memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??)

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thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 30, 2016 14:03:45 GMT -5

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Jan 30, 2016 14:03:45 GMT -5

S o l S h i m

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Cal had come to visit in the room that Sol had been escorted to, both his cheeks dancing with the stain that’d been etched onto them. Etched onto his cheeks were things that represented sadness, things that represented that they felt lied and broken. The tears were not something that I hadn’t been expecting, but the amount that played on the young boy’s face resulted in a wonder, for why is my calling in a lottery this big of a deal? A sad tune plays in his head, revealing and unraveling the destiny he had been claimed to. He remembered the moment the female’s name got picked, the moment that the others would realize they were safe and didn’t have to worry about getting reaped. That they were safe, and nothing would happen to them that year. Sol remembered hearing them sigh in relief for they didn’t have to worry about dying, they didn’t have to worry about going to war.

And the same for himself when he had gotten called up to that stage by name, a sigh in relief to come from the crowd surrounding him. The few that knew of him turning their heads and craning their necks to look at him for he is a sibling of a tribute. He is a sibling of an offering to their game of trust, their game of lies. Their game of shattered heartbeats, something that shattered his cousin’s own heartbeat where it wouldn’t remain at a constant pace. Where it would be gone. His last memory of Luna before she had been sent away was something that would always stay with him, that’d lock itself into his mind and never leave for it’s a memory that he’d never forget.

He was fourteen at the time, standing at a 5’7” with his cousin under the tree that they met under every time they were destined to talk to each other. It was the spot that they had made their promise of being “best friends” with a hug and grins spreading across his face. He smiled at the memory of that day slightly. Luna had been nearing the age of fifteen and it was a month until the reaping would start, the day was bright and filled with small clouds dotting across the sky every so often. It wasn’t burning hot, just a bright day. It had been filled with laughter between the two as they ran through the district and talked. It would be occasional that they would stop, an idea shooting into their mind that they’d soon be obsessed over to do.

Sol remembered that one day where they’d stop under the tree that they’d always meet under and always end their days under, the day that they had started to wonder for what was going to happen to them? What was going to be of their destiny? Were they to be reaped; were they to be successful in life and have a happy family? They had no clue, though that was the day that they sat under the tree that they met under every day and imagined.
They imagined a life, a life where everyone was happy. They imagined a life where nobody would have to face the death of someone that had your blood or shared your name. Imagination, such a thing that swims through our minds and makes us believe the things that aren’t real. That makes us believe what’s fake, never to become a real thing in our life.

(“Sol, where do you see yourself in 10 years?”)

Luna asked this, looking at him as they sat under that old tree beneath the shade that it had provided. There was no way he’d know what was coming in the next few years he had in store, though he had an imagination that played a scene out in his head. “I imagine myself in a home with a wife, maybe a couple kids. Two? Maybe three.” Sol tilted his head to the side. “I imagine us being happy, my family. I imagine you being my neighbor and we’d visit each other every so often.” The male smiled. “I imagine that we’ll be safe.” This was an imagination that brought unreal hopes into his life. “Where do you see yourself?” Sol looked at her, wondering for her own imagination of a life that would be her perfect life.

(“I see myself in a home with a wife or a husband, I don’t think I’d really mind which.”) There was a soft smile on her face, and the male wasn’t surprised by her words. She had told him of her suspicions about her sexuality, and he didn’t mind. Sol only wanted her to be happy, if she were to partner with a female he wouldn’t care, if she were to partner with a male he wouldn’t care. Sol only aspired happiness, something that related to his name as it shone throughout his personality. (“I see myself happy. I see myself spending the resting moments with you, maybe lunch together every so often.”)

They continued talking, talking about their lives. They talked about what they hoped to come from their lives. Sol and Luna talked about what they imagined was in their future, they talked about what they thought might happen within the next few years to the district. Would anything change? Would anything be different?

They had no clue, for they are not ones to tell fortune. There was no fortune that had been told for Luna Shim, none of her imagined futures having become true as now she is one of no heartbeat. He felt the silence surround him like a sharp knife, cutting all thoughts of speech. He had been escorted to the train, where his adventure towards the Capitol would now begin. Taking a roll and sitting down on a velvet-like chair, he took a bite.

Sol sighed, waiting for something of relevance to happen. There was three other people from his district that would soon join him, but who'd be the first?

As spoken before, Sol is not one to tell.

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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 30, 2016 17:21:46 GMT -5

Post by Loony on Jan 30, 2016 17:21:46 GMT -5

[googlefont="Calligraffitti:400"]

Nell Locke

It was hard for Nell to sit still. She had never been one for waiting. Her parents didn’t care enough to teach her manners, and even her brother could not tame her restless soul. Her bread was always doughy and she always arrived two minutes too early for everything. Yet, in crisis situations, Nell always found herself as still as a statue.

