burn you down // thistle

[phoenix wade baxwoll]

i know i've said it before

BUT ALL OF OUR BRIDGES BURNED DOWN

It was that time of year, to get a whole new wardrobe from the Capitol stylists for this year's games. Every previous victor had to whether they were mentoring or not, you never know when shifts would change. That year Phoenix Baxwoll knew he would be the mentor. He had for quite some time already. He knew that this year he would be mentoring with Kendal again. No matter how many times he may have said it, or even reminded himself of it, he was glad he didn't have to deal with anyone else as a counter. They seemed to get each other pretty well, and they weren't extremely alike, they only shared experiences. He had been a mentor when she was in the games. He could see the potential already. He almost hoped he would get a fighter that year, a male fighter. The females in seven seemed to be rather intimidating, or sore as hell, or even underdogs in a way. He shook his head of those thoughts as the train came to a stop at the Capitol train station. Back again.

The one thing that bothered him most that day, was that the clothes couldn't be shipped to his home. He wondered why of all times he had to be the one to actually travel back to the Capitol to get his own clothes. Choral was happy that her brother would actually get out of the house, Phoenix wasn't of course. It meant work, or even social encounters – which he was always ready for, yet never in the mood for. This little factor made him a little grumpy, but he kept his slight image all the same. Not many people could tell what this Phoenix had going on in his mind because of the slight scowl that was planted on his face a majority of the time. He was proud of that, it kept certain people away.

Phoenix stood and walked out of the train where a few cheery men and women stood waiting for him at a curb. He only gave them a small flick of his hand in almost annoyance as he sauntered over to the curb. He figured by the looks on their faces and the way they never kept their eyes off him, that these were the stylists taking him to get his new wardrobe. He could care less, even more than less if possible. The last thing he worried about was his appearance, even though he was constantly representing District 7. It was important, just not to Phoenix.

He ignored their small greetings and small talk as they escorting him to a car. How much longer is this going to take? Phoenix sat in the backseat with a couple of the Capitol people, trying to tune out their soft yet loud chatter – which would only make perfect sense to him. After a moment of ridding in the car, he noticed them nearing a building. He knew that he had to walk in there, take an elevator and find a waiting room to get his clothes. The one thing he hoped wouldn't happen that day was actually trying on some of the clothing. They wouldn't have him do so most likely, but it was still a possibility.

The ride seemed like a century already and that's when Phoenix decided that he needed a drink. Finally they made it to the front of the building where the driver dropped them all off. Just as he stepped out he head for the door and walked down a couple halls to an elevator. He knew the place well enough, this incident had happened once before. The man waited with his hands in his pockets until those bright balls of creative fake energy approached him. Now the elevator only took a second to get to the proper floor, and this certainly helped Phoenix's case. He was then guided down a hallway to a door on the left that read: Wardrobe Pick Up. He assumed that he wouldn't be trying anything on that day, one thing that seemed to go his way. The simple name gave it all away.

Phoenix moved right to sit in one of the plush chairs, although before he settled himself down in a seat he spotted the snacks and desserts. And then the drinks. He stepped over to the drinks, looking for the alcohol. The sound of a deep voice made his hand come to halt before he could grasp a small glass. “Mr. Baxwoll, just wait here and we will call you soon.” Call? He was only expecting a pick up. Traveling all the way to the Capitol for a pick up, of clothes.

“Sure, let's make it quick, shall we?” he said with a slight smirk. The man only nodded awkwardly before disappearing behind a door. Finally, he thought, grasping the glass at last and reaching for the decorative pitcher next to it.

words - 824 tags - thistle notes - hope this is alright (: status - complete

[thistle birch rivers]

