sunstorms { nevermore day 3 }
Mar 13, 2020 11:10:39 GMT -5
Post by tick 12a / calla on Mar 13, 2020 11:10:39 GMT -5
My arm still hurts like a bitch.
I had it cradled to my chest when we left the mutts behind, but every step seemed to jostle it, the sting travelling like lightning through my bones until I finally decided fuck it and slumped down against one of the pineapple plants.
"I don't want to go any further," I declare, knowing Noel and Laurent will stop, and the back of my head hits the plant, spiny and uncomfortable. I can't be bothered to keep my tone in check anymore, "Let's just stop here."
But just when I think we're done for the day, there's a beeping in the air, and I immediately perk up. That sound means sponsorship, and Pryce said that sponsorship means survival. I had scoffed at it back on the train, swore that I'd throw away whatever joke that some pretentious Capitol jackass decided to float down to me because there's no way in hell that I'd ever need their help.
But the little parachute lands by my foot and I can't help myself.
I pop the lid off and find a canteen inside, turn it over in my hands for anything else useful only to find that it says kitty... girl? Maybe it was actually for Noel. Maybe she has a cat back in Four or something.
I shrug and take it anyways.
It's an obnoxious colour, distasteful, covered in weird stickers that I kind of hate, but it must be full of something because it's heavy as fuck. I've barely even touched it, only held it, when it slips out of my hand, hitting the ground with a clanging noise so loud that it makes my ears hurt. Except there's only soil around, soft dirt that should've cushioned it's fall - I don't even know how it made that noise.
And when I pick it back up, there's a giant dent in the side, making the writing look more like Hydr lask.
Weird.
I use one hand to unzip my bag and shove it in before turning back to the arm situation.
Still sitting, I shimmy Lazarus's neon jacket off from where it's tied around my waist, because there's enough gaudy material to tie it into a sling, but I don't want to move my arm any more than I have to. So I hold it out to my allies and shake it a little, try to channel every good deed I've ever done and ignore the fact that I come up short, "Who wants to help me?"
I had it cradled to my chest when we left the mutts behind, but every step seemed to jostle it, the sting travelling like lightning through my bones until I finally decided fuck it and slumped down against one of the pineapple plants.
"I don't want to go any further," I declare, knowing Noel and Laurent will stop, and the back of my head hits the plant, spiny and uncomfortable. I can't be bothered to keep my tone in check anymore, "Let's just stop here."
But just when I think we're done for the day, there's a beeping in the air, and I immediately perk up. That sound means sponsorship, and Pryce said that sponsorship means survival. I had scoffed at it back on the train, swore that I'd throw away whatever joke that some pretentious Capitol jackass decided to float down to me because there's no way in hell that I'd ever need their help.
But the little parachute lands by my foot and I can't help myself.
I pop the lid off and find a canteen inside, turn it over in my hands for anything else useful only to find that it says kitty... girl? Maybe it was actually for Noel. Maybe she has a cat back in Four or something.
I shrug and take it anyways.
It's an obnoxious colour, distasteful, covered in weird stickers that I kind of hate, but it must be full of something because it's heavy as fuck. I've barely even touched it, only held it, when it slips out of my hand, hitting the ground with a clanging noise so loud that it makes my ears hurt. Except there's only soil around, soft dirt that should've cushioned it's fall - I don't even know how it made that noise.
And when I pick it back up, there's a giant dent in the side, making the writing look more like Hydr lask.
Weird.
I use one hand to unzip my bag and shove it in before turning back to the arm situation.
Still sitting, I shimmy Lazarus's neon jacket off from where it's tied around my waist, because there's enough gaudy material to tie it into a sling, but I don't want to move my arm any more than I have to. So I hold it out to my allies and shake it a little, try to channel every good deed I've ever done and ignore the fact that I come up short, "Who wants to help me?"
