CuteLikeMurder
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As if killing the bard impresses us.
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on May 9, 2018 8:30:49 GMT -5
The Sun rose over the mountains, dawn breaking over trees that never lost their green even in the middle of the colder months. But in never got too cold here. Perhaps a few days of freezing temperatures, where the roofs of the homes here, frosted over. But they were too low, too close to the coast for it to truly snow. Flurries, maybe once a year dotted the ground but melted quickly. It was always damp here. Misty and foggy. And a sunny day was also always paired with strong but warm winds in the summer.
But there were dark clouds off the coast. A storm was coming. This placed rained 9 months out of the year. It wasn't something that every person could get used to. But for the people of District Seven it was just a way of life. The trees that surrounded them needed water to survive. And they used that provide water for the people.
Before the Quarter Quell District Seven was an underdog. Middle of the pack district in the games. They had 3 victors before the 25th Games. Not anything to turn someone's nose up to. But 15 years a tiny girl of just 15 had done the impossible. She brought her two district partners home with her. And overnight they went from 3 Victors to 6. Three years later they added two more to their ranks. And another a few years after that. But since then, they had lost their first Victor. Some say it was an accident. Those say that it wasn't. The Capitol assured everyone that was just doing important work. But most people knew what happened.
This was after all, a District punished for supposed rebellion. Gable Mason was killed in the square. The lumbermill had caught fire killing many, including Avery Noland, father of the Aurora Noland, the little Victor from District Seven: the Girl Who Dared to Hope. Conrad's "disappearance" was just one more thing in a long list of many that made the atmosphere here different. The people of D7 knew what it was like to win, and lose. But if you asked most of them, there wasn't much of a difference between the two.
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Post by Seryna on May 11, 2018 16:04:04 GMT -5
Some areas of the District were working. There were things to get done for the Reaping and for some people, it brought industry and work as well as seasonal depression. For those who knew - or had even respected - Gable, Avery and Auroura, the place was depressing. Hope was harsh, as it could be dashed. Those who knew Rowan and Tank, and their work to try and uplift the spirits, may try and put on a brave face. For the Victors, at least.
Rowan was leading her two youngest down the street, carrying a market bag. Rowan had aged well, wings of grey flecking her hair. There were stresses in all the Districts. Some people may look older than their time, wrung out by worry, depression and despair. Rowan worked at keeping her face pleasant, at stopping to have a word with people on the street. She greeted old Man Hank with a fond smile and a touch on his arm. Old Man Hank was a proud man with a twisted back. He worked as best as he was able, and he was respected for never shirking his duties. He had married, but lost his wife, Aethel, barely a year into his marriage. He had never remarried. He shook Rowan's hand with his aged one and reached out to her boy. The boy straightened and did his best handshake, pleased at being treated like a man. The girl smiled sweetly and offered her hand for a dainty shake.
A few feet to the left, Kelly Soda and Rich Monsoon were carrying a box of materials. There was the stage to construct and pennants to sew and lines to wind around the stage. With them came Widow Olara and her daughter, sweet Sara. They could sew a fine line and would be doing the decorations, as best as District Seven could manage. All four pause to speak to Rowan and Hank and the children. There is work to be done. Yet bright spots are few and far between, and an uplifting word and conversation can do that.
Yards away was Rowan's eldest. Venture was thirteen and had grown self conscious. All of the District knew of his mother, and her co - victors. He had seen recaps of his mother as a young woman, attacked and wounded. Of her surgery under Tank and Rory. It created anxiety within him at the best of times. All of his friends knew that he disliked discussing the Games, his mother's games especially. He was hanging now with Erica, a girl one year older than him, and her brother, Kieran. Kieran looked like a pretty boy, a pouf, a flounce. Yet he was mischievous and that angelic smile was a distraction at best. The three were crouching by where platform would be, sketching. They had made a plaster paste and were now doing what children do - seek boundaries. They were smoothing the plaster some place out of the way, but where it would be seen from the platform. Maybe by Peace Keepers on patrols.
The odds are never in our favor. Erica was writing with a stick stylus in the plaster. Noland Mason Venture was writing in as elaborate scroll work as he could. Kieran stood guard a few feet away, bouncing a fabric sack on his foot in an act of pre - teen absorption. So many pretended that kids could see nothing.
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CuteLikeMurder
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As if killing the bard impresses us.
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on May 13, 2018 12:22:56 GMT -5
Adler Grayling; Citizen of District Seven: The Rebel Lumberjack “If you're looking for a hero, you came to the wrong Grayling.”
“You know you could help me,” Adler said, as he brought the ax down, splitting the log in two.
