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Post by cygnus rufus cask on May 8, 2012 3:30:19 GMT
s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i just keep chasing pavements even though it
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] L E A D S T O N O W H E R E | | [atrb=width,240] Cygnus rolled over, his bare body becoming entangled in a mass of sweat and sheet. The nightmares had been worse recently, with the reaping quickly approaching. He couldn’t get the image of a young boy, blonde curls, with a bright red smile at his throat, Cygnus wiping away the blood.
He lunged forward, his bed squeaking at the sudden movement. He looked outside, and could tell just by the moon it was around three in the morning. Surely, she wouldn’t mind. But, he should at least come bearing coffee. So, he dressed himself, and brewed a pot before stepping out the front door into the cool summer night. He looked around repeatedly, knowing if he was caught out by curfew there should be consequences. Being a victor, however, did free him from this, unless the peacekeepers had had a slow night, so he moved forward, not pausing, even when he dripped hot coffee down his thigh. He cursed, just loud enough for a nearby mockingjay to pick up his word rhythm and hum it back.
Across the walk from his home sat a house the exact size and make of his own, but this house was kept better, and it looked habitable. He by passed the knock, and pushed the door open. Except it didn’t open. So, he placed the coffee pot down, and reached into a loose brick, pulling out a key. He slid it into place, and the door popped open. He strolled forward, and placed the pot on the kitchen table, before sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee for himself. Sipping at the light brown substance, he felt a buzz coming quickly. He opened his mouth, inhaling the sweet scent. He usually had patience, but today, he just needed to feel normal, as if his humanity didn’t escape him every time he closed his eyes.
“Tilly! Get up.” He looked around. Silence. The words came out sounding more pitiful than he had intended, but tonight’s dreams had been very gruesome. “I need you. Please
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Post by thistle birch rivers on May 8, 2012 10:39:51 GMT
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width:410px; border-left: 15px solid #aeaba4; background-color: #dcd9d3; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 13px; padding-bottom: 3px;]like raindrops in a hurricane , we fall. now everything i know is gone, sometimes your heart is simply wrong. now there's no point in carrying on, because love has left us both so cold. it started like an accident, the moment that we hit the brakes came way too late. at first it seemed that we'd be fine, that nothing much was out of line, we were so blind. we've lost what mattered most, like raindrops in a hurricane, we fade. In a pristine but lonely home in the midst of District 4's Victor's Village, a redheaded girl watched the warm, bronze glow of a candle burn into the night. Thistle lay across the bed on her stomach, aqua irises focused on the flickering flame by the bedside, arms tucked under her chin, lithe form hidden beneath thick covers. Sleep wasn’t coming easy, not that it ever did. She turned her head so that her cheek rested against her arms, exhausted but both unwilling and unable to fall into the grips of slumber. It was something as sparse and inaccessible as freedom, but beyond that, it was frightening. Even the thought of going to bed was something she feared — the possibility of getting so lost in her own mind that she could no longer differentiate it from reality scared her. Dreams were supposed to be a pleasant thing, a blessing and an escape in the midst of daylong pains, but the Games had snatched that and all other similar pretenses away. There were no such things as dreams for young Thistle Rivers, only nightmares.
A yawn slipped past her lips and she turned away from the burning candle. Perhaps she would just lay still rather than sleep, and pray for the most rest that such a thing could give her. However, Thistle wasn’t offered much time to contemplate this possibility, for she was soon startled by a voice downstairs. She sprung upright, body drawn taut as that of a doe that’s heard the brassy shrilling of the hunter’s horn. It took a few moments, but once her heartbeat had calmed and her breathing had slowed, common sense returned and she realized she knew the holder of the voice below. She groaned in disbelief and flopped back onto the bed, arm draped over her eyes. It was three in the morning; had he no sense of time? She knew Cygnus would not have been so urgently impatient lest something was seriously troubling him, but Thistle was by nature inconsiderate and selfish, so it was no surprise that her first though had nothing to do with the man’s wellbeing.
Still, she dragged herself out from under the covers, donned a robe over her nightdress and proceeded to see to her guest. “You do realize the time, don’t you?” she grumbled as she caught sight of him, padding quietly down the flight of stairs and into her house’s main hallway. Thistle rubbed her eyes, arming herself with a glare towards her friend. Her voice was virulent, laced with tired annoyance, but behind her drowsy blue irises was concern — while she’d never say it aloud, whether to him, to herself or to anyone at all, Cygnus was one of a handful of people that the twenty-eight year old victor genuinely cared about to some extent. She didn’t acknowledge it herself and often treated him as bad as though he was a parasitic infection, but no matter how much she denied it, their relationship was definitely built on friendly, almost familial terms. Blinking away the remaining hints of fatigue from the features of her face, Thistle descended down the final step of the stairway and caught a familiar aroma in the air. At least he brought coffee. TEMPLATE MADE BY LYRA | TAGGED: CYGNUS | WORDS: 549 | NOTES: -- |
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Post by cygnus rufus cask on May 11, 2012 1:47:21 GMT
s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i just keep chasing pavements even though it
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] L E A D S T O N O W H E R E | | [atrb=width,240] You do realize the time, don’t you?