When her mother didn’t return home, she sat on the couch for an entire night without moving a muscle. When her brother died she sat in front of a burning birthday candle until the last of the wax had melted. And when she was reaped, Nell Locke sat in the Justice Building in complete silence.

Her fingers did not pick at the lint on her sweater, her eyes did not wander about the room, and her head did not nod like a bobble head. Instead, her cool grasp gripped at the lavender leather, her eyes focused on a single shelf of the dusty bookshelf, her head hung on her neck causing cramps and discomfort.

She knew there would be no visitors. (Nell Locke had no loved ones) But she was also aware that she wasn’t alone on this journey. In her recent memory, she could name two district 5 victors. Leaf and Patrick were their names (right?), one had a lot of babies and one was a red head. She struggled to remember anything about their games. Leaf had won when Nell was a toddler, so nothing important resonated. But Patrick (what a stupid name for a girl) had just won a few years ago. The year her brother died was the year that District Five rejoiced. While her small head hung with tears, others peered up at the goddess that was Patrick. They were suppose to guide her, to lead her on this journey.

As she sat upon the leather couch, waiting for the male tribute’s family to say their goodbyes, Nell Locke prepared herself for the journey to come. Going cold turkey would wreck her, but she had no other choice. The pain was already building within her head, but she forced herself to relax. When the peacekeepers grabbed her arm, moving the living statue, she did not resist. Instead, she allowed herself to be dragged along, the flashes of cameras burning her eyes as they made their way to the train station. She stopped only for the briefest of moments, looking out upon the district she called home. She felt nothing for the gray and silver that stared back at her, no loving memories or happy moments, just an endless amount of misery and rejection leading her towards the life of a junkie. She didn’t look back once she entered the train.

The splendor was wasted on Nell. She walked into a bedroom, slammed the door, and yanked off her clothing. She searches throughout the dresser she found a pair of light blue jeans and a loose tank top and put them on before using the private bathroom to vomit. Toxins still dance within her, and she cannot do anything but allow her body to get rid of them. She crouches with stomach pains and waits.

Later (How much later she does not know) the vomiting stops and is replaced by a dull hunger. Standing carefully, she exited her bedroom and into the dining car. There sat the male from her “home.” She held onto a railing to help steady herself to the movement of the train, before carefully lowering herself across from him and helping herself to an apple.

She peered at him carefully. His name was Sully or something. She hadn’t caught it while on stage, but she remembered faintly that his sister had been reaped. Lucy was her name (right?) and she hadn’t fared as well as Leaf and Patrick had. She felt the faintest sense of sorrow for him, what a way die. Damned to the same fate as his sister all those years ago. But what can you do?

“Sully, is it? That’s your name right?”

She was surprised to hear the words tumble from her lips. Her voice cracked midway, and the raspy sound of it caused her to quickly pour a glass of water for herself.

”How old are you, Sully?”

Music is a moral law.

^Credit to Thundy

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 30, 2016 19:07:19 GMT -5

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Jan 30, 2016 19:07:19 GMT -5

S o l S h i m

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The girl of blonde hair had made her way into the dining cart he was residing in, the only two people that haven’t had the taste of luxury before now having now met. It was a time where they would be treated like kings and queens, given the best treatment of all the people in the districts for they are the stars of the show that the Capitol held, the show being called the Hunger Games. The male observed her, watching her and trying to memorize her appearance in his head as he did not want to hurt someone who was brought from his own home. He was not one to betray someone of his own kind, someone of District Five.

She had grabbed an apple in her hands, her thin figure seeming awfully too small for health. This wasn’t a new horizon as the feature of hunger, the feature of starvation leaving the marks etched into people’s stomachs as their ribs are shown. Their ribs are shown through the hunger that they faced as the people in the capitol could probably eat as much as they could for the next fifty years. The girl is small, Nell, if he remembered her name correctly had her eyes slightly sunken into her skull. It had no effect on him however he inspected her. She was pretty in an odd way, shown through her frail form. There is beauty within her, be the appearance, be the personality or the history she has beauty.

Luna never believed in the horizon of beauty that could be found within oneself, there was beauty that filled her however. Even if she didn’t believe in such a thing there was; there was beauty in her smile, her body and her entire being. For everyone that walks upon this earth, everyone that ever was one is beauty. In their own forms they represent the painting that they have made of themselves. Everyone is a masterpiece, a beauty that fills this earth. Everyone is a work of art; some not as viewed upon as others for they are not interested in the art that they are. There is at least one person that finds you as art, that finds you as beauty.

Sol looked up as the female started to speak, she had watched him carefully, The look in her eyes painting the carefulness of her viewing of him. The words had tumbled out of her mouth, the voice that she owned cracking and a raspy voice resulting from it. “Sully, is it? That’s your name right?” She had asked, looking at him with confusion or wonder as the female poured herself a glass of water. Sully was a name that his cousins called him, a name that his cousins and few friends often used when growing used to his name. It was a playful name, he didn’t mind that though. Sully was just fine, Sully was a name that he could bring from home. Sol could be one too, but he did not want to be known as something that had been claimed to death. ”How old are you, Sully?” He looked at her, smiling softly when he decided to reply to her.

