bluer than a butterfly // d6 train {97th}
Jun 5, 2024 10:04:18 GMT -5
Post by Cait on Jun 5, 2024 10:04:18 GMT -5
but in spite of how you feel
it's not the end of the world
![](https://www.bellazon.com/main/uploads/monthly_2017_10/22860423_303126523424847_6245273389192183808_n.jpg.73d4028bd9c233cfd83c819a1d3dbded.jpg)
sera
keoch
Ironically, the inside of the train carriage feels like a coffin.
Not that I’d even know what that felt like. People in Six don’t really have the money for that kind of grandeur. Even the richest of corpses – the ones who take their prized jewels into death with them – all end up the same as their less affluent neighbours: encased in several layers of soil, flesh and soul exposed and ready for the taking. Regardless, I try to make myself as comfortable as I can despite feeling like I’m being buried alive.
Carmen’s a girl I haven’t seen around before. Makes sense to me, gorgeous and fragile and mysterious as she is. Our life paths are probably as separate as could be. And yet. Here we are.
It’s funny how that works out. Because now we’re both confined to the same suffocating space trying to figure out how to communicate with each other as our paths converge in real-time, for the first and last time. I think she’s staring at me. Can’t be sure though. My eyes are trained on the door that I know is about to open any minute now.
Truthfully, I couldn’t care less about what Dummy 1 and Dummy 2 have to say to me. All I know about them is that they couldn’t bring my best friend home, and that’s really all I need to know. I guess you could say my confidence in their abilities to keep me alive is at an all-time low, with their kind of track record.
Still, I dip my head in greeting when the carriage doors soundlessly slide apart and four new bodies walk in. “’Sup.”
Because logically I know none of it’s their fault. I don’t envy their position – year in, year out, forced to give the same grating monologue and rally some type of indominable spirit into the hearts of two more unfortunate kids. But it’s easier to direct the anger at someone else. Never myself, and certainly never Iz.
I’m reasonable enough to be pleasant, though, so I stand with a hand outstretched and pretend like their impression of me will even matter this time next week.
“Sera Keoch. Disappointment to the world, and soon to be you too.”
Doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for them.
The two strangers who I can only assume to be stylists or escorts stand behind the Victors, trying to discretely scope Carmen and I out – and failing miserably. I shift my gaze to their faces, eyes trailing over their lavish costumes in a sweeping motion. Fucking hell, one of them’s even wearing a top hat.
“Are you here to make us look pretty? I don’t wear pastels, for the record.”