[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. Thistle looked at her reflection through the train’s large window, her brows furrowed in annoyance and her lips pulled into her perpetual frown. Her hair was done up into a loose, messy bun that sat right at the back of her head, braided and curled and all sorts of other things she’d never bother to do on a regular basis. She wore a burgundy butterfly-sleeved dress that came halfway up her thighs, and chocolate feather crochet tights that ran from her hips to her feet. Her shoes were bright vermillion platforms that made her look and seem at least three inches taller, and her jewelry consisted of a bangle on her left wrist that was adorned with various red gems. There was a thick black ribbon around her waist and a matching one intertwined with the locks of her hair, and she would have looked exactly like a proper Capitol civilian had it not been for her minimal amount of makeup. Still, it was no doubt that Thistle’s outfit that day was outlandish of the districts, and as she finished her inspection, she found herself frowning yet again. Her ceremonial clothes were fine — too tawdry and brightly dyed for her own tastes, but already quite magnificent by any regular standards. Why did she have to get new ones so often? Even after more than a decade of going through the same annual routine, Thistle didn’t quite grasp how trends came and went at the blink of an eye. She turned herself away from the window, strolling through the train and seating herself down at a table filled with refreshments of all sorts. She touched none of them, instead choosing to sulk silently like a child who had lost a pointless argument. She didn’t want to be wearing gaudy clothes on a train to the Capitol. She didn’t want to be on a train to the Capitol at all, even if she’d been in her regular blouse and pants or other such attire. The twenty-eight year old hated her home in District 4, where she was always surrounded by no one and constantly alone — but she hated Panem’s metropolis even more, where she was surrounded by crowds people, and yet was still alone. Even so, Thistle had a façade to keep up. A front that exuded confidence and control, one that told everyone, including the Capitol themselves, that they hadn’t shattered her completely. The Games had done a substantial amount of damage and had yet to stop, but Thistle had always been a particularly stubborn girl and she never liked to admit a loss. She was pathetic and miserable, true, but she wasn’t going to let just anybody see it. Keeping herself involved with the world, even if just in the sense of fashion, was one way to help with the image. It wasn’t long before the train made its stop, as District 4 was an inlying region and so wasn’t too far off from the Capitol. The red-haired victor strode out of the vehicle and already found herself in an even sourer mood. She made little to no conversation with the pair of escorts who had come to pick her up, or the few small numbers of Capitol civilians that recognized her as a seasoned victor and wanted pictures or autographs. She sat through a silent car-ride and kept her face entirely vacant and impassive throughout, knowing that her general sullen disposition would not do her much good but still unwilling to force upon her face an at least semi-pleasant expression. She didn’t need to look at the view or make conversation to pass the time; over the years, Thistle had grown used to just sitting around in her abundant amount of spare time. The journey took a while. but she soon caught sight of a building she recognized and, once the car had come to a complete stop, the girl made her way through the entrance and up the floors, her chaperones now doing more following than supervising. It wasn’t as if she needed their help, though. She’d been here enough times to know what she needed to do to get home in the least amount of time possible. When she’d reached the right room on the appropriate floor, the first sight to greet her wasn’t one she’d consider pleasant. Aqua irises focused on the familiar figure, and Thistle wondered what in the world it was that she’d done recently for karma to send her an encounter with him. “Hitting the bottle so early?” the redhead sneered as she got closer — not because she wanted to be anywhere near him, but because he was standing by the only area in the room with chairs — and her eyes narrowed at the alcoholic drink in his hands. It wasn’t as if she could judge, though; liquor was something that the young adult frequently turned to in times of despair. She knew it was destructive, but that didn’t stop her, and she had no right to taunt others for partaking in it as well, no matter the time of day. Yet, in her mind, any disparagement or abusive remark towards Phoenix Baxwoll was entirely warranted, and she felt absolutely no guilt at her comment as she sat herself down at the furthest end from where he stood. She folded her arms across her chest and promptly turned her gaze to her lap, losing interest in Phoenix’s presence and intent on getting through the next hour without acknowledging his presence. TEMPLATE MADE BY LYRA | TAGGED: PHOENIX | WORDS: 932 | NOTES: it was great, don't worry!

