Mary Delgado Belladonna | Peacekeeper | FIN

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jul 17, 2016 14:07:08 GMT -5

At the age of 49, she began addressing herself not with her birth name but with alternative ones, ‘the girl from a family of debts’, 'bounty hunter'. This frequently brings her lips into a small yet meaningful smirk. The significant of the sly smirk was the description of the aberration inside her.



She loved—no—once enjoyed the easy life-style of the Capitol. She fancied the high skyscrapers, gawking at them almost every day. The unforgettable cleansed air still has its roots in her innards, reducing the risk of having lungs-related diseases and such. She still commemorates the districts for all of their hard work, fine fabrics from District 8, the sparkling jewelries from District 1, the materials shipped for constructing formidable buildings from District 2, the delicious meat free of infections from District 10, etc. Her curly raven hair would be perfumed using the best-quality bottles of scents and her lips would glimmer in the sunlight, covered in sparkling lip-products.



She had no worries. (‘Let the Hunger Games begin!’) She would watch re-runs of the Games with her family, on the edge of her seat from watching the teens murder each other. Her family even once tried to sponsor for one tribute but he was slaughtered before they could do that. She was the typical capitalist, a fan of the Hunger Games and someone that planned to take pleasure in everything that the Capitol has and offers them.



Years ago, she was the typical Capitol citizen with her eccentric dresses and hair-styles. Her main interest was in fashion and her daily outfits.



Then came tragedy as quick as lightning.



And, she was nothing but blackened remains.



Second daughter of Drake Belladonna and an unknown man, she was a jewel. At least, she thought she was. Every morning was exciting for her. Whenever she opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sheering light from her luxurious room’s windows. Luxury was in the air she breathed and she could not describe how much she loved it. The smell of the fine leather of the cushions and the comfortable fabrics of the dresses were all familiar to her nose. At that time, she could still choose her own clothes and decorated her thin structure with accessories of her own choosing. Numerous bracelets were wore on her white wrists daily along with gem encrusted dresses, lengthy enough to touch the floor but still dirtless. Her clothes were frequently vibrant, intensifying her white complexion more.



She was the same with other Capitol citizens once, shallow for fashion and to be eye-catching in the middle of a crowd. And, ever since her time, they were peculiar ways of decorating your body. She loves the decision she made to this very day. It served as a memorial of the Capitol she once loved. Mostly every 18 years old girl had done it—the alternation of a body part. In her case, it was her hair. It was something that will remain on her body till her body decays. She did not care about the expanse and she thought that her mother didn’t too. The only thing she cared at that time was the amazing rate her hair grows back whenever it was cut.



Her time withered customarily from the long shopping trips with her mother and big sister. Once, she had thought of the three of them as an impenetrable pair. Her mother was bright but bad-mouthed, frequently getting into a tournament of throwing insults with shop owners. Her older sister, on the other hand, was sly and manipulative. Her sweet voice was the most lethal and persuasive of all. She was the joyful but had quite a temper, it was an unusual pair for a petite girl. She could go from laughing at someone’s joke to shouting them in their face, only because that someone said a single word that triggered her.



She was less delirious back then.



And she was not familiar with the cruelty of humans.



“Mom, what is this?”



Her voice was cracking, indicating clearly that she was fighting back sobs. The words, through her gritted teeth, was not clear but her mother understood. She could see her swallowing the lump inside her throat, her skin turning as white as paper. She froze in her tracks with her gaze on the scented paper she had within her grasp.



“‘To Mrs. Drake, we will give you the time of one week to return the loans you requested from the bank of the Capitol. The deadline will be on Friday…” She found herself repeating the contents of the paper and heard a gasp from her mother at the lines ‘the time of one week’.



“Darling, forget about this—“



“You have been loaning money from a bank?”



“It’s nothing—“



“It’s not nothing mom!! Something terrible will happen to you if you can’t return the money and I doubt it because it’s a lot! You will become like those Avoxes!”



“I won’t!”



“Maybe something worse than that will happen to you!”



“It was for you and your sister. It was for your wellbeing!”



“No, it was for your greed. You raised us this way—we are your dolls.”



No respond.



“I can’t believe it—I—can’t”



No respond.



The paper fell to the ground and so did her felicity. Her temper had surged from within her and she stormed out of her mother’s shadow, locking herself inside her own room. Sheer light suffusing from the window didn’t grant her the usual glee anymore. It was quite the opposite. The only memory she has about that time was the shadows—as black as her mind in that moment. She had retreated away to a corner, avoiding the shine of the sun and moon. The shadows were the only things in her mind that were not posing any threats at her. At that hour, the shadows were her only company. Inside their territory, she was able to sulk as much as she wanted.



Suffering from a case of blue devils was not pleasant at all.



At the time her doorknob jiggled, she was a gone girl. The charms that she had yesterday had now vanished into nothing but a wicked mess. Her raven hair was tangled and similar to a bird’s nest and her head itching. The sparkle on her nails also lessened and the odor of her skin was offensive. Her sheer dress was not in the perfect condition to draw people’s attention anymore. Even a day without food had drained her cheeks and the color of her red lips. Her once curvy body structure had reduced into a bony one.


The act of locking herself earned her a life lesson.



No matter how perfect we yearns to be, we will never be perfect. We only have products that temporarily hide our flaws. Everything will fade in a once and you will change into a mundane again.



The creaking of the door move her face from her palms.



“Honey—“



“Get out.”



“I have to tell you something.”



She bit on her tongue.



