.:.:Anything~But~Ordinary:.:. <Damen>

[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

Actions: 87F717
Speech: F52887
Thoughts: 43BFC7
Others' Speech: FDD017

Big enough to fill the void that’s inside of you,
It’s just a breath away.

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Everything about the detention center was dark. Lyla mused this quietly to herself as she counted the grayish ceiling tiles of her cell for the umpteenth time. The eighteen-year-old felt incredibly out of place in this dank facility with her white-blonde hair, melted-caramel eyes, and day-glow bright neon clothing that practically lit up the greyishblackish dampness of the tiny holding facility within which she had spent the past few days. She felt disgusting, sitting here in the clothes they’d picked her up in at least three days ago, lime-green skinny jeans and thin electric-blue tee shirt slashed strategically to show bright splashes of the sunshine yellow tank top underneath, but not disgusting enough to dress herself in the horrible plain white sweatpants and white tank top that they had given her. Lyla had made a point to wash to the best of her ability using the tiny sink in the corner, but despite her best efforts she was beginning to feel downright grimy.

She’d never been away from her computer for this long, and spindly delicate fingers itched desperately for the smooth plastic caress of a keyboard. Lyla missed everything about home. She missed her queen-sized bed with warm blankets, her shower with hot running water, her trusty laptop, her mother’s cooking, things that she had taken for granted until she’d lost them. The young genius ran a hand through her only-getting-greasier hair with a sigh, chipped neon-polish nails sticking out starkly against the dirt-darkened whitish strands. A part of her wished they’d just cut her tongue out and get it over with, at least in the Capitol she’d have a decent shower.

Yes, but then you’d never see Julian again.

The thought made the prodigy bite her lip in regret for even considering not going back to the Third District as an option. Never seeing Julian again? That wasn’t an option, not at all. Julian Rockshaw was a great source of uncertainty in Lyla’s life (she wasn’t exactly sure what sort of bond she had with the fourteen-year-old dancer… when two people had been through what they’d been through together, it was hard to define that kind of dependence on one another). She'd never really had the time to explore the doors in that relationship that could have potentially opened, and now, she mused, she probably never would. You couldn't just hack the Capitol without consequences. Lyla had a feeling she'd either be Avoxed or killed sometime soon, neither of which would allow her to go home.

She should have known that hacking would get her into trouble one day. Lyla was most likely the most brilliant mind the Third District (if not all of Panem itself) had to offer, her IQ of 193 making her either a valuable asset or a dangerous weapon. The blonde had always preferred to be a weapon (she didn't like being used), and turning the bastards who had murdered her little brother for their own entertainment into a writhing technological mess seemed like the perfect way to utilize her intelligence.

Everything had changed when Julian grand jete-ed his way into the picture, his sweet mannerisms and tragically abusive home life prompting the blonde genius to lay aside her mission long enough to rescue the dancer from the clutches of his monster of a father. To make a long story short, it was a messy battle, involving kidnapping, torture, and a row of jagged scars along Lyla’s arm that still weren’t quite done healing. Running spindly, pale fingers along the raised ridges absently, she felt herself go back to the last time she had seen her friend (if that was what he really was?), haunting azure eyes staring frantically at her at the Peacekeepers dragged her from her home.

It had been late at night, and Lyla was tired after the long day she'd had, finally getting the cast removed from her broken arm and sitting through a few hours of physical therapy. Still, despite her fatigue, she had lain wide awake and still fully clothed on her bed for hours, unable to sleep because of the familiar macabre lullaby that haunted her mind, the repeated sound of Leo's neck as it fractured beyond repair in that tragic Bloodbath five years ago, now overlaid with the phantom memory-echoes of her own screams from a few weeks ago, chilling recollections of the knife biting into her arm over and over and over again...

Her door had quietly creaked open, the familiar tousled head of golden hair peeking tentatively around the wooden frame. She had smiled gently, scooting over and patting the blankets next to her. "Another nightmare?"

Julian nodded bashfully, padding silently across the hardwood with that dancer's grace that Lyla could never hope to replicate, curling up like a little blonde cat in the small space available in the twin bed. "Thanks. I can sleep better when you're here."

"Me too, Jules."

She had drifted off to sleep for who knew how long, before the tumultuous crash of her door being flung open had awoken her, layered with gruff commands and her parents' protests in the background. Lyla was yanked out of bed by her hair and drug from the room, not really understanding what was going on until the words hit her with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs. "Lyla Matheson, you are under arrest for attempted rebellion and destruction of Capitol property. You're coming with us now."

The look in Julian's eyes had haunted her ever since, the fear and desperation mirrored in her every breath. But she couldn't break, not now. Not if she wanted to get out of here alive and intact. Swallowing the mounting lump of fear in her throat, Lyla launched back into the only coping mechanism available to her: counting the ceiling tiles. One, two, three...

Lyla was jolted out of her reverie by a loud ruckus out in the hallway, followed by the metallic clang of her cell door sliding open. She was too preoccupied to look away from her latest count of the ceiling tiles to see what had been thrown into the cell, and it was only after fifty seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine that she allowed herself to prop her body up on one elbow, her weight pressing the bone against the unforgiving metal of the bed (if you could call a slab of metal and a pillow a bed, that is) as she calmly surveyed the boy in front of her. He was tall, extremely so, Lyla could tell that even though he was still crumpled on the damp cement floor. Brown hair, dark eyes, kind-enough looking features… Nothing striking except for the incredible stature, really. Then again, Lyla was striking compared to most other people. She cocked a white eyebrow at the newcomer, pivoting herself so that she was sitting up on the bed.

”So, what are you in for? I wasn’t aware being freakishly tall was a crime.”

Her airy soprano timbre was raspy from thirst and the fact that she hadn’t seen another human being in days, much less talked to one. Still, despite the fact that she was elated at the presence of another person, Lyla was still snappish and irritated, hungry and filthy and going downright stir-crazy in this tiny hellhole. There was nothing to do here, nothing, and she had already counted the damn ceiling tiles God-knew-how-many times. Biting back a snarl of frustration, the blonde pushed herself off the bed and went to splash some water from the sink onto her face.

