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| ♐ May The {Odds} Be {Ever} In Your Favor ♐; Hunger Games | Closed | Active | Mature | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 8 2012, 11:26 PM (1,263 Views) | |
| Vidia | Feb 10 2012, 10:25 AM Post #16 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> At first, Colton's words spike heavy indignation in me, and I just stare back at him. Because really, he has no idea. I haven't let myself, be myself, for seven years. Not even in front of my family, because they all have to believe that I wanted to be a part of the Hunger Games because that was my dream. They need to know it's my choice, so they don't feel any guilt. They've dealt with enough. But haven't I, as well? Haven't I suffered as long as anyone else? I don't think Colton, or Aven, or Kasha, really knows about sacrifice. Pain, yeah. But not sacrifice. Not to the extent that I do. I practically gave myself up for my family, the one thing no one should ever have to give. I guess my team will learn about putting on facades real soon, though, because this is the Games we're talking about. <br><br>Then I remember that I'm still staring, and I should have some sort of response. Anger just tends to sink in me like a stone. To get me really riled up, to push me to the edge, you'd have to say something about my family. I guess I've just grown used to taking the heat in silence, so finally, just thinking about the irony of Colton's statement, I chuckle. I think over the years, I've become accustomed to doing whatever makes people angrier. I'll have to admit, maybe I get a little thrill out of it. It's probably because they say the things I would have said to myself, if I could leave my body and mask behind. I'd also much rather deal with fury than sympathy. Sharp emotions were good. Tender, affectionate ones…no. <br><br>So, I deliver the final blow. I know this is stepping out of line, but this will be the thing that proves to everyone how heartless, how self-absorbent, this Career really is. No joke. I heighten my reflexes just slightly before speaking, knowing I might have to dodge silverware or fists coming my way for going this far. "If you say so. But you really can't blame me for thinking that," I shrug, and wave my knife as I speak, rolling my wrist. "Given the history of your lineage." Finish off with a knowing smirk. There. I took a stab at the already dead Katniss Everdeen. The Mockingjay. That oughta be enough to make any ideas of getting personal with me back off a couple hundred kilometers. And that was exactly what I needed. Maybe not wanted, but needed. I was among a select few people who didn't exactly buy into the entire Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, the ill-fated lovers of District 12. Maybe it's because I do a little acting myself. <br><br>Razziel gasps at my statement. Nice. <br><br>And then Peeta goes on to reassure me. What he says makes sense, of course, but I still have my doubts. Who's willing to bet that when the stakes are high and someone in the group needs to be sacrificed, Peeta's going to say "Aven, you're going to have to give Ashlar the rest of your antidote. With him, we have our best chances of the rest of the group surviving" or "Okay, Colton, you've been such a strong force during this fight, but now I need you to become the bait and distract the others while your team escapes"? Not me. I don't bother saying this, though, knowing I've already wounded the poor guy enough with my last statements, so I let him off the hook. Keep it simple. <br><br>"That's real sweet, Mr. Mellark," I reply with a smile, and then continue eating. He's probably the worst of the lot. That agony in his eyes is unbearable, annoying. I proceed eating more, knowing what food to put in my mouth to help me gain more mass, more power, before the Games, and I only stop when Kasha talks. I don't point out that, to me, everyone's a they. Maybe I'm not giving my team the show that they want, but it's the one they got tickets for the second my name was called to join the eighth group. <br><br>The people that are going to keep me alive. That has a nice ring to it, I think, sarcastically. My attitude has even sunk into my thoughts. As I look back at Kasha's burnt sienna eyes, I can see that she's trying to understand me, which is a really bad idea on her part. I don't let anyone get close to me. The harder you try to get to know me, the harder I push you away. The people who just leave me alone are the safest. I never go looking for a fight. Aven was the one who started the whole thing, remember? Maybe her statement was harmless enough, but even relatively harmless statements can be turned into something big in an "arrogant jerk"'s hands. <br><br>Not wanting Kasha to go looking for something inside of me, I let her know upfront that what she sees right now is already everything. I smack her down, a warning to stay away. "Fuel and aid triumph over strength?" I repeat with a snort. I stand up, deciding that I've done enough damage for the day, and no one's really going to mourn over my absence. <br><br>"Maybe that's true." I walk over to the door, but before I leave, I look back at her, my hand on the door. "But remember, Kasha, you won't get far with that here." I raise my eyebrows and repeat her statement about my arrogance, indicating that by talking about fuel and aid, she's trying to elevate herself because, well, it's obvious that her strength, what with her undernourished form, probably isn't much to write home about. Harvesters are agile, but their strength can't match the quarrymen. Feeling like I've successfully made a name for myself, I close the door behind me, shove my hands into my pockets, and head off to my room, without being excused. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 10 2012, 02:40 PM Post #17 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>I tense at Ashlar's words so hard that I feel like I could break, each muscle contracting. My fingers claw in, my perfectly filed nails digging into my palm. He thinks that we're just repeating what Peeta and Katniss did all those years ago, putting on a pretend romance for the audience. The thing is, I knew it wasn't pretend. Aven's father loved Katniss, truly and completely, with every fiber of his being. It's why it took so long for him to marry, because he wanted no one else. He adored my aunt, and that was something you couldn't deny. <br><br>When it comes to Katniss however, I suppose people wonder. Was she just playing along, or did she really have feelings for Peeta Mellark? I used to question, but I know deep down when I watch the footage that it was real. Maybe not in the beginning, but towards the end... Those intimate moments in the cave, the way they worked together, the way she screamed for him to take her life when the Games changed the rules at the last moment, or when she reached for those deadly nightlock berries before the government sent her to death. It was real, in a way. It was real love. <br><br>"Don't you dare talk about them." My voice is like a whip, lashing out at Ashlar's words and striking them down. To speak ill of Katniss and Peeta doesn't sit well with me in the least, and accusing me of something artificial when it's all too substantial rips through me. "If you see anything between me and Aven, it's real. Just like our lineage." <br><br>My eyes constantly find themselves on Peeta's face. The pain only gets worse, drowning his eyes, and I can see a layer of gloss that I know is tears. He blinks them away though, collecting himself before he turns his attention to Ashlar, his tone simply matter-of-fact, "If Aven and Colton have any sort of strategy planned, they will let you know." That's it. It's all he says, simply addressing the situation but not the emotion behind it. I can't expect much more than that from Peeta. He diffuses the situation, and that's all he needs to do. Damage control, and unfortunately, Ashlar brings forth a lot of damage. <br><br>Calming down is difficult with Ashlar, but with Aven here, it's manageable, especially when I realize her problems are far more important than my fury. What she says hurts, and it hurts a lot, but it doesn't surprise me. I hate Aven's mother. It's as if Peeta followed the same pattern as his father, marrying someone he didn't desire to fill in the hole the one he really wanted had left. I find her to be a selfish woman, so different from her husband and daughter. I almost feel my chest cave in as my heart sinks for her. <br><br>It makes me think of my own mother's goodbye. So many tears, but they weren't for herself. They were for me, for my sisters, and for my father. My mother has always been the epitome of sweetness, the selfless healer of the town. She has seen so many