breaking point // speakers day four
Apr 6, 2017 16:18:42 GMT -5
Post by esther kim d3 {lance} on Apr 6, 2017 16:18:42 GMT -5
Salvation.
The unbreakable cloth wrapped around his head fell away, and if he had had any tears left within him he would have sobbed with relief.
He was still alive, somehow.
Shaking hands reached into his tote bag, and slowly, unsteadily, withdrew, holding a silver teapot.
He'd found the shining object the previous day, sometime after he had fallen through the puddle.
At the time, he had viewed the liquid-filled container with suspicion and later had barely refrained from cursing the Gamemakers out for their toying habits.
Of course, logic had once overrode a lack of common sense, for he had, rather begrudgingly,
remembered that toying with the lives of himself and every other soul that had resigned themselves to their inevitable fate was one of the primary occupations of such individuals in the first place.
But right now, he couldn't give two shits one way or the other, for his mind was focused on more pressing needs.
The teapot was brought to his mouth, and he took a tentative sip.
And his eyes widened in surprise as a familiar taste - green tea - washed over his tongue.
And then, he lost it.
Head tilted back and arms raised, he closed his eyes as liquid, actual, drinkable, thirst-quenching liquid, poured into his mouth and down his throat.
He choked, sending lukewarm tea spurting out of his mouth and onto the strikingly pale ground as the sudden influx of liquid proved to be too much for him to take in all at once.
Okay, slower this time.
Over the next hour, he would barely refrain from draining the teapot in one fell swoop no fewer than seventeen times.
At some point, another sponsorship parachute dropped at his feet, adding a striking pink crayon to his collection of black and white.
Much like last time, he instantly grabbed the latest addition to his collection and made use of it, though unlike last time, he had full use of his sight and a much larger canvas.
The drawing this time was relatively simple. The majority of the work was put into a simple pole, one that stretched nearly as long as he was tall. A quick, simple touch, and it looked like he had a satisfactory quarterstaff on his hands.
But he wasn't finished just yet.
With one smooth line, one end of the pole was designated as the top. Long, curved lines rose from the new line, connecting somewhere above and just off to the left of pole itself to create a deadly curved blade.
The word naginata flashed through his mind, and a mental image of a female Career from One stabbing a boy from Two through the neck with the pole weapon followed.
The Sixty Sixth Annual Hunger Games had aired when he was not quite ten years old, and yet that scene had been one of the first he remembered with any sort of clarity.
Now he, too, would wield the weapon used by Francesca Levroux and so many others in those games.
Maybe he too would get to stab through a neck, if he was lucky.
The weapon solidified, pink and deadly, and yet he still wasn't finished.
A purple, misshapen lump was the next to flash through his mind as he took out the black crayon next, a reminder equal parts annoying and hilarious in his mind as to what would happen if he tried even the simplest of loopholes within the arena.
Then, taking a deep breath, he pressed the crayon to his own skin.
Down, down, down it traveled, from a collarbone's edge where torso connected with leg. Then,
accross, above his groin but beneath his navel, to the other side. Then a shift from one hand to the other, and the first journey was enacted in reverse back up to the other collarbone.
The next part was trickier, but eventually, he managed to repeat the same process on his back,
from shoulder to just above the top of his gluteals and across to the other side, before once again switching hands and traveling almost literally from the bottom back up to the other shoulder.
Ambidextrousness, it turned out, had its perks.
Then came a part that was equally tricky yet just as important: shading in.
He did his back first this time, shading each and every inch of skin that he could get his crayon to. It was far from neat and orderly like the lines were, but by the time he was done,
he was reasonably certain that every bit of skin within the lines had been touched by the tip of the crayon at least once.
He shifted to his front, a process he found significantly simpler and neater, and before long his entire front had been shaded as well.
A quick shading of his sides, untouched by the initial line tracing, completed the job, as just below his armpit to his hip joined the rest of his torso in being shaded.
By the time he had finished, every inch of skin on his torso from the base of his neck to his waist had been covered in crayon.
Armed with a new weapon and a complete set of armor, he finally found them sometime later.
Or, at least, two of them.
As he drew nearer, he realized with growing horror that both Wylla and Riven were coated in what could only be blood. The former had clearly more steam than the latter, who was missing a leg from the waist down.
Approaching with a mixture of horror and awe flooding his system, the fact that Eva was nowhere to be seen also struck him.
"And here I thought I got the worst end of this deal," he spoke aloud as he drew within earshot. "What the hell happened to you guys?"
And where the hell is Eva?
lucas does some shit which i'll post in maint after class dab
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