Whatever they were going to do to her, she wished they’d just do it already.

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i took my love and i took it down
i climbed a mountain and i turned around
and i saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
well, the landslide brought me down

Cracking of bones sounded. The bones cracked. That's the sound that stuck in my mind for the next few hours as I waited outside of the room that Edana had been placed in. It just looped in my mind over and over again, creating a rhythmic tune that would've attracted my attention if it didn't bring on images of blood and the sickening smell of the boy's body after it was drenched in sweat. Perspiration that began because of our close encounter that consisted of my fists pummeling against his jaw and his nose and his cheeks and his...face. And his life really. Wow. My mind made that up. Although, maybe I shouldn't be proud that I came up with a meaningful and dramatic line when it has to do with the death of a boy.

And then when I finally could see her, the doctors told me to go home and get some sleep. I didn't care that it was three in the morning, which one doctor continuously tried to get into my brain. "Oh, it's three in the morning. Three in the morning. Three in the morning." I wondered if it was three in the morning. So, I decided to actually go home, leaving the doctors with a small message for Edana. That was all I could do. Hopefully she would get it and remember me. Then maybe I could talk to her again and not have to beat somebody up to ensure that. The hospital doors slid open, the night breeze smashing against my body. Relaxing. Good. Sitting in the same position for hours isn't very comfortable. Let alone not very riveting.

"Clayton Synclair. You are under arrest for assault." That's all I heard before my wrists suddenly had pressure and I felt my face collide with the wall. There was a siren behind me that seemed to light up the whole city. Assault? Arrest? Did they find the boy? I thought he was dead. Everything sped through my mind at an unbelievable pace. I could never stop to think of one thing only. It was all just...there. And then my body felt free, obviously now in the air. But the sudden feeling of running into a wall assured me that I was now in their vehicle of transport. And the poking in my arm assured me that I was truly under arrest. Then, darkness.

The events play out in my mind. It had happened just a few hours ago. And an hour before that, I was sitting in a waiting room, waiting for some beautiful girl to be ready for visitors. I never even found out how the baby was, if the baby could feel anything more. Instead, I was being thrown out of a hovercraft and tossed onto a dirt surface, obviously the ground. "Repeat after me. I will accept my sentence with no argument." To be completely honest, I didn't want to. Prison scared me. It was filled with people who actually planned for the bad stuff to happen. I'm not bad. I said a swear word in class and when they sent me down to see the principal, I almost passed out in the halls. I don't do well with that atmosphere. "I will accept my sentence with no argument." And there goes any chance of keeping my dignity or something. My voice sounds like it was affected by some sort of music enhancer. It sounds wavy and nervous. At least it does stay true to how I feel though.

"I will stay quiet in my cell and ignore any comments from my cell mate." Oh great. I've heard about these guys in books and from the gossip. I'm just going to look like a chew toy to them. All 7'4'' and 300 pounds of beast will be wanting something to play with. A teenage boy sounds pretty damn good. I mean, I'd go for me if I wasn't me. "I-I will stay quiet in my cell and ignore any comments from my c-cell m-mate." I'll probably try and run and hide from my cell mate. Could this get any worse? But then the answer to my question comes with a jolt through my body. I hit the ground hard, my body shaking uncontrollably. "I didn't say you could say stutter, DID I?" Really? You electrocuted me because I stuttered. How about we switch positions? How would you feel if your otherwise very morally correct life just got torn apart by a police force and a cellmate? Yeah. You'd stutter too. "I will stay quiet in my cell and ignore any comments from my cell mate." Good enough? I push myself up to my feet, brushing the dirt off my clothes. At least to the best of my abilities. They don't make handcuffs to be accessible.

A pole like object presses into my back, pushing my forward. Is that a pistol? Oh hell no. That can't be a pistol. Please don't be a pistol. One wrong move and I could be grass fertilizer. Damn. Damn. Damn. "Keep it moving." The voice of the man behind me fills the silence. Then there's a click. Oh, that's definitely a pistol. I pick up my pace, making sure to follow the leading officer perfectly. He directs me and the gun man through a few detectors, none of which go off for me, and then down a few staircases. It seems to get more and more confusing with each step, obviously an attempt to keep those who want to escape from actually being able to formulate a route of escape. Smart but that will only make the other detainees more angry. And I can't fight back. I mean, not if they are fighting me.

Finally, we enter another lobby sort of area. There's a women at a desk, taping away on a keyboard. "Johnson. Welcome back. Have a good trip?" Are you really going to discuss a 'vacation' in front of me while I'm scared out of my wits? There is a freaking gun behind my back! Don't sit around! But the small conversation continues a bit anyways. "It was good. I missed your company though." And now I'm in an episode of some soap opera? Flirting with the secretary is a little cliche, don't you think officer? Their eyes linger on each other, and then flick back to me. "Ahem, so he can be placed in cell A02. It already contains one." Oh great. Oh no. What now? Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm dead. Just...dead. "Miss Lyla Matheson. Bye Johnson." Miss? Oh I've been saved! No hulking mass of nothing but man and lust. Oh thank everything that can be thanked!

I'm then lead down another staircase and through one final detector. As if I could sneak in a weapon during the time between the two detectors. I never was good at magic. It doesn't go off though, completely unexpected of course, and I'm brought through a long hall. But my journey to the end is cut short when I'm stopped in front of a cell. The clang of keys and the metal door hurts my ears but it soon ends. Instead, I get tossed into the cell by the gun man. My hands hit the ground hard, my face also meeting the rough, cold cement. I curse from my crumpled position, not wanting to move until I was sure the officers were gone. Maybe they'd shoot for moving too fast. How should I know? I never had trouble with the law. But when the door clangs closed, I make sure to push myself to my knees and fling myself to the corner. But that's when I hear the voice.

