spoken like a real life savior || 85th Train Blitz!

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ᴥ
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spoken like a real life savior || 85th Train Blitz! Jun 4, 2020 12:53:09 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Jun 4, 2020 12:53:09 GMT -5

b e c k .

"when the lights come down,
got an empty crown"

A year had come and gone, just like that. With little ceremony or regard for the lost boy it had ruined. The sting of Victory hadn't faded, only sharpened the serrated edges of the crown that tore into his skin as he raked his hands through his hair. He's been pacing the length of the train carriage since it pulled into the station, jaw clenched tight enough to break teeth. The weeks before the Reaping had wrecked him, already pale skin gone near transluscent beneath the strain of sleepless nights and skipped meals. He wasn't just scared.

Beck had never known a fear like this. He was powerless against names scrawled in fine print pressed into a scrap of paper, beautiful in their simplicity and potent in their poison. He could put too many faces to them now; he couldn't save even one of them.

Everything he'd done in that arena hadn't mattered. He'd fought and screamed and loved and lost yet here they are again. Twenty-four more terribly sad things, some as old as him and many much younger. He can't know who will greet them on the other side, as bruised and bloody as he had been but Beck pities them most of all.

The stirrings of movement outside the train carriage still him, Beck struggles to drag his gaze to the door and slowly stitch a patchwork grin onto his cheeks. It feels a bit lopsided, but Beck hopes that only adds to the rougish charm thing he's got going on. "Welcome, honored guests, to the train!" He spreads his arms in a flourish, eyes dancing across Dominic and Perdita for a split second before tearing them away under the guise of finding a comfortable seat.

It hurt to look at them.

"We'll be off to the Capitol soon," He tries to hide the wince born of those simple words but he doesn't think he was successful so he laughs instead. "I'm Beck. I'm eighteen, love the color red, and hate long walks on the beach."

He slumps back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at the space just behind where Perdita and Dominic stand. "Alright, who's next?"

Last Edit: Jun 4, 2020 12:56:09 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

fireflyz
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spoken like a real life savior || 85th Train Blitz! Jun 4, 2020 16:50:37 GMT -5

Post by fireflyz on Jun 4, 2020 16:50:37 GMT -5

Everything on the train seemed almost too pristine to touch, so he settled for shoving his hands into the shallow pockets of his waistcoat. It wasn't that Dominic wasn't used to being around copious amounts of wealth - there were more than a few families with money in Four - but he still cut them and watched them bleed, and he was sure that nothing here would be as buoyant and familiar as human skin. The outside rippled by like water and he wished he was swimming right now.

Once the haze of the reaping had worn off, he finally learned that his new partner's name was Perdita. He certainly wasn't looking forward to meeting her in battle, but at least he wouldn't have to kill a victor's kid. Dominic thought of his father and his many cronies and spies, and how many Leon Krigel probably had. Not worth setting them off.

The door clicked and whistled as it opened before him, revealing Beck Hailsham in all his glory. Dominic had once dreamed of meeting a victor, to be known, to impress them, to absorb every bit of their seemingly cool aura. Yet, he now realized that meeting a victor was more like meeting a Trojan horse rather than the business meetings his father probably dreamt up.

"Welcome, honored guests, to the train!"

Well, he seemed happy to be here, so Dominic put on a grin.

"I'm Beck. I'm eighteen, love the color red, and hate long walks on the beach."

Dominic slowly sank onto one of the teal chairs, hoping he appeared sufficiently enthused but not too eager. "I like the beach," he said. "It's nice to get away from it all."

He winced internally once he considered the words that had just left his mouth. What was there to get away from? It wasn't like he'd survived a tragedy.

Hoping to recalibrate as quickly as possible, he offered, "I'm Dominic. 17. I like swimming."

Damn. That was even worse.

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gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale
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spoken like a real life savior || 85th Train Blitz! Jun 8, 2020 1:30:47 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale on Jun 8, 2020 1:30:47 GMT -5

PERDITA.

"Welcome, honored guests, to the train!"

Perdita narrows her eyes at the victor's words, barely a step into the room and she's already trying to come up with an escape plan. Beck Hailsham seems like a good man; but then the light shifts, and she sees him for what he truly is. He's just a kid, and he's tired, and he refuses to look at her.

Maybe that's why she keeps her gaze trained on him, even though she is just as fatigued. But she has no time for this act, for forcing a wide smile and staring at the walls until her vision starts to blur. Her face is flushed, and her fingers are still shaking. It's been less than an hour since her life imploded.

And she pulled the grenade trigger, and now she's coughing up ash and trying to place the blame anywhere else. But this is her weapon, and this is her wound, and she doesn't mean to roll her eyes when he starts the introductions — but she does, and she laughs dryly. He loves the color red, and he hates long walks on the beach.

Her district partner takes the bait, dropping himself into a soft chair and playing the game right alongside him. A grin, a hopeful voice, little facts that don't mean anything to anyone. She's still standing there by the threshold when the attention shifts to her, when the strained smiles and averted eyes pretend to care.

"I'm Perdita, and I'm not interested in this." Her voice is cool, and sharp, and she pushes through the rawness inside her throat. Only moments ago she had parted ways with her family, and the ghost she loved, and the boy who took his place. And now she's alone with herself, and two strangers talking about colors and hobbies.

She's tired of pretending.

So she moves through the room, and down the halls, passing by windows and faces and pressing her hands to her eyes because she doesn't want to see any of this. And then she's in her room, and the door is locked behind her, and she sits down on the bed and nothing comes out. No scream, no tears, just a breath that cracks in her throat and makes her gasp.

And now no one will know; that her favorite color is purple, and that she loved to swim, too.