Skye sipped from her coffee mug. “I could. But I'm not gonna.”
If he pushed, she'd remind him that she did all of the heavy lifting in the Hunger Games. And honestly, Alder couldn't argue with that. She had. He watched her. Everyone in District Seven had. She wasn't the typical District Seven tribute. Skye Hawkins was just trying to get home. And she did. She kept her promise. After he kissed her in the Justice Building, after he told her to come back, she swore that she would. And a month later she was back in his arms.
Adler hadn't let go of her since.
Even when times got bad for them both, they didn't let go. They just held on tighter. It was them against the world. Skye and Adler. Just them.
“Oh, I get it. You want to see all of this in action.” Adler held out his arms. It didn't have the same effect in a flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves and he wasn't about to take it off. It was too cold for that.
“Yes, babe. You're very pretty. And I like to see my man work,” Skye deadpanned.
Adler grinned. “That's right. And then when I'm done here, we'll go back inside and put something good in your mouth.” When she raised an eyebrow at him, he laughed. “Breakfast, Skye... I mean, we could do that too.” She just stared at him. “Or not. Or I could do that to you... We'll eat breakfast and discuss it. Sounds good? Good.”
Wistar Noland; Co-Victor of the 28th Annual Hunger Games: The Bard of District Seven “Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right.
“This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world -- “No, YOU move.”” Wistar was up with the sun. It wasn't something he usually did. He was a wake up around 10 sort of guy. But with the Reaping coming soon, the Co-Victor, the Bard of District Seven was restless. So he sat on the porch of his cabin in the Victors' Village, trying not to look at Conrad's old place or at his former District Partner's cabin. She looked happy. As happy as any victor could be. And that was good. He was just disappointed. Skye could have been a part of the Resistance. But she refused. And their friendship was strained as of late.
Still, he was happy that she was happy. Even if it was with Adler Grayling his childhood bully.
Wistar strummed the guitar, singing softly to himself, as he watched the people pass by. Aurora and the kids would be back in a few days. He missed them. He missed their little faces. Fatherhood wasn't in the cards for Wiss. And he had made his peace with that. Still, he liked between around his little cousins/nephews and little baby, Katie. They looked nothing like Jace. They barely looked like Rory.
At least Junius and Aurora were smart enough to never met here. If you put those kids next to June and anyone could see it. Wistar feared for his cousin. He knew the path she walked on. And it either lead to rebellion or martyrdom. Neither sounded appealing but anything to keep Luke, Bran, Avery, and Katie from the same fate that had befallen them.
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QuinnTalon
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For those who fight for it, life has a flavor the sheltered will never know.
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Post by QuinnTalon on May 14, 2018 4:46:35 GMT -5
Maxine Colton-Noland; Co-Victor of the 28th Annual Hunger Games: The Spectre "Tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway. So bring on the rain." "Tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway....so bring on, the rain." Sometimes people just did not know what to do with the people of District 9. The people who sang for everything. Prayer, a wedding, a funeral, the birth of a child? There was always singing. Jace sang all the time. He'd sung in the arena, under his breath and during times when he really shouldn't have. For them, it was just a way of things. You sang. Everyone did. Jace though...he was the one who could change the world with his voice. People couldn't help but stop and listen... ...He was like Wistar that way. Still, Max sang. It was what she was doing as she was putting together tea and coffee and a little bit of breakfast because her man had been up since the sun had risen, and she knew exactly why. The Reapings always put them on edge. Even when she and Wistar had no children and likely never would. Not unless they took in a child who needed a home, and even then...she'd seen her brother with Rory's babies. Jace was their father, as much as...whoever had provided the needed material for them was. Losing them would rip him apart, and this time they might not be able to put him back together again. Maybe it was selfish, but Max was just fine with it being just she and Wistar. They'd tried. Once, there'd almost been a baby, but when she'd lost it--so early that they didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl, but late enough that she'd almost died, and Wistar had begged her. He could stand living childless, he'd said, but he there wasn't another her, and it would kill him. It would kill him to lose her. And then he'd gone and had...something seen to, and now it was a surety. There would be no children for Maxine and Wistar, and that was just fine with them. But it was also why she waited until the last possible moment to go back to her own District. In District 9, being childless at her age was either a shame or a scandal. Even for a Victor. They were starting to look at Sammy oddly for not having a family yet, and he was a man. Max knew what his issue was though. He didn't have time for any of that. He was too busy saving the world. Wistar was trying very hard not to look at Skye's house as absently strummed and sang under his breath, and Max stepped out of the house and sat quietly next to him, letting him have his own thoughts. She hadn't minded doing all of the killing in the Arena. He...was like Jace that way. Not built for it. HE was like poor Dylan that way as well. Poor Dylan, and poor Lopax, and... "There's coffee, Wiss." Best to bring him out of his thoughts, because her's had turned toward that terrible day the moment she'd stepped out of his house. Who knew where his were?
