D6 ] Naya Alan \\ finished

D6 ] Naya Alan \\ finished Dec 8, 2013 10:43:20 GMT -5

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Post by анзие (Anz) on Dec 8, 2013 10:43:20 GMT -5

These hearts adore
Everyone the other beats hardest for
Inside this place is warm
Outside it starts to pour
'Cause it's too cold for you here and now
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Naya stands out from his crowd.

He doesn't stand out in the sense that he's extraordinarily good looking or anything like that. He stands out because everyone else in his crowd have bird-beaks for mouths and wings that don't fly for arms (that makes him sad, looking at the wings, because the wings are meant to feel air glide between the feathers. They're not for looks, wings). The beaks look like they're being held on by a rubber band placed around the head like a masquerade mask, yet Naya has not seen anyone in his company without them, even his parents and his brother. (He supposes he should get one, but he can never find any.) The golden light doesn't quite touch him the way it touches everyone else (it makes them shimmer like holograms,

At the moment though, he's headed for the town square, where his parents insisted there was this person who is just like him - beakless - and said this person - they couldn't identify if it was a he or a she - was a savior of some sort. Naya thinks it's worth looking at for the former. Anyway, the tent ought to be called something like 'The Author & Co.' Or something. Naya can't for the life of him remember what the name actually is - his parents said something about a circus?

(Ari didn't really want him to go, Ari was holding onto his hand but he's an obedient son, isn't he? He goes wherever Mum and Dad say he should.)

The tent is large, and it's a circus alright. Bright lights, chirruping laughter, brilliant colours and all that a circus entails. Almost instantly Naya's attracted to a tent in royal purple - the house of mirrors, it's called. He pauses at the entrance but one of the town's volunteers recognizes him and waves him through with a wink. Naya smiles back, relieved - he didn't actually bring any money to trade for entrance into the circus's attractions.

(He won't admit it but he's excited, enthusiastic like a puppy with his eyes all lit up. If he had a tail it would be wagging. He loves colour, he loves light, he loves this place because it's pretty and bright.)

i.

He's alone in the mirrored room. Naya would have thought that others would have joined in the fun but he supposes he was wrong - the house of mirrors is as empty as he never expected it to be. On the bright side it means he can take his time at each mirror, hovering near the four walls surrounding him, to check out his reflections.

But the problem is, which one does he go to first? He balks at the doorway, staring around the room. Which one would be best? If there was someone else here it would be simple; he'll let them choose first and then use the one they're least likely to go to next, just so he doesn't disturb their experience. But there's no one else and it's like his mind is tearing itself apart trying to make a decision.

Close your eyes and point at random. It's Ari's voice and he relaxes, obeying.

Naya walks over to his 'choice'. The mirror seems to wink at him the closer he gets. Naya smiles at it; it's a fairly normal mirror, he thinks, examining his reflection. Curly jet black hair would fall to his shoulders were they less tangled and better taken care of. Reaching up with one unevenly tanned hand he scratches at the dark stubble he probably should have shaved a couple of days ago. Oh well. Naya doesn't particularly mind the stubble until it starts itching, really. He thinks he looks quite okay without it - his chin isn't weak like Dad teases when the stubble becomes a beard ("What are you trying to hide under there, Naya?") - but he's just not bothered enough to shave it off most times.

He offers himself a grin in the mirror, and that's when the mirror's oddness kicks in: his mouth area is expanded three times its usual size, emphasizing his yellowy and mostly straight teeth. Naya jumps back with a squawk of surprise. The sound echoes around the room as the mirror returns him to his normal appearance. He laughs at himself, his fuller lower lip stretching wide in the mirror. His hazel eyes crinkle and sparkle with mirth. "That's funny," he says, and moves on to the next one.

The next mirror makes his body look rounder than it is. Naya doesn't think he looks as plump as that - in D- at home, (he reminds himself firmly, but part of him wonders what he was about to say) there's not a lot of food to eat so he's usually underweight (Ari needed the food more than he did, Ari's a growing boy - hopefully with the extra food he'll shoot past Naya's 5'8"). But he wouldn't count himself out in any way if he ever gets chosen to do something inhuman or horrible (reaped, his mind supplies helpfully) - he's got strength. Kind of. He can wrestle his equally skinny brother and win, sometimes.

He's quite hairy now that he thinks about it. Maybe the hair is kind of like feathers trying to bloom like flowers...

Naya's eyes slide shut as he imagines it happening. Feathers down his arms, shimmering in the light of the gorgeous city, brilliant blue wings spreading full and majestic - maybe he'll be the first to fly.

It starts with a little bit of pain, then the weight behind him pulls him down. Naya struggles to check his balance as wings spread behind him - not at his arms as he thought they would be, but on his back - and tears spring to his eyes. He loves them already.

They fade, though, when he leaves the room. That's alright - he can get them back sometime.

ii.

He enters a strange-looking tent. Tangled ribbons suspended by what looks like nothing hover over a short person with its hands on the foggy crystal ball in the center proclaim the person 'The Author'. The Author's face is covered with a hood, the color of which Naya will later find he cannot remember (when he thinks about it there's very little he remembers of this encounter).

The Author gestures for him to sit and he does, on a velvety stool before the crystal ball. The Author says, "I know what kind of person you are."

