CuteLikeMurder
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on Nov 25, 2013 16:31:34 GMT -5
The days were growing warmly. The Reaping was approaching. It would be tomorrow in fact. Which is why it was so usually to see a victor from another district stepping off the train. Though, at first glance you would think she had belonged here. Her dress was in the manner that was common in District Four. Her hair was up save for a single braid that was growing longer by the day. And in her hands was a bouncing baby boy with straw colored her hair and deep blue eyes. He had his mother's eyes but he was the spitting image of the boy's father.
Panem knew her as Olivia Tully but in her District and District Four she was Olivia Hunnington. And the referred to Caleb, her husband as El un que fue hecho para ti. "The one that was made for me."
She stood on the train platform and waited for a familiar face.
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 26, 2013 0:53:08 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] "One does not win a Battle. One merely survives it. We have only survived one battle, Olivia. Our war? That is just starting."[/color][/center][/font][/size] Money wasn't something Zale much cared for, in the end. He had more than he knew what to do with, surely. Most of what he had was spent on...nothing. Trinkets. Things for CJ. He had traveled a fair bit in the past months. Had spent a good deal of time in District 6 when CJ was born. Olivia had named him the little boy's God-Father. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he did know that the little boy would need a man in his life. A man who had known his father in those days--in those weeks--prior to his death. Someone who could speak of his father's last days and tell him of the warrior the man had been. And how the man's last thought had been for the woman he loved. Zale's own hair was shorn short--as short as he could get away with, anyway. The less the stylists had to work with, the less likely it was that he'd be forced into some stupid hair-style that he hated. The only bit that stayed long was the braid he wore, which was very nearly touching his jaw now. Clothing was light here. Light and airy, but Zale had brought with him a small offering for the little boy. It was a small hat with a brim that would protect the little boy's head and face from the sun, seeing as this was the 'sub-tropics', and the sun was always extremely strong here. He didn't like waking up alone in that big house in the so-called 'Victors' Village.' Those nights he had his nightmares he'd sit for hours on his pier, feet hanging over the edge and staring off into the water. Into the nothingness. The Victors' Village in District Four was on a canal, and everyone had a pier and an airy house with big bay windows and hardwood floors. Zale tended to leave the doors and windows open so that the house felt open and warm and breezy. So that the scent of salt and sand would reach him wherever he was. Still, Zale didn't like it, but the first time he'd spent more than half a week at his parents' house someone had come looking for him. Someone from The Capitol, in fact, who had started the 'lecture' about 'where he was to live' extremely confident, but had quickly withered under Zale's uncaring and unwavering stare. Apparently, he could be scary. Apparently, he didn't have to even try. Olivia had taken to their ways more and more, as much as time as she spent in District Four. He wordlessly stepped onto the train-deck, and another person might have smiled at seeing her but instead he merely stepped close, putting the little hat on CJ's head and adjusting it properly. "He has your skin. Caleb's skin. I would not see it burn." Not until perhaps he were older and it would not harm him. He had promised to look after Olivia, and that promise extended to this little boy. "You will be leaving him with my mother then? She will be pleased." While they were in the Capitol. He agreed with Olivia in that place being no place for a child. He should be forever in The Light of the One. Never in that Godless, horrible place. Never.
