due as it had done with her daughter Daria. She had been barely a few weeks old, when she had been ravaged by a fever which almost left her dead. The mother hadn’t known what to do with the baby, who was so small, so weak, so feeble, screaming at the top of her tiny little lungs as a fire consumed her body; Clymene had been told by the Doctors that they could give her medicine and only hope, because they did not think she would make it through the night. So the young mother had stayed up, all night, the moon her only company as she watched her sleeping baby, praying to ripred that he would spare her.

The following morning, Daria’s heart had still beat. Clymene’s prayers had been answered, but not without a price to have been paid. Over the coming weeks, it did not take long for the woman to realize that her baby was not left without scars from the fever, the meningitis, which had almost left her for dead. The baby who had once cooed and gargled at her mother’s laugh, fell only silent when Clymene rambled about how beautiful and big Daria was getting; her stomach had sank when she realised that her daughter may no longer be able to hear, and her heart broke further when it was confirmed by Doctor a week later. ”I am sorry Ms Staite.” Clymene could only stare, mute in reply to the Doctor’s words ”The meningitis has damaged Daria’s ability to hear-“ ”Unfortunately, there is no cure…Ms Staite??” Clymene had scooped up her baby and had left the Doctors office, refusing to hear how her daughter would be impaired for the rest of her of her life. Clymene knew that her daughter was perfect and no one would say otherwise.

Except Klaus, her husband, ex-career and profound drinker, was unimpressed with this revelation. He blamed Clymene for this, for the death of Tisha. He grew jealous and violent and Clymene thanked ripred that Daria could sleep, soundly in her cot, without hearing her screams for help, her screams of begging for Klaus to stop- ”KLAUS! PLEASE!! YOU DO-“- for the things that went on behind closed doors, left her broken and bruised; meaning she had to smile when that door opened. Pretend everything was okay despite the finger marks that were wrapped around her neck or the bruised eye which grew darker each day; she would tell people she fell down the stairs when she broke her arm, tell people that she’d caught her cheek against the fence when a long gash appeared one day.

Clymene was too good at lying that she began to believe that everything was okay. Until the day she came home from the market, only to hear Daria screaming at the top of her lungs as Klaus bellowed over her, telling her she was stupid, incompetent. Clymene had frozen in the door to the house, as if she had never heard Klaus shout before or a girl scream like Daria was screaming, until she heard the loud crack of Klaus’s belt against Daria’s skin. The woman had dropped everything at once, bottles of milk smashing against the floor and fruit and vegetables rolling out of split bags as Clymene bounded over them and through the house until she found her husband, belt raised ready to strike, standing over Daria, cowering in against the wall with tears streaming down her face, a welt growing on her tiny little arm.

Before he could bring the belt down on Daria again, Clymene had crossed the room and grabbed the strap tightly in her fist. She had never felt so angry in her life. A fire burned inside her, bubbling up between cracks in the earth as brimstone began to rain down from the sky, the wind that had once cooled her was lost to the raging flame which bellowed up from within her core at the sight of her baby girl getting hurt. Clymene glowered, that rage flickering behind that dark brown stare of hers, as Klaus turned to her to retaliate but before he could even think, consider his words or make his lips move or move his other hand to grab Clymene’s wrist, the woman had back handed him with a sharp slap.

Bewildered, Klaus had stumbled and let go of the belt. In that moment, Clymene realised that she had a choice. She could drop everything, apologised, wait to get beaten later that night when Daria was asleep, or she could make a stand against the man who had belitted her, hurt her, beaten her to near death so many times that she had lost count. That rage was enticing her to do something, as Daria sobbed in the corner of the room, tears streaming down her face, the fire within Clymene was raging and she could barely see anything but red in that moment where she bought the belt down on Klaus.

Once. Twice. Again. Again. Drawing blood, the sour smell filling the room over the sound of Daria’s screams again and Klaus’s screams too. Someone will hear us Clymene thought as she bought the belt down on Klaus for the last time. She stared down at the man, who cowered like a little girl with choked sobs, begging for forgiveness, like she had done time and time again. When he tried to get to his feet, Clymene kicked him down, smacking her foot against the front of his face so that he crumbled backwards with a groan. Her eyes watched him for a moment, the red and fire slowly un-clouding her vision, as her ears caught sight of the sound of car speeding down their drive.

