CuteLikeMurder
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As if killing the bard impresses us.
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Post by CuteLikeMurder on May 9, 2018 17:08:07 GMT -5
The Sun rose over the clear warm waters of District Four. Where other districts may have felt uneasy the week before the Games, the Citizens here -- well, it was just another day. They didn't meet the Games the way the other Career Districts did. Their two warriors would be thanked for their sacrifice and their district would continue with their lives until the next Choosing.
They had a few victors since the Quarter Quell. Five tributes that came home to join the ranks of the living dead.
It was cool but not cold, even now in the middle of winter. It was actually fairly warm, though the night had been bitterly cold. Still, the heavy clouds in the sky would burn away by midday and the sun would shine on District Four once again.
There was the sound of laughter in the streets and the fishermen readying their boats. It may have been a week before the Reaping but life didn't stall in District Four because of it.
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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 10, 2018 4:45:18 GMT -5
Zale Sewell; Co-Victor of the 27th Annual Hunger Games: The Priest "The One is in the rain..." The surf was lapping at his feet, and Zale was just...standing there, looking down at the waves as they touched his toes. Breathing in....holding it....breathing out slowly... Arms loose at his sides, Zale looked back at the waves and toward the freedom of the sea. Honestly, all it would take is a good boat and enough supplies, and someone could just...go. It wasn't like the Capitol had Peacekeepers out there. It wasn't as if any Peacekeeper out of The Quarry could ever match one of The Sea on the water. It was known. This was their home, though. Theirs', and they would fight for it. They were still fighting for it. They would fight to the last man, woman, and child. It was just how things were. Forty years after a treaty they never signed shackled them to a destiny not of their choosing. And that was what it was. Shackles. Even The Living Dead. Perhaps especially the Living Dead. It wasn't warm yet, but it would be in a few hours. It was why he was dressed as he was--pants and bare feet with a light jacket. He allowed himself a few minutes of meditation before he began walking along the shore, hems of his pants getting unrepentantly damp. It was The Sun's Day, which meant breakfast with his parents before he went off to work. Before he went to fish the shallows for a few hours before he found himself in the square reading fortunes. Today would be a hot one, and the fools from the Capitol would be arriving at some point to begin setting up their decadence in what they called 'The Square' and what everyone here called 'Our Garden'. Because that was what it was. Keeping the fools from trampling their fledging orange trees was going to be a major headache, but then, when weren't Those Capitol People a major headache?
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Post by Seryna on May 11, 2018 19:17:50 GMT -5
Coraline was swimming.
It was becoming a ritual of hers. In the twenty six years that she had watched the Hunger Games come, like a tsunami making landfall, she found one constant. She could control herself. She could control how she reacted to outside events. Yet all of her best laid plans and expectations turned to dust before the machine that was the Games. It crashed over all, churning up bodies and returning broken men and women to their district. It was becoming more and more difficult for her peace that resided in her. She loved the children of Four. She loved her family, the victors who came home to her. She loved the Sea.
Soon the machine would come and demand the blood of District Four. It would demand that her children kill. Violence was always present and sometimes necessary, but she detested how the Games glorified it. She paused in the water, catching her breath. She was beyond the surf, bobbing up and down with the water. The deep black swirled beneath her and she fought some primal fear that something was there. A shark at her foot. A Man of War. A new mutation, a gift of the Capital just to delight in another death. Conrad had not been safe. Brendan could not protect his son. Could she protect her adopted family?
Her body was weary. The years took their toll. She turned back in for the shore, pausing to time her approach to come in a break in the sets. She did not enjoy being held under by the waves. When she reached the shore, she toweled off with the towel she had left on the beach. She dropped the towel on the sand and sat down, studying the water. A few boats were going out. She waved to those who noticed her. She felt the chill on her skin and welcomed it. She had a lot to do, but she studied the sea.
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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 12, 2018 13:19:30 GMT -5
Riva Sewell; Co-Victor of the 27th Annual Hunger Games: The Paladin "The path of the righteous warrior is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil people. Blessed is the warrior, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for they are truly their people's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the One Who Dwells Above All when I lay my vengeance upon thee."
Riva took to fishing after their victory. Fishing, speaking the Word, and preparing the next generation warriors for the Battle. They were of the waves. And one day they would all return their. For the One was in the rain, and the rain filled the sea.
It was known.
She was dressed in skin tight pants made from a material that kept her body warm despite being up to her thighs in water. She would have no students today. There would be no preaching of the Word. For their young warriors were taking the week to steel themselves for the coming Choosing.
Riva felt the One in the waves, in the Sun burning away the marine layer. She knew that she had been born to be a warrior in the Battle. And through the Grace of the One she and he brother had survived to become the Living Dead, passing on their wisdom to others. The Capitol may have crowned them Victors but their war was far from over.
It was known.
When she saw her brother on the shore, Riva joined him, resolving herself to leave the fish alone for now.
"Greetings to you, brother," she greeted, clasping his forearm as was their way. "Coraline was out in the water," Riva reported, nodding toward their former mentor. She looked back at the still waters, just passed the swells. "Of course, Morgan has been out before daybreak."
Just then a head popped above the surface before dipping back down again.
"It's all he does for hours on end..." Riva told Zale with a touch of pity. "I think he longs for his bondmate. In the way Jace of the Fields longed for our fallen warrior."
She walked with Zale along the beach until they neared Coraline. "Coraline," Riva greeted respectfully. "This year's Choosing draws closer. But our warriors will be ready as always, I think."
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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 13, 2018 8:28:20 GMT -5
Zale Sewell; Co-Victor of the 27th Annual Hunger Games: The Priest "The One is in the rain..." "Greetings to you, Sister." He clasped his sister's arm, eyes finding Coraline down the beach, and then Morgan in the water just before he disappeared beneath it. Dylan's death...Zale tore himself apart for it for years. A boy who should never have been in the Battles had been Chosen, and Zale had done his best by him. By him, and by Kaliani, who'd sworn to be Dylan's Spear in the Arena and to do everything that she could to send him home. He could have done more. That had been his thought for years. That there was something he could have done that could have saved him. Dylan Jones, Rebellion Royalty, who's family had been killed years before for 'Crimes Against The Capitol', and who did not have the Heart of a Warrior as it was defined by those Of The Sea. Gentle people had their place in their society, and Dylan had always been that. Gentle, and kind, and when he'd killed someone in the Arena and had dropped his spear in grief, every single one of the Mentors standing in that Sponsor Hall had known it. Dylan Jones was likely never coming home again. And they'd been right. And Zale had tried to help Morgan. Morgan, who had gone into the Arena the year after and had nearly torn their world to the ground. Morgan, who'd never truly healed from the loss of his Bondmate. Who had gone into the Arena the worst way a Warrior could go into Battle. Angry. Zale had tried. When Morgan had been returned to them. Zale had tried to get through to him the way he'd helped Jace of the Fields. All one sometimes needed was a willing ear and a little companionship, and healing could happen. But where Jace of the Fields had known Lallek for mere few weeks, Morgan and Dylan had been paired since they were twelve years old. Everyone knew it. Even before the two of them knew, everyone else did. They were each-others'. And to have to live that way, without the other half of himself...it was agony. "I have tried," Riva knew. She knew better than most, the way Zale had agonized over the state of Morgan's soul. "Mother and Father wish us to have breakfast. Perhaps Morgan and Coraline would wish to join?"
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