Silence Roams Away {Weaver/Iona}

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

District 11 Female Tribute 73rd Hunger Games

Iona Holbrook my silence is my self defense, and also my greatest weapon.    Soft feet travel against the speeding train whisking away from the home of District Eleven. The Novel’s setting is changing drastically, and Iona’s desperate to be only a letter closer to her family for just a moment. But every step she breaches down the carts, they’ve already carried her sentences back. She’s unable to regain the paragraphs lost with the miles blinking away. Urgency consumes the Youngster as she lightly sprints through the roaring transporting, pleading for a few backspaces among these pages. The final room prevents any further journey to where she’s from, and the single Token she’ll possibly be able to maintain to the end greets her at this destination. Weaver. The lonely notebook she confiscated earlier continues to fumble within her grasp, as she takes a timid seat not too far from her District Partner. In her truth, she’s fortunate in her position. Certainly Weaver’s odds are greater for where they’re headed. But Iona never had to endure witnessing a Loved one battle through the yearly War that’s now in their future. She’s not forced to consider whom she’s following down a similar, threatening path. Perhaps all sides of this Story are vital though, and will beautifully intertwine with each other. ‘I’m sorry,’ She attempts to scribble upon the first blank sheet. But her sketch is as silent as her words. She was no conceived to be an author. Dark brown eyes travel the enormous Window that now lacks any sign of Home, and back to her motionless writing utensil. Will there be no Tale left behind in her grave? Quiet slivers in its roam, all the while she cautiously gazes to Weaver once or twice. Causing noise with a gentle nudge on glass showed to be simple, and anything else proves to be quite impossible.

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

W E A V E R

He left when everyone else departed, and the tension finally settled down. Yet his eyes were filled with anger and grief as a tiny tear slid down the side of his face. All he wanted was a chance to punch Kirito to take him off the high horse he put himself on, but he knew it was wrong. The three victors only wanted to help despite how angry they were, but Weaver didn't need their help because they were only going to destroy him.

Fire still burned inside him, and with every step he took he imagined himself kicking President Snow over and over until nothing but a bloody pulp remained. Maybe if he had only volunteered to Iain Miristioma last year none of this would've happened. But he couldn't find it inside of him to focus on that thought for long because living on the what if's would only ruin however much time of his life was left. Every emotion bubbled inside him tearing away at his soul piece by piece until almost nothing remained except a broken child running away from his family after a terrible fight.

With his head down, he journeyed through the train wanting to find a place to have a bit of alone time, but he knew alone time wouldn't happen if the victors had their way. Yet he passed an open door, and his curiosity peeked for only a moment as he lifted a hand to push it further open -

His chin dropped to the floor, and his eyes became wide. Windows covered the train instead of the hideous walls from the dining cart, and a round couch rest beneath the windows. His heart pranced with joy as he carefully took a seat on the couch glaring at the district as it sped out of view, and the gray sky didn't offer much to change the mood. Not even the little bit of light from the lamps seated on the tables.

Time flew by, and he watched the trees bend under a gentle breeze. He didn't even hear his district partner walk inside. Weaver only moves when she sits down not far from where he was sitting. Looking at her was hard knowing at least one would die. At least one wouldn't see district eleven anymore. But all he wanted was to make sure she was safe. To keep her away from the pain the Capitol threw on his family so many times.

Weaver Rhodes didn't fear dying. It was just another adventure lurking somewhere beyond the world he lived in, yet he feared not helping those he cared about. He knew nothing about Iona, but he wanted to help her. He wanted to make sure she saw district eleven again. "Hey." He mumbled quietly trying to break the silence while lowering his gaze until his eyes fixated on the floor.

Made by Frankel

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

District 11 Female Tribute 73rd Hunger Games

Iona Holbrook my silence is my self defense, and also my greatest weapon.    Calming peace is finally granted if only for a mere few pages. Silent, pure oxygen absorbs the final room of this Train, reflecting beautifully with the breathtaking somber view it’s whistling past. Dark skies overtaking the day were always preferred by Iona. They left her with a perfect excuse for lonely sheltering in her room, with a book as her only company. The single clear sight is that an isolated moment will not exist for quite some time. A Story can no longer be her sole friend if she desires a sliver chance of survival. And Weaver may be the only Tribute Iona can trust. He remains as reserved as she is. It’s unimaginable the thoughts rampaging his mind. The Victors are furious, Harbinger especially. But they’re not the Brother that may have very well been sent here by planning, rather then randomization. Weaver’s currently the one preparing to battle for his survival due to the corrupt anarchy. Iona’s aware that she’s only a weak bystander. He is the one that deserves to return home to his Brother, and past the brutality the Capitol is forcing upon him. Words he spoke of earlier continue to pencil across Iona’s brain. What will happen when they enter the Arena? Her fingers tremble at the idea alone. She can’t be heading there. Answers from the Victors fade from the fear that none of it will make a difference for her. Not once had she dared at even a verbal altercation in her life. Only death awaits her. But will she be able to witness Weaver achieve greatness prior to her last word? ‘What do you think is going to happen?’ She finally marks on the open canvas stitched into an empty book. The corner taps gently on Weaver’s closest leg to gain his attention. Does he conceive a brighter future?