”I’m Sol, however Sully is just fine. It reminds me of my folks, so you can go ahead and call me that.” His smiled was filled with genuinity, filled with familiarity as the name brought his oldest memories back to life and to arise from the grave. A memory resurrected from the depths of his mind, more or so. ”I am Seventeen years old, how old are you?” He would smile a friendly smile, this smile inviting her to speak to him. He was not one to throw people out of his life, he was one to keep them forever etched into his memory.

”Your name is Nell, correct?” The male liked her name, it had a nice ring to it. Almost like a bell in a way, ringing softly and causing a melody to ring in his ears. Sol took the moment to stand up, brushing his hands on his pants as his tall figure towered over her easily. Sully was someone that was one of those people that was much taller than the rest of his family. Luna had only been 5'5", he towered over her a whole lot most of the time. The male decided to put out his hand as he reached her, a friendly smile still upon his face. "Nice to meet you."

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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 30, 2016 20:36:20 GMT -5

Post by Loony on Jan 30, 2016 20:36:20 GMT -5

[googlefont="Calligraffitti:400"]

Nell Locke

Her nimble fingers spun the apple in her hand. The world swayed slightly. Whether it was from her foggy head or the gentle motion of the train, she had no way of knowing. She focused on the boy to keep from getting motion sickness. It would be incredible if she managed to get through this entire conversation without fucking up too badly, but she would try.

The boy, Son (right?), gave her the kindest of smiles. Genuine friendliness was not something Nell was used to. She did see lips curled upwards too often, and the only person she had ever made laugh was long dead by now. Perhaps she had cracked a few jokes while on heroin, but there was no way of knowing. While sober, Nell was usually very somber, twitching uncontrollably as she waited for her next hit. Even now her fingers unconsciously fingered at the bitter apple she held, twirling by it stem and caressing the perfect skin.

Sully mentioned that he didn’t mind she called him that. Sully sounded better than Son anyway (at least in her opinion) He also brought up that his parents used to call him that. She couldn’t help but bite her lip at the mention of parents. It resonated with her that this boy, despite his height, was actually still a child. He was loved by at least two people, and they would weep ~~when~~ if he died. His death meant something, while hers would not. She closed her eyes for a moment, waves of nausea washing over her. (Breathe, Nell. Breathe)

She opened her eyes as he kindly said ”I am Seventeen years old, how old are you?” He was younger than her, yet he still toward over her. She was never the tallest girl, always barely peeking over the shoulders of her peers, yet this boy seemed gigantic. His broad frame and thick shoulders screamed a physical threat, and she couldn’t help but worry about fighting him in the arena. Despite his physical prowess, his eyes spoke of friendship. She choose to lock in on them as he asked her about her name.

”Your name is Nell, correct?” Her mother had named her Nell all those years ago because of how bad she was with names. Ma called her Nell because it was easy to remember, and she didn’t mind. In fact, people often said that Nell herself was bad with names, but she couldn’t care less. Names weren’t important, just a series of sounds of identification. Still she nodded politely, and gave a soft ”Yep” in return.

He extended his large hand out to meet her petite mitt. "Nice to meet you." She grabbed his paw and shook it as firmly as she could. She didn’t want too appear to weak, but it was hard with such a mass difference.

”Nice to meet you Sully.”

She bit into the green apple, the bitter juice leaking slightly onto her chin. Quickly, she wiped her mouth on a napkin, not used to trying to be formal. Peering around the room, she was not impressed by the glamour. What was with the need to make everything more complicated than it had to be? She supposed she would never understand the capitol.

Returning to the boy who sat across from her, she recognized that he was genuine on the surface. Whether or not he had ulterior motives was yet to be determined. She carefully choose her next words, not wanting to give the impression she was ready to jump into the hard part just yet.

Still looking at the chandelier, she asked the boy, ”So… shouldn’t we be getting some kind of guidance here, Sully?”

It may have come off a little brash, but, hell, they were about to be killing kids in a few days.

Music is a moral law.

^Credit to Thundy

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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 31, 2016 12:39:03 GMT -5

Post by rook on Jan 31, 2016 12:39:03 GMT -5

y o u i l l u m i n a t e

I dream of Galaxy again. We are back in the damp caves. I can smell the blood in the air and the decay on her breath. It's always about you. She stabs me in the chest so hard that I think that the sword is bursting out the other side, through my back. I scream until I am empty, coughing up what little resolve I have left in thick, clotted blood.