"So, what are you in for? I wasn’t aware being freakishly tall was a crime." So, now I'm getting insulted too? That's just great. I try and find the source of the voice but her face isn't fully viewable. Instead, I see bright white hair and eyes that are practically golden brown. Oh, thank god I'm not with a guy. Thank you! "Well, I don't have to ask you what you are in for. Obviously your loose tongue said something bad." She could be a killer though. Why the hell was I trying to send a comment back? I should just shut up and follow what the officers told me. No talking to my cell mate. "But if you must know, assault." Or murder. But who really cared. Either way, I was locked up in here. With an obviously very white girl.

"I'm Clayton. From District One."

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[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

Fly,
Open up the part of you
That wants to hide away.

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"Well, I don't have to ask you what you are in for. Obviously your loose tongue said something bad. But if you must know, assault. I'm Clayton. From District One."

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Lyla snorted amusedly as she leaned over the sink, toweling her face off on her tee shirt before she turned around to look at the newcomer. Yes, he was gigantic, but he didn't really look like the assaulting kind of person. Clayton had kind eyes and a somewhat sunny disposition given the circumstances; the blonde could tell he was one of those people who were generally happy with their lives. But who wouldn't be happy, living a cushy life in One, where poverty was never a problem? Lyla was rather happy that he was responding to her verbal banter, though. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.

"Actually, I'm a hacker. Being a sarcastic bitch is only a side hobby," she smirked, extending her hand to shake his. "Lyla, from Three."

She nodded towards the metal shelf that was the cell's other bed, indicating the bedding and new set of nondescript white clothing folded there. "I knew you were coming when they brought those in this morning. The blankets are itchy as hell, the pillows are roughly comparable to rocks, and I haven't put on the clothes yet. The white's too boring for me."

The blonde looked down at her own neon-bright ensemble, the vivid colors somewhat dimmed with grime. "Actually, boring or not, I should probably change. I was thinking about it right before you came in. I'm starting to feel really grungy. You mind turning around?"

Not really bothering to see if her new cellmate had complied with her request or not, Lyla jumped back into her bed and threw a blanket over her five-foot-five frame. Shimmying quickly out of the soiled neon garments under the blanket's itchy wool embrace, she tugged on the sweatpants and tank top before sitting up and running a hand through her whitish hair and looking down at herself. The sight of such a bland color adorning her body made Lyla shudder in revulsion, the white cloth making the countless ragged pink scars on her arm stand out in even sharper relief. The simple tank top also showed the horrid mess of bone jutting out from her left elbow that the long-sleeved tee shirt had helped to conceal, the result of two terrible breaks that had never healed up correctly. Feeling marginally cleaner but uncomfortably exposed, the prodigy tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, propping her chin on a sweatpant-clad knee. "Okay, I'm done."

Caramel eyes studied Clayton closely, Lyla's natural tendency of curiosity kicking in. She had never talked to someone from another district before, unless you counted Peacekeepers, who she really preferred not to talk to. What was life like outside of Three, she wondered. Did kids do the same schoolwork? Did they have similar customs? According to the big map of Panem that had adorned Lyla's classrooms for all of her living memory, District One was only a little further south than her own home. Was the weather similar? Questions swirling around in her mind, the teen hacker tilted her head inquisitively in the direction of her cellmate.

So, you're from One. What's it like there? Are you a Career or something?" The question was asked in a friendly, curious tone, but Lyla was guarded about it. She wasn't sure how the new boy would react to being questioned about his home life. "Three's kind of boring. All everyone does is sit at a computer all day or build things. It's so... drab." She smiled mischievously, glancing towards the puddle of neon cloth on the floor. "Everyone back home finds me a bit obnoxious, actually. They don't like things that are out of the ordinary. And they seem to think hacking is this abominable sin. So close-minded.

"So what's it like for you?" she continued, still watching her tall companion with interest. "Just going to school, and then either going home, going to work, or going to train for the Games?"

The mention of the Hunger Games made Lyla experience an unpleasant feeling of stabbing pain in her chest, so she stopped talking abruptly, eyes now directed at the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, subdued, and sad. "My little brother was in the Games five years ago, you know. He was twelve."[/color][/size][/blockquote]

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A throaty sound followed my assumption of her charge. Then the sound of water hitting metal followed, her figure bending over something, probably a sink. Hopefully a sink. I am definitely not like most of the District One snobs who are so obsessed with their appearance that it drowns out the rest of their personality but I like to be hygienic and not covered in grime. Maybe the girl was the same. Or maybe she was just trying to conceal her face. Maybe she was secretly a guy. Oh dear lord. Please. I'm begging.

Oh, she's definitely a girl. Her hand fits into mine as I shake it. Lyla Matheson. A hacker. Wow. That's more interesting than my life style. All I can say is that I wake up in the morning and survive each day as a boring student who's most exciting event in life was losing his leg to a psychotic father. And she wakes up every morning and hacks. I mean, I guess I'd be more amazed if I knew what that word meant. Still, she definitely didn't look like the braniac type that would come from District Three. She looked like one of us really. She begins talking about the blankets and clothing that were given to us. Something about them being itchy but I'm too busy looking at her.

I'm not that type of guy, don't worry. I am not sexually attracted to her...yet. But she was intriguing. Her bright white hair formed around her face, which seemed equally pale in the dim light that we had from a small hole in the wall. Her figure is typical for a teenager, at least according to my vision that I had. And then she is asking for me to turn around so she can change. All the teenage hormones inside of me fight to keep me in the same position but the nice guy traits win, turning me around. When she finally announces that she is done, I turn back around, examining her newer clothes that were slightly less...striking. They were dull and boring but that's typical for a jail, I guess. I make my way to my set of clothes. "Now you turn around." I smile, pulling my shirt off right away.

I guess maybe I am obsessed with my appearance. Although, I still think that's an overstatement. I am confident in my appearance, not obsessed. My stomach is flat, barely any fat showing. My abs that I constantly work on in my small training hours can be seen, still not even close to the ripped Careers though. I throw the white shirt over my head and then pull down the jeans. Instead of making sure she wasn't looking, I pulled on the sweatpants they gave, muttering an okay when I stood up straight. Part of me had hoped she looked. I know, I'm supposed to be trying to 'court' Edana. Still, I have always been the one who was second place for the girl's pick. During our girl's pick dance, I didn't even get chosen. I sat outside the school, praying that somebody would ask me to dance. Nobody did. Sob story or whatever, I guess being liked would be nice. And since Edana didn't show any of that, maybe I still wanted it, deep down.

