[.}One of a Number{.][>Glitter<]

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WT
Retired Staff

2,134 POSTS
Pronouns: they
last seen Sept 10, 2021 1:50:54 GMT -5

time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

[.}One of a Number{.][>Glitter<] Jan 31, 2011 20:33:22 GMT -5

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Post by WT on Jan 31, 2011 20:33:22 GMT -5

Shaking. Violent shaking, hard enough to snap her head to the left and pull a muscle in her neck. Eyes fluttering open, an urgent figure above her and the sound of panicked bleating from the outside.

Shaking.

Something- a draft of cold air, perhaps, or maybe just a slight shift in the dream- prompted Aeleze to struggle with opening her eyes. Stubbornly her eyelids resisted anything more than the barest of flickers. Even that let too much light in, and her head screamed in protest; with a wince that made her entire upper body ache, she let them fall shut again, giving way to the half-dream state again.

Sitting up. Somehow she isn't bleary, although she isn't sure why- normally getting her awake, let alone truly conscious, takes forever. After a moment the room stops spinning around and she decides it's adrenaline, because now that she can focus she realizes that Kiral is making a high-pitched sort of semi-shout and Thalia is barking at the foot of her bed.

"What is it?"

Unable, as always, to speak, Kiral pulls her to the window. Terrified, but determined not to show such a weakness in front of the younger girl, Aeleze slits the curtains just enough to see outside. For a moment she doesn't see anything; she's far enough from the main part of the city for it to get properly dark out here at night, so colours are muted and shapes indistinct. The moment's urgency leads her forward, though, so she keeps scanning the night- dark shapes of trees, of fences, of people walking outside, of-

Forgetting her resolve to show no weakness, Aeleze retches once onto the floor and reaches for Thalia's warmth. Her sheep are lying out there, their bright fur gleaming in the electric light of the streetlamp. Even Regalia, the dark one who should blend into the deep green of the grass, is glimmering with blood.

Time did nothing to ease the pain. Though she didn't vomit, Aeleze tasted bile and had to choke it back. Throwing up would hurt too much at this point.

Kiral holds up a hastily-scribbled note. "I think they now about mee. They'r headed for the front door. We need to run."

There's no time to comment on the avox's spelling, so Aeleze just nods. Enough time with Kiral in the house has taught her a few things about getting out at a moment's notice, and she doesn't waste time packing; she just snags the emergency kit (her planner, a change or two of clothes, some water, antiseptic) stashed under her bed, latches Thalia's leash to her collar, and nods to Kiral. Both women, accompanied by the dog, slip out of the bedroom as silently as they can. For Aeleze, that's not quite silently enough; Kiral makes her stop and take her shoes off.

Did she ever get shoes again? The rest of her body is aching so badly that she didn't even think about that. After brief consideration, Aeleze realizes to some surprise that the soles of her feet are very cold. No shoes, then.

They go for the back door. It makes Aeleze cringe to think of walking past the still, torn bodies of her beloved sheep, but she doesn't complain. If the Peacekeepers are in fact headed for the front door, nothing else makes sense. Just walking through the house is cringe-worthy, anyway- the walls covered with conversations and designs, the paint-spotted floors, the sewing machines that she may never see again. One more painful memory is bearable. It has to be.

But she never gets there. Whatever Peacekeepers Kiral saw, they were only part of the group. The instant her hand touches the doorknob, the door flies open, nearly taking her hand off with the force of it.

Wait- she did keep that hand, right? Aeleze wiggled her fingers ever so slightly, just to be sure, and was relieved to find that they were not only there, but that they worked.

"Go!"

Screaming. Shots. She runs, but doesn't get far; the blood in the grass slips her up, and once she's down there's no getting back up. Regalia's blank gaze, side by side with most of Luxa's head, stuns the fight from her.

Kiral tries to pick her up, but a Peacekeeper starts toward them, and with all the life she can muster Aeleze shoves her away. Kiral is why they're here. They might be lenient on her, but the avox needs to get out of here now. For a moment Kiral hesitates, but Aeleze shoves her again, and then she's gone.

Thinking back, Aeleze realized that she didn't actually know why Kiral had vanished so suddenly. She has assumed- had wanted to assume- that the younger girl had just run, but it was possible that a Peacekeeper had grabbed her away.