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CuteLikeMurder
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As if killing the bard impresses us.
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on May 14, 2018 22:24:40 GMT -5
Wistar Noland; Co-Victor of the 28th Annual Hunger Games: The Bard of District Seven “Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right.
“This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world -- “No, YOU move.”” His home was musical. And he loved that. A singing lumberjack didn't go over well in his family. His parents weren't terrible people. Neither were his brothers. And it wasn't that didn't appreciate his talent, they did. But his music got in the way of his work. Wistar, despite being from the lumber district, wasn't the type to delight in physical labor. And that caused more friction in his family than anything else he did. They were gone now. He was last Noland in District Seven. But he kept their memory alive with his music.
So it made since that after Felix, Wistar would find someone like Max, the Spectre they called her in Capitol. But to him, she danced on Arena. There was art in what she, Ronnie, and Skye had done in the Arena. After Sera died that was. They had been a terrible foursome to behold. But they had kept them alive. Because it certainly wasn't his singing that did it.
The tension he was holding in shoulders faded when his wife sat next to him. Just having her close made it better. When she left, he stayed with Rory. Wistar, since the Arena had a problem with two things, solitude and silence. And being away from his wife was bad enough. Even if was just for a day. But the quiet that befell their home was unbearable. And if he had a nightmare -- there would be no one there to tell that he was only fighting ghosts.
Max's melodic voice pulled him out of his thoughts and his frown faded into a smile. “Second best three letter sentence.” Wistar placed the guitar down next to with great care, kissing his wife on her temple. “Good morning, Max. Thanks for making coffee. I would have done it myself but... but I forgot.”
Skye Hawkins; Co-Victor of the 28th Annual Hunger Games: The Executioner “The only thing keeping a person for true darkness is just the right set of circumstances.”
Skye had kept an eye on Wistar since she stepped outside with her coffee. He looked happy. And that was a good thing. If any of them deserved a happy ending, it was Wistar and Max. Especially after everything. They could have both gone the way that Skye and Ronnie had. They had the look. But Wistar had sold their love story so fervently that no one in the Capitol could step in between them. Sky and Ronnie, they didn't have those stories. Ronnie, last time she checked, wasn't married. And Skye -- well, she had this guy. This good ol' boy from her old neighborhood who was currently doing the world's most uncoordinated dance for her enjoyment.
Alder was just trying to make her smile. Reaping Season was hard on them both. But for Skye it was a whole new monster. As soon as she got onto the train their attendant gave Skye a list of her appointments. And her work would begin. When she wasn't with her tributes, she was with "them."
“Skye, I feel like I am giving you some of my best work here,” Adler said.
Skye smiled. “I remember you saying a similar thing last night.” And when he blushed she laughed. “I think it's cute that I can still make you blush.”
Adler frowned. “I'm not cute. Wrong twin.”
“You are cute. And your unsexy dance is adorable.”
His frown deepened. “I'm not adorable, my dance is sexy, and it's doing it for you because I am a very handsome man.”
“One of those things is true, babe, yes.”
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Post by Seryna on May 15, 2018 13:05:09 GMT -5
People to interact with in the square
Venture, Erica and Kieran finish with the teenage rebellion that is the life blood of their age. They retreat from the scene of the crime, joining Kieran in kicking the fabric sack around the square. They are self absorbed at that age, absorbed in thoughts of the Reaping. While the adults likely noticed and respectfully nodded to the Victors, the children stumble nearly into the group.
The other two stop behind Venture, frowning. The fourteen year old girl and her younger brother seem unsure about speaking to the Victors. "Venture," Erica points down the square. "- look. Its your family."
Venture turns and sees his mother, Rowan, and his younger brother and sister. "So it is." He replies. He resists the urge to check the site and see if any one has noticed the crime.
"Maybe we should help." Kieran suggests. "The adults look like they have a handle on it." Venture disagreed. Didn't the kids have enough pressure with the Reaping coming up? Why be trapped inside, sewing, added to it?
Rowan disengages from the citizens of District Seven and walks toward the group, spotting her son and his friends. Her younger children trail along behind her, talking excitedly among themselves. "Venture," She greets, looking him over from head to toe. "What have you been getting into?"
"Just playing with my friends, Mom." Venture protests. "I can still do that, right?"
Rowan makes a non - committal noise. "Its good to see you. I was just going to teach the kids sewing... but perhaps they play with you."
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