/ hear you calling / me / {Ariadne / Greg?}

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Rosetta
Retired Staff

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last seen Aug 5, 2020 8:28:28 GMT -5

/ hear you calling / me / {Ariadne / Greg?} Mar 2, 2017 20:05:36 GMT -5

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Post by Rosetta on Mar 2, 2017 20:05:36 GMT -5

~Ariadne
The birds were just warming their vocal chords when Ariadne woke with a start. Eyelids snapping open, heart hammering, she reached around frantically to her side before her hand slid across Greg's warm chest. She lay there, breathing more slowly, feeling his thumping heart under her hand for a few minutes before she gratefully turned to her side to face him.

There he was, lying on his back besides her, pale as ever and growing even paler as the sunlight began to filter through the boards above their heads. He slept peacefully, unaware that his companion was awake, sweaty and still on edge. "Another nightmare," she breathed quietly to him, slipping her arm over his stomach and resting her head against his shoulder. He stirred but didn't wake. Ariadne didn't want him to. She didn't want him to see her red face, the tears, and ask with his eyes, what's wrong? What did you see this time?

Instead, knowing she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, Ariadne quietly rose from their makeshift bed of pine needles and blankets and began to pull her clothing on over her underclothes. Despite the winter cold, she'd been coy enough to convince Greg that they'd be warmer sleeping in their underclothes with their body heat to warm them and, to her great surprise, he agreed. Now, separated from him and their blankets, Ariadne hastily pulled on her pants and sweaters. With practiced fingers, she laced up her boots and smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. It had grown in the months they'd spent alone in the woods on the outskirts of District Four. Ariadne had wanted to go further, further and further, but Greg had quelled her fears.

"He won't come," he had carved into their tree for her. "Good for fishing here." And so, they stayed close where they could both hunt and fish for their meals. At night, they clambered up a well-sheltered tree into their treehouse, which wasn't much. A few slabs of stolen wood, four walls and a roof that leaked. Ariadne wanted to get some tarps from in town, perhaps off of a boat, but she still couldn't bring herself to sneak back into District 4.

Dropping down the last few rungs of the ladder they'd built, she crouched for a moment at the base of the tree to listen to their surroundings. It was second-nature now. Was that tree branch cracking a human or just a startled animal? Did she hear the sound of boots or simply hooves? With just the birds chirping above and a few rabbits hopping nearby, Ariadne straightened up with a satisfied sigh and began to walk towards the stream.

Last night's nightmare was her recurring one. The one where she was running through the streets of District Four, but the streets had turned into molasses and it was nearly impossible to walk. The fence was just up ahead, but she couldn't reach it; it just kept getting further and further away. And behind her, he was laughing and calling her name in a sing-song voice. "Ariadne, Ariadne, Ariadne."
And by some miracle, she reached the fence and began to slide under and then, she was caught, her legs tangled up in the metal. She tried desperately to free herself, screaming in frustration, but the more she struggled, the more hopelessly entrapped she became as his voice grew louder. And suddenly, his hands were on her, dragging her back under the fence towards him, his laughter hot in her ear. And in horror, she looked back to face him, her captor--

"Cassius!" she would sometimes find herself screaming as she awoke. And then, it was impossible to hide her horror from Greg who awoke with her. They'd begun to develop their own hand symbols to communicate soundlessly with one another. One wave to the right meant it was dinner time. Three fingers up meant to wait. The index fingers touching meant to go to the nearby tree to carve out longer sentences. But, there was no hand symbol for when Ariadne was wracked with nightmares and the reminder filled Greg with his own pain. Only their arms, wrapped around one another.

The stream came into view through the trees and Ariadne sighed in frustration when she saw that it was partially frozen over. Even the sound of cracking ice set her on edge, reminding her of the sound Greg's vase made when it came crashing down on Cassius's head and the painstaking hours Ariadne spent sliding small bits of glass out of his hands as he tried not to cry.

And so, she walked a few yards upstream until she came across a portion that wasn't frozen, but moving slowly and coldly. She pulled their water jugs from her bag and braced herself before dipping her hands into the icy water to fill them up. This was her job. Greg's was to build a fire. Both of theirs was to hunt and fish. And the rest of the time? They both wondered what comes next.
They had talked about going into a District and acting like they'd been there all that time, slipping in through a fence and building a life together. Ariadne could take Greg's last name. They might not pass for siblings, but cousins might do. Ariadne was just 18 and that meant they only had a few more months out in the wilderness before she was out of danger of being Reaped.

