we ran away | {brooke/raven} blitz

Adrenaline rushes through her veins, but she's always been good at keeping control over the flames that rage inside of her stomach. Anxious fingers tap against her thighs, a smile stretched out across her features, and she paces around the dining hall with eyes that are excited and searching. She's here to confront her mother's killer, to wilfully submit to a fate that she could have never escaped, but the moments leading up Hell are softer than they should be. There are many faces here; so many stories — and she's seen hurt that she understands. There's a pain that she's never explored within herself for fear of becoming lost, but she's no stranger to comforting.


"You're taller than I would have thought," greets a feminine voice, and Brooke turns with eyebrows raised. Raven Barker, one of the female tributes from Seven, sits at a table that's just a few steps away. Brooke closes the distance between them, not wasting the time to explain her wandering. She's always enjoyed watching strangers, exploring them and trying to understand them — and odd as she might appear, walking back and forth with shifty glances, she has no shame. Her intentions are not dark; there's no desire to learn secrets and use them at her will. She just wants to experience something more than what she's been given. Sadness is a choice.


"Oh, really?" Brooke starts, taking a seat in front of the young woman and tucking a stray strand of ginger behind her ear. "I only just recently hit a growth spurt this last year, actually. I still wish I could be taller." Brooke laughs, leaning in to inspect Raven's face. "You're so proportionate! Is that weird to say? I don't know, but you're really pretty," she goes on with sincerity, reaching out a hand to run her fingers through a lock of the other girl's brown hair.

"Think you're ready to call yourself a murderer, babe?"

Her grin falters, hand retreating back to her side of the table, and she swallows before shaking her head with a cracking laugh. At times, she forgets how heavy her last name is. So many tributes are carrying legacies on their backs — but she's the last of hers. On both sides.

"No, I'm not," she responds as firmly as she can, bringing back the softness to her expression. "I'll be a survivor, if I'm lucky — maybe a murderer — but there's no way to be ready for that. I don't want to be." She tilts her head in thought, looking deep into Raven and finding parts of herself. She doesn't want an enemy. She's a lamb surrounded by wolves, but she's presenting her throat to the pack — all she wants is a moment of warmth before the darkness falls.

"What about you, Raven?" she asks while accepting the fries and taking a bite out of one, making sure not to mention the girl's surname. Her brother had been in the Games that brought Four its victor, but Raven's more than the boy who made her name known. She's not just Gavin's sister.


"Are you here to murder, or to survive?"