“I have the solution to save this family.”



She lowered her eye-lids.



“But it’s going to cost a massive price.”



Charcoal black eyes fixated on her mother.



“The Capitol gave us another option.”



Pointed ears collected the words.



“And, it’s not coins.”



Slight warmth entered her body.



“You should know that I am doing this because I love you.”



The warmth began to seep out again.



“If I don’t, the three of us will be killed.”



The warmth was out of her reach again.



“It’s something greater than money.”



The warmth slid back into her again.



“The Capitol demands the youngest member of the family to become a peacekeeper.”



The words were monstrous hands, clawing the warmth from her body and left her as nothing but a frozen statue.



“They will be picking you tonight, hon—“



“You could’ve said the thing you wanted to in the first place.”



Her eyes were expressionless.



“You should’ve just said that you wanted me out of this house in the first place.”



She was beginning to feel something on her face.



“And I am fucking happy to be out of your house, bitch.”



It was not moisturizing her face.



“Starting from this day, you only have one fucking daughter and her name is a-whore-like-her-mother.”



Her lips had crooked into a grin and she was laughing—a laugh of mockery and amusement.



The train was picking her up at 10 pm but she was already out of the woman’s residence at 10 am, nothing but a duffel bag full of a few clothes with her.



She was 20 years old when she reached District 2. Twelve years later, her name began to be recognized but in the peacekeeper community only. How overjoyed would she be to know that eleven years later, she would be recognized in the wanderer community too? Extremely overjoyed.



The sound of gunshots were not hazardous to her ears. They acted more similar to an intoxicating drug, heightening her senses into a peculiar level and giving her the will to move relentlessly. They energized her body into doing wonderful things such as accurate aim. In her past capitalist life, her strikes did not have accuracy. She could not throw pebbles into spots she desired. But at that time, accuracy was not much of a worry for her—it was nothing compared to the anxiety she has for parties and social events. Present time, accuracy was everything. Her string of life depended on the accurate aim of the two revolvers in her grasp now.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never wanted to hold a weapon but now, the sight of them urges her to use them.



Bullets flew in the air like confetti. Monstrous bangs went aloud and tranquil was almost impossible to find. She remembers the smoke from the guns, concealing a variety of her surroundings. Furious bullets blasted the surface of the tree she was behind into pieces. Around them were hollow corpses of people in the same uniform she had on. The white surface of the clothing was smeared with fresh, metallic blood.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never knew the aroma of blood but now, it was familiar to her nose.



She gritted her teeth and tightening the grip on the handle of her revolvers, trying to tame the surging wave of anger and madness crippling inside her—just for a few seconds. Just until she had managed a technique to not fall under the wrath of the attackers. She remembers the void inside her mind at that specific time, leaving her skull blank and draining hope away.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never knew true fear but now, she was starting to conquer it.



She felt her breathing fastening. Sucking air into lungs had never been so difficult but now, it was. Adrenaline was suffocating her but they gave her no chance to release it. She was struck behind a cover, hoping for the bullets to run out. But, a portion of her mind knew that she shouldn’t. It’s never running out. They want her dead and won’t allow her to just straighten up and stroll away. She required to do something.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never dreamt battle strategies but now, they were filling her crown.



Legs straightened without the back moving away from the rough truck of the tree. The noises around her was loud but in the right volume to muffle. The void inside her crown expanded. She had always thought of the void as pure disturbance and distraction. But, it was the right thing she groped for at that moment—distraction. To allay her mind, distracting it away from the loud bangs.



She had lost hope years ago.



Her weapons were the only things keeping her alive.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never been brave but now, it ran through her veins.



Body turned aside and her left arm extended, weapon aimed into the cover of smoke. Her index finger yanked the trigger of her revolver and a bullet projected into the smokescreen, piercing every particle of gunpowder on its way. When her left arm laid besides her hips again, she earned a scream of agony. Then, she repeated the process. Bullets flew towards the attackers and screams of agony collided against the loud bangs.



The difference fascinated her even.



She’d never wanted to kill but now, she was laughing while doing so.



Soon, the bangs silenced.



Her boots crushed the short grasses underneath her as she exited her cover. The smell of gunpowder coated her clothes, skin and the air. It was a stench but she loved it. Along her way, she came across numerous obstacles that were blocking her way. Her feet had to step out of the way of the hollow corpses that had died just now. The fumes of their souls might be just beginning to cast away from their bodies.



“Is this the famous wanderer Boone?” Even though it had only been minutes after a massacre, her tone was mocking, sarcastic yet alluring.



“You fucking peacekeeper…” The man laying down beneath her feet was breathless, being choked out of air from his deep gun wounds. If a person had to guess, it was only minutes before he expels his last breath.



“I have a name, hunk. It’s Mary Belladonna and try to warn your other wanderers from the grave because I am coming after them—one by one, group by group and I am going to murder them.” Shoulders cocked, words accompanied by a laugh. It was obvious after a conversation with her. The way her laughter sounds like she had no emotion other than joy. The way her lips frequently crook into a grin even when it was not the perfect situation for one. The way she chuckles even though the subject isn’t humorous. Her finger winded a streak of her ash-covered hair, idly playing with it.



Mary Belladonna was berserk, crazy, insane and all those words that describes a person who was mentally strange.


The attributes of a peacekeeper runs in her veins but also an aberration’s.


She liked her work but hated the once-mother of her that forced her to become a peacekeeper.


She did not miss her old life but loathed how someone tore it away.


She does not serve the Capitol but herself.

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