Someone grabs her and yanks her up. While swaying on her feet, she desperately tries to untangle the leash from her hand. Thalia won't leave her, though, and even after the leash falls to the ground- even after Aeleze kicks her, somewhat viciously- it isn't until metal batons come down and that Thalia leaves her owner's side. Even then, it's only because she falls the wrong way, her crushed body too far gone to control gravity's effect on it.

Screaming. Trying to reach Thalia. The batons again, this time on her, though they avoid the head.

Blackness.

And then- albeit some time later- here.

Once more, for the sake of doing something, Aeleze attempted to open her eyes. The pounding headache returned in full force, but this time she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes only until they were slits. She was there for Kiral- if the other girl had really escaped, her capture would have added time to the chase- and if it was the other way around, Kiral wouldn't just lie there. She would get up and do something. Therefore, Aeleze would at least make an effort to do the same.

That was easier said (well, thought) than done, though. Parting her eyelids was an ordeal in and over itself; sitting up made her gasp in pain until her breath ran out, despite multiple breaks and the support of the wall behind her. Time and sleep had soother her battered body some, but the hard ground had added its own array of bruises and stiff muscles.

For the first time, real fear began to set in. Adrenaline and anger were no longer there to take the edge off; she was purely and immobilizing terrified. When she'd shoved Kiral away, she had had some hope that being a Capitolite would protect her. Now, visualizing the mutilated forms of her small herd, she had no idea why. None of these Peacekeepers knew her; even if they did, they were trained to not care about such things. She would be ripped to pieces here in a few days, if they even gave her that long. Being one of their number would do no more to save her than the desperate flight had done to save Thalia.

Swallowing hard, she took inventory of the room to try and calm herself. Unfortunately, there was another comforting about this place. The only things that accompanied her were a few metal beds, a metal sink, some sort of bowl (a toilet?), and-

And a girl.

Aeleze had to squint slightly to see in the dim light. (Seeing a person in semidarkness pulled forth images of blood, which she pushed away desperately.) Even after all that had happened she couldn't help herself from instantly trying to design an outfit to match the slender figure and curly blonde hair. The knowledge that her skills hadn't deserted her couldn't make everything better- in fact, it reminded her that her hair was probably completely ruined, and though she knew it was ridiculous this added blow seemed devastating. Still, even mental designing calmed her down enough for her exhausted mind to realize that this girl was probably here for much the same reasons as her. What the stranger had done, she wasn't sure, but there was no doubt that they both faced the same sticky- if not deadly- fate. That made Aeleze much more akin to this teenager than to the Peacekeepers she was supposed to be supporting.

Supposed to be- but how could she, after her time with Kiral? How could anyone whose eyes had been opened to the Districts' suffering not cease to support the ones who made tragedies such as the fate of Kiral's father possible?

Her voice trailed out, weak but coherent. Somehow it was even fairly bright, or at least as bright as she could make it given the circumstances. After all, this girl was the closest she had now to a friend and an ally- the only one whose number she could belong to in a slashed and shaken life. "Hey."

(OOC- Background, because I'm too lazy to look links up! Kiral was an avox belonging to another player, who is now inactive; I've been NPCing her since then. Aeleze was given Kiral to help with the sheep and such, but was unable to treat the girl like a slave and became friends with her, which led to her sympathizing with and, in small ways, supporting Kiral's activities with various rebel forces.)

'the way we lived' in stylized text, with 'character directory' as a subtitle underneath

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[.}One of a Number{.][>Glitter<] Jan 31, 2011 22:06:14 GMT -5

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Post by peanutpie on Jan 31, 2011 22:06:14 GMT -5

Vella Sugare

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Vella, quite honestly, had a vague memory. She didn't like to recall details if she didn't have to, and if she really did care about something, of course, if she had the time, she would write it down in an extensive and lavish drug-addict vocabulary. The vocabulary that usually was spotty and a bit lavish, with what she thought was like a plush fox fur thing. The fox fur things that were usually on the capitolites on television. Vella, being only a lower tier model, had been dismissed to live in a tall apartment building with peeling paint and to wearing designer mishaps or the clothing that the capitol supplied her. The said clothes were close to basic, usually just a paper thin turtle neck or something equally as flattering. Vella, who hadn't paid much attention to the said thing, could probably afford better. But no. She spent it on her addiction.