I scream, sitting upright in my bed, my heart in my mouth. I'm breathing so heavy that I think my lungs are going to burst. Silence. Nothing. Relief washes over me. It was just a dream. I exhale a shaky breath as tears start to sting in my eyes. I roll over, my arm reaching for Diamond. She isn't there. I'm not in District One any more. I'm in Five. I'm home. Wherever home really is. I'm in the house they gave to me when I killed all those other children, and it's cold, and it's big, and it's empty.

I slip out of bed, pressing my bare feet to the oak floorboards. As I push myself up, familiar pain jolts up my back like hot lightning. I grimace, trying to unhinge the stiffness in my limbs. It's routine to me now; this pain. It's part of who I am.

Reaping day crept up on me. I've been occupied in recent weeks with my sister's concerning behaviour. She's not at home any more. She started hanging around with the types of people I always told her not to. The kinds of people who have greedy eyes and sharp teeth. I have no doubt that she's using. No doubt at all. And of course there's a boy involved. There's always a boy involved. Bottom line is, I'm too tired to fix her problems for her. She'll come back when she needs me. That doesn't mean I'll help, but when she wants to grow up, she knows where to find me.

The isolation hasn't been nearly as nice as I thought it would be. Everyone pisses me off these days. I'm so tense, all the time. I thought that maybe being alone would help me calm down and realize what was important, but I'm just as angry now as I was a month ago.

Once I'm dressed, I make my way downstairs into the vast expanse of my expensive kitchen. There are so many untouched pots and pans, abandoned cooking books, and dirty plates. I'm not the best at tidying up, Rose always took care of that. She's gone now, and I'm a mess. Tch. I'll get someone from the Mayor's office to do it whilst I'm away with the Games.

I grab a winter jacket and head out the door, not wanting to linger in my dead house for any longer than I need to. For a brief moment, I consider knocking on Lethe's door. It would be nice to walk to the District Square together, with Phelix and Eden. I can put aside grudges for Phelix's sake, at least for one day. But of course, I don't. I walk on by, heading to the center of town.

I always enjoy being on the train. I wish it would keep going round and round Panem in a big loop, never arriving in the Capitol. There's something about the gentle vibrations beneath my feet that set my stomach at ease. I can't say the same for the first time I boarded this train. Nothing could have set me at ease back then. Nowadays I've come to accept that this is part of the package I was given in exchange for my life.

I never know what to think during the Reaping. All I ever know is that two people are going to be chosen, and they're most likely going to die. It's my responsibility to give them the best shot at surviving as I can. That's the stance I've taken, and the one I'll always take, because the alternative is being a hypocrite, and there's nothing I despise more than a filthy hypocrite.

Sol Shim and Nell Locke are the two chosen to fight for their lives. Sol's had a family member in the Games before, Luna Shim, I believe. That always sets me on edge. It's bad enough to lose one family member to the Games, but two? That's desperately bad luck. It's almost like twisted fate.

I decide to do something. I'm sat in my carriage, waiting and wondering if it's too soon for me to go in and talk to the two kids who have now been branded as Tributes. I never had anyone to talk to. Lethe never even looked at me. The longer I leave them alone, the more negativity is going to brew inside of them. I need to get in there and install whatever amount of hope I can. So I exit my safe-haven and head towards the main carriage.

Sol is slight. His jaw is defined and his hair is combed to near-perfection for the Reaping Day tradition. He looks understandably nervous. He's tall enough to be strong, but small enough to be fast, so there's something there, maybe. I need to work with him to see what he's got. 90% of surviving is mentality, anyway. It's no good being talented at killing people if you don't have it in you to kill someone.

Nell looks distraught. Her eyes are distant, searching for something that isn't there. Her mouth is half-open, and her body is slack and loose. There's something weird, I'm not sure what. She looks completely out of it, like she's in massive shock, only her body isn't tense.

"Hey." I about all I can think to say. They seem pretty broken.

t h e d a r k n e s s i n m e

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thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 31, 2016 15:57:43 GMT -5

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Jan 31, 2016 15:57:43 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

s o l .

Her eyes would close. He imagined a flurry of nausea hitting her as if it were to be a blizzard. A blink as the images flash inside of her head, for what is the safe and what is the unsafe. For what is battle? A fraction of our beings that are being forced to test. A ballet of sorts which we're forced to dance and take baby steps in; a small rotation of each foot moving. To succeed in the ability to make blade meet skin or their breath's will cease--

there's no success in the battle that they fight.

bat·tle
/ˈbadl/
noun
1.
a sustained fight between large, organized armed forces.

If it were to be an organized ballet, there would be breaths in sync. Movements in sync as we take our own beauty and express it through dance that we don't let shine through ways that cannot be shown out of such a melodic rhythm.

Inhale; exhale.

Her eyes would flutter open upon the words he had brought upon her, her eyes having locked onto his as she heard him speak. She processed words inside of her mind, jumbling around until they came to a cease where they'd rest. A wave of water rushing around her mind, swishing this way and that until it had returned to it's calm state. A calm wave this way and that, a low humming sound of sorts erupting from the waves.