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 26, 2013 2:34:35 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” [/color][/center][/font][/size] The day before, everything is quieter. Dylan didn't imagine it. Things were quieter. Then again, their people were rarely loud. One should speak when one had something to say, and when one did not one should listen. That was how life was supposed to be lived. It was known. It was technically 'spring' elsewhere in Panem. Here, it was always warm, and today was no exception. Today was also a 'half work day' for those who were still to be Chosen. This year was Dylan's last year, but it meant that by mid-day he was walking through the square with his 'share' of the catch and heading toward the Healing Hut. And then they would go to to his and Morgan's shared grotto. The place where that little house he'd 'grown up' in was still standing. Over the past couple of years, they'd somewhat repaired it. Patched the roof and cleaned out the rooms and made it a sort-of home. Dylan was already staying there, but most nights he was rarely alone. And after tomorrow, he never would be. After tomorrow, he and Morgan would live here. They would go to the Justice Center, and then they would go to the beach and then they would come back here to say their Pledge. But people had stopped to watch something. To watch one of their Living Dead. The newest of them actually. This year's 'Winner'--one of them--was from their home, and it was as though he couldn't blink without everyone knowing. He was standing with the one from District Six, and she was holding her son.... ...Why would one from District Six be here right now? The day before the Choosing? It was so odd. Dylan found that he'd stopped too, though his eyes were more drawn to the square itself. To the people quietly making things ready for tomorrow. These silly people were putting wreaths of tropical flowers and banners and other such things on the stage that had been built. Where other places seemed to have their little pageant play out in front of the Justice Building, it seemed that District Four was to be different. That District Four was to put on display the beauty of the sea. A man from the so-called Capitol cleared his throat, and Dylan quirked an eyebrow at him. He was wearing something light and airy the way everyone else did, but it was a dark enough color that he must be uncomfortable. Light colored clothing was more their fashion here. Reflecting the sun was better than absorbing it. Something this one hadn't learned yet. The man had another one of those wreaths of flowers--lilies and orchids in bright, somewhat unnatural colors--in his hands. It was large, and Dylan could see why he wanted a straight path. But he merely blinked as the man--too done-up to be Of The Sea--looked at him expectantly. "Here, when one wishes another to step out of their path, they say 'Excuse me'." Dylan thought perhaps things were different where they were from. Perhaps that place was not a place of politeness. Perhaps they did not value each other as the People Of the Sea valued each other. Or perhaps he thought himself better and entitled. Either way, Dylan didn't much care. He stepped out of the way regardless, feeling as though he offered the man enough information to perhaps not anger everyone here. Whether the man took the advice was completely up to him. Once again, Dylan didn't much care. His eyes were drawn--as they always were--to the Healing Hut. To Morgan's home. At least, Morgan's home for the next night. They would spend tonight apart so that tomorrow evening things would be...special. But today--at least, for a bit--they would spend it together. As they always did. The girl--who Their Living Dead Zale Sewell was quite protective of--had lost her love last year in The Battle, and the thought of it tore him up inside. It had to be like having your soul ripped in half, and it wasn't something he ever wished to know. Ever. His fingers trembled at the thought. But it didn't matter, because he saw a shock of blond hair and swimmingly intense blue eyes looking at him from the doorway of the Healer's Hut and it brought an unbidden bright smile. Morgan wasn't one to smile and be expressive, but he supposed that was what he had Dylan for. After all, they were each other's balance and counter-balance. El un que fue hecho para ti.
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CuteLikeMurder
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on Nov 27, 2013 10:53:16 GMT -5
Olivia regarded Zale with a warm smile. Her son, whom she had named for two men that she had lost too young, Caleb and her father, Jonah. The other Victors from more recent years had took to calling the boy, CJ. She was called Red. However, here in District Four, her second home; her spiritual home, she was called, "Olivia of the Rails." They had a term for those like her as well. Everywhere else she was known as a victor. But here in District Four they called their victors "the Living Dead." Which Olivia thought was fitting. The only reason she was still going was because she had someone to live for. Two someones. The bouncing babe in her arms, and the fortune teller that stood before her. Caleb was gone and of course her living was honoring his memory. But she knew good and well that she had died the moment Caleb bleed out in her arms. Still she pressed on. For her son and for the man that had sworn to protect her and made good on that promise every single day. "I said go awa--- Zale?"
She sat up and turned to face him. He didn't move from the doorway and nodded.
"You can enter."
Zale nodded. "This one bids you thanks." He took a seat next to her bed. They'd be in front of Caesar soon. And Olivia seemed sickly. "You look unwell."
She sighed. "I haven't been able to eat anything all day. Everyone keeps coming in here asking me to eat. But I either can't or the smell of it makes me sick."
They'd be honest with each other. Zale because he didn't know how to be anything else. And Olivia because she trusted Zale. It was true what her grandfather said, in a foxhole there was no one more trustworthy than someone from District Four at your back. Zale had proved that in the Arena.
"Olivia, you must eat." He offered her a bit of bread from his district. There was a greenish tint to it. Which she would later find out was due to the seaweed in the bread. She took a piece off and managed to keep it down. When she finished she caught Zale staring at her. It wasn't the way most people regarded her. She was pretty. Perhaps not Jan Colton or Jasmine Cloverfield pretty but she wasn't ugly either. She knew that at least in her district she could turn heads. But Zale wasn't looking at her that way. He was studying her. Not admiring her.
"This one believes it is not nerves that is making you ill."
She looked up at him and she could read it on his face. Her eyes welled with tears. [/i] "Thank you, Zale. I seemed to have forgotten how much warmer it is here." Olivia looked down at her cooing son and nodded. "My mother will be joining us in the Capitol. I only thought it was right that your mother take care of him. This is his home. I believe the sea has a pull on him already. He didn't cry the whole time we were on the train here."------------------------------------------- Morgan's mother called to him and for a moment he tore his eyes away from Dylan's approach. The language that they spoke would have been strange to anyone else's ear but this was their language. One that was exclusively the People of the Sea's. "Who are you looking at?"