Another damn jail time. Vella could remember the fact that she had been arrested under hushed means: Sometime dark in the night. She heard a prodding knock at the door, and in her half-high destranged sleep-walk, she had gotten out of bed. And just as she stood there, blonde hair stung around her head like something of a tornado, her old pajama pants not as patterned as they were before, with their pink kitten heads fading into the grey background.

They still fit her from when she was twelve, and were one of the first things that she had recieved from the capitol. She recalled when she did get those pants. A woman had lugged her a pink suitcase, nylon, that was filled with clothes that seemed like gold. Pajama pants and camisoles and three pairs of jeans and six shirts and two dresses and underwear and socks. Vella remembered touching the clothing repetivley, thankful for its softness. Oh, and the shoes that came next. In plastic bags that crinkled when she opened them, she would take each pair of shoes and hold it to her foot. There was at least four pairs of shoes, but there were probably more. High heels and sneakers and flip flops and boots.

Vella was particularly fond of boots. Especially the suede kind that went to your mid-calf. She liked the cream colored ones she had in her closet currently, the ones she had bought with some money she had saved. More like found stuffed in a drawer, a stash she had probably reserved for an emergency withdrawl. She already had some opium stored in the abandoned house, the one that she had met Mahogany in. Continuing on about the boots, she had held it in her purse for a while, storing it somewhere in there for a while. Finally, she had caught the pair of boots in an old store that had been closing. She had enough to pay for them, so she had dug the money out of her purse and walked in, looking at them. Thankfully, Vellas feet were unusually small, so they had the boots in her size. She took the crinkled bills from the purse and paid for the boots. Now remembering it, she had only worn those boots twice. One time had been when she went to the attic.

Vella had liked the attic quite a lot. And that one night, Mahogany wasn't horrid company. He seemed to be a bit on the more druggie side of things, which made Vella instantly like the guy a little bit more. Sure, Vella had never exactly been a fan of the bitter alchohol, yet she adknowleged that opium wasn't everyones taste. Mahogany had not been the same sharer of the bitter kind of tar she pleased to smoke so much, yet, he was still someone who perferred substance to company, it seemed. And that just created a slight "Oh, you're not half bad." Kind of atnospere between two people. Nothing really friendship, more of a "Oh, I know who you are." Type of thing, if you know what I mean? Of course. Vella was quite pleased with the outcome of that exposure. She needed a fellow addict to talk to, outside of the sleazy dealer.

Oh, the dealer. Vella would cringe every time she said his name. Maddy Lugo. Oh, how she found him repulsive. With his lazy eye and slight hunchback. Vella always found him to smell like rotting fruit and car air freshener. Oh, how she dreaded to go to the drug dealers. She shuddered, recalling the small, sad, pathetic shack that sat on the edge of town. Yes, the bad part of district one, which was swarmed by crazies by the names of old fashionedness. Names like Nate, Caitlin and Alana. Vella, being who Vella was, was never a fan of being on that side of district one, had always rushed along the streets to finally come across her dealer, who would keep on trying to convince Vella to try another drug. Sometimes it was the cocaine that he snuffed up his nose, coating his whole face in a pale and slightly ghostly way. Of course, Vella had avoided the said drug because of this unattractive trait that came with it, though she had sampled other drugs. Sure, the morphling was nice, but the injected area turned to a yellowish color. Vella avoided this afterwards.

The closest thing she had ever gotten to the perfect drug, after opium was probably marajuna. But, honestly, it hadn't had the sophistication that she felt when she held the opium smoker. The marajuana felt unsophisticated. Sure, it cost less and was slightly more hallucenating providing, but it seemed to be... paper. Instead of oynx on the tounge, it seemed to be more smoke. Like a cigarette. Vella, never a fan of the tabacco smell, had been a smoker at one point. Up until she turned.... fifteen? Yes, that was it. She remembered the time when she was younger, first trying to hold the opium pen.

It had been the woman downstairs, and since Vella was a bit frightened to go upstairs for the time being, since lighting had struck the windowpane of the place next door to her. Vella had curled up next to the woman, who was quite stunning. There was an old womans old sofa and an upholstered chair. A teacup sat next to her and was filled with the black tar stuff. Vella had asked politley. And with a happy smile, the woman had demonstarted the use of the opium smoker. Vella, mesmerized by the beauty of the drug was quite happy with the result when she tried...

