sink on through the cracks [Callum/Cyro]

pogue
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Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

sink on through the cracks [Callum/Cyro] Jun 4, 2020 14:54:37 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Jun 4, 2020 14:54:37 GMT -5

C A L L U M

♛

Rumors spread like wildfire within the walls of the Capitol. At least, that's what he has heard.

On the blue tinted cheeks and overdrawn lips of every Capitolite rests a million different reasons to love, hate, fear, or despise someone, and at every Capitol gathering they pass along the same things that they had heard from a friend of a friend, who had heard it from a friend of a friend. This place is a petri dish, rife with sickness and built on toxicity.

Nobody was friends in this kingdom. At least, not for long.

If the Capitol was a petri dish than the Training Center was a test sample, contained yet wild with the same sickness as outside the walls. With a fresh batch of tributes within their midst, the trainers and Capitolites that worked within the walls were passing venomous stories from ear to ear. He hears them in the hallways, in the training rooms, within the cafeteria, sharing the stories of the damned like they are no more than that: stories.

"You hear about that volunteer who has a kid? Some shit.."

It doesn't take long for him to hear about the antics of Cyro Krane, and it takes even less for him to decide that Cyro Krane is selfish. Anger at a boy he does not know bubbles up from his stomach at the thought of a kingless prince, a boy growing up watching his father slaughtered. Cyro Krane had thrown his life away and, in turn, had taken his son's life with him as well.

So, he makes no effort to hide his disdain when he spots Cyro within the dining hall, his tray clattering against the table as he sets it down. He spares an introduction and goes right for the ending of Cyro Krane's story.

"Why would you leave your son?"

Last Edit: Jun 4, 2020 15:26:27 GMT -5 by pogue

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sink on through the cracks [Callum/Cyro] Jun 6, 2020 9:59:40 GMT -5

Post by Tom on Jun 6, 2020 9:59:40 GMT -5

Rumors are fickle things; spreading like a disease across places until it's nothing more than a whisper of what it once was.

Cyro Krane's dealt with plenty of rumors over his life. Amira's pregnancy, Cyro's reputation in school, and everything involving family. Cyro Krane's been the boy to fall to every rumor in his family from being too young to know anything about everything to a dropout who never learned manners. Every moment of his life there's something pinned to his back, labels meant to tear him down, but he knew how to deal with them now. Still didn't change the annoyance clearly present on his face as he sat down for a meal, knowing he needed to eat as much as he could before the games.

Swirling a stack of noodles with some sort of meat, not really eating, but enough to make it seem like he is. Eyes glancing across the dining hall knowing how others would stare with those knowing rumors hanging heavy in the air. Trainers snickering in a corner like his own choice was scandalous enough to end is chances at surviving, but no one gets between a father and his son. It's almost laughable to watch them, but as soon as he's too focused on the trainers snickering down the way; that's when he's almost launched out of his skin from the tray that clatters against the table.

"Why would you leave your son?"

The words are simple. The disdain behind them is obvious, but Cyro's tired of all these whispers of what a bad father he was and how could he. Cyro Krane knew what he was and the rumors could die like the rest of the tributes. Six feet under and no longer a nuisance to him, but instead he lets himself look over to the new person. Twelve displayed upon the outfit for him to know it's another lower district like him. Callum if he remembered correctly, but Cyro wasn't one to bet on his memory for something as simple as a name.

"Nice to meet you too, Twelve." Sarcasm heavy upon his breath as he drops the fork, leans his cheek into his palm staring at the new face with both curiosity and apathy. "Why do you want to know, Twelve?"

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pogue
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1,890 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Oct 19, 2024 11:07:44 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

sink on through the cracks [Callum/Cyro] Jun 9, 2020 17:18:02 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Jun 9, 2020 17:18:02 GMT -5

C A L L U M

♛

The ~~accusation~~ question slips from his lips and Cyro Krane responds exactly how Callum expected him too, with a face made of stone and the body language tributes from Twelve are always given. Laced within Cyro's voice is something Callum is familiar with: exhaustion at the thought of answering the same question for the umpteenth time. He recognizes it from his own memories, crackling fires a symphony to the same argument that rests on their stitched together family relationship.

"You need a real job, Cal. Helping teachers won't last-"

"Fuck off, Elijah. I'm leaving."

He can't blame Cyro Krane for responding the way he does, he assumes that the boy has heard every little birdy whispering his names amongst the walls, lips pressed to ears and glares thrown his direction from within every crowd. Somewhere in the back of his mind it clicks that Cyro is only eighteen years young, and for a moment the anger that rests within his throat and courses through his veins relents.

his child is only two. his heart reminds him.

The thought of it rips forth the face of every child he'd ever helped escape the world, soft eyes sunk into their skull and peering up at him as he flips through his books, the district their prison and his voice their knight in gold. Knuckles run white as he curls a hand into a fist, feeling his hand shake as he moves to sit down.

"Why do you want to know, Twelve?"

"It's Callum."

Cyro Krane does not realize that his business is no longer his own, the walls of the Capitol have bled that dry and written their own story for him. So, as he stares into the eyes of a boy who abandoned his son he remains ice cold, food on his tray going cold.

"There's no personal business in the Capitol, Cyro."

He sighs, taking a bite of the bread on his tray and feeling the jam he had spread on it burst amongst his tastebuds.

"These games ruin our lives. Guess I just don't get why you wanted to ruin your sons life too."

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sink on through the cracks [Callum/Cyro] Jun 12, 2020 0:02:23 GMT -5

Post by Tom on Jun 12, 2020 0:02:23 GMT -5

"It's Callum."

Callum from Twelve is just as cold as the ice princess herself. A chill remaining from the argument before lingering in his bones. The tips of his fingertips gripped along the handle of a fork pushing some vegetable past his lips and staring back with the fire as before. Chewing the pleasant taste down as the sourness of the conversation fills his chest with the flame filled heat of anger licking up the sides of his body, ever so hot. Twelve wasn't much different from Eleven. Hunger was an issue. Homelessness just as bad. Cyro Krane's heard the similarities between the two districts.

"There's no personal business in the Capitol, Cyro."

Callum wasn't wrong. Cyro knew all of his business was now public knowledge, meaning he would be judged based on the actions he's made. Leaving behind his two year old son was just scratching the surface, but Callum from Twelve wouldn't know that. A laugh almost wants to break bitterly from his lips, but he swallows down the feeling. Bread smeared with jam that he watches with a careful eye until he can see bits of it slip past Callum's lips. Eyes focusing back on the situation at hand, knowing Twelve was now here to stay in the seat across from him.

"These games ruin our lives. Guess I just don't get why you wanted to ruin your sons life too."

The words were meant to be like Katelyn's. Harsh reality to give reason to judge him, but Cyro Krane wasn't some guy who sat around with words thrown at him. Glaring across the way at Callum, his heart burns from the feeling of being judged based on his actions. It had been the only way for him to give his son the life he deserved, but people would twist it into the ways they want. A story meant to be given to all of Panem.

"Not everything is so black and white, Callum."

His voice lingers with a certain fire that he had used on Katelyn Persimmon.

"No one wants to talk about how this was the only choice for my son and I. Our districts aren't so different. We would have been on the streets days later without anyone noticing or caring."

His grasp on the fork tightens as he stabs gently into the mixed assortment of vegetables.

"These games may ruin lives, but it's going to save my son's. Whether that means killing the rest of the tributes or begging a victor to take him, my son is going to be saved from suffering."

Last Edit: Jun 12, 2020 0:02:38 GMT -5 by Tom

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