broken people, so much heartache, and while she has grown so strong and wise, she is somehow always that little girl my aunt protected all those years ago. Despite her weeping, I know that she believes in me, with all of her heart and soul. She's the complete opposite of Aven's mother. <br><br>I don't hesitate to take hold of Aven's hand, the ledge of the table hiding our contact. I don't want Ashlar to see it, because I don't want to hear anymore from him. My thumb, calloused from all of my work in the woods, strokes along the top of her hand. I hardly know what to say. What can you say to that? "Do you wanna get out of here, Ven?" I ask as I hear Ashlar making his way out after dismissing and insulting Kasha over what she had said to me. I had only been half listening, but I heard enough to know that Kasha was right. The Hunger Games were about survival. If you couldn't feed yourself or keep yourself in top shape, you were as good as dead. I don't help out though. I'm done talking to Ashlar. It's like talking to a brick wall. <br><br>I hope Aven says yes. I want to get out of here. I've had enough food, and I'm sure I can have access to more anytime I want. From what I've heard, you're pretty catered to before the games, getting the best before you are put through the worst. I want to just be with Aven, by ourselves, away from the harsh remarks, the sad eyes of our mentor, and the pressure of the Games. We can never truly escape any of it, but I want to try. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 10 2012, 03:58 PM Post #18 |
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[align=center] ![]() [/align] [dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> The whole time at dinner, my anger has been like a slingshot, the cloth slowly pulling back, the rubbery cord stretching, tensing. Just waiting to be launched and sent soaring through the air, across the table, and pummeling into that thin bone of his nose. That comment about what happened in the past with my father and Katniss is what sets everything off, and before I even know what I'm doing, my chair crashes back onto the floor, and I'm shoving aside my food and suddenly, full-fledged for battle. Glasses and cups are knocked over and I'm making a mess of things but I don't even see it. I don't even know what I was about to do, because Razziel's reedlike voice pulls me out of it. <br><br>"Aven Mellark!" <br><br>I stop in my tracks. <br><br>"You will stop this right now!" she screams, probably upset that I've ruined a fancy tablecloth or something, I don't know. It's pointless to tell me to stop though, I already have. But her face is almost as red as her hair, and I'm not really sure what sort of authority she has, so with a grunt, I pick up my chair and practically throw myself back into it. I feel bad again for my reactions…I'm sure I'm doing anything but making my father proud of me. I'm showing mental weakness. Razziel's right, I have to stop. I have to change, and quick, before the games. <br><br>"That's better," Razziel relaxes, and one look from her is enough to get the Avoxes moving on the scene, making me feel worse, but I don't try to help, knowing that Razziel would just get upset again, like she did when Colton was trying to help me. I stutter an apology to them. <br><br>"I know you're from District 12, but really, I expect better from the daughter of Peeta Mellark!" she finishes, shaking out her napkin as if she thought there were spiders hidden in it, and then she sighs, and continues on with her delicate little meal of wine and other Capitol luxuries. I want to tell her that a better person wouldn't just sit back if someone they love is getting vocally pushed around by some District 2 rat, but I know I can't count on her saying anything too bad about Ashlar Slate. Of course, District 2 has always been the favorite of the Capitol's. The only sector that didn't join the rebellion. The Capitol love their little pets. <br><br>It's Colton who talks for me, again, saying what I would have wanted to express through my fists. I know it was real, at least on my father's part. With Colton's aunt, everything gets a blurry, but no one could doubt she cared for him, like how me and Colton care for each other, and that's enough for me. My face turns incredibly sour, and I'm just back to silently glaring daggers at Ashlar. I hate him. I hate him. I turn to look at my father, to see if he's all right, and it's a bad idea. I'm sedated by his watery gaze. Katniss is a fragile subject with him. Sometimes I can talk about her with my dad for hours, but sometimes it's just too painful. Right now, I can easily tell it's one of the latter situations, and I wish I hadn't let Razziel stop me. I don't think I can take Ashlar, at least in a fist to fist brawl, but for some reason, I don't even think he'd fight back. He'd probably just laugh at me as my knuckles slammed into him, laughing like he's so untouchable. <br><br>I hold back a scoff at my dad's words (as calm as ever, despite whatever he's really feeling), however, both because I don't want to upset him any further, and because I know that me verbally rolling my eyes wouldn't make things any better. But I can't help but think…like hell I'll let Ashlar know. If me and Colton have any strategies planned, it'll be how to bump Ashlar off. <br><br>No…that's a joke. <br><br>It's a joke I shouldn't even be making to begin with. <br><br>I would never kill anyone willingly, unless they were people putting the ones I love in direct danger. Ashlar's being scumbag, but that's not something that's punishable by death (maybe a couple of swings at his jaw, though). This sort of thinking…the bloodlust…it's exactly what the Capitol wants. All the drama and manipulation. A better show to watch. I'm not going to give it to them. I'll have to make it work with Ashlar, somehow. And if it could somehow involve not exchanging words, that'd be perfect. <br><br>Colton takes my hand in his large, strong one. Warm one. His hand's doing its usual magic of making me feel a bit better, of slowly relieving my irritation, my rage. One day, I might just tell him how he's so much like his mother…he has healing hands. But sometimes, he doesn't even need the herbs. I don't hear Ashlar's conversation with Kasha, my thoughts all on Colton now, the one thought that always acts like a tranquilizer to my much more…turbulent ones, I guess you could say. He asks the one question that I didn't know I was waiting for the entire time. I give him a small smile, and place my other hand on top of his. <br><br>"Yeah," I say, a little quietly. "Let's go." <br><br>I didn't really care where. Any place was better than here, and worse than home. I wish we could really go. Leave the center, go back to our district where we belong. Maybe it's not as fancy as the Capitol, but we're free there, as free as we could possibly be. If only I had known the last time in the Meadow would really be our last time, at least--thinking positively--for a while. We would have risked spending more time there, together, as alone, and not alone, as we could be. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 10 2012, 05:08 PM Post #19 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>I'm a bit startled when Aven basically loses it due to Ashlar's comment about the legends that are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, my eyes moving upward and taking in the mess she precedes to make. Even if she had hoped to get at Ashlar, you aren't allowed. You can't hurt your fellow tributes before the Games. I wonder though, if that still counts if you are on the same team? You would only be hindering yourself after all. Besides, what does she think she can do? Ashlar is one of the largest men I've ever seen, rising over both me and Aven by almost a foot. She looks stronger than me, but she surely can't take the Career on. I'm almost not sure if Colton could if he had to. <br><br>It reminds me how much Ashlar intimidates me, and yet I'm not surprised by standing up to him. I'm not one to back down, to show my weaknesses. People think of me as fragile throughout due to my size and stature, and I like to prove them wrong. I want them to think of me as a real player, even against the Career beside me, who's single hand could probably smother my face. <br><br>He snorts at my remark and stands up, ready to leave the room. He turns to me, and rubs what I said in my face, as if I'm the cocky one. I find my eyes turning to onyx as I glare at him, hurt by his statement. Maybe it's a little true, but can I not have a little confidence in what I can do? Surviving off the land has become my livelihood. While it is of the norm there, I can be proud of it here, even if it's just a little bit. Can't I? It's not like I've been