An Outside Perspective [Open to one]

An Outside Perspective [Open to one] Jun 26, 2010 2:01:53 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jun 26, 2010 2:01:53 GMT -5

((OOC- Mmph. I tried to resist this, I really did, but- *whaps Aeleze* Someone is sick of being dormant, and knows how to play off how much I like Arbor. XP Feels weird to be using her, I haven't in a while...

I wasn't sure what you had in mind for this thread, so this is what you got. There was a point to that sentence and I was going to clarify it in the rest of this paragraph, but apparently simple things like that are hard to hold onto when you're tired. Huh.))

One could not time creativity. It was a random, sporadic thing that could be triggered by anything, be it large or small, new or familiar. For this reason, Aeleze took it in stride when she was out walking, as she was today, and an oddly shaped cloud began firing neurons.

Her digital memo pad was in her hand in an instant, the stylus clicking away. She was getting better at typing on the thing; she'd had trouble before, but she was getting faster and faster, in large part thanks to Kiral. Part of their agreement (not that anyone could know it was an agreement- the Capitol finding out that an avox and her mistress were friends would not spell good things for either of them) had been that in exchange for Kiral accepting her writing lessons, Aeleze was forbidden to write in blood. Given that she lost pens like nobody's business (and she ran out of skin eventually, anyway), that left her with pretty much one alternative: practice.

Click-click-click. The Capitol woman stopped walking, afraid of what would happen if she tried to coordinate her feet and pay attention to this idea at the same time. She didn't want to lose it, but if she rammed into someone, she undoubtedly would.

Suddenly what she was typing disappeared, replaced by a flashing screen. The tiny computer let out an urgent beeping, and she read the screen with concern. What had she forgotten about this t-

OH! The memo pad went into a hidden pocket, and she began walking briskly, winding her way through the streets and the people. How had she forgotten this one? An interview for a stylist position next years' Games was a pretty big thing to let slip, even for her.

Televisions appeared at regular intervals. She managed to ignore these for most of the walk, but it was hard to resist the sway of the media forever in the Panem's heart. Eventually a movement on the screen caught her eye. She paused and turned to see Sami Hawkings standing on the TV, bleeding profusely but still standing proudly as she fired her bow. Her heart ached for the girl and the tributes she was fighting with and against; she tried to turn away, but found her eyes glued to the screen. She felt a vague attachment to Sami; the girl's stylist was a friend of hers, who had spoken highly of this year's District Ten female. The tributes were dropping quickly, and Aeleze was glad that this girl had made it to the top nine.

An argument from only a few hours earlier surfaced in her mind, and she frowned- an unusual expression on her, given her propensity for being an airhead (sometimes she wondered if Kiral was really being affectionate when she called Aeleze that). Her friend was sad because what remained of her job on the girl's hair had been messed with by the hurricane that morning; Aeleze was sad because the girl had been caught in the hurricane at all. Dreadful, these Games. She had never thought about it much, but being a stylist two years ago had cut her; those Games had been particularly heart-wrenching, of course, but even without the drama of a baby in the Arena, it would have been hard. She had gotten attached to those two District Five tributes, little time though she had spent with them, and it had hurt to watch them die. She'd been thinking about things since then, but it hadn't been until Kiral's arrival and the friendship of the two that she had started really wondering whether these deaths were really needed. (Living with a rebel you frequently went off for days at a time to risk her life fighting the government did that kind of thing to you. Early on, worry for Kiral's life and some kind of twisted loyalty to the Capitol had caused her to pull out every trick in her arsenal to keep the avox girl from her missions. These days, she was beginning to understand the fight, and even though she worried she let Kiral go and kept her discretion about it.)

More beeping alerted her, and she jumped. She didn't have time to stand in the street musing, even if it was about the Games, which were pretty important. She shook her head a little and began to run down the avenue as quickly as she could, her hair flying behind her and her outfit dropping small fruits that disintegrated into leaves and then to air. (She was interviewing for District Seven here, after all.) She could not afford to be late to the first interview that mattered.

Here, this was the building. Guards moved to intercept her rushed path, but she flashed an identification and they relaxed. As she slipped through the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in it, and nodded to herself in relief. Her hair was disheveled, but that was okay; it stood out around her head like the flame it was meant to look like, making the mess look deliberate. Her outfit was intact, the brown skirt and green top still throwing off projections of fruit, and the outfit was the important part of her appearance today. If her clothes could make enough of an impression, the fact that she didn't like to mess with her skin or eyes could be overlooked.

Even so, a worried hand went to her hair, half in a gesture of anxiety and half in an attempt to smooth it out a bit. The gesturing was okay, but the smoothing part was apparently a bad idea. Trying to do something deliberate with her hair took just enough attention that the bit of focus she was keeping on her feet moved elsewhere. That would have been okay, but for two things: she wasn't used to shoes meant to make her feet look like roots, and she was more than capable of tripping at even her best moments. She did so, one hand still raised to her head. She hit the floor hard, and a spray of mismatched fruits burst in all directions, vanishing into thin air the moment they started to come into contact with anything.

Her fingers were jarred, but her hand cushioned her head from the floor. She thanked it silently as she tried to massage feeling back into it with her other hand. Her outfit would be fine- it was built to last- so she didn't bother to check it over, but she did put a bit of pressure on her hip with her good hand as she stood up. She winced- there would be a nasty bruise there tomorrow, and maybe a light gash- but it was nothing serious. Once she may have thought so, but Kiral came home from those mysterious missions of hers with worse all the time.

She was fine, so that left the person whose foot she had landed on to worry about. She turned to them- him, as she discovered. (A familiar-looking him, too. Should she know him? She narrowed her eyes very slightly and tilted her head to the side, but couldn't decide, so she let it slide by her. If knowing who he was turned out to be important, she'd remember it. Hopefully.) "Sorry about that," she told him. "Your foot okay? I didn't get and of the rest of you, did I?"