Cygnus couldn’t help but smile. No matter what, she was there, and always his confidant. He nodded to the clock, and smiled a cocky, self indulgent smile. “About that time when you give up trying to nod off.” He chuckled quietly, and poured a cup of coffee for her, pushing it across the table towards her. She was stunning in every sense, even in the unkempt fashion she bore this morning. Her eyes made him think of the sea, and while many people in four had this color, even he, she made it seem as though just a blink would send a wave crashing into your life, destroying everything you held dear.
The victors never did grasp their personal power, but she exuded confidence, even now as she rolled, as he knew she must, tirelessly in bed. “It was the boy from eleven. Tonight. The blonde one. I think his name was Rill.” He hated talking about his weakness’, so he often avoided full on stories. But she had seen his games. It was a few years after she had won, and Cygnus stormed the field. He killed six in the Cornucopia, which earned him bejeweled throwing knives later that evening. Three day, he finished the Career pack himself. The arena was a hedge maze this year, and with an axe sent to him, in just under a month, he was on his way home, wrapped in the gossamer of victory, which quickly became a shroud. Sleep evaded him, and morphling became readily available. Tilly held his hand through withdrawals, kept him company in the sleepless nights. They weren’t friends, only, they were.
“He’s been bothering me lately. He was the youngest.” He knew it was true, about your first kill always being completely planted in your brain, and chord to pull on your hear at just the right time. But keeping one step ahead of them was the challenge, and it was harder to face than an arena of blood thirsty children.
“With the reaping coming up, I guess you suspected this. But someone is too frightened to play mentor with me.”
He laughed, but he knew how despicable his question was. How could he ever ask anyone to do that?
| [atrb=width,100]words ,379 words tagged ,Tilly! notes ,outfit |
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Post by thistle birch rivers on May 11, 2012 11:54:02 GMT
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width:410px; border-left: 15px solid #aeaba4; background-color: #dcd9d3; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 13px; padding-bottom: 3px;]like raindrops in a hurricane , we fall. now everything i know is gone, sometimes your heart is simply wrong. now there's no point in carrying on, because love has left us both so cold. it started like an accident, the moment that we hit the brakes came way too late. at first it seemed that we'd be fine, that nothing much was out of line, we were so blind. we've lost what mattered most, like raindrops in a hurricane, we fade. At his response, Thistle couldn’t help but produce a lighthearted scoff, as if trying to deny what he’d said about her inability to sleep. He knew just as well as she did, though, that it was true. In an attempt to divert the conversation topic, she gestured for them to walk to the kitchen, which was just to the right of the main hallway. The redhead took a seat at the breakfast counter on a high stool and let him do the same. Eyes the color of the gray-mottled zircon watched him, highly observant and curious beneath dark brows. They were furrowed by neither contempt nor annoyance, though still intrigued. Her pale hands gratefully wrapped around the cup of coffee, the heat from the liquid quickly seeping through the mug and warming her palms. She raised the beverage to her lips, peeking over the rim of the cup as Cygnus spoke.
“It was the boy from eleven.”
She took a sip of her steaming coffee and swallowed, dropping her gaze. She offered him a sympathetic look, one she could only help would remind him he was not alone. Silently, the red-haired girl thought for a while upon her own Games, and all the tributes in them: from Emery, her ally and friend, to Gemma, the Career she’d killed. She knew the names of each and every one of them, and she hated it. Their deaths felt more personal when she knew what they went by — they weren’t just the boy from eight or the girl from twelve, they were Caddis and Aysel; they weren’t just the Career from one or the weakling from eleven, they were Garnet and Briar. They weren’t just children or teenagers, they were individuals who had friends, homes, lives. Every one of them deserved to be alive just as much as she did.
Thistle only nodded silently as he continued, tracing circles on the surface of the table. When he finished, she straightened, gathering her hair and placing each messy lock over her right shoulder. “You’d think we would’ve gotten used to it all by now,” she responded, her stance assertive but her voice quiet. In her threadbare whisper lay outrage and heartbreak; the two of them had been victors for over a decade — the Reapings shouldn’t be opening old wounds each time they came along, but they did. Thistle took another sip of her coffee and stared at an indistinct spot on the wall. She said no more, both too tired and too unwilling to do so, and instead focused her attention on the ripples in her cup and the soft sighing of her breath. TEMPLATE MADE BY LYRA | TAGGED: CYGNUS | WORDS: 449 | NOTES: pretty tired, hope it makes sense. |
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