boasting about anything. Of course it doesn't matter with Ashlar. He'll say and do as he pleases apparently. <br><br>He's gone, and soon enough, I find that Aven and Colton are leaving as well. As I watch them go, I can't help but feel lonelier than I have the entire time I've been here. As I munch on the rest of my stew and a couple more rolls, I have something gleaming on the floor beside me. I bring my eyes to the ground, only to see what looks like some sort of key chain. It is made of leather and a piece of metal, and as I lean down to get a closer inspection of it, I see the symbol of a mallet. It's Ashlar's token, I can easily assume. Without hesitation, I reach down and grab it. I put it in my lap as I sit up, glad Mr. Mellark and Miss Quinnley are distracted by something or other so they don't notice me. I examine the handmade quality of it silently. <br><br>Finally, I look up to the two adults and put on a faint smile, "May I be excused?" I ask, very unlike the other tributes. I get a squeaky reaction from Razziel. <br><br>"Well, at least one of you has manners." The scarlet haired woman huffs, shaking her head before she smiles at me. "You may go." With that, I stand, clenching the token in my hand, bid my good nights to the both of them, before I walk out of the dining room. I head towards my room, which happens to be right beside Ashlar's. I stop right outside his door, thinking I might go ahead and return the token to him now, but then I decide against it. Do I really wanna face him now, after all that went down in there? Maybe he doesn't even realize he lost it. Maybe he deserves to find it missing, a punishment for treating us like we are so beneath him. <br><br>I feel cruel, but with the token still in my hand, I move passed his door and head into my own quarters. I place the token on my side table before I go ahead and wash off the day, stripping myself of my beautiful dress, enjoying the warm and invigorating water. The shower controls give me a little trouble, but in the end I get it to a relaxing point. I dress myself in one of the luxurious nightgowns that are provided for me and sit down upon my bed, taking the token into my hands and wondering who made it. I would be shocked if Ashlar's thick fingers were the ones that could have produced it. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 10 2012, 09:21 PM Post #20 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> Aven just goes crazy. If she had the strength, I think she'd pick up the whole table and bring it down on my skull. Thankfully, she doesn't (not that I'd even let her to begin with), and Razziel stops her before she can go any further. I'll admit that I'm curious as to what would happen if she actually got over to my side--what did she think she could do, to me? She's a lot smaller, and she obviously hasn't been training for years like I have. I'd like to see her try to do something, but lo and behold, she restrains herself. Razziel's little lecture makes a loathsome grin cross my mouth, before Colton jumps in again. He's just protecting everybody today, isn't he? <br><br>I don't like him, because I think he's what I would have been like if my dad hadn't taken the blame. <br><br>Colton talks about how it's real. He doesn't know how thin a boundary it is between real and fake for me. I wonder what he means about me seeing things between him and Aven, though. Just what sort of relationship do these two have? Whatever it is, I hope it isn't romantic, because the last thing we need in the Arena is that sort of lovey-dovey-doting crap holding us back and slowing us down. I'm not going to stick my neck out for either of them if that's the case. Peeta proceeds to assure me that I'll be kept in the loop of any plans, but I'm distracted by his expression, and I mutter a "Good to know." I wish I hadn't said all that, but it's too late now, so I just have to ignore the guilt and get through dinner. <br><br>By the time I leave, it looks like everybody except Razziel's looking at me with hate or disappointment or hurt. Guess I should've seen that coming. <br><br>I head off to my room, take off the fancy suit and leave it crumpled on the ground. Take a shower for the first time in my life. We don't have that opportunity back at my house. Instead, there's a tub outside, in the back, and the water is heated by building a fire underneath. It's weird to stand when being washed, but I guess that's what the civilized people of the Capitol do. As I step into the stream of hot water, I close my eyes and picture home. Picture bathing time when I was four, before either of siblings were born. My mother dumping basin upon basin of water over my hair as it flattened out over my head, laughing as she told me stories her parents had told her when she was young. I picture her kind, gentle face, soft brown hair piled into a messy bun. She wasn't always like that. I knew she was born into better circumstances than being a quarryman's wife. Her name alone…Brielle, is nothing like the other quarrywomen's…Ridge, and Sawyer. My old man must have been really something in those days. No, I know he was. I can't let my thoughts get the better of me, even if I let my words. They deserved each other. <br><br>After the shower, I slip into a pair of clean cotton pants, rubbing my hair with a towel for a while before just letting it drape over my naked shoulders. I guess I should get some sleep now, store that energy for training. I have to make an impression, after all. I sit down on the edge of the bed, and my hand instinctively goes down to grasp at the keychain my family made for me. Everybody chipped in a little to make it. Maisie and Rance worked hard to scratch that picture of a quarryman's mallet onto the metal strip, etching it with nails and needles. It's not even that messy of a job for two tykes. My mother snagged one of my tools and bore the hole in it, and heck, she even made sure my dead father contributed, the leather cord belonging to him all those years ago. They made it about six years ago, after my first Reaping, because when they saw how I stared at the Games with longing, they knew I wasn't going to back down on my goal, and they'd just have to accept that eventually, when I was eighteen, I'd be up there on the big screen. They kept the token from me, however, still hoping I wouldn't need, but well, we all know what happened after that. <br><br>But I was prepared, too. Maisie would always go on and on about how beautiful the stone of the quarry was. Like jewels or something. It made me feel bad that we couldn't really afford to get her pretty pearls to wear like those Capitol brats, though I know she didn't mean for it to come out like that. So I gave my family my own tokens before I left. Handmade "jewelry" for Mom and Maisie, and all my tools went to Rance. I knew he'd turn a nose up if he got any jewelry, heh. The little runt gets his haughty manliness from me, I guess. My token…it's not a token of my district, it's a token of my family. When I hold it, I can see my dad's wrinkles in his eyes when he smiled, my mom's hands squeezing my shoulders while she hugs me, Maisie counting her freckles and Rance scrunching up his nose in confusion about something. It helps. <br><br>But then my fingers meet each other, closing around air. It's gone. <br><br>I'm shocked at first, but then I remember. Right, idiot. I hooked it on my clothes from earlier, when the stylists weren't looking. It was so small, I doubt anyone noticed. It just matters to me. I get up, sighing, walking over to the clothes that I left in a heap on the floor. But when I pick up the pair of pants, it's missing. That can't be. It's not possible. I jostle it around, hoping that it'll fall somewhere, but I don't even hear it jingling. I do a double-check around the room, every possible nook and cranny. Not here, not there. I immediately start cursing, and leave the room, heading back to the dining area, thinking I must have dropped it there, but by now, the room's locked. An Avox spots me, and does some hand motions. I think he's asking me if I'm still hungry, and I just shake my head and run off, barefoot, still with the cotton pants and towel. <br><br>I retrace my steps as far as I can, but I get stopped by some workers. I shove them off, not caring, but once they bring out the weapons, I know I have no choice but to go back to my room. I think they thought I was trying to escape, so I throw out a statement, not wanting them to see me as a weakling, muttering that I think I dropped a token from some girl back from home and that she'll kill me when she finds out, and I seem to be off the hook. Once I'm back in my room, however, I'm frantic again. Where could it be?! What happened to it!? Did someone just…did someone just pick it up