I come back to reality just before she begins speaking about her District. When you live in one District, you rarely hear about the others. I mean, I just found out about the industry change in the multiple Districts. We have it lucky here. We can occasionally get information because we are apparently number one. However, the others live their lives and stay oblivious to the other Districts. I guess I am like them. I had no idea what Three was like. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe then I would've wanted to help the citizens there and that would've gotten me in more trouble with the officers. "We don't have it as good as everybody thinks. We still have the poorer places, the cruelty from the officers, the fear of the Games. I don't want to go fight for my life. I like it the way it is. So, no, I'm not a Career. But yes, I still train. We are lucky to get that chance, so I'm glad I can take it." My voice is quiet, partly because I don't want the guards to hear but also because I always feel as if things have more meaning when they are quiet. Loudness reminds me of playfulness. Not seriousness, you know?

But her voice comes next, somehow even quieter and more solemn than I could've expected. "I-I'm sorry about your brother. It must've been tough. I wish I could say I know that exact feeling. I've been lucky. I've just lost friends. Good friends." Like York and Anastasia. They were sent in. They could've been dead by now. I was taken away after the bloodbath. But they were people that I had occasionally seen in the hallway, people that I'm sure I would've been friendly with. "Not all of us District One citizens are monsters. Some try to be realistic too. I try." I clear my throat, no longer wanting to talk super quiet anymore. But still, the rules stated that we shouldn't talk to our cell mate. At least, that's what they told me. So maybe quiet was the safest.

"Hacking. What do you...do exactly?" I ask, glad for a change of subject. "And it's very nice to meet you Lyla Matheson."




[[ooc: gah, that feels like a horrible post D: Sorry, there it is anyways.]]

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[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

It’s only half-past the point of no return,
The tip of the iceberg,
The sun before the burn…

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Clayton’s description of life in the First District intrigued Lyla, and the caramel-eyed genius found herself leaning forward as the taller boy painted her a verbal picture of a District that wasn’t as glitzy or glamorous as the other citizens of Panem made it out to be. She quirked a whitish eyebrow at his description of training. So, a Career-who-wasn’t-a-Career. Interesting. His face melded into an expression of genuine sympathy when she mentioned Leo’s death, which surprised Lyla quite a bit. Usually people adopted an attitude of “Tributes die. Get over it,” when she brought up the subject, but Clayton’s air of concern and understanding made a small, sad smile appear involuntarily, cupid-bow lips settling into a slight curve across alabaster features. ”Yeah… he was a great kid. I miss him.”

"Hacking. What do you...do exactly?" The neon-wearing prodigy found herself taken aback by the question. Didn’t they have computers in One? Surely they did. And he didn’t know what hacking was? Unbelievable. Running long, elegant fingers over the scratchy wool of the blanket next to her, she tried to think of the most basic way to define the crime that had landed her in this very cell.

”Well, hacking’s not really that complicated in principle…” Lyla said thoughtfully, uncurling her body from its crouched position and letting her feet slide down to the floor, delicate hands wrapping their way around the outside edge of the metal shelf that was her bed. ”Hacking is basically breaking into a computer program and reworking it to make it do something other than its original purpose. It’s a little harder than that when it comes down to what you actually have to do, rewriting binary code and working around firewalls and stuff.”

The blonde shrugged offhandedly, grinning up at Clayton with a devilish smile. ”You may have seen on the news about soome… interesting things have been happening with the Capitol’s computer-controlled systems for a few years. Thermostats deep-freezing apartments into meat lockers, food delivery systems coming up with spoiled, rotten food…” She gave a pause, and then a half-maniacal cackle. ”President Snow’s toilet exploding because of overly-increased water pressure. Yeah, that was all me. I was doing just fine until I bit off more than I could chew, tried to hack my way into Gamemaker headquarters. And now I’m here.”

Lyla wasn’t quite sure why she was telling him all of this; cataloguing her technological escapades to someone she had just met. But Clayton seemed interested, and really, it all came down to the fact that he was another human being who was willing to talk to her, something she hadn’t had the luxury of in days. Still grinning from the retelling of her more amusing hacks, the teen prodigy found herself studying her cellmate a little more closely in the dim half-light cast by the window that could only be described as a porthole lodged high up on the back wall of the tiny metallic enclosure. Now that he was standing up, Clayton was taller than she had thought at first, at least a foot taller than herself. His hair was dark and stuck out at odd angles in a way that was more endearingly unkempt than irritatingly messy. Brown eyes that always seemed to have a smile in them gazed back into her own mischievously glinting molten-gold ones, each of them openly showing their curiosity about the other. It would be nice to have a friend through this hellish experience, Lyla mused, suddenly incredibly glad that Clayton was her cellmate instead of some brooding, hulking murderer or even worse, no one at all.

”Hey, you can sit down if you want,” she said, smirking lightly as she nodded at the space next to her on the metal shelf. ”I’m pretty much breaking my neck trying to talk to you, Frankenteen.”

The jab was delivered with a friendly smile this time, a bubbly soprano laugh that echoed off the stainless steel walls pleasantly in comparison of the silence that had filled the cell for days on end. Despite the fact that her opinions on her new cellmate had been iffy at first, Lyla decided to go ahead and like Clayton.

He’s nice enough. Cute, too.

What are you thinking, Lyla? What about Jules?

What about him? I’m allowed to think that a guy is cute.

You’re shameless, Ly. Shameless.

”By the way,” she added into the conversation, her wide grin turning into a softly contemplative smile. ”I never said that I thought people from One are monsters or unrealistic. You’re not. I’ve only known you for a few minutes, and I can tell that.”

For once, Lyla felt that this whole experience might just be bearable if she had someone to go through it with her. ”It’s very nice to meet you as well, Clayton.”