Naya looks up at it and frowns, brow furrowing. He wants to ask how the Author knows, but it holds up a hand to silence him. "Curious. Ever curious, and the goody-two-shoes type, aren't you?" The Author laughs at him when he gapes. "The obedient child, the very picture of how sons should be - respectful, protective... you're supposed to be a kind of nice guy, aren't you?" Supposed to be? Naya gives the Author an insulted look, but before he can say anything it grins at him, teeth flashing. "I guess you are, caring for everyone the way you do."

The boy shrugs and lightheartedly wants to crack a bad but somewhat true joke - "If I don't care for them, who is?" - but the Author silences him again with a cool, "No one will care for you in return."

He's a little bit hurt by that, because that might not be entirely true. People do care for him, like... his parents, like A- Ari. He's cared so much for Ari and Ari's done so much for him in return. People care. But he supposes that the Author might not really know everything, and maybe the Author is just trying to help him in its own way. I can deal with that. He nods to himself - the Author must only be thinking about what's the best for him. That's what fortune tellers do, right?

(Trying to see the good side of even me? Good luck with that.

[/i])

Naya smiles at the Author easily and is about to speak, but this time instead of the Author it's a sudden dying of light that silences him. Fear locks his limbs and he feels his breath come in sharp gasps; he can't breathe, the walls are closing in on him- No, don't hurt us! And that's his voice from a place he doesn't know. He's panicking and he doesn't like it. Make it stop! he begs the Author, who doesn't hear because he hasn't spoken.

And then, just like that it's over. He sits rigidly in the stool, tears pouring down his face from pure helplessness (and he hates it when he cries, he hates it when he can't control his emotions for the sake of others and makes a fool of himself by crying). The firelight flickers oddly in the room, merry as though nothing happened.

The Author is laughing. He feels a surge of anger and more tears come pouring down his cheeks. He swipes at his eyes angrily and glares at the Author, who smiles and taps the ball.

"Aren't you supposed to be forgiving? Never mind - look at it."

His anger falls away when curiosity surges. Naya leans closer to watch.

(Sorry for not letting you speak; you'd annoy me to death if you really wanted something from me. Couldn't risk it.[/i])

iii.

It comes in flashes, the pictures. So quick that Naya can't quite catch them, that he won't remember them the moment he steps out of the hazy tent.

A childhood, it seems. A boy hidden in the cupboard as a tall, dark figure thumps up the staircase to his room, breath stinking of alcohol. A crying woman - the mother, the wife - in her room, hands folded in prayer. Words spill soundlessly out of her mouth as the boy is dragged out the cupboard without ceremony. He's whipped with a cracking belt; the boy says nothing through the tears. Soon, soon the man will fall into a stupor and the boy can crawl back into his spot, the hiding place he was left in by a desperate mother who says worthless prayers to the deaf air.

Another boy. A brother, an infant. Hidden better, or perhaps it's simply because the older brother at five rushes out when he's close to be found to take his place. The baby never spoke to him then but the boy felt a kinship with it, through the suffering he struggles through for the safety of a smaller body.

Children. Running around and playing like nothing is wrong. Hiding at night, under beds, on the beams in the roof. Making kind of a game out of it - who can hide better? The older brother gives up any good hiding spots for his younger, and takes the falling whip like a pro.

The mother falls desperately ill. She can't work anymore. The father drinks more and beats harder for it. The older brother tries his hand at stealing at his younger's insistence - survival, he says, with large, hungry eyes on the loaf of bread. Guilt wracks him but it's necessary. Soon, they will have tessarae. The boy is almost twelve.

Tessarae. Standing in the town square in silence, wondering if his name is going to be called. His hands shake when a buffed and shiny hand dips into the clear ball. It's not his name and he sweeps his brother up when they're safe at home. He cries about it - out of anger, out of helplessness, out of complete and sheer terror of that day. He would be dead if it was him.

Mother recovers but she can't work. He's thirteen; he takes odd jobs to support their family. The younger tries to help; he lets him, sometimes. They take refuge from the insanity within their home on the roof. They're not allowed to leave the house without permission but they're still technically at home.

The father finds out about his thievery. He's sixteen, and their family is barely able to survive with what he can scrounge up from the money he gets doing odd jobs. He steals when food is low. The brother expects to be beaten but the father only sends him out to steal alcohol. He does, but he can't help the tears at night about it. Before, it was done out of necessity and now it's for a luxury. The younger crawls into his bed and they fall asleep with the younger's warmth tucked firmly against his chest.

Eighteen. It's hazy, these images. There's the spinning of ground-air-ground-air, the feeling of flying so briefly, and then the younger's face twisted with a mixture of horror and anger. The brother's lips curve up into a smile right before he hits the ground.

iv.

He doesn't remember any of it when he gets home in the world he's so familiar with - the world bathed in golden light, the city of freedom and exotic things. But Naya will know, someday, the truth of a past so hazy to him, in the forest where they call his name back from where his spirit hangs suspended. One day he'll walk to the heart of the trees and in District 6, Panem, Naya's eyes will open to a world more screwed up than it was before he left.

And he'll figure out the truth of what happened. Whether he likes it or not.[/blockquote][/font]
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