Of course, the question was: which one? District Four was out of the question and they both agreed that they appeared too rugged to pass in any of the career districts. And Greg was an Avox. They couldn't hide his lack of tongue forever nor could they adequately explain it, running the risk of a nosy neighbor reporting him as an escaped Avox. And, what if, Ariadne played this game frequently, Cassius came to visit that District or was stationed there and saw her name. What if he came to find her. Then she'd have nowhere to run.
They'd joked about going to the Capitol, passing Greg off as Ariadne's servant and, her, as a new orphan--"I mean, I've broken in before!"--but that also had a host of issues. What if they were discovered there. They had no money to get any sort of apartment or home. Where do you start?

With a sigh, Ariadne withdrew the full water jugs and corked them back up with her trembling, cold hands. Of course, they could always live in the forest forever. Yes, isolated, but safe. They already had a home of sorts. They could make a life here. Ariadne had had a life out in the forest before. She'd been lonely, chatting with animals to keep her lips moving, but she had been safe. She leaned back on her feet and watched as a spider began to weave a web in a tree above her.

And then what? Then what, Ariadne? She had no plan. She had no plan when she came into the Districts to find her parents. No plan when they were detained. No plan when she snuck into the Capitol. No plan when she went after Cassius. And in her wake, a trail of blood, a dismembered tongue and plenty of nightmares.

I tried to protect you, Ariadne mourned in her head some nights, watching Greg sleep soundlessly besides her. Her stomach tied in knots she guiltily traced the outline of his lips. But, I'm on a curse on you.

Sometimes he woke up and stared back at her. Perhaps he knew she was thinking of running again and it was his stare that caused her to freeze. Neither would blink until finally Ariadne would give in and try and sleep.

Despite knowing that Greg was just under a five minute walk away, Ariadne felt completely and utterly alone in that cold morning as she shivered next to the stream. She thought of running again. It would be too painful to say good-bye. Better to just go. But, then she thought of him and every one of her senses was suddenly on hyper-drive. Her ears took in the gentle tinkling of the stream while her eyes stared widely around the embankment, following animals as they scurried past on their way. Her fists opened and closed in her lap as she tried to slow her heart rate. No, she couldn't run. He would find her. And this time he would succeed in subduing her.

The rumbling sound in her head was growing louder though. No, he would find her if she stayed. He would come quietly on the forest floor while she slept above. She'd awake with a start as a branch nearby snapped, but she'd convince herself it was nothing--the wind, an animal--until she saw him standing there, a dark shadow. Before she could scream or alert Greg, he'd take her, drag her through the woods and do whatever he wanted. Greg would find her later, but it would be too late, and she'd be gone, gone, gone. The rumbling, like a train, was growing, growing, growing, as the possibilities continued on and on. They'd see him outside District 4. In another District. The Capitol. The woods. Their treehouse. At her throat. Round and round, her ears were bursting. She covered them, shaking her head frantically. She couldn't let him into her head and yet, he was creeping in, grinning. The monster under the bed, rough palms raking her cheeks. He'd come, like a shadow, and his voice would sound out her name delicately like always. "Ariadne. Ariadne. Ariadne."

"NO." The sound was shattered. Suddenly, with her cry reverberating through the forest, the birds taking flight and a few startled rabbits hopping away, Ariadne surfaced to the stream where she sat, rocking back and forth. The forest settled, her cry faded. It was silent. Ariadne was alone.

But Greg was nearby. Trembling slightly, Ariadne rose with her water jugs in hand, cast her eyes once around the clearing, and began to walk back to him.

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

shrimp
Retired Staff

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/ hear you calling / me / {Ariadne / Greg?} Mar 6, 2017 4:34:44 GMT -5

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Post by shrimp on Mar 6, 2017 4:34:44 GMT -5

What a strange being you are, God knows where I'd be
If you hadn't found me, sitting all alone in the dark

One would think that it's the sun that wakes him: his vision turns to marigolds and poppies, tree branches jutting out from his peripherals. But it's not. Instead, it's the chill that seeps into his bones, the hairs that stand up as the wind dances through the cracks in the wood and into their blanket. It's the drop in his stomach and the sharp intake of air.

Last night all he knew was her, her skin flush against his as the sky grew dark and the birds settled down for the night. The feeling of her hands in his, rough from years spent in the forest. Her chest rising up and down. The smell of her hair as his forehead pressed into the nape of her neck, his arm wrapped around her as they settled down for the night.