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The soft smile that made it's way to her face after the mention of her brother again made warmth explode in my stomach. I always liked to see people smile. Everybody had a smile, no matter how evil they are. And the smile showed their true personality that was deep down. Lyla's smile was radiant, seeming to light up the room. You rarely find smiles like that. Mine is just like...a boring smile. I mean, I don't show my teeth in pictures because my smile is that frightening. Or at least, that's what I think. Some say my smile is cute. But really, I was cute when I was six. Although, I guess I should take what I can get. Cute is better than ugly in every way. Unless it was coming from a guy. I already went through that possibility a while ago and agreed that I preferred women.

She begins talking about the hacking. Really? Simple? I mean, what the hell is a binary? I want to remind her that District One may have computers but we aren't masters of them. We don't work with the electronic side. However, she seems to really have passion behind her words. And I have to respect that whatever it is, she truly cares about it, even if I don't understand the true meaning of it. Changing things around in the programming to benefit you. That makes sense. So maybe I didn't need to be extremely smart to understand the full meaning. Maybe just the word binary, but that doesn't matter.

"Gamemaker's headquarters, huh? That sounds pretty intense. So you're one of those geeks right?" I flash a smile, the smile I don't like. I hope she realizes I meant it as a joke. To be honest, I never pursued the drop dead gorgeous popular girls at my school. I preferred the quiet ones who liked being who they were, not who they were forced to be. And people called them geeks. So, I liked geeks. Sure. Why not. I'll scream it to the world. I'm not afraid. Okay. Maybe the screaming part, especially down here. I don't want to be electrocuted again. The tingling could still be felt across my back. "I would never have guessed that you could do that though. First impression was wrong. I guess I'm stereotyping." I laugh, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck nervously. It's the truth though. They say that the smart people can't be good looking. That's why I have always been glad that I'm not smart. But obviously she proved that wrong.

”Hey, you can sit down if you want. I’m pretty much breaking my neck trying to talk to you, Frankenteen.” I laugh, making my way over to sit beside her. The new proximity between us makes me smile more. Edana. EDANA. Right. Edana. This girl was from District Three. And who was I kidding. Just because I thought she was attractive, doesn't mean that the feeling is mutual or that I'm prepared for anything else. What am I even talking about? There will be no anything else because there isn't any something. And I guess she is right. She never said we were monsters. "Sorry. It's just a common assumption about us. We aren't like the Capitol like most people think we are. And we are seen like that all the time." I mutter quietly.

My voice goes quieter again. "Congratulations on surviving reapings by the way. It benefits me. It means that I could've had a monster in here. When I first came in, I thought that you would be just scary," I laugh, turning to look at her. "Boy was I wrong. I mean, you're much more attractive than anybody else in here." Yea- Wait what did I say? No. No. No. I didn't just say that. Now I look like an idiot. Great. Just freaking great. So, I can't talk to girls at all. That's another thing that I fail at. Life, thinking, girls. That is a pretty bad list of things to fail at. I look away, clearing my throat. "Better than a huge killer if you ask me." I whisper, knowing that it's too late and I couldn't recover. Edana Edana Edana. But too late now. There goes any chance I had at having somebody to talk to during this time. Now I was alone in this cold prison.

And that's the scariest thing in the world.

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[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

All my life I’ve been good, but now
Oh, I’m thinking “What the hell?”

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”Yeah, I guess you could call me a geek,” Lyla laughed good-naturedly, watching Clayton grin at her in return. He had a nice smile, genuine and heartwarming, that for some unknown reason made Lyla feel a little more at home in this tiny hellhole. ”The people at home wouldn’t agree with you, though. I spent my whole life acting like an airhead to avoid getting caught. Whole lot of good that did me. But I actually have an IQ of 193.”

She wanted to smack herself as soon as the words left her mouth. Lyla usually didn’t tell people her IQ on principle, feeling that it was bragging to do so. So why had she opened her big mouth and spouted off to Clayton about it? The taller boy probably thought her the epitome of arrogance now, some bitchy genius-girl lording over him with her superior intellect. Pursing her lips together as a blush painted its way across her pale visage, Lyla focused her eyes intently on the featureless floor of the cell.

Why am I being such a show-off?

Why, indeed. Remember Julian, who’s sitting back at home worried sick about you? And here you are putting on airs for the first boy who’ll look twice at you. Shameless.

"Congratulations on surviving reapings by the way. It benefits me. It means that I could've had a monster in here. When I first came in, I thought that you would be just scary,"

[/i][/color] Clayton laughed, the timbre of his voice a smooth baritone that Lyla found strangely comforting. The blonde allowed herself to glance up at her cellmate and flash him a smile in return. He was right in the thought that she didn’t really look all that threatening. While her mind made her dangerous, Lyla was about the farthest thing from physically intimidating with her wide caramel eyes, high cheekbones, and delicate disposition. Someone had told her once that she looked like a harmless little white bunny, a statement she couldn’t really discern whether it had been an insult or a compliment.

"Boy, was I wrong. I mean, you're much more attractive than anybody else in here."

The blush returned with a vengeance, making her face practically glow blood red in the fading half-light of early evening that slanted through the tiny window. Lyla was used to getting compliments, from her twittering “friends” that only knew the side of her that played dumb on a constant basis, from boys at school who wanted to go on a date with the heiress of Creed Matheson’s self-build programming empire, but for some reason this simple statement made her stutter like an idiot for a few seconds, her mind for once completely blank.

”Uh… I, um… Thank you,” she stammered, cheeks aflame. Clayton mumbled some other inaudible thing, but Lyla couldn’t hear it over the roaring pulse of her heart pounding in her ears. The taller boy looked every bit as shocked as Lyla felt, his dark eyes fixed on some point far away, looking away from her pointedly. Clasping her hands together tightly in her lap, the blonde glanced up nervously at her companion, afraid that her stuttered response had made things awkward. An extended silence with Clayton was the last thing she wanted, especially so soon after her only human contact had made his first appearance. She smiled shyly at him, nervously raking her fingers through the whitish locks that fell to her waist. "I mean… I’m a little surprised that you can find someone who’s been substituting a sink for a shower for a whole week and wearing ugly sweatpants attractive, but thanks anyway for the compliment.”

