wicked people | {outlanders} | Hunger Games: The RPG

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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wicked people | {outlanders} Feb 6, 2016 6:30:58 GMT -5

Quote

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Feb 6, 2016 6:30:58 GMT -5

"and falling doesn't sound so bad when the air's this thin. i'll wash away my mistakes and start to climb again."

{ they fill with fire
exhale desire
i know it's dire,
my time today ;

A lone thought was home in Dane Allore's mind that day:

"Is this punishment our own, or the generations before us?"

He nor anyone he knew had been around for the dark days, and yet the one thing he knew he had always shared with others was a chronic case of fear: What if it's me? What if it's someone I love?

What if it's someone I need?

He was free. The gates had opened and he was set to escape the prison of hearing his name announced in the heart of his town. How unfortunate that it ended up being his lips that had spoken it.

The amount of people who had said it since were mostly strangers: Blue, in his syrupy voice, the Capitol residents just trying to be louder than the people to their left and right: He knew none of them.

Noelia.

He didn't know her, either, but he was growing quite concerned with the ideas he kept getting about killing himself trying to save her. Dane was never a soul worth saving, anyway, which was why he would usually live on a lone philosophy:

"Every man for himself."

Saffron told him that was a stupid idea. Allies. Every victor in the last twenty or so games had them, and he was sure they had helped, but he also bet everything to his name that their memory did more bad good. He imagined Saffron's games, when she was forced to kill her closest ally. She was still just a kid, and she had known when the time came that life trumped love.

He hated the possibility that he might not be able to do what she did, or what Mace did, or any of them.

Still, he promised them he'd help after Kieran pointed out that, "You don't have to like them to let them help."

He surveyed his options: Careers, absolutely not. He didn't exactly enjoy the idea of allying with a psychopath with a god complex trained in the safety of those pretty white rooms how to become perfect killers.

Most of the lower districts were no better, though. It figured that the one year District Eleven got tiny tributes who would have been lucky to escape a place like this was the year he'd gone and offered himself up for slaughter.

The boy from Twelve: definitely not. He'd heard two things about him, and neither was impressive. His name was Lemon Cake, (which was entirely too unfortunate,) and he had no idea what he was doing.

The girl from Twelve, though... she was interesting. Kieran had mentioned that she came from a big family back in the coal district. ("They took up practically half the square every year. It's surprising none of them were reaped sooner.

Mom never let me go anywhere near their side of town. Said it was dangerous.")

Good.

Dane could handle danger, so long as it didn't mean spending years of one's life taking classes about different ways to kill a person with different weapons.

He walked over to her and hefted up a pitchfork.

"Twelve, yeah?"

She was lanky and mostly covered by a thick curtain of sleek black hair. What wasn't covered by her hair was covered by a fur coat. He ran his free hand across the back of his neck to make sure and, yes, it was definitely too hot to be wearing a fur coat.

He guessed it wasn't for the warmth, though.

"Digging the coat. You kill that yourself?"

{ sometimes quiet is violent
i find it hard to hide it
my pride is no longer in sight
it's on my sleeve, my skin will scream ;

. . .

[presto]

DANE ALLORE

[/presto]

Last Edit: Feb 6, 2016 7:42:37 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

Avalon
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when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted

wicked people | {outlanders} Feb 6, 2016 22:49:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Avalon on Feb 6, 2016 22:49:04 GMT -5

c e l i a .

{{ i woke up to reality ;

. . .

Uninterested with the affairs of intermingling with the living, she'd been holding onto deaths bony fingers as he lurked around each corner among twenty-three. They were merely nothing but civil beings patiently waiting for their final blow- a release. ( "You can't reap a reaper." ) A thought trapped by a firm grasp within the mind, she never particularly thought of herself as in the same pool. Instead she reaped what was owed and one could already figure that Celia simply sat at her throne awaiting for a fall of one by one. Willing of taking more than just one-to-two of their vitals, in the games she liked to play, but their lives they'd hold as sacrificial offerings.

Had it been her decision, she would've kept to her lonesome within the District Twelve housing, more than apt of finishing 'chores'. ( "Celia, you'll need a bit of work to make people like you... everyone'll need someone." ) Arbor had ushered at her and spit the thought for a split second that she'd ever need anyone to help her in life. She proved him wrong, and so she corrected him that he knew nothing, and he'd die soon enough, spewing fire to his lungs as he breathed in and took the embers that soared from her throat and into the wild air. And while she preferred to be at this alone, in secrecy she was grateful for the attempts of guidance. Though, bravado and sincerity go hand in hand with one another, and it was a quick match to lose in favor of ostentatiousness.

"Twelve, yeah?"

Scrapping a smooth bladed knife between and along her nails, she sat place upon a cube within the training center. Made aware of the apparent presence of a male who'd made an incautious approach, Celia slid the knife one last time at her thumb nail before removing attention to the boy.

