jinx me once, jinx me twice. {briknope]

[cinder]

Miles.

[/b]

There's no better time than the present to do something crazy, Miles reasons silently, and with a glance at Theron, tags on, and there is no better girl to do something crazy with.

This morning when he concocted his plan, he'd thought that to himself. Theron. Reliable, beautiful Theron. Much as he liked to tease her - as any self-respecting twin would - Miles could and often would privately admit to himself that she was a hell of a girl. He'd never seen a more devastatingly shy, guarded girl take a punch and drip more blood because of it than all the drops of tears she'd cried in her whole life.

But dreadfully attached to her as he was, he couldn't help but feel a bit smug to see her clinging to him and whisper-screaming at him for ever having gotten her into such a barking, bloody mess. Miles craned his neck over the huge drop of an alley way and smiled at his sister, feeling a bit of a flutter in his stomach that really had nothing to do with a fear of heights nor a fear of being captured.

"Don't worry, Theron. I'll get us out of this mess!"
__

Theron.

The soft elevator music playing in her head this morning at say, four am, must have clouded her mind, because Theron Vagrant would never have agreed to such a cockamamie wild-minded plan if she'd been fully aware of just what Miles intended.

The problem that really struck Theron as odd was that she knew her brother. Miles knew her fairly well - he could guess her favorite melody, understand her when turned red in the face at a stranger's kind word, and feel the victory of her tearless nosebleed, an event from only a few weeks' past. Theron knew him so much better though; she understood that when he, for example, told her he reckoned to steal an apple from a sleepy vendor in the Games Square at seven am in the morning, this very morning - (to be more specific with her example than she'd originally intended) - well that hadn't meant that the plan would be smooth and easy as his silver tongue suggested.

She'd been a fool to even think it for a second, and knew at some later date she'd curse the daylights out of her eyes and heart for ever having looked upon Miles Vagrant, and failed to notice the wiggling eyebrow movements that told her he was fixing to rumble.

While she imagined walking into the store with her tinkling, lullaby-voice, filled with complaints for the shop owner about how her "maman" wished to haggle the price of the vendors bread, he'd imagined her running into the store screaming at him. While she thought her kind voice and sweet, plain looks would deceive the shop keeper from the twins true intentions - to distract him and allow Miles to efficiently swipe a few apples from the outside fruit stand where a lazy shop boy habitually fell asleep underneath the fruit table during the wee day-light hours (excusing his morning naps with his thoughtless anticipation that nobody, much less dangerous street urchins would descend upon the shop-keepers goods so early in the morning). And so, Theron had sighed and told Miles that she would not scream at the man. The twins had spoken for a few minutes while they dressed for the outing, and agreed upon a soft theft which might actually go unnoticed by the man and his shop boy.
__
Miles. and Theron.

"You've really made a mess of things, Miles!" Theron uttered in as loud a voice as she dared, with as much poisonous intent as she could muster.

"Yes, I know, my dear sister, but be not so faithless! I'll get us out of this muck!" Miles replied smugly, and enjoyed his own pun. Seldom was he very clever, being a fifteen year old boy uninterested by books, and having a sister who possessed all of the wit he'd missed out on in their joint womb. He listened to her spit a few words at him, knowing she never would have treated anybody else with so much venom, and a twinge of self-righteousness mingled with his smug annoyance.

It had, after all, been his gentle sister's fault that sent them running fast and far out of the shop, through a few alley ways, and up the fire escape of a rusted old building, abandoned by most of its occupants except for a few old ladies and men who claimed to remember the days before Hunger Games. Theron had made the awful mistake of asking after the shop keepers lemons. Naturally, she'd assumed that because lemons were out of season, he wouldn't have any to peddle to her, and would point her in the direction of the limes, located on a shelf on the shop in the farthest corner from the district square, where Miles was discreetly lifting some apples from the market-day stand.

But, Theron hadn't noticed the lemons outside when she'd walked in. She'd stammered a few words about how she meant limes, not lemons, when the owner had cried with delight that he had lemons outside, and the jig was up. Theron was no liar. Theron was the soul-barring charmer who could belt beautiful sounds akin to the likes of a witch's spell. But she had none of the dizzying, charismatic darkness of a witch. Her innocent, plain face couldn't convey a lie without a sour, pained look. Just another reason Theron relied entirely upon Miles for pretty much everything.

