aloe, it's {us} // frankel [finley]
Jan 30, 2018 12:16:37 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 30, 2018 12:16:37 GMT -5
The last few days had been the work of an illusion.
Rousing to a view that overlooks the Capitol from an ethereal height, slapped on a layer of paint by his ensemble of stylists—and serene moments by himself spent alone with the breathing city lights. He hadn’t talked to anyone since Violet Salazar and Jacinta in that obsidian train chockfull of corpses from Seven.
It was a daredevil’s choice—to stray away from making allies in a roulette game where predators hunt predators alike. But, often, Raven found his tongue tied to the roof of his mouth before an attempt to strike banter that always concludes in futility.
It’s a stranger world in a strange world—the Capitol. A neon facade with no vigilantes to save the citizens from corruption, immorality and the silvery creatures which loiters behind the varicolored glows of its buildings.
Everything is star-splattered for the tributes though, as if they’re trying to make them forget the vital element of these charades: death. They have to die for others’ entertainment. But, surprisingly, that thought doesn’t shoot Raven’s spirits down as he saunters into the training center in delicate strides, hands knotted rigidly into fists within his pockets.
The plant station, entangled in ivies and staged wilderness has Raven gravitating towards it.
Amid the eccentric flora is another blurred face—another corpse. Or, maybe, he is destined for the crown—who knows?
He ghosted his fingers along a flower, trying to muster as much charm as there is within him. “This one’s real wavy’. What is it … some kind of an aphrodisiac?” Always the odd one out.
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