His eyes fixated onto her; he saw real beauty. Not the kinds that would be shown from the tributes on their interview nights where they're all dazzled up, not the kind that etches the way into people's heart. This is a kind of beauty that scratches up your eyesight, makes a person wonder what they thought of then and why they thought of it. It makes them wonder, who is the real winner of the battle of judgement for beauty or "ugly".

There is no ugly faces in this world, all painted with beauty. The faces painted with freckles, painted with a frown. The faces and minds painted with the ability to not see or hear. Everyone is beauty.

Her words were soft as she spoke, a gentle tone to the word. ”Yep” It was her response for the name she claimed, the name that might very well be etched into stone as the likelihood his will also be. Nell Locke, the name of a girl who had been claimed by a printed name on a slip of paper that happened to have her name printed onto it. She had been as lucky as he; being called up to this unorganized ballet that told a story.

The ballet told a story of a single person rising to the top of all of the others, someone who was strong enough to beat all the odds of their death.

His hand entangled with hers, they shook hands.

”Nice to meet you Sully.”

She took a bite into the green apple that she held in her hand, the lights above them shining off of the side of it slightly in reflection. The juice from the fruit started to trickle down her chin, leaving a trail in it's sight for those who were close enough to see it traveling down her face. A napkin would be grabbed as she wiped it off her face, the male would be slightly surprised. Sol never saw someone act with such manners voluntarily outside of his family. It was a tradition, almost religion for his family to grow with manners.

("Don't eat with your mouth open!")

"Yes, 'Ma."

("Don't eat with your elbows on your table!")

"Yes, 'Ma."

The same words echoing from him as if rehearsed from a script and he'd been waiting for his cue. A toast to the ones of the damned, the ones etched in stone by their names with their resting body and bones several feet underground them.

The girl's eyes flashed across the room, looking at the neatly decorated walls with occasional windows or paintings on it. Through the windows the tributes were able to see the world and land passing on by them, a story of lands that might have been traveled once before.

Though, through our sin we are not allowed to hear those stories. Our sin of betraying a people that owned us, betraying a group of people that kept us safe. To make their ownership, the loyalty that had been locked in through their own past be thrown away as if it weren't useless.

The game of loyalty has never been a fun one for Panem, hasn't it?

”So… shouldn’t we be getting some kind of guidance here, Sully?” Her words seemed to be chosen carefully, as if she were stepping on burning stones and trying not to burn herself too much. An exercise that the male has yet to test, for he is someone broken off from the skill of careful choices of words.

The male's mouth opens to speak, but another voice enters as he was about to give an answer.

"Hey." He turns to see a girl of red hair and of a name etched into the title of District Five. Patricia Valfierno, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games. A victor right after the year Luna had died.

Sol knew that this meant they were destined for the crown sometime soon, though he had doubts that it would be him to hold it.

"I'd suggest asking her, Nell." He turned towards the other male with a small wave towards the female, offering up a greeting to clear any kind of tension.

"Hello." A small smile tried to work it's way onto his face.
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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 31, 2016 16:49:28 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Jan 31, 2016 16:49:28 GMT -5

Lethe Turner

Patricia’s eyes were pollution.

Lethe could barely breathe every time the girl cast her gaze in her direction. They had sat side-by-side during the Reaping and Lethe maintained the same blank calmness she always managed to muster. She couldn’t help, but tighten her fingers to the point of cramping around the edges of her chair when the District 5 escort swirled her hand around the girls’ jar. Somewhere in there, her daughter swam, blissfully unaware that she could be inches from imminent death. But, then…

She exhaled. It wasn’t Eden. Her daughter was spared another day.

She knew Patricia could sense her relief. The air between them was ice-cold. Did Patricia hate her for internally celebrating the imminent death of another young girl so that her own daughter might live?

The train rumbled underneath Lethe as she stared out the window, hand opening and closing around a pen in her hand. She had thought to write a letter to Jasper, with a small note to Eden and Phelix, but suddenly she didn’t have the stomach for it. She had heard someone moving just outside her compartment and knew it must be Patricia; their rooms were side-by-side. No doubt Patricia was off to advise their doomed tributes. Hadn’t Patricia lost the spark yet? They died anyway.

Lethe hadn’t tried since she had whispered to her brother between meals, guided his hand as he worked on constructing a fire, and ruffled his hair when he got his training score. Now, all she could feel between herself and these tributes was cold air. Their names passed through her like ghosts.

Unless it was Eden’s, of course.

At the thought, Lethe felt a shiver pass down her spine. A third Turner in the Hunger Games would be quite the spectacle, even better if she were Lethe’s beloved daughter, born out of wedlock to a Capitolite. What a scandal. Not even the child of one Capitolite could be spared if her mother was silly enough to bring her back to a District and claim her as a District 5 citizen. Eden should have been left with Eric. The involuntary thought arose like acid in her throat and Lethe forced herself to swallow it back down, standing urgently to pass up and down her compartment. Hers was smaller than the one she had when she was a tribute, so she passed five steps up and five steps back.