"Digging the coat. You kill that yourself?"

( "Not much like this conversation,
You seem to be doing that all by yourself." )

Pushing her circular sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, Celia hesitated in finding a response that Arbor had suggested "wouldn't make people hate you even more."

"One could say such a thing, though,
I wouldn't necessarily say
I had to kill the animal itself."

Waving her knife freely and uncaring if it had to strike someone, she pointed towards his pitchfork, a perfervid smirk slithered onto the snakes lips herself.

"You're fancy with that?"

. . .

only to chase my daydream }}

table inspired by rook

"solitaire something you consider rare"

credit to zoë

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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wicked people | {outlanders} Feb 9, 2016 12:47:30 GMT -5

Quote

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Feb 9, 2016 12:47:30 GMT -5

"and falling doesn't sound so bad when the air's this thin. i'll wash away my mistakes and start to climb again."

{ they fill with fire
exhale desire
i know it's dire,
my time today ;

Part of him just nodded and walked away. That's what he would have done under normal circumstances: left things alone and wondered what would have happened, wondered if the girl from Twelve would have been a friend or an enemy.

But he had made a promise to his friends, and a promise to Mace and Saffron, and a promise to himself. So, instead of walking, his grip tightened around the handle of the pitchfork.

"Damn right. Better with a bow, though."

He looked at the knife in the girl's hand.

"How bout you with that knife?"

He could see where this was going: a measuring contest glorified to mean more than it actually did. He was only good with weapons because he'd grown up with the job of fending monsters and mutts away from people's livestock. That was the one thing he knew he was good at: killing monsters.

But most of these people were only human, and the monsters were the ones who had put them where they were.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to refuse showing the girl what he could do. (Apparently, it was bad to do that like somehow, another tribute knowing he could shoot a bow would be his undoing in the arena.)

Out of the corner of his eye, way above them, he noticed a boy perched on top of a climbing station watching down on them like a bird, with curious eyes and a quiet mouth. Dane couldn't help noticing that the station he'd climbed was easily the hardest, and either he'd been up there long enough to cool down, or he had climbed it without even breaking a sweat. He wondered how long the boy had been up there watching them without being noticed. He wondered if they would have noticed him at all until he wanted them to.

This was what that boy was good at, Dane figured: being invisible.

"See anything you like?" he called to the boy, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face him fully. He was from one of the lower districts. Dane wasn't sure, but he thought perhaps this boy had been right in front of him and Noelia in the parade. That made him District Nine, which wasn't a career district, which was exactly what he was looking for.

"How 'bout hopping down here and having a chat with us?"

{ sometimes quiet is violent
i find it hard to hide it
my pride is no longer in sight
it's on my sleeve, my skin will scream ;

. . .

[presto]

DANE ALLORE

[/presto]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

✨ zozo.
Retired Staff

8,205 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 12, 2024 1:57:06 GMT -5

bloomtodeath

wicked people | {outlanders} Feb 11, 2016 4:45:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✨ zozo. on Feb 11, 2016 4:45:31 GMT -5

when we meet one way or another

you won't speak up.

It's not loneliness that begins to gnaw at him from the inside-out. It's his own thoughts. Every one that crosses into his subconscious sends blood vessels bursting and spasms ricocheting through his circuits. With thoughts for bruises he bleeds, slowly, and he imagines his insides are blue and grey and look terribly sad.

Up here, it's easier to loose himself in the dwindling lives of the others. Scurrying around, whispering, showing off, taunting. Half of them walk around like the places is their for their taking, and the others tip toe lightly, frightened of the death lingering in the air that beckons for them. Below he keeps himself busy learning how to use flint and needles and keeping quiet, invisible amongst the crowds. He doubts the men and women above, watching with eyes soaked in suffering, would even recognise him.

Someone does, eventually. Loneliness crawls up to him in the form of a voice from a boy and his words drag Timothy's eyes down to meet his. The girl next to him looks like death. He looks like an angel birthed from light. And the bird boy hovers awkwardly above them - neither light nor dark, always settling in the space between the earth of the decaying and the spirits of heaven.

"See anything you like?"

He doesn't trust either of them. (Trust no-one, his father had told him, but Timothy learnt that from him years ago.) The boy crafted from the sky smiles and calls him down, welcoming him into conversation, so the lonely soul from Nine with a dead mother and a murderer for a father leaps from his safehaven and lands between the sky and the ground, heaven and hell, death and light,

"How 'bout hopping down here and having a chat with us?"

"Well, here I am" he introduces, arms stretched outward upon his arrival. "Ready to hear your sales pitch on the whole allies thing. Bit of 'I'll save your life if you save mine?' Maybe some 'You stitch me up, I'll keep you fed?'" He cocks his head to the side and grins at the boy to his left. "Go for it. I'm all ears."

. . .

[ credit - briar ]

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”