off the ground and toss it, thinking it was useless?! I start to panic even more, wondering if any of my teammates saw it. I don't want to ask them. That'd seem so mushy and sentimental. Really furious for the first time since the Games started, I drive my fist into the wall. Bad decision. It's hard as steel and my hand starts throbbing immediately, I think my hand might be broken, but I don't care. I look for other things in the room to take my anger out on, things that are breakable. A desk, a bedside table. Everything starts to become rubble that you'd find by a quarry, after an explosion. <br><br>Everything seems to trail down my veins, fueling my strength as I destroy anything I can get my hands on. The ground's already littered with goose feathers from the pillow, and there's a crack in the headboard. Knobs are ripped off drawers. I don't even notice how much noise I'm making. I don't really notice everything. Losing the token…it just made me think. It makes me think about my family, how much I miss them. How stupid I had been to have been focusing my time on training, when I should have been spending more time with them. How I can't protect them from here in any other way than just staying alive. <br><br>It drives me insane, it really does. Not to have them in my sight, not to know if I can keep them from harm. I don't even know if I can make it….I don't even know if I'll ever see them again. I don't know if I'll ever get to hear my mom lying about how nice her day was, or have Maisie tell me a story, or give Rance a tour of the quarry. I think my fists are starting to purple, but I keep going on. It's not even helping, but I keep pushing through it, pushing myself. There's blood, too, leaving prints everywhere on the room, but everything's just become a swirl. My family. The Games. My father. The quarry. Tears start streaking down my face. I'm swallowed whole…pushed through a pulsating gullet of sweat and blood, and I know there's no escape. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 10 2012, 09:47 PM Post #21 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>The moment Aven answers my question, I stand, hand in hand with her. Ashlar is gone, so I'm not about to hide it. Me and Aven's unbreakable bond will be seen no doubt. Even if it was hidden in our interviews, it would come out full force in the games, because we're not that good at acting. At least, I know I'm not. I don't excuse myself, much to Razziel's disdain, and I simply say good night to everyone. I lock eyes with Peeta and nod to him before I drag his daughter away, where I know he knows she's safe. I'm the one who can protect her when he's not around. <br><br>Peeta Mellark's trust in me makes me feel so honored. <br><br>Of course, he has no reason not to, but the fact that the man does still touches me. I am Primrose nee Everdeen's son, and it's easy to tell. I see situations as they are, see the possible light in them, but I don't scare away from the negatives. I try to heal, but I'm not my mother. Aven may think I have her hands, but I feel like I don't know anything compared to her. If things were different, if things were right, my mother would be allowed to be a doctor in District 12 because she's just that good. I could never be that. The best I feel I can do is hold down the patients that thrive in pain, but usually they are calmed by what she gives them or by her voice. I'm not necessary. My sisters, Maple and Clary, are much better at it than I am. <br><br>Sometimes I feel I'm more like my aunt than I give credit for. I know my mother spoke of how Katniss was never very good at handling those in need, those so worse for wear it's hard to look at them. I have a more steel stomach, but I don't have a knack for healing, at least not in the medicinal sense. <br><br>Wordlessly, I lead her to our side by side rooms. I ponder for a moment, debating on taking her to my room, but decide it looks less suspicious if we go into her's. We slip inside and I shut the door behind me before I turn to her. With eyes of complete understanding, I pull her close to me. I find my long arms encircling her as I lean back against the door. I hold her to my broad chest as my hand starts it's familiar strum of her golden strands. <br><br>I know it's meant to comfort her, but really it does wonders for soothing me. I have my rock in my arms, holding me down, anchoring me in place. I finally feel my own tears push through, stinging my eyes as if they are made of pure salt. I hate to cry, but this seems like the only safe place to do. I feel them fall over my cheeks, and I fight the urge to sniff as I wipe my face with my sleeve before my arm goes back around her. "You're quite the spitfire, you know that?" I tease her with a laugh that's weaker than I had hoped it would be. "I was almost afraid you'd launch yourself over the table and lunge at his throat like a wild dog to a doe." Comparing her to the animals we witness during our hunting sessions brings me to a familiar place, and I feel a smile creep onto my face. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 11 2012, 12:14 AM Post #22 |
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[align=center]![]() [/align] [dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> Colton stands up, and leads me away from the room, after I say my good nights, too. Half-hearted ones, except to my father, who I wish I could comfort right now, but…I'll admit it. Right now, I need to focus on myself. I'm not going to help anyone if I'm an emotional mess. I feel like a fraud in some ways, one moment, wanting to kill Ashlar, making a big show (as much as I hate that word now) of how tough I am and all, and then leaving the table early. Not as an act of defiance, but because I literally can't stand being here one second longer. <br><br>He leads me down the hall, and I'm just reminded of all the times when we were younger, and we'd go on adventures together. Well, actually, we still do that, and we'd probably be doing it now if we cold. If the situation was different, we'd be so excited to be in the Capitol, to explore every area, gawk at the crazily-dressed citizens and make fun of their accents. But it's not like that. We're not young anymore. We have to grow up, and grow up fast. <br><br>As I glance at my hand in his, I think about how much harder this all would have been if we never knew each other. Maybe it'd be easier too, because I wouldn't have to be afraid for his life, and his family's, but as a whole, I think the disadvantages outweigh the advantages by a long-shot. I don't pretend to have a lot of friends at school…being popular. That's not my thing. I think, at first, people either don't or do want to be my friend because of who my father is. Some don't because they're jealous, which is something I can understand when I look at the comparison between the Seam and the Victor's Village. If they do want to be my friend, then…something about me puts them off. Maybe it's my temper, or the fact that sometimes I'm too candid, or impulsive…or crazy with all my inventions. It takes time to get to know me, time that people don't want to spend. I could go on and on about my flaws, and I think Colton suffers from it too. He'd probably have more friends if he didn't waste his time with me. He's a lot more likable and open. But I'm selfish, and grateful for him staying by my side for all these years. <br><br>We go into my room, and the second he closes the door, all formalities are thrown aside, and I throw myself into his arms. Safe here…my body shudders with a sob. I'm at least able to keep myself from bawling, and my tears are pretty quiet, but I'm unable to control my body from shaking. I hold onto Colton…wanting to, and not wanting to at the same time. I want to be strong enough to stand on my own, but I can't, and when he's here with me…I feel like everything could be okay. And then I can't let go. I feel so weak, so ashamed, but it's still not enough to pull myself away. And then suddenly, I feel Colton's arm leave me, and when I turn to look up at him…I see he's crying, too. He wipes his tears before I have a chance to, and his arm goes back to its place around my back right afterwards. He pokes fun at me a little, but it's a way I don't mind at all. Being compared to fire, any type. That's the biggest compliment for me, an honor, really. I grin at him, from the heart. Only Colton can make me feel this way, this fast. <br><br>"Can you blame me?" I ask, rolling my eyes a little, but the smile's still there, sort of trembly, but still prominent. I wipe my tears with my fingertips, and give a snort. "Then we could probably take him to the Hob." I go along with the reminiscing, pretending he's just some other rabbit or turkey Colton and I hunted down together. "We'd