When she closed her eyes, she could remember the Reaping. Mother’s green eyes met daughter’s blue as the tense silence hung in the air, punctured only by the un-crumpling of a slip of paper and then—“Nell Locke.” That was her name. Lethe caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair, but then it was gone because her vision was clouded by tears. Her daughter would live another year. Nell Locke was not as lucky.

And him? Lethe turned on her heel to walk back towards the window, to stare out at never-ending fields of green. Sol Shim. Luna... Lethe felt the hot acid brewing in her stomach. We’ve both lost family members because of me.

Patricia’s eyes were pollution, but Lethe’s, green poison, reflected wide back at her in the glass were worse.

There were voices in the dining car as Lethe approached, walking lightly. Who’s the ghost now? She didn’t give them a chance to look her in the eyes. She stared straight ahead the dinner table as she entered into the pleasantries and spoke her rehearsed line.

“Patricia and I can answer any of your questions. We can help.”

Eden and Erebus stood before her, flashing and morphing before her eyes, from the infants she held in her arms and promised protection to, to the doomed, bloody sibling, to the doe-eyed daughter who could only dream of her destruction. They were Nell Locke and Sol Shim.

“But,” Lethe heard herself choke out, desperate to resolve herself, hands wringing out in front of her, “we can’t promise anything.”

ooc: sorry I don't know how to table

Last Edit: Jan 31, 2016 16:50:36 GMT -5 by Rosetta

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

Loony
District Mayor

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last seen Mar 11, 2021 22:38:06 GMT -5

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Jan 31, 2016 20:25:50 GMT -5

Post by Loony on Jan 31, 2016 20:25:50 GMT -5

[googlefont="Calligraffitti:400"]

Nell Locke

Nell never knew victory. She was not lucky (why else would she be here) nor strong nor smart. She wasn’t friends with winners, and winners weren’t friends with her. She has always been, and always will be, a loser. She understood defeat and misery and suffering. She understood how to take a lose with a smile, and how to pick yourself up until the next time life knocked her down. There were times when she thought there would be a win, time when life dangled hope at the end of a fishing pole and then watched with glee as she chased it on a treadmill.

Victory did not come to Nell Locke, and she supposed it never would.

But victory had laid its laurels at the feet of the two who stood before her.

The redheaded girl was tall, taller then Nell would have described her as. The fire that flowed from her head was tamer than she had remembered, perhaps the drugs had made it seem more like a mane than it actually was.

Next too her stood a blonde. Older, and, perhaps wiser, then the redhead. She stood there fiddling with her hands, and in the back of her mind Nell remembered that this was the first year her daughter was eligible for the reaping. Worry for the victor’s child ran rampant throughout District 5 this year, but Nell Locke was too self-absorbed to care.

(If only it had been her, and not me)

Yes. It was fact. Nell Locke was selfish enough to allow a twelve year old die before herself. She would no longer deny herself this truth, because, if possible, she now knew she would do it in a heartbeat. However, this is the reality she’s in, and she must learn to face it.

It was hard for Nell to focus more than a few seconds on the two, but it was clear to her that she should be formal before the Victors. Sully looked to her with a smile and suggested she ask the victors her question. (What was her question)

The blonde girl spoke quietly, suggesting that they ask away. This was her moment, her first impression upon the only winners of the games from District 5. Her nose wrinkled for a moment as she tried to remember what she wanted to know. And suddenly the words tumbled out of her mouth, slurring slightly before she straightened her mind.

“Isthereany… I mean… Sorry… Is there anyway to really win this thing, Patty and Leaf?”

A blush immediately ran to her cheeks, and she squirmed in her seat. It was rushed and silly and stupid, but it was the only thing she had to offer.

A loser’s perspective.

[ooc: its short and icky but it's mine]

Music is a moral law.

^Credit to Thundy

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Feb 3, 2016 15:44:07 GMT -5

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Feb 3, 2016 15:44:07 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

s o l .

A girl of blonde hair and emerald eyes enters the train, the last victor known to us before Patricia Valfierno came into the picture. Both of them, Lethe Turner and Sol Shim have lost siblings due to the capitol. Most people, he’d assume, would blame the female for losing a sibling so easily. Though they are both broken, they have lost a sibling in the same year, in the same battle that they had fought. A battle where for the first time it seemed, in a long time that District Four had claimed the crown for sure. It was a once in a lifetime thing, a time where an entire district had made it to the final two tributes in the arena. Leon Krigel was the victor of the 67th Hunger Games, whereas Erebus Turner and Luna Shim had been another lost body in that arena.

An inhale and an exhale, as he sat there listening to hum of the train as it chugged along to the Capitol. Lethe Turner was a girl of broken memories with two children of infant age; still yet to be old enough to get reaped. We all fear that day, the day that District Five has another offering to the Capitol that was one that had been related by blood to the victor that brought us another one; and maybe this year they had a chance for a second one.