She elbowed him lightly in the arm, bashful grin widening a bit. ”Hey, I’m kinda glad they stuck me with someone good-looking, too.”


What are you saying?! What the hell are you saying?! Stop flirting with him! Stop it! Jules, you idiot, what about him?! You know what, fine. Do what you want. As your conscience, I officially wash my hands of you.

Scooting back on the bed to she could lean her back against the wall, Lyla resumed the old nervous habit of fiddling with her hair, twisting a single white-blond strand around a spindly finger as molten-gold eyes gazed intently at her taller counterpart. ”So, you’ll learn pretty quickly that there’s nothing to do here. Nothing. I’ve been counting the ceiling tiles for days. That’s why I’m really glad I’ve finally got someone to talk to. I’m feeling like twenty questions is going to become a very popular game.”

She snorted lightly, letting her head fall back against the cold metal of the wall. ”So, what have you got waiting for you when you get out of here? Got anyone special back home?”
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C L A Y T O N x D E R E K x S Y N C L A I R

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I smile as she answers, nodding with each point she makes. But only one thought is actually crossing my mind throughout the whole thing. What the hell is an IQ? Another computer term like binary? I'm sure I've heard it before. Isn't it something like how smart you are in both real world and logical situations? I don't know. I don't even know what logical means! Okay. Maybe I do. So, I'm not that stupid. Sure, my IQ or whatever would probably look like a quarter of Lyla's, but at least I have one. Is it even possible to not have an IQ. That would be pretty sad. 'Hey man, I just tested myself. I have an IQ of 175'. Yeah. Well. He doesn't even have one. I'm sure that's wrong, but the thought entertains me. Maybe somebody out there really is duller than me. Maybe I'm a sharper knife than somebody else in the drawer of life. Oh. Deep.

"That's pretty amazing. You are making me jealous." Please be amazing. Please be amazing. That would really suck if an IQ actually meant something really bad. If it meant lack of brain cells, I'm just screwed. I mean, there goes my safety in this cell. Please be amazing. But that's when I noticed a soft blush cross her face. YES! Oh I'm just so awesome. Luck, you can't fail me now. Maybe later. Not now, please. And then, at my mention of her looks, the blush turns from a light pink to a full scarlet red. Success? Wait. What am I even trying to think. Seriously. Edana. Edana. Edana. Edana. Edana. Edana? Yeah. Edana. Definitely Edana. She lives closer to home you know. No use pursuing anything that can't happen. And what is there to pursue anyways? Nothing is there.

And how can she make me laugh during a time of embarrassment like this. Lyla! You aren't helping! I'm trying to get any of these hormonal thoughts OUT OF MY MIND. Not back in and rooted to the edges so I can't get them out. Stop laughing. It's too contagious. Too sweet. Too adorable. Oh dear lord. Edana. Edana. Edana. ”Hey, I’m kinda glad they stuck me with someone good-looking, too.” Aw, tha- Oh wait. She thinks I'm attractive? That's what she said right? Damn. I forgot what she said! Still, Edana never called me attractive. I'll ignore the fact that I only knew her for like ten minutes before she got stabbed in the stomach, the event that brought me here. But still. I mean, that means something, right?

She begins to describe what she's been doing since she arrived here, obviously bored out of her mind after being alone. I was at a hospital watching a young girl's pregnant stomach bleed out like a ketchup bottle was squeezed to tight. And I was busy bruising my fists against the rough face of another guy. Wow, I guess my life isn't too boring, even though it's dangerous. "Are you kidding? Counting ceiling tiles is the best." I laugh, adding plenty of sarcasm to my voice. Leaning back against the wall, I clear my throat upon her mention of somebody back at home. Yes. I've got Edana. But what is Edana? I just met her right? She might forget me by the time I get back. So, I can't exactly say I have Edana.

"I'm kind of wondering the same thing to be honest. The reason I got here was because I beat up this guy. He had stabbed this girl who I've seen a lot around the school and stuff. She got pregnant. And she couldn't take her eyes off a screen that was playing the Games. I felt sorry for her. I think the father was the male from One. And so I stayed with her all night. But, that was nothing I guess." I say, wishing I hadn't given a huge story. I could've just said no and moved on. Instead, I had to give her a book about somebody I'm sure she doesn't care about. "My father just recently passed away and my mother is too busy working to probably realize I'm gone. I don't care too much about them though." I never did care about my father. My leg starts to feel sore at the mention of him. I can feel the knife going down on the skin, tearing it apart like it was simply butter. "So, no. Nobody special. How about you?"

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[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

It started out, “Hey, cutie, where are you from?”
Then turned into “Oh no, what have I done?”

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Lyla’s eyes widened at the outpouring of words from the taller boy that her simple question had prompted. After sifting through everything Clayton had said, she came to a basic conclusion that was soon confirmed by his final statement. "So, no. Nobody special. How about you?”

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”Oh, well…” Lyla found herself struggling for words, a dilemma that she wasn’t used to. If Clayton’s explanation was complex, hers would be unfathomable. ”Oh, I don’t really know, I’ve got my parents. But there’s also the abused hermaphrodite ballerina that’s four years younger than me, and I’m kind of emotionally conflicted between sisterly affection and passionate, undying love in that situation. So I guess, yeah, I’ve got people I need to get back to.” The story forming in her brain almost made her laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, until the realization that everything about it was true made Lyla bite back her giggle and glance back over at her companion, who was still waiting on an answer.

”My parents,” she said contemplatively, trying to figure out a way to summarize the rest of the tangled mess that was her social dynamic. ”I mean, I don’t have a boyfriend, I guess, but I’ve got a… a Julian, for lack of a better descriptive term, but seriously, we don’t want to go into this. It’s ridiculously complicated.”