probably get a good price for Career meat." I bet it'd taste bad, though. Dog would be better. Thinking about carrying Ashlar, strung up on a stick or something, actually makes me laugh. There Colton went again, cheering me up. But as I look at him, my smile soon fades. <br><br>Damn it. I'm being selfish again. Did I even stop to really think about him, and what he was really going through? I was stupid to just lump it with my own troubles. It's not the same. It's worse for Colton. The only blood relation that ever really mattered to me is here, with me. Colton's far away from home, and if…if something goes worn, although I try not to think about the possibility at all…he may never see Prim, Maple, or Clary again. Whatever I'm feeling, he probably feels it, at least ten times worse. I lift my hand up to the side of his face, my thumb lightly brushing against the corner of his lips, his smile, knowing my question will most likely take it away, but I really want to make sure he's all right. "How are you, Colt?" I ask, as if we're just back in the Meadow again, relaxing after a good hunt. My hand moves to rest on the side of his neck, as I give him a small smile, but my eyes are serious…concerned. I don't ask if things are okay, because I know they couldn't be. He already knows what I'm thinking--or, who I'm thinking of. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 11 2012, 12:32 AM Post #23 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>It's not long after I have settled into my room that I start to hear a horrid ruckus in the room beside me. It's Ashlar, and it almost sounds like he's in a violent fight with himself. My eyes grow as wide as saucers as I stare at the wall from where the noise is coming from. It's muffled, but it's no doubt there. I feel as if I'm flattening back my ears like a cat as I take in the sound of furniture breaking and the whole room being torn apart. My own eyes sweep my room, imagining it in complete disarray, the way his room must look now. Why is he doing that? <br><br>That's when I remember the token I'm gripping in my hand. <br><br>I look down at it, and the guilt washes so heavily over me I think I may be sick. I can feel the bile rising up my throat. I should have just given it to him. What was I thinking? If my token, a simple bracelet weaved of our strongest grass back home, the top of it forming into a simple star, was lost, I'd be extraordinarily upset. I would cry, as all of my siblings took turns weaving it into the sturdy piece of jewelry it is. It was meant for my birthday, but that might never come, so it became my token. I am so glad to have it, and this realization just makes me more miserable. <br><br>I fight back tears. I'm not ready to break, though my chest threatens to rack with dry sobs. I manage to hold it all back though, as each thud and crash makes me flinch or wince, because I know I'm the one causing it. I grip the token so tightly in my palm I turn white. I'm torn. I want to bring it back to him. I'm worried about him. Is he hurting himself? I'm also afraid, because what if he does to me what he's doing to that room? <br><br>Somehow, I have more faith in him than that. <br><br>I take in a steadying breath before I stand up from my bed. I walk out of my room and take the short steps to his door. The noise has faded some, but still I'm wary as I gently knock on his door. It's just a warning. I know you can't lock the door from the inside, and I plan on going in. My concern outweighs my fear easily, and after I swallow back my hesitation, I put my hand on the door handle just as I hear another thud against the wall. With my worry increasing, I push the handle down and shove the door open. <br><br>The room is worse than I imagined, but the sight of Ashlar is what disturbs me. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding, his face is streaked with tears, and there is a bump starting to form on his head as he pulls himself away from the wall. I feel some sort of tunnel vision as I nearly run towards him, my motherly tendencies towards my siblings coming to the forefront, "Ashlar... Ashlar... It's okay." I don't give him the token right off, knowing it wouldn't help at this stage. I have to calm him down. My hand reaches up to his thick bicep, wanting to soothe him, despite our confrontation in the dining room. He's just a boy now, a possible friend that I want to help. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 11 2012, 01:39 AM Post #24 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> I start getting these sick visions that make another layer of sweat coat my body, and a few strands of my hair start to slowly drip, but I don't know if it's from the shower or perspiration. I don't realize it's blood. I ram my fist into the door of the bathroom, and then suddenly, I see it all again. I see Peacekeepers bursting into my house. Knocking over our belongings. My mom turning, just finishing up dinner. Getting dragged away, and then Rance hears the noise and my mom hears his door open but she screams for him to stay back. She's pulled outside, executed with a bullet. I know it's gracious, really, considering how my dad died. She dies without pain, but even that's hard to believe when you see her slumped over on the floor, crimson pooling beneath her body. Rance and Maisie are next. All that scarlet red. I'm reminded of dinner, of Aven smudged with ruby. I see her die, too. Colton, Kasha, even Peeta. Everybody's dying, and the districts are going up in flames, but the Capitol stands alone, untouched, and people there are laughing and drinking and having a feast and the feast is made of dead bodies and blood spills from their mouths and-- <br><br>There's a knock at the door that breaks through everything. Someone…no. Before they enter, I place my hands on the wall and slam my head into it, hard, thinking quickly and now, maybe incapable of thinking anything else for the rest of my life. I feel like something's hammering at my temples, the pain incredible. But it gives reason to the tears, fresh ones squeezing out from the excruciating agony. The door opens, and I turn around to see who it is, hoping it's just some Avox. But, no. I'm not lucky, I've never been lucky, and I'm certainly not lucky now in my current situation. It's Kasha. <br><br>The shock that came when I heard the knocking evaporates, and the anger returns. What is she…what does she think she's doing!? The fury really comes from the fact that she's actually catching me at my lowest, my weakest, although I think I might be able to pull it off as something a lot less pitiful than missing a keychain, and missing home. I'm a star actor, remember? But before I can yell at her for being here, Kasha rushes over to me….saying my name, saying it's okay, and I know I screwed up. She probably heard from next door. I forgot we were neighbors. I should've been quieter, but I just can't hold back when these sort of moments sweep over me. I don't get her, though. I treated her like dirt during dinner, and here she is, hurrying into my room. It's the exact vision of my mom, when I'd get sick , and the slightest cough would send her darting into my room with every medicine at the ready. <br><br>That's different, though. That's at home. That's real. I don't know what sort of game Kasha is playing, but I'm not buying into it. Maybe my statement at the end helped her realize that she's really going to need my help, my strength in the Arena. And now she's trying to earn my favor or something. It doesn't really matter. It's not like I planned on ignoring my team to begin with. They just got on my nerves during dinner, and I had to show them who they were going to be dealing with. Doesn't mean I planned on not helping them. So if that's what Kasha's aiming at, it isn't needed. <br><br>She actually touches me then, like we're friends or something, like nothing happened back there in the dining room. I jerk back out of reflex, out of her reach. "What're you--" I start, and then my head pounds and I suck in my breath, wincing, pressing my hand to forehead, but that just makes it worse. "What're you doing in here, Kasha?!" I throw my free hand to the side, resulting in spattering my sheet with blood that pooled in my fist. I'm more annoyed than angry now. Annoyed that she's here, that she's seeing this. "Go back to your room!" <br><br>Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my life? The real me, and my life? </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 11 2012, 02:18 AM Post #25 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>"It'd probably be gamey." I joke in return to Aven as she says we'd get a good price for Career meat. I laugh at myself and at what she said, shaking my head a bit. For a moment, I feel like