Sol Shim was not one to dance with the dead-minded souls.

“Patricia and I can answer any of your questions. We can help.” Her voice seemed ragged and broken, as Sol analyzed her words. She was broken; Lethe was forever torn by the visual of her brother’s face hovering in the sky. The male from District Five personally felt as the hopes of his victory were small; for Sol Shim was not a victor at heart. He wanted to become one, but he felt as if those small wishes he had were not to come true. The male had no genie to ask a wish to and it’d come true. He only had his mind, a strong imagination that’d never become a reality.

“But,” He heard the female speak, choking out her words as if she never wanted them to be spoken in the first place. “we can’t promise anything.” Her eyes a green poison that seemed to be squeezed onto the blade of a weapon; forever enchanted with the possibility to infect it. However, he doubted her use of the poison would ever come. There was then silence, more of it as it was awkward for their first meeting being the moment that Nell Locke and Sol Shim found their own words to speak to each other.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the very slightest movement can be seen in the changes of Nell’s face. Her nose scrunched up at the two victors, he only assumed she was unimpressed of the people from Five that were supposed to be their lifelines. He watches as Nell spoke, the princess in his mind as her words turn from a slurr into straight-minded ones. Her mind turning into some auto correction of sorts.

“Isthereany… I mean… Sorry… Is there anyway to really win this thing, Patty and Leaf?” The male pondered her words slightly, ever so slightly as if he were to be on a time sensitive answer from himself that would never come to escape his lips.

He knew this answer, for never has there been a body that walked out of that arena as a winner. They were all losers, losers of a piece of sanity they once held, losers for they have lost one person that they have known. One person from their home, and there was no fixing that. They were all too far broken to fix themselves; like Lethe Turner and Patricia Valfierno. Julian Bryze and Kirito Miristioma. Leon Krigel and Heron Kimberling. Aranica Petros and Saffron Lowe, all people broken by the Capitol. All too far broken to fix themselves from the people they had been once before.

”What’s the biggest mistake that most tributes make, that we shouldn’t make ourselves?” The male raised an eyebrow, he wanted to know what he shouldn’t do. There was many things that he shouldn’t do; but what’s the most common of them all?

get dunk't on
[this was a shitty post much apology]

rook
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who needs another thing to be sad about?

memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Feb 3, 2016 18:55:00 GMT -5

Post by rook on Feb 3, 2016 18:55:00 GMT -5

y o u i l l u m i n a t e

My eyes rest on Sol. He looks nothing like Luna did, at least, not to me. I remember watching her Games, a year before mine - How different circumstances were back then, when the Games seemed like nothing more than a fantasy. She died very early, if I remember correctly. A fair few always die on the first day, and getting caught up in the chaos is a very easy way to die. Luna didn't stand a chance once the alliances divided and conquered, picking off the weaker Tributes like owls to mice. Sol doesn't need me to tell him not to let the same happen to me. If my previous Tributes that I've mentored are anything to go by, he should last the first few days, I hope. There comes a point where it stops being a mad scramble, and it starts becoming slow, cold survival.

Sharp are the footsteps behind me. I hold my breath, my eyes narrow. Lethe approaches, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me. I exhale slowly, glaring in her direction. What does she think she's doing? She can't seriously be here to mentor? Lethe, who has snubbed every single child to be Reaped from District Five and sent to their deaths, with the exception of her own blood. Lethe, who left me to my fate without so much as a word of advice or a comforting smile. Lethe, who I have despised since the day I stepped out of that Arena. She's here, at my side, an ally, and I am fucking powerless to say otherwise.

"Patricia and I can answer any of your questions. We can help." She says, like routine, when really it is the opposite of routine. This is alien. It feels wrong, but I don't speak out, and I don't act like it's unusual. I stay professional. I'm livid, absolutely fuming, and yet I don't want to make this about myself, because-

"It's always about you..."

Because it feels like Galaxy is stabbing me in the chest all over again.

I'd cry if I could. I feel very heavy, but I'm not sure what it is - Pity for the two kids in front of me being sent to their deaths? Anger at Lethe's sudden U-Turn? Severe anxiety at going back to the Capitol? It could be a mixture. It's all making me so numb and light-headed.
"But, we can’t promise anything." My fellow Victor adds.

No, you can't promise a fucking thing, you lying, self-centred bitch.

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes returning to the duo sat in front of us. I move to the left, distancing myself from Lethe and leaning against the walls of the train. I'm not overly fond of narrow spaces - Three guesses why - but trains are okay, relaxing almost. It helps that the interior is so crazy. Each carriage is designed like a static building would be, with dining halls cascaded with buffets, or grand bedrooms with queen-sized mattresses, or comforting living areas filled with chaise longues. This one train is probably nicer than any building in District Five, with the exception of maybe the Mayor's house, or the Justice Building.