"Miles! Miles? I - I do believe the fire escape is groaning," Theron muttered fearfully. Fearfully, because it's squeaking, aged sounds might draw an alert old woman to her window, where she would find two dirt-streaked orphans sitting like ducks. Fearfully, because if the noise did not subside, someone else from outside the alley would hear them, and fearfully because her vividly overactive imagination was painting images before even Miles blunt, hard-edged mind of the twins behind wrapped in metal bars, being scraped off the alley floor and having little bits of their guts staining the floor forever. Peacekeepers would use their tale as a warning to all petty-thieves of what happens to the likes of them.

Miles turned to Theron and gave her a pitying, helpless look. "Yes, Theron," he said lamely, and reached a few fingers towards her hand, skimming her skin with his thumb. It was meant to be comforting, and yet more emotions passed through Theron's eyes than Miles could have ever imagined. Her lips parted, about to release some small words he would have liked to have heard, but she shook her head and reached her fingers through his, clasping their hands together. Her eyebrows crinkled together, her lips trembled, and Miles finally regretted - really regretted with all of his heart - that he had ever put helpless, musical Theron through the hell of the morning.

ooc this is probs a bit longer than my usual posts will be, because I'd prefer to keep the thread fast paced, so I'm not expecting so many words from you [/size]
[/center][/color]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

Jinx could feel the bandages sliding down in the sleeves of his jacket, irritating both him mentally and his arms physically. It mostly irritated his arms more than his mentality, as the bleeding hadn't entirely stopped, and now there they were, rubbing up against the red cloth jacket, unprotected by the gauze that was a necessity in his life so he could hide his secrets. At that moment, he regretted that he hadn't clipped the bandages together good enough, as he could feel every single cut and burn on his arms if he focused hard enough, and it was painful to know how much pain he inflicted on his arms to relieve stress than it was painful to feel them on his ruined flesh. Sighing, knowing what day it is, he pressed his back deeper into the wall of the building, hoping to blend in.

He had no good reason for being there except for the fact that he needed some silence and alone time, and of course time to think, and that was the best way to do it, which was go to wherever that wasn't his house. Sure, at his house, he was always left alone (partially because his parents resented him), but being in the same house where his sister died and where his hateful parents always had a glare in store for him always gave him an itch to go out and go wherever seemed appealing to him. For some reason, the old rusted building seemed to be someplace for a guy like him; probably because the older people there who lived during the Dark Days had nothing to say anymore and didn't bother him, even though every now and again they would pass him a questioning glance, to which he would shoot back a venomous glare.

Soon enough, Jinx felt like he was being smothered by the cigar smoke that infiltrated the air and hitting his lungs, so with carefully planned, silent footsteps, he crossed the building from the corner he lurked at and clicked open the door that closed them in, allowing cold air of the night to flow in and send a shiver through everybody's spine. With a few crunching steps into the outside and onto the streets, the door closed with a slam, making everybody in the place jump.

Jinx turned the right-hand corner that was at the side of the building, leaning against the brick wall that met up against the front of the place just five feet away. Leaning against the corner made him think about what that particular day was. It was right around the time that she left him, exactly two years ago. I know what day it is today... even if I chose to ignore it, it won't go away, and she won't ever come back. It's... all of my fault. All of it is. Everything that happens to my family... I am always the main cause of it. I deserve everything that I get in life... my misery, my arms.... He could feel his throat begin to burn, making it slightly harder for him to breathe. Guilt, just as it always did, seared through him, but with him knowing what day it was, it seared through him like when the painful burn of the cigarettes touched his arms.

Before tears could well over, a small noise hit his ears. His heart picked up the pace as he concentrated on the noises around him. He heard nothing for a moment, and then the sound of what seemed like two people speaking reached his ears. It wasn't around him anywhere, but he realized it was right above him. Looking up the side of the building, he saw the old rusty fire escape. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but when he saw two figures at the top of the escape, he knew something was up.

"So, it looks like you guys are hiding. Care to come inside?" [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Theron.