[phoenix wade baxwoll]

i know i've said it before

BUT ALL OF OUR BRIDGES BURNED DOWN

Phoenix poured himself a generous amount in the small glass. He shook his head at the thought of his young sister bantering him about his drinking problem. He'd would only smile and go on without taking her lectures into account. She might as well be his mother, their mother was still as vacant as an empty room, only something that takes up space and breathes in air. He never took time to speak to her. The woman was disappointed in her elder son, at what he'd become. Of course, it was the games blame, and whatever freak accident that cause the death of his father. He never once spoke a word about his father. And now taking a nice swig of the liquor, he thinks of nothing but getting back to his dark room in District 7.

Just as he swallows, a voice fills words in his ears. "Hitting the bottle so early?" He knew the voice well, and could match an image with it easily. That was unfortunate for him however, this voice had belonged to the only person he despised most, a fellow victor, Thistle Rivers. Phoenix gave out a grunt as he set down the glass hard on the small table, keeping his grasp around it. He would care less what she thought of his drinking habits. He wondered how much longer she would be there, or how much longer he had to be there the likes.

His eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips before saying a word to the woman. "If it isn't Miss Tilly, finally out of her man cave," he said flatly. Phoenix had no room to talk in this case. He had been the same, only coming out if he really had to, for trips like these to the Capitol or the Reapings - practically only during the games. It seemed to work out for him overall. The remark only gave him slight satisfaction and some distaste that he had to stay waiting in the same room as she. He hadn't cared what she thought of him in any circumstance.

He hadn't turned to see her until he took another sip of his drink. She sat with her arms crossed over her chest, keeping her distance. And he would certainly keep his. He moved over to a chair furthest away from her, which was only a few seats away. He almost wanted to go try on clothing then be stuck in that room with Thistle. Then again, he had no choice. He didn't let his eyes travel back to her as he settled himself in the chair with his drink. Maybe he could avoid her presence, but that didn't seem too easy being that she would continue to speak and so would he.

words - 460 tags - thistle notes - ^.^ status - complete

[thistle birch rivers]

[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. Thistle was no great fan of humanity during the best of times. When she met with a person who was so decidedly revolting, she was more than willing to proclaim how she hated the human race. When said person had in tow a quick tongue and an indifferent attitude that just might rival hers, her loathing burned with such fervor it was surprising she didn’t grab the closest thing in arm’s reach and fling it at their head. In this specific instance, the red-haired woman was contemplating snatching that glass out of Phoenix’s hands and making sure he was left with at least a concussion — but that probably wouldn’t end in her favor. Instead, Tilly had to content herself with an irritated twitch of her nose and a frigid glare, something that belonged in the frozen tundra or ice-shelves of lands far away. Man cave? She let out what could only be considered a derisive snort. That one was new. She paused before she made her next comment; she didn't want to talk to him — ignorance would be the best option, she knew, but as he finished off his comment and turned away she clicked her tongue and raised her voice. “How odd. It talks.” Her sentence was obviously directed at the male, but she delivered the statement as though she were musing it to herself. Phoenix — the “it” in her sentence — didn’t always respond to her derogatory comments, and while she did enjoy the tiny bit of amusement she garnered from annoyed replies, sometimes she actually hoped he’d just go mute so she wasn’t tempted to throw in another insult. Showing anger or frustration to Thistle had to be akin to showing weakness to a lioness that was trying to weed out the slowest member of the herd. She pounced on it and fed, for no particular reason other than it was just oh so satisfying. There could have been some other motive, of course — some philosophical balderdash about how she wanted to make others feel just as miserable as — but Thistle generally disregarded any such notions and remained loyal to the belief that she did it for her own entertainment. Turning her attention back to the male, she continued on from her previous barb, “Well, I doubt you’d be out here if you’d had a choice, either.” While she couldn’t be entirely certain whether Phoenix was here against his will or not, she herself was a recluse, and she knew it. Primarily, this was because she had never been a big believer in the abstract. Notions such as God, freedom and love were utterly lost upon her, as she could no longer see the profit in them. Why waste your life pursuing something that didn’t exist? Who needed affection and liberty and friends when they were so easily snatched away? Living a solitary life, unharmed by the nuances of social intercourse and emotional attachment was not only the best option, it was the wisest. Of course, there were a few who managed to cross this barrier, but Thistle only let them in under the false belief that she was doing it for financial merit or other such advantages, not for personal companionship. Technically, it was self-deception. But technically, Tilly didn’t care. It was for these pretexts that the redhead led such a hermitic existence, and why she was so easily unnerved by the alien presence of another person and could never react in a civil manner. Glancing in the opposite direction of where Phoenix sat, the victor pulled uncomfortably at the hem of her wine-colored dress. It could have been because she sat but a few feet away from a personal adversary, or it could have been because she was in a place she honestly didn't want to be in. Whichever it was, or if it was either at all, Thistle was brought to a point of piqued restlessness. She could, off the top of her head, think of at least forty-two different scenarios that she'd rather be in than in the Capitol next to he who shall not be named. Sinking down into her seat, the red-haired adult stared at an indistinct point of the wall across her and let out a long, drawn-out breath. It was going to be an awfully long wait. TEMPLATE MADE BY LYRA | TAGGED: PHOENIX | WORDS: 729 | NOTES: hope this post makes sense. it's late.