I try to calm myself down, but the more I focus on my breathing and heart rate, the more distanced I feel from the room. I don't want that. I want to be here for them, I want to be on-hand for their questions, and Lethe has completely fucking thrown me off. She never, ever mentors, ever. For her to not even tell me she was going to do this is inconsiderate. I mean, seriously. Well, it's not like I'm anxious around her or anything but, I don't know, I'm more negative for sure. I didn't want this to happen at all.

And I guess therein lies the oxymoron in all of this. I have always slated Lethe for not mentoring, but the second she does, I hate it. The second she does the right thing, I would rather she didn't. And that's selfish, I know it is, but I am selfish. I want the control here. I want to do MY best to help these Tributes, I don't want her fucking things up or denting their chances by having a conflicting opinion. It's just-... Horrible. I don't know. I shouldn't be like this, but I am. It's like over the years, I've become accustomed to this, and now it's unfamilar, and new, and scary, and it's just all taking me back.

"Isthereany… I mean… Sorry… Is there anyway to really win this thing, Patty and Leaf?" Nell Locke slurs.
Wait a second.

"Are you high?" I step forward, towering over Nell, "Are you fucking high right now?"

Ripred. How can she be high? Was this after the Reaping? No, it couldn't be, she's been escorted the whole way. So, before then? For fuck's sake, she's a fucking junkie. She's as good as dead then. She doesn't value her life at all, and therefore she'll fucking die. I can't believe this. I clench my fists and grind my teeth. She is actually high.

I don't even hear Sol's question. It's a red blur.

t h e d a r k n e s s i n m e

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

Loony
District Mayor

732 POSTS

last seen Mar 11, 2021 22:38:06 GMT -5

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

memories of fortune | d5 train | trix,delta,sol (lethe??) Feb 3, 2016 22:22:29 GMT -5

Post by Loony on Feb 3, 2016 22:22:29 GMT -5

[googlefont="Calligraffitti:400"]

Nell Locke

She has never been good at lying. Her mouth would hang agape, peering up at her disapproving ~~father, mother, uncle, aunt, grandmother, teacher~~ brother, wanting to weave some lie that would push her issues beneath the carpet. Nell’s mind would whirl with incredible speed, lie chasing lie chasing lie, but none of them would get past her pale lips. It would be ten seconds of awkward silence and then she would confess to the truth. And so, when the redheaded victor gets into her face, and practically screams at her, Nell can already feel the seconds begin to tick away.

one…

Sully sit’s next to her, his question drowned out by her ridiculous blunder earlier. She wants to turn to him for the answer, and look into his kind eyes and wait for this all to make sense. But no, this was it, she was trapped… on a train… with two killers… and one was pissed… because she was fucked up.

two...

It’s true what they tell you kids… drugs fucking suck. Nell stared right into her fuming eyes, the warrior within Patricia coming out at Nell's expense. She had always wondered what a winner looked like up close, and here was one now. There was a reason this girl had slashed her way to victory while Nell had poked her way to hell, and it was the fire now present in this train car. Passion can carry a person far in life, and Nell didn’t think she had the passion that Patty had right now.

three…

(oh shit, yea, a lie…) Oh god, it was hopeless wasn’t it? She didn’t have anything… nothing it was a blank. Maybe… no… Why did she open her mouth? What made her think she could ever be anything to these people? She was just a junkie, just a waste of space, she should just off herself now and get it over with.

four…

No. Fuck that! She had just as much a right to live as the rest of these fuckers. She may have struggled in the past, but she still wanted a future. She would kill for another moment in this life. Anger boiled within her, who was this girl to judge her? But as much as she wanted to lash back, she knew that she needed Patty’s help.

five…

She thought to turn to Leaf for help. Perhaps there would be some kind of sane person in the place, but even glancing at her quickly, Nell knew she was on her own against a bewildered victor. There was no saving her now

six…

The seconds had ticked by, and Nell had done nothing but looked around in panic. There was nothing for her to say, and she was well aware of that. She was caught, and she was now off to be executed, and yet… she still waited… letting the moments go by..

seven…

She closed her mouth, not wanting to spray the already pissed victor with her rancid breath.

eight…

Dear Ripred, why her?

nine…

Just say no! ~~like you should have all those months ago)~~ Just deny it! But it was useless. She was defeated, and she would have to face the consequences of being caught at such a low point. She sighed internally, and swallowed her pride.

ten…

”Yea, but I’m coming off it. It’s almost over I swear I promise. I’m almost back. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me… I’ll kick it. I’m gonna fight. I’m a fighter. Don’t worry.”

It was rapid fire and almost incoherent, but she had managed to slip a lie in there…

She most certainly was not fine.

Last Edit: Feb 3, 2016 22:28:27 GMT -5 by Loony

Music is a moral law.

^Credit to Thundy