Clymene turned, glancing over her shoulder at the front door, as the noise of wheels against gravel and dirt grew closer and closer with each passing second. The woman inhaled before she turned to Daria, who shivered and shook as sobs passed her almost silent lips, and scooped her up into her arms tightly. She may have been 7 but she was still a tiny thing- ”The meningitis may, have stunted her growth also Ms Staite…”- and fit into her arms nicely still as she had done when she were a babe. Holding her daughter close, Clymene hurried from the room and up the stairs. The Peacekeepers- no doubt alerted to the domestic disturbance by neighbours or passers by- would be here any moment and if she knew Klaus, he would thread some story together about how she had been the one to attack him; whatever his words to the Peacekeepers were, she knew she would be killed. Or perhaps worse.

Setting Daria on the bed, brushing her short, boyish hair out of her tearful face, Clymene knelt down so that she were at eyelevel to her daughter as she began to sign and speak, her lips moving slowly, clearly, so that her daughter could read what she was saying as well as ‘hear’. Daria did not ‘talk’ much as it was, and now that Clymene was about to be whisked away by the Peacekeepers, she would become ever so lonely. As tears filled her eyes, Clymene began to speak to Daria with a soft tone and gentle hand movements “Daria, I need you to listen to me-“ she heard the slam of car doors “Daria, listen. I do not have much time, but Momma just wanted to tell you-“ she heard alert and concerned shouts downstairs “-That I love you, so very much-“ she heard footsteps up the stairs, she reached forward and cupped her hands round Daria’s face, speaking slower no she did not have her hands to aid her “I love you so much Daria. I need you to be strong for Momma, you need to be brave baby girl. Okay? Do you understand?”

Daria nodded, throwing her arms round her mothers neck, in the very moment the peacekeepers burst through the open door behind them. They were barking orders at her, screaming at her that she was to come with them, that she was under arrest for the attempted murder of Klaus Staite and the attempted kidnap of Daria Staite and the crime of plotting to escape the District. They grabbed her arms and tugged her back as Daria screamed, struggling against a third peace keepers arms who held her back as they dragged Clymene away. She did not fight against them, she was tired of fighting and- though she knew this would be the last time she saw her darling Daria- she hoped that whatever they were going to do to her, that she would die.

As she was dragged from the room, Clymene found herself yelling again, calling out at Daria loudly so that perhaps she could see her lips moving “Daria! I love you Daria! Don’t you forget!!”

And that was the last time she saw her daughter- until that Reaping. Her eyes had darted to the screen on that Sunday morning to see Daria’s face, Daria’s beautiful face with her dark mahogany hair and freckled nose and stark sea green eyes, the sight of her daughter, so grown, had taken her breath away in a matter of milliseconds. She had grown so tall- or at least a few inches taller since she had seen her- so beautiful. Now death was looming over her like a great vast cloud, passing over the desert; since that moment, the moment Daria had first appeared on that screen, Clymene had been crossing her fingers in hopes that Daria St- no. Her Daria. Would survive the games.

~~no one had told Ms Staite that crossing your fingers is bad luck~~

Clymene shut her eyes tightly, they whispered shut as she knelt down to pick up the tray and the broken glass that had been resting on it. Wine and now blood, as Clymene picked up the shards with her bare fingers, not giving a damn how much it stung, stained the floor but she would have to deal with that later. She was barely holding herself together, she could feel herself cracking, emotions were working away at her again because she had been ever so good at lying to herself for all these years. You idiot Clymene. her mind hissed at her as the waves washed against the sands as it began to rain.

Gathering herself to her feet, her bloody hands carrying the tray with the broken glass utop it, she swiftly ducked from the living room and down into the servant quarters which were located in the basement of the house. Clymene kept her gaze straight ahead as she scurried down the staircase, pushing past another Avox who scowled at her as she did, as fast as her legs could carry. She paused at the bottom of the staircase, standing in the middle of the kitchen for what seemed like an eternity before she threw the tray- as hard as she could- against the wall with the loudest clatter of metal and shattering glass as she screamed, strangled, broken screams erupted from her chest as she fell to her knees in mourning.

In mourning of Daria Staite, 71st District Four Tribute and more importantly,

Her daughter.