"It is he is who is mine, mother."
"Ah... I see. Oh, don't look so serious, my son. Rejoice. Love is one of the few things the One gives us without asking nothing in return. It is known." "It is known."
"Now go, I can manage here for the rest of the day."
"Thank you, mother."
"Be well, my son."Morgan walked toward Dylan, offering his hand. "Come. Tell me of your morning."
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 27, 2013 14:57:50 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] "One does not win a Battle. One merely survives it. We have only survived one battle, Olivia. Our war? That is just starting."[/color][/center][/font][/size] "Under all of this darkness, I am extremely pale. I have my mother's skin." His father's dark hair and unwavering stare, but his mother's otherworldliness and paleness. "This is years of a 'base', as one said in The Godless Place. I will be dark forever. Mother will see to it that he is properly cared for when out of doors. It is known."CJ was born here in District Four. For one, the District had the 'best hospitals' in Panem--other than in The Capitol--though there was a bedside manner and a kindness here that no one would ever find in that place. Every birth and--oddly enough--every death was a celebration, and it was treated as such. Healer Delmara had delivered CJ and immediately laid him on Olivia's chest while Morgan--her son--had moved around the room with expert ease, assisting his mother. It was the way of things. A Healer's son would likely become a healer. The son of a Priestess? A Priest. "I understand." Zale offered the little boy his fingers, and CJ grasped onto them, laughing just a bit. "When I returned, I was not at peace until I saw it."That was an understatement. He'd gotten off the train and had immediately--and much to his attendant's dismay and ire--headed toward the beach instead of where he was 'supposed' to go. He hadn't stopped until he was waist deep in the water, breathing in the salt and the sea. It hadn't mattered that he had ruined all their hard work. Zale hadn't cared. He'd closed his eyes and just...let himself be home. And then his father had grabbed his hands, and he fought for only a moment before he realized that he'd been trying to wash imaginary blood from them, and that he had been silently weeping because he couldn't get it off. His father had wrapped him in his arms and held him, because apparently he'd been hurting himself. His hands had actually been bleeding, and Doctor Delmara had to clean and wrap the raw wounds before he'd been redressed and 'introduced' as a 'Victor' to his District. He still had moments like that--episodes where he was still wounded and still fighting in the Arena. Not so many as he'd had in the beginning, but he still had them. Hyperion told him that they all did. "I will be glad of your mother there. We will not be alone." He hated that place. More than he ever thought he could, but he did, and had done a terrible job of hiding it. He knew it. Everyone knew it. "Let us take him to my mother, yes?" To that little house in the beach. "And get out of the way of these people. One would think they'd not seen people who dressed properly for the weather before."And by looking at them? Not a one of them was comfortable. Black and gray indeed....
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 27, 2013 19:02:20 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” [/color][/center][/font][/size] He was the expressive one, and that was obvious. Morgan did not smile upon seeing him, but Dylan knew that he was happy. Especially when their hands caught each other and Morgan's expression softened. No one else would see it. No one but Dylan. "My morning? It was normal. The sea was quiet and the boats went out early. They went out early and came in early, and as such we unloaded early." Dylan shrugged, and then smiled a bit. "It is...early, yes? Midday?" He put his free hand to his eyes and looked up. It certainly felt like the sun was directly above them. "We could go home. Have mid-day meal? Or walk? I am your's for the day--forever, actually. It is known."
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CuteLikeMurder
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on Nov 28, 2013 17:20:52 GMT -5
---------------------------------------------------- "Yes, sir. Victor Sewell's mother and father. No sign of the Victors. We thought it best to just leave them be for the moment, sir."
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 28, 2013 22:58:04 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] "One does not win a Battle. One merely survives it. We have only survived one battle, Olivia. Our war? That is just starting."[/color][/center][/font][/size] "It is known." He repeated. Normally he would offer to take CJ from her for the walk--which wasn't too terribly far--but he knew she'd want him close for the next few hours. Especially seeing as she had to be in District Six before tomorrow. It meant she may have two hours before she had to leave. "Come. They'll be waiting."