The blonde pulled her legs over the edge of the metal shelf, reverting into her previous position of pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her head on her knees, caramel eyes looking in Clayton’s direction but focused on something much, much farther away than the dark-haired boy, trying desperately to see a form much shorter and thinner, all lean dancer’s muscle and shiny golden hair that smelled like soap and baby powder. What was Julian doing without her, Lyla wondered. Was he still living at her house? Were her parents taking good care of him? Was he still sleeping in the living room, still wandering up into her bedroom in the middle of the night and curling up under the neon-green comforter like a little blonde cat? Was he holding up all right, or had her sudden departure thrown his fragile emotional homeostasis off completely? The prodigy felt an unpleasant tightness in her chest, recognizing it vaguely as the sensation of guilt, something she hadn’t experienced in a while. Lyla Matheson was a cold, manipulative mastermind at her core, but she had nursed a soft spot for the little dancer that was now being irritated by the fact that she was sitting here writing him off to Clayton as something she’d rather not discuss. Nevertheless, she let the matter drop and forced herself back to reality, smiling halfheartedly at her cellmate.

”That was really brave,” she said softly, trying with all her might to squelch the little flutter she felt in her midsection as she gazed into his dark eyes, the feeling only making her guilt intensify. ”What you did, protecting that girl. I mean, they came and got me right after I got out of the hospital.”

The mention of her time in the hospital made Lyla’s arms tingle uncomfortably, golden eyes drawn inevitably to look upon the raw scars on the right appendage and the messy protrusion of bone on the left. The faint remnants of her superficiality cringed at the visibility of these imperfections, but the remainder of her mind was filled only with a numb sort of rationality. The scars were her fault. The broken bones were her fault, punishment for her arrogance in the belief that she could just rush in and save Julian from his horrid home life with a few well-placed hacks and some big talk. Again, she felt the tension of guilt pervading her chest. How could she be sitting here feeling attraction to someone else while the person she had literally endured torture for sat at home desperately wishing for her return? Sighing heavily, Lyla closed her eyes for a moment. She was despicable. She knew she was horrible, but the realization did nothing to rid her of the butterflies in her stomach.

”That’s the difference between you and me, Clayton,” she mumbled, opening her eyes and looking at him again. ”You’re here because you were selfless. I’m here because I was a stupid little girl with a thirst for revenge and a hidden agenda that I didn’t do a very good job of hiding. You’re a good person. I’m not.”

She wasn’t quite sure why she had said it. Maybe it was the fact that her mind was screaming at her that she was a terrible person, maybe it was because she needed justification for the horrible fate that most likely awaited her, or maybe it was because Lyla had always had inferiority issues despite the fact that she wore neon-bright clothes and bravado as badges of her non-conformity. Perhaps, the blonde reasoned, the motive behind her speech had been a strange mix of all these things.

”I don’t even know why I’m sitting here and talking about going home,” Lyla said sadly, looking longingly at the fading shaft of light that filtered down from the high window. ”I’m not going back, not after everything I’ve done. You’ll probably be the last person to hear my voice, actually, .”

She didn’t know why the thought comforted her, but Lyla found some solace in the fact that someone might remember her, might occasionally stop to think of what her laugh had sounded like, how her eyes could never truly hide what was going on in her head, the slightly crooked line of her smile. ”They’re going to kill me, you know. Kill me or turn me into an Avox. And I won’t let myself live for long if that happens.”

Lyla had possessed plenty of time to herself to consider her options over the past week. Someone as dangerous as her surely wouldn’t be allowed to return home, leaving death or Avoxing as her only remaining options. Lyla knew what she would do if the judicial powers decided to deprive her of her speech and her freedom, slicing her tongue out and shipping her off to a life of servitude in the Capitol. She’d fling herself off the closest tall building, slit her wrists, do anything to escape such a hellish existence. It was a morbid thought, but a determined one. Lyla Matheson would die on her own terms, refusing to be anyone’s slave.

”Do you think anyone will really remember me, Clayton? My parents have all but forgotten about my brother. They don’t miss him, not like I do. What’s going to happen when I’m gone? They’ll forget me, too. That’s the only thing I regret. I don’t want to be forgotten.”[/color][/size][/blockquote]

[∂αмєη]

C L A Y T O N x D E R E K x S Y N C L A I R

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Oh thank you so much Julian. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You just made all of this so much easier. Any of my previous feelings of attraction to this girl, Lyla Matheson, disappeared upon the mention of her Julian. Something was suspicious. Well. Not suspicious. But...well...complicated, just like she said. "Love shouldn't be complicated." I mutter quietly, not realizing why I actually said it. Honestly? Why the hell would I say that? Oh great. She's looking at me. Don't look into her eyes. Don't do it Clayton. Edana. Edana. Julian. Julian. She's taken. Even if it is complicated. Edana. Edana. Edana. Oh but her eyes just pull you in even more. So calming and full of care. Dammit Clayton! Edana!

"That was really brave. What you did, protecting that girl. I mean, they came and got me right after I got out of the hospital." Her eyes move towards her arm. I can't see anything though, thanks to our horrible window and dull light. "I had to do it. I couldn't just leave her. It's just who I am." I mutter, recalling the moment when I left Edana's bloody scene and followed the man with the knife. "You’re a good person. I’m not." A small chuckle escapes through my dry lips, forming a small cloud thanks to our wonderful heating down here. "I'm not as good as you think. I still almost killed a man. And I have seen things that most people haven't."

The dark room is cold and the stench of bile and urine is strong. I turn my head to the left slowly, wanting to just see the smallest bit of sunlight to give me hope to make it through a few more hours. My hands are stuck to the ground, tied down by chains and limp from exhaustion. My breath escapes in quick bursts, my lungs begging for more oxygen that is so hard to find between the tight four walls. His humming can be heard through the wall, music playing along with it, albeit being more in tune. A moan escapes my lips and I can hear him shift. I would cover my mouth but my arms beg to just stay on the ground. And I can't argue because my eyelids have claimed all the energy I had left just to stay open.