I'm in the Meadow with her, where we are just relaxing, escaping it all. Not our families, but the laws and the poverty of the Seam where I live, even the parts of it near the square, where the more 'well to do' people live. Not many people are that wealthy in District 12, but they have enough to keep themselves from growing hungry. <br><br>Sometimes I feel a little guilty that my family is a bit assisted by the Mellark family, but I know we'd still get by well without it. With my hunting and my mother's business, the extra we make really adds up. We wouldn't grow hungry. I would never allow that. I would stay out in the woods from sunrise to sunset finding food for my family if I have to. I would spend the rest of my waking hours trading in the Hob to get all I need for them. I would sacrifice everything for them. <br><br>My family is what immediately drowns my thoughts as the question escapes Aven's lips. While my family doesn't disappear, it grows sad. I can't lie to her. I have to be honest. It might be what I need right now. I can sense the tears sliding over my lower eyelids and onto my cheeks, getting on my best friend's hand. I hate them, but I can't fight them anymore. I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes, as each member of my family creeps into my mind. <br><br>I think of my mother, the angel on my shoulder. She's the angel of the entire District almost, but I like to claim her as my own personal angel. I don't know what I'd do without her. I miss her calming presence. I miss her warm embrace. I miss the feeling of her fingers stroking through my hair and over my cheek, each touch making me feel safer. I miss her words, her grace, and her wisdom. I want so much to make her proud during this time, and while I know she would never judge, I don't want to show weakness while she's watching. <br><br>My precious sisters come to mind next. I miss darling Maple, who is always so bright and cheery, with something positive to say about basically everything. The fact that she was weeping hysterically when she said her goodbyes, that she didn't have anything of her usual sort to say to me, makes me loathe the Capitol for breaking my little Maple. I miss adorable Clary, and how she tries to act tough for me all the time, saying she wants to go hunting, but I know she couldn't hurt a living thing no matter how much she thinks she can. She's been wanting a pet for the longest time, but I could never find anything suitable enough for her. She's not interested in a goat, and a cat, like the one my mother had before she had us, isn't so easy to come by. Maybe, if I win, I'll buy her something really special. I'll buy both of them something really special. <br><br>Finally, I think of my father. Orson Fletcher. He's a big and burly man. Definitely not as large as that Career, but he's a sight to behold. He's big enough to hug both of my sisters at the same time and have to room to spare for my mother, but he always waits 'til my siblings are done and puts them down before he leaves his arms vacant for only one person. He'll engulf my mother in his embrace and they share such a loving and intimate moment, I usually find I have to look away. <br><br>He was a burn victim from an accident that had occurred in the mines. He was just nineteen, and the left half of his torso and the lower left side of his face had gone through second and third degree burns. My mother had been the one who had taken care of him, while my grandmother had tended to a few others. It hadn't taken long for them to fall for one another. <br><br>My father is a warm and gentle man who is determined to do everything to keep his family happy and comfortable. He's got a sense of humor and likes to joke around, but usually he's not one for many words. We don't need them though. He's taught me so much. He showed me how to clean all sorts of animals, experience he has from when he worked at the butcher shop as a kid. He's taught me how to work with wood, and together we have managed to make me my own crossbow. He's shown me how to whittle, and even bird calls. He's never hunted, but he loves the untouched nature of the woods. <br><br>He recently became one of the mine captains, and he's been busier than ever. He couldn't make it to the Reaping, and the pain that washes over me over the fact that I didn't get to say goodbye to him is almost overwhelming. No, it is overwhelming. The tears start to fall faster, my smile fading completely now. A weak sob escapes, and I'm ashamed at myself. My eyes open and I suddenly find myself sliding down the wall, pulling Aven down with me. "I didn't even get to say goodbye." I choke out, my voice cracking on the last word. I find that the hand stroking her hair is shaking, and I do my best to calm it. "... What if I never get to say hello, Ven?" I hate telling her these things, because I don't want to upset her, but I miss my family. I miss them more than I thought I ever could, and that's saying something. "I can't fail. I can't let anything bad happen to them." </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 11 2012, 05:00 PM Post #26 |
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[align=center]![]() [/align] [dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> There's so much more pressure on him. Colton has siblings, little sisters, who I love and tease as much as if they were my own. I don't have brothers or sisters, and sometimes, I wonder if my birth was a mistake. I don't mind. I know my father and my mother don't love each other the way Colton's do…there's a place in my father's heart that will always belong to the girl on fire. I think he really did want children, but he just sees the way my mother is with me, and doesn't think another kid would be such a great idea. In case the kid turns out like me in her eyes--a regret. It's all right though. As much as I'd love a younger sibling, I don't want to put them through that, either, and Colton's family is practically my own. But even though they're close to my heart, I can't imagine what he must be going through right now. More to lose, more distance. He's holding it together a lot better than I would be. <br><br>Suddenly, we're on the ground, and Colton talks about not being able to say good-bye. I instantly know who he's talking about. Orson would have showed up at my private send-offs too, I'm sure. But you're not allowed to skip work without heavy consequences, and there was no way he could have known that his son had been selected for the Games. I can't even think of what would have happened if I hadn't been able to say good-bye to my father. Having him here with us, throughout the entire process, while Orson's back in District 12 and Colton didn't even get to see his face before boarding the train…I know by all logic and rationality it's fair, but it definitely doesn't feel like it. Then again, it's not like the Hunger Games were ever built to be fair to begin with. Nothing in Panem is. All you have to do is size up one kid from the Capitol, and one kid from District 12. <br><br>Still wrapped in my blonde tendrils, his hand starts quivering, and I reach back and take his hand, holding it in mine and softly easing it out of my hair as I give it a squeeze, wanting to give him sympathy without interrupting him. His voice wavers, unsteady, and I can't remember the last time I've ever seen him so broken--no, he's never been this broken. It's not like he's ever been in a situation that could compare before. When Colton's finished, I feel like I can hear a smothered cracking sound, the tinkle of glass seams ripping, and I think it's my heart falling to pieces for him. <br><br>I may never be pulled into one of Orson's big bear hugs again…no, no. I can't think like that. I can't let that be a possibility in my mind. It's harder on Colton, I'll never admit to otherwise. But it's still hard on me, because I've got my doubts about myself. Sure, I have some experience from hunting, and I know how to handle a myriad of different contraptions, but when it comes down to it, I've never fought a person before, and I've never fought for my own life. But suddenly, gazing at Colton's face, I know I'm not allowed the luxury to be insecure. Because then I'll be a hypocrite if I'm telling him not to be. I don't want him to suffer by my side. I feel like he's been doing that all my life already, ditching classmates with me just because I don't like them, or I get uncomfortable. This is a different situation, however, and now, I'm have to try to set things right. I've got to believe in myself, because if I don't, I'm putting him and both our families in danger. I have to be strong. I can't break down anymore. That dinner, that's the last time. No more running away. I've got to stay here and fight the