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Nov 28, 2013 23:56:45 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” [/color][/center][/font][/size] "And this one certainly holds you to it." He grinned. One would think looking at all of their Warriors and their Living Dead that the people of District Four rarely smiled, and then one would meet Dylan Jones and see that it was quite the opposite. Their people were a people of few words, but happiness was not unknown to them. Most knew Dylan's story. His name--his surname--was almost synonymous with 'War' in the District, even if he were the only one who still bore the name. At least, purely, and as 'common' as it might be in other places, in District Four it was not. The Jones' were all but wiped out. Dylan had been found huddled below the floor in their little house, things having been overturned on top of it so that the only one who'd been able to find him had been someone who'd been close to his parents. Even then, he'd had nothing but a knife, but people hadn't wanted to touch him. He'd heard what was happening. He'd watched through the slats in the floor while his sister died above him. His mother, father, brother, and sister--his brother had been training for The Battles--had all been murdered above him, and dragged out of the house by Peacekeepers-in-Black. Only Morgan had been able to coax him out. Everyone had tried, and they hadn't wanted to hurt him, and the Delmaras had come to try and figure out if he was hurt--he wasn't. Morgan had just...gotten him to come out, and when they'd come back in the room Morgan had been holding him. He'd been sedated then, and then fostered to a family until he was old enough--fifteen, in the end--to be on his own. He still had nightmares. And he got to wear a braid at the tender age of twelve. "We'll go to The Beach. Further west than normal. There will be no one there." Because everyone else their age would be closer to town.
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CuteLikeMurder
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on Nov 30, 2013 11:06:16 GMT -5
As they got closer they could see a group of white suits converging outside Zale's home. His father was outside, trying to look stoic but anger burned behind those eyes. His mother was peaceful but there was an uneasiness to her energy.
"Victors Sewell and Tully, we are here to escort Victor Tully back to her home district. The President has suspended travel passes for unmarried Victors. So unless, you two are going to make an announcement, we have orders to see Victor Tully back to District Six."
Olivia held CJ close to her chest and looked at Zale.
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Morgan saw the commotion brewing at the Sewell home. He took Dylan's arm and lead them west. The presence of peacekeepers was always unnerving. But it seemed like they were trying to start trouble. Morgan didn't shy away from a battle, but Dylan... he had given enough to the cause. He didn't need to see other soldiers take up arms.
"This one has lost his appetite."
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Dec 1, 2013 11:11:06 GMT -5
] [/u][/i][/size][/url] "One does not win a Battle. One merely survives it. We have only survived one battle, Olivia. Our war? That is just starting."[/color][/center][/font][/size] It was his first instinct to put himself between Olivia and the men in white. Really, it was his first instinct to put himself between her, CJ, and anything he wasn't sure of, and this? This he was sure of. His father looked calm, but resolute. Only someone like Zale and Olivia would see the burning anger in him. His mother was peaceful, but pensive. As if she just wanted to step forward and gather him up as though he were five and not eighteen. As though he hadn't survived The Battles with his honor intact. He woke up screaming sometimes, and she knew it, but she tried her hardest to treat him as a man. "Olivia Hunnington Of The Rails and I have nothing to 'announce'." And they never would. Not unless things started getting bad. He'd do what he had to do to protect her, and if that meant....right. He'd do what he had to do. "Caleb Jonah is my God-Son. And we were not aware of this development. This One would appreciate his parents not being terrorized in any case.
"This One would also appreciate time to resettle a three month old child before sending him back to The Rails." Zale looked over his shoulder at Olivia. Where CJ's home was ultimately was up to her. "Olivia?"
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QuinnTalon
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Post by QuinnTalon on Dec 1, 2013 12:19:37 GMT -5
[/u][/i][/size][/url] “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” [/color][/center][/font][/size] Dylan followed Morgan's eyes to the Sewell household. Or rather: Zale's parents' house. Zale lived in the so-called 'Victors' Village', and regardless of the fact that there were now four Living Dead in there it seemed lonely. They were kept separate from the rest of their people. Dylan wasn't foolish enough to think that it was because they'd 'won' anything. There were other reasons for it, he was sure. And no one liked Dylan around things like this. He'd been told since he was twelve that he'd 'paid enough'. 'Too much', some would say, and then follow it with a 'It is Known.' From their lips to The One's ears. Dylan knew logically that htey were right, but things like that.... ..But Zale stepped in front of Olivia of The Rails when they were approached. "I can understand why." Morgan didn't back down from a fight, save when there were Peacekeepers involved and Dylan was with him. In fact, it was understood that Morgan was supposed to keep him away from those people. His arm had slid through Dylan's own in that way it did when he was being insistent. When he couldn't take no for an answer. So they were leaving. They were going away from what could turn violent if it weren't handled and soon. ' "Tomorrow is The Choosing. We should spend today someplace away from...those." Though he wanted to do something about that. His blood sang with it, but there was nothing to do. Which was why he pulled free of Morgan and grinned, teasing. "Come catch me. Perhaps then your appetite will have returned, yes?"
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