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

W E A V E R

It was nice to finally sit in silence taking in all that was said by the mentors. Every single word bounced through his thick skull trying to find a place to rest. It was hard to understand. It was hard to know what would happen, but the idea of losing himself to the games wasn't something he wanted. Weaver wanted to remain true to himself. He wanted to make sure he didn't change, yet it felt like had no choice. Crusader had changed, he killed, but in the end he gave his life so Patricia could win. It was something Weaver didn't understand at the time, but now he does.

Agony boiled inside him as his heart begged for a safe return back home. He wanted to curl up and sleep beside an apple tree. He wanted to start a fire and sing through the night hours disturbing his family. He wanted just another moment of living his normal life. Weaver was nothing but a pawn. All he was being used for was to harm those he loved and cared about. And it hurt knowing that the Capitol thought he was expendable, but he wasn't. His life may be changing, but sometimes a curveball was thrown just to see how the person adapted. Yet losing himself was terribly frightening.

Something tapped his leg, and Weaver shifted his gaze from the trees outside. His eyes looked at the book Iona was holding, and he read the words scribbled down. What do you think is going to happen?

Many thoughts raced through his mind as the question spiraled above him. He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure what to do because he knew he was going to die, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

He shifted his gaze once more before staring at the windows looking for a way to escape the grasps the Capitol had on him. He wanted to break free of the strings attached to his arms and legs. So much was going on, and it was happening so fast. One moment he was standing in the middle of Harbinger's mansion, and now he was on his way to another mansion only to prepare for a living hell.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he shrugged his shoulders. Yet his gaze remained focused on the world behind him. "I wish I knew, Iona, I wish I knew." It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all he had, and he didn't want to lie to her. Knowing only one could survive tore through his mind bashing around his skull. "But we can give 'em hell I suppose." He turned towards her with a half grin spread across his face hoping it was worth it.

Made by Frankel

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

District 11 Female Tribute 73rd Hunger Games

Iona Holbrook my silence is my self defense, and also my greatest weapon.    Intensely Iona studies every stress arching his eyebrows, worry pondering a crease between them, thoughts polluting his vision. There is no make believe fairytale awaiting them. Sugarcoating their horrific destination is even impossible. The expression upon Weaver’s face illustrates the fates. His gaze can hardly cross the young Brunette’s path. If his confidence is this weary, how will she possibly withstand? Her teeth clench in attempt to steady her trembling focus on Weaver, while he remains distracted with the view distancing them from their homeland. You could return back, Iona assures him internally before traveling her vision to where his has been glued. District resemblance is far from the terrain, but as far as the eye can see their home still remains. Weaver’s more then capable, she’s certain of that. He’ll sit here as this transportation goes in reverse, with his Brother, and Katelyn, and Kirito to, just as it should be. As for Iona…she’d rather avoid considering her future. Light rain droplets patter against the glass plating the last cart. Bet there’s no shattering this material. There’s no preventing the miles being yanked from Iona. Her heart aches with realization, while her eyes prevail as dry as they’ve been since her name was first announced. Thankfully Weaver overcomes to an answer, and negates Iona from reaching her ultimate conclusion far too soon. Her features weaken from more uncertainty. If the Capitol is hunting for Eleven, it will be a miracle for Weaver to overpower. With the intelligent and wise Victors supporting them, a miracle is plausible. As for Iona? Her eyes retrieve back to scanning Weaver’s expression. She’s desperate to discover hope. Give them hell? Iona’s face questions this goal. The change among the curve of Weaver’s lips is compelling, but she could never achieve such. A knife was only ever in her possession while assisting her Aunt with a meal. No amount of knowledge could make up for her lack in strength. Still a stumbling smirk quivers in an upward position in response. She’ll strive for her best to help him, even if it surely won’t be enough. Scrawny legs lift to be cradled by her arms. Her cheek gently rests upon her knees with a heavy load of fear. Days are limited, and all Iona’s capable of accomplishing is staring out the window.

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

W E A V E R

Iona was silent, and Weaver feared for her. He wanted to help, yet he wasn't sure how. All he wanted was to pretend this didn't happen, but it did. The two of them were headed to the Capitol. His life turned upside down in the blink of an eye. All because Harbinger won the games, but it wasn't his fault. Harbinger fought hard to win, so did Kirito and Kate. The three of them haven't given up, and they'll keep fighting. And as long as Weaver was breathing, he'd keep fighting too. Kate had suggested training together, and it was something he strongly looked forward to. Just the two of them fighting against the brutal force of the Capitol. But it wasn't that easy. Death lurked around every corner, and Weaver knew one had to die. But why? Why was Iona sentenced to die? Why was Weaver condemned to death? Why was twenty-four kids thrown to the dogs? How could anyone even volunteer? Questioning his fate wasn't worth his time anymore because nothing would stand up to save them.