enemies, invisible or visible, inside me, or outside. <br><br>I rise on my knees slightly, and gently wipe away his tears, using my new hand that was so scoured and scrubbed to get rid of the tiniest trace of dirt. "Colton Fletcher," I murmur, my now moist fingers tracing to his jaw, and I lightly raise his chin to look at me in the eyes, my watery wisteria blues teeming with support. I make my voice sound a little stern, a little more certain, reassuring. "Don't you dare write yourself off yet." I smile, but then pull closer to him, arms folding him into me like slates of sunlight through the trees of our forest. One hand raises to press against the back of his head, and it's most my most protective position, almost like a mother holding her baby. After all, we're still the same kids from the woods. <br><br>"We're going to get through this," I whisper, fingers faintly curling around the short wisps of his hair. I don't tell him he's not going to fail, because I don't even want to say the word. Mention the possibility. "When it's all over, we'll go home, hand in hand." I rest my chin on his shoulder, tilting my gaze upwards, towards the ceiling, but it's like I'm looking past it…into the sky, into the burning stars. "Prim, and Orson…Mable and Clary…they'll all move into the Victor's Village with you. We'll be real neighbors. We'll sell our game for cheaper, spend more time in the Meadow, and we'll all grow old in those silly posh houses, together. Promise me, Colt." <br><br>Once upon a time, I heard there was magic in promises, and I can only hope that at least part of that is a little bit true. That by saying something, it helps--even just a pinch--in increasing the likelihood of it becoming reality. With all my wild ideas, with all my wild imagination and innovation, this is one thought that I find myself grasping for the tightest right now. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 11 2012, 08:05 PM Post #27 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>He screams at me, yells and shouts in my face. It doesn't scare me, because at that moment I find him to be a frightened and whining child. He's not so big and tough now, not in the state he's in. No matter how much he yells, I don't see a threat before me. There's a possibility his tears are just from the awful head wound he gave himself, but I have a feeling it's something more, because I can almost feel his token pulsating in my hands. He knows it's gone, and the sort of rage it builds inside of him is what caused all of this ruckus. I can feel confident that my not returning the token is reason for all of this. <br><br>While I can almost understand him taking apart a room because of it, I can not tolerate his attitude towards me, when I only have concern for him. I will not allow him to order me about. I will not stand for this. I will take that from the Peacekeepers, not some boy who's suppose to be my teammate. I feel my dark eyes grow hard as my jaw tightens, and with lightening speed I grab hold of his towel, the friction possibly burning him a little. I don't care. "What am I doing in here? Well, when you hear a commotion like that beside you, you don't just ignore it. It means trouble, something you obviously like to cause." <br><br>The towel is a little damp, and I notice that the boy is in fact not wearing a shirt. I can almost feeling a cold sweat form at my temples, a tad taken aback, but I'm not entirely phased. It's not like I haven't seen a shirtless man before... Though maybe I haven't seen a man with as many muscles as that, or with skin not littered by scars. It makes me realize that each one of my scars are showing now since I've showered, and I almost wish I had chosen a nightgown with longer sleeves, but this isn't important now. This all barely flickers across my countenance, and I pull both ends of the towel, making an abrupt snapping sound. "Now, you ain't going to order me about while you're the one standing here, making a mess of not only the room, but of yourself." I sigh at him, shaking my head, "You're actin' like a child, throwing a tantrum like that." <br><br>Without fear or uncertainty, my hand lets go of one side of the towel and I place it upon his board chest, attempting to direct him to his bed, which is disheveled but still in tact. Once he gets the idea, because I can't move him myself, I wrap part of the towel around the hand that's bleeding the most, my touch gentle enough so it doesn't hurt too bad. All the while, three of my fingers keep a hold of his token, hopefully subtle enough so that I don't think he'll notice until I'm ready to show him. "Honestly, Ashlar, you're no better than my little brother." I glance up at him, and there's a warm and partly teasing smile playing on my lips, and I hope he can take that as me being sincerely friendly, because I'm not playing a game. I'm not that good of an actress. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 11 2012, 11:58 PM Post #28 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> I'm hardly paying attention to Kasha now, feeling like she'll get the hint and buzz off, take her sermons and get out of my face already. I really don't feel like dealing with her and her District 11-thumping about fuel and aid again, not with my head feeling like it's just faced a parade of bludgeons. But then again, it's hard to ignore her when she suddenly grabs my towel. All right, now she gets angry, which makes no sense to me, because I'm not the one invading another person's privacy. Someone sure rode in all high and mighty. I guess she has a point, though. If I heard some ruckus, I'd go check it out, but I wouldn't get all hyped up with being concerned about them like Kasha is. With my family far away, I can become as selfish as I like. <br><br>Any other time, I'd have a whole spiel lined up for her. Instead, I'm tired, so I don't say much, but enough to try to shake her off again. "Obviously," I emphasize. I know we're both thinking about dinner. Which I might feel some guilt over, but you get used to that feeling after a while, like being hungry. I clutch one of my hands, feeling it for any fractures. Doesn't seem to be broken, but the bones are probably bruised. I'm pretty sure I'll be all patched up before the Games, though, and it's not like I've never had worse. "But if you haven't noticed, we're already in trouble. " One of the deepest troubles anyone could ever be in. <br><br>Suddenly, Kasha snaps the towel, and I raise my face to look at her. She starts going on in her District 11 vernacular, lecturing me, and all of a sudden, we're not in the Training Center anymore. I'm back at home, and my mom's there, scolding me when I get back home from the quarry and I just want to dive into dinner. She makes sure I wash up first, make myself presentable, telling me that my future wife won't tolerate that sort of sloppy business. I kid about granite being my one true love. I can almost see her perfectly as she tosses a wet rag over to me. "Nice try, Ashlar. Now go get cleaned up." She always says I'm a hopeless case. <br><br>That sort of gentle imagery manages to calm me down a little, enough to even laugh. I give a quizzical frown at Kasha. "Is mothering another one of your skills for the Arena, Kasha?" I ask, because if she's going to start taunting me, I'm not going to hold back. "Gonna make sure we brush our teeth before bed?" I grin, but it's not a smart-aleck one, like from dinner. It's a real one. I'm actually having fun, but not at her expense, because I'm thinking about my own mother. I don't even think about the fact that I could be touching on a sensitive subject for her until a moment later, and my chuckle dies down. But she talks before I can say anything else, and I'm not really sure what I would have said. I'm not used to retracting statements, unless it's to my family members, but with them, I always know what to say. <br><br>At the mention of her brother, however, my attitude rapidly deteriorates. I'm thinking about Rance, then Maisie, then my mother, all over again. I tense up, and what was left of the smile is gone. "Somehow, I don't think he'd be tearing down doors and cabinets if he was in the Games," I mutter. I'm picturing Rance in this situation. I know he's too young now, but…suddenly, it occurs to me. Even if I win, and nothing happens to my family, there's nothing to keep Rance and Maisie out of the Games. <br><br>In fact, I feel like the Capitol gets a sick pleasure from seeing relatives of the Victors in the Games, wondering if they'll be like their brother or sister or…in Aven's case, father. And then there's Colton. Hell, even nephews aren't spared. I'm as good as screwed either way, and I feel another rampage tingling in my spine, but I just thrust my hand harder into the mattress than usual. Turning away from Kasha, I drop back on the bed on my back, one knee propped up, tucking my arms behind my head. It's a casual pose, but there's nothing casual about my expression, rigid and hard. I glare at a light in the ceiling, and then close my eyes. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Feb 12 2012, 01:59 AM Post #29 |
