what is an aftershock, to an apocalypse? {Marr}

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shrimp
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what is an aftershock, to an apocalypse? {Marr} Jan 9, 2019 11:00:04 GMT -5

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Post by shrimp on Jan 9, 2019 11:00:04 GMT -5

The schedule, she reminds herself, has no room for a stagnancy. Anatalia will be presented, and then she will go home.

There are many excuses the Capitol could have given to keep them here - to torture them further, based on her words with Carter, overlaid with the anthem. It repeats on loop each time she dies, replacing her face with Faux's split skull. She still tries not to look, but it's hard; the light is the brightest thing in the room.

Unfortunately for the Capitol, they played their cards too early; to withhold the release when not just their families, but the entire country, wishes them home is bad optics. So she sits tight, knows that soon the playing pieces will be scattered once more.

Fiona, settled on the chair three rows down, isn't someone she noticed much before that day spent in the fog. And Bette attacked her, knowing that she didn't deserve it.

That doesn't make anything better. That doesn't make anything worse. It just is, a fact laid out stark on the table.

She walks over.

"Hey," Bette says, voice still graveled. She gestures, towards the hand no longer wrapped in bandages, digits missing: a reward, for standing talller that day.

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

Last Edit: Jan 9, 2019 11:00:42 GMT -5 by shrimp

*
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They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.

what is an aftershock, to an apocalypse? {Marr} Jan 11, 2019 17:46:03 GMT -5

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Post by * on Jan 11, 2019 17:46:03 GMT -5

My days have turned into one. Three days have been full of anguish and pain and nightmarish things that I can simply not turn away. My dreams haunt me of Faux and Oliver and the others I had relinquished my feelings for. People that my heart should never have taken in for the fear that I would actually begin to care for them.

And I had -

What I had done in the arena was a dreadful thing and life in the vault was even more lonesome since Faux's disappearance. Carter had pretty much severed what was there, but even if Faux were normal as he was before his injuries, he'd never fully forgive someone like me. Nor would anyone else -

Until Bette's presence gave my heart a stutter. Sight was no longer a thing in my left eye and her appearance on that side bewildered me a moment, catching me off guard. Muscles jerked slightly until I saw that face and it was like I was looking at her from the arena, just a bit more dinged up then before.

Phantom pain resonated from where my fingers and part of bone were severed from my hand, causing it to be shaped so awkwardly at not fault of her own, in all reality. I couldn't hold her accountable.

"Hey." Her voice seemed so frail only being here for a day, but she stood in front of me. Disbelief rolled washed over my mind. What did I do to her? What form of curses would she blame me for just as Carter had done to me.

"Come to revel at the handy work that you did? Don't worry, they couldn't save them." The words were like a snake without fangs. I half expect her tongue to lash out at me just as Carter had. Already, I closed my good eye to accept whatever fate was to come.

c98667 - Fiona Words
e7cbbe - Others

Last Edit: Jan 11, 2019 17:48:54 GMT -5 by *

shrimp
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what is an aftershock, to an apocalypse? {Marr} Jan 19, 2019 23:09:25 GMT -5

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Post by shrimp on Jan 19, 2019 23:09:25 GMT -5

Her face doesn't change as Fiona snaps at her, but her mind clicks and whirrs.

When she first regained her senses, it wasn't sterileness that surprised her - it was how plain everything was, lying away from prying eyes. The chairs were uncomfortable, the cots cheap and scratchy, the tables slightly tacky.

The Capitol, the Training Center, had been beautiful and monstrous, but pristine - here it felt more like a holding cell than a hospital, unlike anything one would think to describe the games: ramshackle and strung-together.

At the forefront of her mind, she wondered if the aesthetic was on purpose. After she spoke to Carter, she knew it was: a Petri dish, stewing in its own blood. Fiona has been steeped in it for three days.

Bette looks up, sees a Gamemaker prowling on the upper balcony. She looks back and sits down

"No. The opposite."

She takes Fiona's hand, gently, eyes squinting as she looks at the stumps. It's understandable if the digits were lost in the fog - she could barely see her own hands in front of her, much less a fragment of herself that had fallen into the abyss. But to just leave it was a cruelty of its own kind. They already brought them back from the dead - why not go the whole way? It's a choice, that they made. But the fallout lands on her shoulders

"What did the doctors say?" Bette asks as she rotates Fiona's palm. She rips off loose pieces of string from her dress, wrapping them firmly around the circumference. Measurements are taken quickly, haphazardly, but confidently.

She doesn't intend to apologize - apologizes are only worthwhile if they are true. But the past is the past, and they are lucky enough to have a present.