Thats when Vella finally shifted back into some form of focus from her rampage of insanity. She finally realized something. Vella was... no longer stuck in a mental world. She was instead, suffering opium witdrawl on something of a hotel bed. The type with the cheap emboidered bedspread that didn't even keep you warm. The kind that always smelled like moth balls and dust. The type of hotel that usually... Dammit. Had she been drugged? She resented Maddy for a second. The cocaine addict must of put some sleep syrup in her last batch... Of course, Vella had been asked to be a prositute before. She had refused, since she was quite sure that the men that bought women from Maddy were full of diseases and worms and things, and Vella, who was a little bit on the paranoid side of germs, had refused.

And thats when Matty decided to take matters into his own hands. By drugging Vella and selling her while she was unconcious. God, was he some type of idiot? She looked down at her body. Vella Sugare, reduced to wearing nothing but a white cotton dress and high heels. She had her hair up in curlers and was quite unhappy about the said situation. That is when Vella finally just looked at the ceiling, finally noticing it was not a hotel ceiling... What the hell....

Thats when Vella glanced back at her wrists, she realized something. Was that... it was indeed a withdrawl hallucenation. Vella had hallucenated about being sold into prostitution. Hm, maybe she'd need to find a new dealer when she got back to district one. She wasn't aware that opium was at ready supply, but there must be a less creepy dealer...

Vella finally heard a noise in the fluster of words in her head. "Hey." That was when Vella realized another thing. She was in the detention center and she had a roommate... A cellmate, more like, but still. Thats why they were at her door... She had flustered memories, as usual, but she could clearly remember the fact that someone, another girl, had talked to her. Vella, being the slightly ignorant Vella, looked at the person with curious eyes and finally replied.

"Why, hello." [/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jan 31, 2011 22:43:03 GMT -5 by peanutpie

WT
Retired Staff

2,134 POSTS
Pronouns: they
last seen Sept 10, 2021 1:50:54 GMT -5

time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

[.}One of a Number{.][>Glitter<] Feb 3, 2011 22:17:45 GMT -5

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Post by WT on Feb 3, 2011 22:17:45 GMT -5

(OOC- This would be why I don't really RP with Aeleze anymore. D'x I'm so sorry for this post, Glitter. You deserve better.)

Having the company of a stranger was not a new thing for Aeleze. Her profession required it; business meetings were rarely conducted with the same people multiple times, and some- she might venture so far as to say most- design shows required one to be on fairly good terms with the person modeling one's clothing. Over the years Aeleze had come to think of herself as a friendly person, simply by nature of being in such constant interaction with others. She spent time with strangers, she wanted to make them happy, and she usually got along with them.

This, however, was strikingly unfamiliar. Never before had she been afraid that she would not be acknowledged- and, more to the point, she had never had to face the fear that in going unacknowledged she might find herself utterly alone. Loneliness had never been something that sat well with Aeleze, but it was something she could handle; keeping herself busy with sewing designs into reality was, after all, an all-purpose cure. Now, deprived of anything even vaguely resembling a coping mechanism, she didn't think she would last long.

Fortunately, the younger girl spoke. Relieved and in some strange way heartened by the conversation, faltering though it had begun, Aeleze smiled and nodded. The movement made the room spin a bit, but she didn't mind too much.

What she did mind was the subsequent asphyxiation. A violent fit of coughing sent her down to her elbows again, and almost forced her all the way back down to the floor. Every fiber in Aeleze's body seemed to scream in protest with each convulsion of her lungs. Only a few parts of her were actually radiating pain of any import, but she was beyond realizing that; even had Kiral and Thalia and the herd not injected agony into every thought, hers had been a sheltered lifetime without any more pain than the ache of muscles that have been slept on wrong. That all she was experiencing were bruises, sprains, and a mild concussion was not recognizing.

Stubbornly Aeleze pushed herself up again. It had always been her style to give her all to whatever she was working on, and just because this situation was no project of the sort she was accustomed to didn't mean she wasn't about to do her best with it. Maybe her best wasn't good enough- in fact, she was quite certain her best wasn't good enough- but the others, dead and alive, deserved as much. So, for all that the pain sent her headache spiraling, Aeleze sat up as quickly as she could and propped her aching back against a wall so she wouldn't fall again.