It really takes them no time to decide following a masculine, young voice into the abyss of the dank, elderly persons building. Well, to be frank, its Miles decision. Theron stares with disbelief as Mr. Paranoia himself solemnly contemplates the risks. There is the sound of click-clacking, official rubber boots providing an ominous soundtrack to his thoughts as Peacekeepers run about the immediate neighborhood in search of two white, brunette thieves. It's expected that they'll catch the twins soon enough: on foot, they're no match against the crushing power of PKs in full force.

On his face, Miles reflects separate doubts and fears: the boy could be all to willing to turn them in, needing the monetary compensation authorities would surely provide. But stuck on a dangerous wrap of weakly bonded metal bars that squeak and groan with all the inconspicuousness of a bull in a china shop.. surely their better (and safer) bet lies in the hands of a stranger.

"We could always overpower him," Miles mutters with a complete lack of conviction. He's scrawny and Theron is not well constituted for the art of street fighting. Theron stares at him a few more moments, and a final moan from the fire escape signals his decision.

Together, the twins make their way down the the floor below. Theron marvels at their luck, and wonders privately who is helping them: she'd caught a glimpse of youth and dark hair, clothes clinging to a skinnier body than Miles' own, but the details escaped her eyes through the floor of metal grates. I wonder if he could see up my skirt, Theron observes as she watches Miles stepping down, seeing the skin and hair up to his knees with a degree of indignation, and a more profound sense of impartiality to the strangers having seen the black, broken material of the tights beneath her equally ragged blue dress.

It's not that she's akin to the girls who prowl in clothes their little sisters might fit into, but Theron has never fancied herself too prude. She simply hasn't the time to give a damn for modesty, when it is already a struggle to find clothes long enough for both her (and Miles') taste. The number of times she's taken out a hem in a vain attempt to prolong some article of clothes lifetime.. why it's simply madness! Especially in a District of creators.

Naturally Miles had always held an opposite view. She liked black, he preferred white. She belittled her modesty, and he treasured it like the crown jewels of a fairy-tale queen. Always, always, always he was appraising her with brotherly glances, assessing the length and tightness of her clothes, and commenting that she had not taken out a dress enough: it showed far too much of the skin above her knees. The constant wars that raged between them had given Theron an un consciousness to Miles' judgmental stares. She never even noticed the glances he casted at her with his soft, brown eyes that told her she was missing all sorts of hidden meanings in his words, or his looks, and most definitely his shifting, skimming touch (meant to comfort her in times of hardship, of course).

Miles casts a look over his shoulder, down at Theron. This look she does take notice of, for even though she'd been preoccupied with her inner musings, the significance of his expression could hardly have escaped her more intuitive side. Be ready to run if I say so, we cannot trust anyone. She gives him a look to communicate knowledge. Her eyes are serious, the eyebrows above are partially knitted together with concern, cheeks red with anxiety and excitement, and her lips parted slightly, but still firmly in line. She mouths to him I understand while her back is still turned to the stranger, and Theron then shifts her body to face the window he'd crawled outside of just a bit earlier. The smell of smoke wreaks from within; suddenly the building's elderly don't seem so useless and antiquarian, for their guilty habits and general level of annoyingness must have driven their young savior outside. For that, she must thank them, and him. Right now, if she had her way...

...but of course, there's a hitch. Miles calls her name out to her just as the ancient, metal stairwell gives way beneath him. The metal step he'd had his left foot on breaks outward, and his foot falls to the stem below, causing his right foot's holding to similarly come out of its socket in the metal contraption. Miles gasps, his hands straining to support all of the sudden weight, while sweat and grime attempt to slide him down, so many stories below. Theron lets out an agonizing groan, dashing away from the safety of the window, and nearer to her soon-to-fall brother.

His frightened look fades to acceptance and regret as one hand slips from the metal bar he'd been supporting himself with, and the climax of action occurs as Theron flings her arms around his legs, risking the peril of being dragged down with her brother. His second hand fails, but with a sudden crash and boom, the twins collapse on top of each other, safely in the cradle of the more sturdy, balcony-like metal the strange third party had been standing on.

"Miles!"

Theron says desperately, reaching both hands around his face and staring directly into his eyes. He seems cross and humiliated, but shock and confusion beat the pride out of his expression. His eyes flicker between her and the boy, the one Theron had hardly afforded a second glance. Then his eye lids flutter and briefly, his weight gives into the touch of her hands. Her skin crawls, and a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of his face drips onto her hand. She pulls it away with a friendly smile and makes a noise of disgust while wiping away the moisture. Miles' spirited pride returns, and with a moments ashen faced humiliation, he pushes himself up and looks narrow-eyed directly past Theron, as though she were not even there, and at the other boy.