[phoenix wade baxwoll]

i know i've said it before

BUT ALL OF OUR BRIDGES BURNED DOWN

Phoenix never really cared about what he had said to people until it was too late. But with this particular woman, it was different. The two never really got along, their first conversation may have been somewhat normal at first but it turned into somewhat of what they were starting now. Shouting out witty or just plain rude remarks. It wasn't unusual for this mentor to say such things to anyone for that matter, it just seemed more tasteful if it were directed to this woman. The man also tried to change things up a bit every once in a while, but it was mostly anything that came off the top of his head, now that the games had changed his way of natural kindness. He was amused as well as annoyed with the whole scene, to where he could go on saying whatever he pleased to her while he wanted nothing to do with her, he wanted to walk away just then and leave without a word. It was strange but it seemed right all the same. Time couldn't going any slower than it was just then, but Clow made sure to keep an eye on the watch on his wrist.

After her next comment, he had ignored her, staring at the half empty glass in is hand. He thought of the glass slipping from his hands and crashing into a million pieces on the ground. A thought of everything broken to pieces brought him to the thought of the games, which soon made him travel back to reality. He thought that he might as well be an animal, he had killed three helpless people, probably in the same boat as he. If he were an animal, then sure as hell she was. He couldn't even glance her way, he got heated just being in her presence. He didn't like the feeling. He was the only one here to make remarks and give a care to anyone but himself and that glass of liquor. But then again, she was still breathing and real, and in the same room as he. He lifted his head and slumped in his chair, taking a sip of his drink. Before making his next moment, he let out a breath. “Someone give the woman a drink, maybe it'll shut her up.” Phoenix thought of just throwing the bottle at her, she'd probably catch it and if not, goody for him. Then again he was too out of it to do anything at the moment but wait for his new wardrobe.

Phoenix glanced at his watch as she spoke again. It was true for him and for Tilly. The wouldn't be there if they had the choice. It was an unfortunate time that he was sent to the Capitol on such a day and with such a person. If they were to be there for some time, he thought that he might as well annoy the hell out of her. It amused him and he thought that maybe she would just leave. Although he had a feeling she would just annoy the hell out of him back. It was just how it was. It was silent as Phoenix mulled it over in his head, trying to decide whether to completely ignore her presence or take it for his own advantage.

Instead, he became impatient and stood from the comfortable chair he had settled in. He went up to the glass window that ed to a small office, which he assumed was a check in sort of place. He tapped on the glass with his knuckle as he held the glass cup in his hand. “When can I get the hell outta here?” he asked raising his voice at the single Capitol woman behind the glass. Unfortunately she didn't answer, only gave a small smile at him as she stood up from her seat to go to who knows where. He hoped that she'd be getting his clothing so he can bolt and let Thistle deal with the pain of being there.

words - 676 tags - thistle notes - sorry for the delay and hopefully this makes sense status - complete