That's when the door opens and he makes his way in, a small kitchen knife in his hand. I want to scream out. I want to beg. I want to cry. But the smile on his face shows that he won't accept anything other than a scream of pain. Coming closer, he lowered himself to whisper in my ear, his breath adding to the stench of the room. I can't hear his words though because my scream blocks out everything else. The knife slices through the first layer of my skin, blood already dripping out. The sawing motion done by his arm continues, increasing to a speed that would be able to clear through a piece of wood. I hope it can't though. My bone is now feeling the pain. But there's a knock on the door before it can clear right through, my screams obviously attracting everybody around.

I can see right down to the bloody bone in my leg. I can't hear anything else, can't breathe in more putrid air, can't feel my surroundings. Even my sight begins to disappear, the last thing I see being flickering lights, varying between red and blue. Then, everything goes black and I'm gone from the world.

The day had fled from my memory for so long. I couldn't even remember what had happened. My prosthetic leg tingles at the memory. Well, I sure as hell have seen worse. Then Lyla speaks. Me? The last one to hear her voice? Forgotten? Why would she be forgotten? Oh dear lord. No. That would be worth a knife to the tongue. A solemn expression crosses across my face. I need to do something. Something to show that I care. Slowly, I shuffle over, wrapping my arms awkwardly around her. "You will get out of here. Alive and alright. You will be alright." I quietly whisper, obviously failing with comfort. I never was good at comforting people, I guess. Hopefully it would help her though.

I break apart from the hug, shuffling back to my position. What the hell was that? Awkward much? What about Julian? What about Edana? My mind is full of thoughts, each one being bounced back and fourth along the sides, becoming more and more demanding. "I will remember you. No matter what happens, I will always remember you."

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[Deleted]

Lyla Matheson

When I feel like crashing down,
You seem to be around.
There you are,
You’re not that far.

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Lyla was used to being a protector. She had become accustomed to burying her own doubts and worries, worrying about others, suppressing her own fears in order to chase away the monsters that threatened her loved ones. Always the strong one, she was more than a little shocked when she felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes as the taller boy’s arms closed around her frame in a gesture of comfort she was accustomed to giving rather than receiving. "You will get out of here. Alive and all right. You will be all right."

”I’m scared.” Her voice was watery and broken, thick and wavering as she tried to swallow the rapidly growing lump in her throat. Somewhere inside her, the remnants of Lyla’s old self berated her for her weakness, but as if to spite her the tears spilled over and traced hot-salty paths down her cheeks. Something about Clayton’s well-intended but obvious lie made a huge crack in the levy of her willpower, sending terror and hopelessness spreading like poison through the blonde’s veins. The dark-haired boy’s assurance that he wouldn’t forget her made the crack grow a bit bigger, the statement surely proof that he knew she was doomed every bit as well as she knew it. She was barely able to choke out a final sentence before the sobs began to rack her body, slumped dejectedly on the metal slab. ”I’m so scared.”

Lyla didn’t like crying. It made her feel incredibly weak, dangerously vulnerable as sharp little gasping breaths made her abused form shake, mutilated arms clutched protectively around her middle as if to muffle the horrible, icy stabs of fear and the swooping sensation of despair that lingered there where only moments ago there had been the guilt-inducing but pleasant feeling of budding attraction. The fact that she was breaking, especially here in front of someone se had just met made the fragmented pieces of her shattered resolve pull together enough to allow her to speak, trying to justify her weakness between sobs to the boy next to her. ”I want to be strong, I do, but I’m just so damn terrified. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to have my tongue cut out or be tortured, and I don’t want to live the rest of my life as a slave. I just want to go home.”

Home. The word was sweet on her tongue, spoken with all the reverence of a prayer. People always said that you didn’t know what you had until you lost it, and for the first time, Lyla understood what they meant. She had never given any thought to the comfortable warmth of her own bed before she had been forced to sleep on a cold metal slab. She had never really appreciated the rich taste of her mother’s cooking (or more often take-out from the Chinese place down the street) until she had been forced to subside on stale bread and awful-tasting water. And worst of all, Lyla realized she had taken her loved ones for granted, assuming that she would always have Julian and her parents in her life, something that made the horrible loneliness of her days of solitude even more agonizing. The prodigy wanted to take everything back, recall ever hack she’d ever done, forget her revenge. She wanted to live a plain, boring life with her family and her beloved little dancer, living out the rest of her days in peace and relative prosperity under the smog-filled skies of the Third District. Unfortunately, her actions could not be undone.

She had done this to herself.

”I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as she rubbed away the dried tears from her face. ”I really don’t mean to freak out like this, but that breakdown was sort of a long time coming. Everything’s just been sinking in the whole time I’ve been here. I guess it’s easier to be strong when you know you don’t have a shoulder to cry on. When you get someone who’ll listen to you, it’s easier to break.”

Lyla exhaled shakily, blinking her stinging eyes and arbitrarily raking fingers through her hair. The turmoil within her faded slowly, her homeostasis gradually returning as she looked at her cellmate and gave him a halfhearted, sad smile. ”You know, most people wouldn’t have even bothered to say anything to try to make me feel better. You’re a really sweet guy, Clayton.”

The visibility in the cell was getting steadily worse as night approached, the fading gleam of sunset washing out to a faint blue glow that gave the metallic room an eerie underwater quality. She could make out his outline next to her, the glimmer of his dark eyes as they caught the final bits of light, but the blonde hacker couldn’t really see much of Clayton beyond that. She knew her own whitish hair probably still shone through the growing blackness pervading the room, overly-pale skin glowing blue from the final strains of dusk. Biting her lip nervously, Lyla didn’t even try to

She wasn’t quite sure what gave her the impulse, maybe gratitude, perhaps the fact that she was still vulnerable and needed comfort, or possibly because she was willing to do anything to get rid of that guilt-inducing feeling that was slowly beginning to return to her. But no matter what the reason, Lyla found herself wrapping her arms around the boy next to her returning the hug he had given her a few minutes before. She was close enough to him that she didn’t have to speak at full volume, so her speech came out as a sincerely grateful half-whisper. ”Thank you. For promising to remember me. And for trying to cheer me up. It means a lot.”

[∂αмєη]

wip...sorry. i'm trying real hard to get it going.

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Finished.

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