Theron sighs and turns away, away from a stranger and away from her life-mate. Starting at her hands, a sudden sickness crawls through the Vagrant girl's body. She almost wishes they'd fallen a few short stories and mingled blood and limbs in a falling death. It would be faster and much easier than the slow death she faces now.

Watching Miles not watching her. It's all so wrong... [/color][/center][/size]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

Fear, more than anything he had ever experienced before, seared through him as he watched the two people holding on to the hand rails for dear life. As he looked up, he couldn’t exactly tell how they had come into the position they were now (because he didn’t think they would be dumb enough to jump over the edge and hang there), but then he took into consideration that the fire escape was old and rusty, so the metal beneath them must have broken loose. Jinx wanted to help, but the fear and shock froze him in place. His usually fast-acting, quick-thinking brain slowed from the pace of a bolting stallion to the measly pace of a turtle. What do I do now? Even though he wanted to move, his body wouldn’t permit him.

When the two bodies hit the floor below the stairs, it sent a shock through Jinx’s spine, finally spurring him into action. When the loud crash of them falling to the more secure metal below them hit his ears, it must have finally hit him that they needed help. Looking up at the fire escape quickly to assess what floor they were on in the large maze of stairs, he pinpointed their location and slightly nodded to himself as he reached the beginning of the fire escape. Jinx’s eyes shined bright with determination, a feeling he hadn’t felt since what happened two years ago.

"Shit! I'm coming up." I can’t let them down… especially knowing what day it is today… I can’t have one more thing in my life I’ll regret. I can’t have any more regret in my life than I have right now.

Like a mouse in a human-created maze, he winded his way up the metal stairs, feeling slightly cautious of the possible breakage of the metal beneath his feet that caused the two people above him to be in the position they are now. It was dark, with only a few dim lights to alert him of where he was or what he was doing, so he held the rails with nimble fingers, basically having to feel his way through the fire escape to get to the two people that he had to save. Grazing his hands over the hand rails, and turning in the way that they turned, he momentarily thought of her. I hope she sees me now… I hope she is glad I’m doing this… She’s the reason I’m doing this now anyways…

His blue eyes looked up into the large tangle of metal, trying to spot the two bodies, but he couldn’t exactly see with the rusted silver colored bars in the way of everything. He knew it was easier to see back down on the ground where the lights actually filtered in where he could see it, but Jinx wasn’t going to leave just before he got so close to them. And he knew he wouldn’t give up, even if it killed him (not like he would care or anything). As he stepped up quickly with his left foot, the stair that his right foot was on at that period of time gave way, his knee catching on the stair his left foot was awkwardly positioned on. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jinx felt slightly grateful that he hadn’t met the fate of the people he was searching for above him. Pushing himself up using the handrails and his left foot, he brought his right leg out of the gaping hole behind him, reaching his leg out to touch the next step. Well at least I didn’t fall… Who would have helped them if I did?

Reaching the next floor of the fire escape, he saw two figures that put a slight dent in the dim light, allowing him to know that these were the people that he had searched for. They were just teenagers, maybe his age, but they looked slightly younger. At that moment, he really didn’t care how old they were, or who they are, but he knew by the faint sound of many footsteps that people were looking for them. By the way they both had a slight sense of panic written on their faces, he knew that they were probably Peacekeepers – nobody would hide the way these two did unless they were Peacekeepers. Getting on one knee next to them, he questioned them. “Are you guys hurt? I need to get you guys inside, I can hear Peacekeepers.” [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Miles.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID!

There aren't enough mental repetitions to make up for Miles' complete and utter idiocy. How had he looked at Theron for so long and not even bothered to remove his eyes from her own. He'd been lost in her blue. But no! Not lost, simply wandering through his thoughts with sifting, dazed hands that failed to recognize the dangers du jour. It's as though he'd been very determined to forget everything and everyone, excluding Theron.

But of course, time had ticked by and she'd already turned to greet a young man with a voice Miles didn't instantly dislike. It was for the better, wasn't it? If not for an interruption, he may have stared at Theron till all the blood in their bodies seeped out of small, unnoticed cuts and scrapes they'd earned on the way down.

