Post by Kulvar on Mar 13, 2013 21:36:09 GMT -5
Jasmine Coverfield, District 11 Mentor, HG25 Victor[/u][/color]
Jasmine stood in the private viewing room. The decadent excess spent on the room, the plush carpets, the over-sized view screen that threw everything that was happening in the arena into glorious and gory high-definition for others to see. Experience. Jasmine could remember being in her arena, fighting for her life. Fighting for the lives of her friends. Fighting to survive and carry the memory of those who'd fallen.
The sheer excess of this room and the excess it represented of the Capitol, made her sick. She was trying hard not to let things get to her. She'd felt herself die a little bit when she'd killed in the arena, and it had taken the edge off of her when her own tributes died in this one. Though each death took its toll on her and left her angry and a touch more dead within. They'd died because she'd failed them. Failed to convince them to heed her advice.
Jasmine, however, wasn't in the room to reflect on her own failings... her sister in combat, needed her now, in that room with the high-definition death erupting on the screen. Jasmine had failed her tributes, but she'd not fail Rory by not being there. She stepped forward, still wobbly on heels she never quite mastered. She wore a black dress, formal and elegant, and, despite the district 11 designer's desires, very modest.
She lowered a hand to her friend's shoulder, eyes leaving the screen as Jan and Felix fought to the background of Lily and Sassinak. Words were inadequate, but... silence worse.
"I'm 'ere fer you... fer yer District, Rory..." Not her strongest words, nor her best. But Jasmine wasn't known for speaking eloquently, and this would be a trying time for her friend. She knew it, soul deep... what remained of her tarnished soul. She kept her gaze on her friend, bending down to her level.
Jasmine stood in the private viewing room. The decadent excess spent on the room, the plush carpets, the over-sized view screen that threw everything that was happening in the arena into glorious and gory high-definition for others to see. Experience. Jasmine could remember being in her arena, fighting for her life. Fighting for the lives of her friends. Fighting to survive and carry the memory of those who'd fallen.
The sheer excess of this room and the excess it represented of the Capitol, made her sick. She was trying hard not to let things get to her. She'd felt herself die a little bit when she'd killed in the arena, and it had taken the edge off of her when her own tributes died in this one. Though each death took its toll on her and left her angry and a touch more dead within. They'd died because she'd failed them. Failed to convince them to heed her advice.
Jasmine, however, wasn't in the room to reflect on her own failings... her sister in combat, needed her now, in that room with the high-definition death erupting on the screen. Jasmine had failed her tributes, but she'd not fail Rory by not being there. She stepped forward, still wobbly on heels she never quite mastered. She wore a black dress, formal and elegant, and, despite the district 11 designer's desires, very modest.
She lowered a hand to her friend's shoulder, eyes leaving the screen as Jan and Felix fought to the background of Lily and Sassinak. Words were inadequate, but... silence worse.
"I'm 'ere fer you... fer yer District, Rory..." Not her strongest words, nor her best. But Jasmine wasn't known for speaking eloquently, and this would be a trying time for her friend. She knew it, soul deep... what remained of her tarnished soul. She kept her gaze on her friend, bending down to her level.