But this is the morning. Immediately his mind jumps to conclusions (as it always does), and he forces himself to slow down as he sits up, to go through his routine: she's gone, but she would have left a note. Her bag must be with her, but so must his water bottle, normally rested against hers in the corner of the room. She's fine, so is he.

He stretches, palms interlocked and reaching for the sky. His muscles relax and he can feel his joints popping back into place. The wind nips at him again as he reaches for his clothes, folded and gently placed next to their blanket, normally right next to hers. His stomach grumbles softly and he remembers that they saved enough of the salted fish for another few meals. But food comes later. Ariadne comes first.

The ladder creaks as he makes his way down, but he lands softly. There's nothing wrong, he assures himself as he looks around. He would have heard something, a rustling in the trees, a scrape of a knife. Instead all he has for company are the birds that chat to and fro, the rabbits that jump away as soon as he sets his feet on the ground.

He goes where her clues lead him, making their way towards the stream. Slowly his mind fights with him, jumping across synapses and reaching odd conclusions. But he repeats his mantra, repeats the evidence, step by step. When she left the first time he couldn't think, mind racing as fast as his feet could carry him as he crossed mountains and passed through trees with limbs like claws. District 4 was a lucky guess - or perhaps he just knew her better than he thought he did.

Truth be told he hadn't thought for months, but it all hit him when they were alone again, the war having ended with two figures racing into the night. He spent an afternoon hidden away from her and curled up in the hollow of a tree trunk, his lungs heaving and sweat dripping down his forehead. His heart racing, threatening to explode. His voice hoarse from his screams long silenced, carnal and desperate and unfair. He doesn't remember how long he remained there, whether if she found him or he wandered back to camp.

The thoughts return (as they must), but he makes sure to keep them from her. He figures that the only thing they'll do is hurt her. She still sees him in the drooping frame of the willows, the deep layers in the shadows, the eyes of the crows. Instead he holds her tightly when she's visited in her dreams, his hands stroking her back as the nightingales sing harmonies that turn her screams into sobs, her sobs into sleep. He feeds her soup from the fire, the spring onions picked fresh that morning and the trout caught that afternoon. They bathe together, laughing with the babbling brook as hands scrape at the grit beneath their fingernails.

But there are moments when he's alone and they race into his mind and he's back, wincing as ceramic digs into his skin, gasping from phantom limbs grabbing at his neck, tasting the iron as metal and blood combine and congeal, too much that he chokes. But then as soon as it starts it's gone, and he's back at the lake with a net and fish that yearn for freedom that they'll never get.

Sometimes he wonders if they're the fish. They're stuck in a cycle, the monster forever chasing them even as they lose him at the riverbends. For weeks they talk about moving after Ariadne turns 19, merging back into society, becoming lost in the sea; he laughs, the irony turning his chuckles sour. There's no way in hell he's taking that last name ever again. But still, she could go back if she chose to. There's only one place for people like him.

He doesn't blame her - never blames her. Mostly, he blames himself and the bravado, the words that spilled out of his mouth like cough syrup: cloying yet bitter and far too much. She did what she had to do, he knows that. He had a choice to make, and he made it.

He walks, the birds sing. He hums back.

Then there's a shout, and his trot turns into a sprint. The birds fly overhead and the ground blurs as his feet carry him onward. But there's no other sounds, no struggle to be heard as the stream gurgles, no snapping of branches that indicate the start of the war. He makes it to the clearing as he spots her, his run turning into two feet planted firmly in the ground. She sits, water jugs beside her, rocking back and forth. His heart tells him to go to her, to take her pain into his own. But he doesn't move, he can't move - she needs her space as much as he needs his own. She needs her time. He steps backwards into the shade, his skin breathing a sigh of relief.

When she walks towards him he meets her halfway. Greg take the water bottles and sets them on the ground beside them, his fingers interlocking with hers. His lips are gentle as he lifts their hands to his mouth, light kisses spreading across the back of her hand. His eyes close as his thumb draws circles into her skin, the movements rhythmic and soft.

When the days were between the two of them, they made their own language. A wave to the right meant it was dinner time. Three fingers up meant to wait. His index finger touching hers meant that there was so much more to say. He knows that Ariadne doesn't need a dictionary to know what he means, but he imbibes it into every movement, every embrace, everything he does.

You're safe. You're here. You're home.

What the hell would I be without you? (what the hell would I be?)
Brave face talk so lightly, hide the truth (hide the truth)