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[align=center] [/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>I feel like I've failed Aven for making her think that I'm writing myself off. Maybe I am, but that doesn't dawn on me until she says it. Doesn't everyone though? Every tribute. They must, at some point in the beginning. What are your chances? Mine are worse because there's more tributes, more people to kill me, and I'm nearly a celebrity here with who I'm related to. The Gamemakers might make things extra hard for both me and Aven. Things are also in my favor, because I get to be in a group, with three people who will try to protect me, as I will try to protect them. <br><br>Well, at least I know one person would try to protect me. <br><br>Here she is, protecting me in the ways I can't, always knowing what to say, especially to me. She's like her father in more ways than she sees. "It's all tearing me apart, Ven." I whisper as tears blur her outline. She pulls me to her and cradles me, and I don't mind that it feels like my mother is there, holding me close and keeping me safe. That's when I realize something between me and Aven. The universal roles. We can be parents, siblings, friends, and nearly lovers to each other. It makes us something so connected it doesn't seem to have a name. <br><br>The embrace calms me, as do her words. For whatever reason, maybe my complete faith in the fact that everything she says is true, or my blind hope that everything will come out all right, I believe her. We'll move to the Victor's Village, me and my family. My father won't have to work in the mines so much (I don't think he'd quit completely), my mother would have a better house to hold the sick and wounded, and my sisters would reach have their own rooms. I would live right beside Aven and her family, and it'd be no trouble at all for us to see each other. It's such a nice thought. I take myself there, closing my eyes, leaning up against her. I want it to be real, so real that more tears push through, and I would feel pathetic if anyone else was there, but it's Aven. She makes me feel like more than I am. <br><br>I realize that she asked me something. She asked me to promise her, to promise her that all of this will happen. As I come to this, as I piece it together, my answer isn't hesitant. "Yes. I promise." I mutter against her shoulder, but I am sincere. I don't need to think. I just promise. I know what this promise will do for me, for us. It gives me an anchor I can always keep with me, to push me when I think it's all over, to get me from one obstacle to the next. I feel the need for my words to be clearer, despite the fact that I know she's knows I meant it. <br><br>I raise my head and stare into those comforting blue eyes for a moment, my hand reaching up, my fingertips brushing right below her eye, at the top of her cheekbone. "I promise." I lock eyes with her a little longer, my fingers reaching up and finding my way into her tresses again. They feel comfortable there. Suddenly, I lean forward, and I find my lips on hers. I feel some sort of odd tingle I love, but the kiss is brief. I try not to look surprised at myself. I try to brush it off, like a kiss on the cheek or forehead. It was nothing, yet it was everything. I want to do it again. I want those lips on mine as I realize I can't imagine kissing another girl. She's it for me, because she's ruined me. No one will understand me like her. When we win, I'll marry her. <br><br>With my tears clearing and my smile, so warm and familiar to her, resurfacing, I whisper, "But you have to promise me the same." The same fight needs to be in both of us, the fire alive and growing, if we are to succeed. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Feb 12 2012, 04:49 PM Post #30 |
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[align=center] ![]() [/align] [dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> He whispers about everything pulling him to pieces before I tug him into my arms. Some might have thought it's strange, when he's so much bigger than I am, but there's never really been any difference between me and Colton. Nothing that matters, at least. Even though I'm the one hugging him, I feel comforted too, just knowing he's here by me. I hate that he has to be in the Games, but because it's already happened, and there's nothing I can do about it, I try to look towards the positive, as horrible as it feels. I know that talking about how worried I am wouldn't help either of us, though. <br><br>I think my words are working, even if it's just a little. I picture it too, as if it would help. I think of all of us together, at Colton's new house in the Victor's Village. I picture us swiping some of my father's cookies and going to eat them on the roof, and Maple and Clary wanting to join in. Then my mother would probably pull me aside and scold me for setting a bad example, but we would both know that wouldn't stop me. It feels so real…I can see it so clearly, it has to happen. I feel Colton relax just slightly in my arms, but then pull closer to me, and tears are tracing further down my shoulder, sliding over the top of my dress. I'm starting to doubt myself, but then he speaks up, in a voice that's strong enough to let me know that I haven't failed him yet. <br><br>Colton promises me, but before I can tease him lightly and tell him that he doesn't sound too convincing, he seems to sense this, and turns to look up at me. I feel the fingertips I know so well, the ones that know how to lock and seat an arrow in a crossbow, the ones that squeeze the trigger, ghosting over my cheekbones while he repeats himself. Staring back into his eyes, I feel like they're prisms of colored glass, reflecting light in different ways, so much warm light that it's impossible to catch, and I know that Colton really means it. I smile back at him, proud, and I feel his hands retreating back to my hair. I part my lips, about to speak, when the unexpected happens. <br><br>One moment, I'm gazing back at Colton, beaming at him, and in the next, he's drawn in close and his lips are pressed against mine. It doesn't last for long, and the shock I feel is hidden, shoved into my sleeve with my anxiety about the Games. It's a weird feeling…I'm…surprised, and yet, in another way…I'm not. It just feels so natural. And not because we've kissed each other's skin before. I start to realize…all along, I've had these feelings. Just…growing from childhood. Suddenly, it becomes pretty clear as to why I'd always immediately reject people's question about Colton being my brother, despite the fact that I always relate his family as my own, in a way. But Colton's different. I want him to be family, in another way. My smile was frozen in place when he pulls back, the amazement that sparked in my eyes having died down to a muted simmer. <br><br>He's acting like nothing happened, and for once, I don't know what he's thinking. Does he feel the way I do? That this just what's been meant to be since the beginning? Or was it no big deal to Colton, and he was just sealing the promise in a way slightly more intimate than most? For once, I don't say what's on my mind, scared to know an answer, knowing that it could make or break me. Neither of us have had relationships in the past, and now I feel like that's because we never needed them, because we had each other the whole time. Now I know that it'd kill me to see him with someone else. <br><br> But should I even be thinking about this right now? <br><br>We're in the Games. We're going to be put in extremely dangerous, life-threatening situations. But maybe that's all the reason more to be thinking like this, because we don't really know what'll happen. No, can't think like that. Gotta stop thinking like that. His eyes are losing their damp sheen, the tears leaving, and I see the smile I love the most. My confusion clears the way for some happiness, now that I'm convinced, I can actually laugh. "Of course!" I murmur, almost rolling my eyes, exaggerating, as if anything otherwise would be completely ridiculous. It would be. There's no way I'm going to let myself die, leaving Colton and our families up in the air. "I'll be right by your side, Colt, always." A softer grin appears, and my hand cups his knee, clasping it reassuringly. "I promise." </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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