Ransom Voclain | D4 | Cb Done

Voclains don't give in to anyone.

Legacies be damned, Ransom's stronger than the rest of them. Jacynth, his cousin with a storm behind her eyes, had died all the same, but no one had been stronger than her. No one would be stronger. Voclains live and breathe death that pumps through their veins. Ransom's seen it all before where a storm once resided. A poison in the air that flits to life every time he lifts a weapon or his hands, burning in the back of his throat at the memories of his cousin. Poison lingers underneath those memories where an uncle resided with dark eyes and heavy glares from across the way. It's easy to forget about all of the pain he's seen past those walls that Jacynth carried so high, but now they've come crashing down.

Hailsham still rings with an echo of annoyance through his fingertips, almost a brush of frustration as the blade in his hand comes crashing into sandbag after sandbag. Days like these, he can feel the muscles in his arms tense, burning with exhaustion and desperation. The sweat drip down his brow and mix with the ground below him as he cuts and tears and rips into the fake distinction of human and dummy. Mind numbingly quiet as his mother and father have disappeared on one too many business trips for too long around Panem. Alone, but never quite alone in this home where he sweats and bleeds with the frustrations of a dead cousin.

Nicotine to lips, the flow of smoke between his lips to the salty ocean air is enough to calm his frustrations. Bleed back into the Ransom Voclain who would follow his cousin around with a smile and the day's homework to study in their free time. Bleed back into the boy who didn't know what happened behind his uncle's closed doors where poison resides and a storm builds and dies. Bleed back into the kid who got to do everything Jacynth Voclain had wanted to, which in the end only makes feel worse.

Voclains don't give in to anyone.

Except themselves.