It was heartbreaking. Not only was Weaver traveling to the Capitol was a puppet, he was seated next to someone who normally would've had a long life ahead of her. Apparently his words wasn't what she wanted to hear, and Weaver watched like a coward as Iona cradled her legs. Fear etched into her, and he couldn't do anything to change it because he was afraid too. Weaver had left so much behind. His family. Navya had come to say goodbye, and she was close to birthing his niece or nephew. All the things he was going to miss was terrible, but people have to die. It was the sick nature of Panem. People lived, and people died. Once a year twenty-three children died. A sick reminder of the dark days - Weaver wasn't even alive, yet he was being punished along with Iona, and his family.

A lump formed in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard as he turned his gaze back to the view wishing something would help, but all he was met with was rain drops falling from the sky splattering against the windows of the last car on the train. Talking wasn't exactly his strong point, yet he wanted to help her out. Iona didn't deserve the fate handed to her. But he didn't know what to say. Weaver took a deep breath before turning his gaze towards his district partner. With a heavy sigh, he scooted closer to her wondering what he could possibly do. He didn't want to, but something had to be done. Picking people up when they were down was important in life. Many people had helped Weaver out, and it was time for him to return the favor. "Iona, I know you're afraid. I'm afraid to. And I know time is short, but we can make the best of what is left. Let's not let the Capitol put us down. Let's show them you and I are strong." He paused. "I'll help."

Made by Frankel

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

District 11 Female Tribute 73rd Hunger Games

Iona Holbrook my silence is my self defense, and also my greatest weapon.    It feels as though eternal silence etches the next chapter of Iona’s book. Only minutes pass. But with the reality, Iona would rather not absorb, swallowing her; novels could sketch by without her budging. Dark brown eyes remain hypnotized by the window speckled with droplets, desiring any distraction from what has happened. Not only has her story been forced to a climatic ending, but her tribute Partner from home deserves more. He wasn’t randomly selected. He must defy the odds she never could. The exact voice that must return home breaches the nothingness upon them. Words Iona would rather not hear, and statements she’s never considered, consumes her. Afraid was a sensation that described her perfectly, while not one she’d prefer to consider. But within such a short span, the direction in the conversation alters entirely. Perhaps they could both illustrate to the Capitol their strength. Not exactly an achievement Iona would pertain faith in, until Weaver offers assistance in such. For a lengthy moment she contains without movement still. The dark skies comfort her. The Victors provided such support and advisement. The rupturing breeze calls for Iona’s existence. But Weaver believes he can help her perform strength. Her head rises from her knees, and her gaze catches his’. If his hope is not completely lost, why should hers be? If she could enhance Eleven’s Victory, why wouldn’t she? Weaver must escape from the Arena breathing. And just maybe she can contribute to that. A petite grin finally discovers its rightful place upon her lips. Just maybe her death won’t be weak and without purpose. Her fingers find writing once more. ‘Thank you,’ she sketches in gratitude. There’s such a desire to hug him if only briefly, though she keeps to the close distance. Upsetting their connection is the last thing wishes for. For once there just might be hope. Her grin halts petite from death, while her lust to give the Capitol hell raises greatly.

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

W E A V E R

Silence roared through the back of the train, and all he could hear was the gentle pattering of rain against the many windows. Part of Weaver wondered what was going through the mind of his young district partner, while the other part of his mind didn't need to know. The reaping had brought them together, and now they both were condemned to die. But maybe, just maybe, if he could find a way to give her the strength needed, he would. It wasn't about winning because dying wasn't the end of the road. It was just a roadblock waiting to take a person to the next obstacle in the obstacle course. Yet he knew that death meant never walking or talking on the face of the earth again unless his ghost haunted the people around him.

His eyes bounced around the room trying his hardest not to stare at the girl in front of him because staring was rude, yet he wasn't sure what to say, or even what to do. It wasn't easy sitting in this place knowing what lied ahead. But he had to find something to do. Something to distract them both, and when he saw the small grin twisting across her face, Weaver felt his own fears going away once more. He watched as she wrote two words down on the fragile sheet of paper. Thank you.

The corner of his lips turned into a soft grin. It had been so long since he found something to smile about, and those two words meant more to him than anything in the world right now. At least he wasn't going to go down as one of the weakest tributes in history All he wanted was for his name to leave a mark. He wanted to be known as a man who died fighting for what he believed in. Weaver wasn't just a puppet used to get back at his family. He was so much more than that. Iona was so much more than that. Carrita and Iain were more than a pawn. They were strong, and Weaver hoped to live up to their name one day.

"When we get to the Capitol, if you ever need anything, just come and find me. It doesn't matter the time of day - it can be four in the morning." His gaze dropped towards the floor just for a moment as a soft sigh fell past his lips. "If it's just a shoulder to cry on, or to talk, I'll be there."

Because I'd want someone to be there for me.

Made by Frankel