Her second attempt at speech was clumsy and unintelligible, even to her own ears. Coughing had worried at her throat, making it raw, and now her words raked against it. Blood edged onto the taste buds at the back of her mouth, forcing her to fight the urge to vomit as corpses once more pressed against the back of her eyelids. For the first time in her life Aeleze cursed her artist's vision, which had always brought forth such vivid details. Before she'd been grateful for this one immaculate bit of her memory, but now she would do anything to be rid of it. There wasn't a single thing in the world she wanted to see less than her pets- her companions- sprawled on that grass, unless perhaps that one thing was Kiral's body in the same state. At least for Kiral, there was hope.

Forcibly Aeleze dragged her thoughts back to the room. Nothing could be done for the others right now. Licking her lips nervously, she tried again to speak, and was absurdly pleased when her voice emerged mostly whole. "What is this place?"

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[.}One of a Number{.][>Glitter<] Feb 6, 2011 1:50:12 GMT -5

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Post by peanutpie on Feb 6, 2011 1:50:12 GMT -5

Vella quite enjoyed cold air. It was just something that she found to be quite intresting. You could shiver in the air, or you could embrace the coolness. The type of coolness that sent your body into an instant energized or calm state, something that changed frequently between two states. Usually, Vella had the latter, with being calmed by the bumps that were on her forearms. But at this moment, she felt almost like a caged animal. Like she was being restrained to something that was small in structure. Of course, as she eyed the edges of the cell, she obviously noticed she was encased in something.... liquidy, it seemed.

Liquid Silver. Vella smirked at the memory that she could recall about that. The bracelets that she had brought from the eighth district, something her mother had owned. She had worn them into the enterence of district one, where they were given odd looks, probably because of the tarnished exterior. And how old fashioned they were, with curlique swirls that seemed to be like smoke twirling around itself. Vella had liked the bracelets, even though they were chipped and slightly painted, with an old fashioned styling that seemed to be a bit too complex. Not modern, but vintage-like. Someone had remarked the swirls looked like liquid silver, with the intricate swirls changing their course as she quickly would run her fingers over them. The thick lines would change course and leave indents on her fingers, but she didn't care.

Vella tried to think of where the bracelets would be. Stuffed in the drawer underneath her mirror, probably. Resting on top of the silk blouse that she had recieved from the agency for "special occasions only" Next to the skirt she had never worn, the black one that didn't fit quite right. A green spool of thread. Vella couldn't recall everything in the drawer, probably because she was a bit disoriented. Usually, she would know where those silver bracelets sat by heart. They were pretty much the only remaining thing that she remembered from the district of eight... She pondered why she hadn't been left to die in the district. One less measly mouth to feed and all that fun stuff. Yet, they had not let her perish.

This was why Vella didn't hate the capitol. Why would you hate someone who gave you the supplies to live? Honestly, Vella didn't care if she was reaped. If there were poppy seeds in the arena, she'd be fine. She was raised in a non-career district, but she had spent the recent years in one, so she found it a half honor to be in the games. Saving another person from going in there. Sure, it wouldn't be her first choice, mostly because who does want to die? But, Vella didn't despise the people that hosted the games. She had a very average view on things, in a more level headed way than most topics with Vella.

The only thing was that Vella didn't exactly respect the rule of drug posession and all the intresting things that followed that. According to capitol law, opium was an illegal substance that should not be in the possession of anybody in the country. They didn't care if you lived in the capitol, or in the seam of the twelth district. They just didn't want the disgusting drug laying around their oh-so-precious grounds. Vella shuddered. It wasn't like she didn't clean up what she had done. She would put everything into a plastic bag and throw it into a garbage bin. She didn't leave poppy seed shavings, nor did she sell it. She would be quite sanitary to save every bit she could of the drug, making sure it landed in the bag she had designated for the opium to sit.

This was when Vellas mind twitched to itself, trying to find something that twirled into her own sanity. Where was she? Trying to trace her thoughts back to the detailed and slightly insane ranting her mind had went through, she finally recalled the answer to the other persons answer. Vella bit her lip and let it bleed for a second before finally releasing her teeth from the flesh and replying "I believe we are in the detention center."

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