But now, Miles found his thoughts frenzied, and angrily commanding his hands to tug at Theron in a most practiced manner. He ran his hands where he dared, and his eyes in places he would should not touch. No blood had run through the blue of her dress, the color made it easy enough for Miles to locate a gash on her leg, and some scrapes along her palms.

He ignored his own aches in favor of sizing up the newcomer with an appraising glance: muscular, yet thin. Clearly not formed naturally; the boy must be a true product of District One initiative to train every able bodied girl and boy to cut, stab, and bleed without game-losing hesitation or nasty, soul-eating remorse.

How he and Theron had primarily escaped their dues to the spartanly fit society, Miles had no idea, however he fancied that whether any authorities had forced her and him to work out, they wouldn't have. Theron certainly not! With her head in the clouds and her hands busy drawing small, inky dots and lines she called music, he wondered that she ever finished any school work (especially considering his busy work schedule hardly permitted him to do school work for himself)

"We're fine yes,"

Miles briskly said, feeling a sudden dread of going anywhere with this boy. It wasn't just the wiry body he'd taken note of, the half-mooned shade beneath his eyes, a sudden lack-luster quality to his skin, and a more pronounced, edgy vibe told him that they'd exited a mess, only to place their trust in an unraveling mad man.

"My brother means to say we're much obliged," Theron remarked in a low, soft voice. She'd already stood up long before Miles had scrambled to his feet and spoken his spitting, hostile words. She was his social superior to be perfectly and irrevocably honest in thought alone. He'd never tell her, but Theron's easy grace and airy tones had often made him feel the jealousy of the devil stirring in his heart. And more than that. Pride, maybe? Pride that this creature could be his sister...

His sister, smiling at the stranger and looking back to smiles, seemed to say something along the lines of shall we? but he didn't hear her, he didn't hear anything. He pushed past the boy and entered the smoking, decrepit building.

Theron.

"I"m so sorry!" Theron exclaimed. Her enthusiasm and earnest tone did not match her whispery way of speaking, but she thought she communicated some form of regret from Miles? Maybe or maybe not, but I shall make this right. "Miles becomes very testy when his bright ideas fall through," she smiled, "literally."

The screech of a 'keepers whistle startled Theron. She glanced down the mouth of the alley, noticing more and more hustle and bustle. It almost appeared as though their morning time stint had started a riot in the square, and she counted many urchins she recognized hustling goods away from infuriated shop-men. If Miles and Theron weren't wanted now, their general descriptions would be distributed to every shop owner in a District-wide radius by ohh, the end of the day. So on that note, she cast a frightful glance towards the boy and tried to emulate cheerfulness.

"Well, I do believe we should be going after him then, yes? I'm Theron Vagrant, how do you do?" [/size][/color][/center]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

After the boy mumbled something he couldn’t hear and pushed past him, slightly making Jinx press his arm painfully against his side as he did so, he glared momentarily after him, but then decided to look questioningly at the girl. Jinx felt slightly irritated that this girl actually had to apologize for her brother’s behavior, and explain it to him, no less, when the boy seemingly had no thought of doing so for himself. After her short explanation, he narrowed his eyes at the way into the building, but was thrown off and distracted when she spoke her name and asked him how he was.

To a question like that, especially on this day that he had been dreading all year, he would have instantly answered horrible. She seemed to be trying to lighten the situation up by her flashing, pretty smiles and her seemingly energetic tone of voice, and he didn’t exactly want to be the one to drag down her happiness. In a voice that consisted of being half-concerned, half-rushed, he spoke to the girl who named herself Theron.

“Good to meet you Theron, my name is Jinx Nimick. I suppose I’m doing good, but I believe that we should go into the building now, before the Peacekeepers get you.” With soft eyes as a passing glance, Jinx hesitantly turned away from her, going into the entrance that Miles, so she called him earlier, went through.

His boots created a noisy thud as he walked into the bar full of older people. Some of them looked up, curious, and he guessed that the same thing happened the Miles. Others looked down into their swirling drinks, almost like they were trying to keep away eye contact from a possible threat to them. When they realized it was just a guy who was 50 years younger than them, they sprung back to life, chattering with people next to them, across their tables, or down the way of the bar. I doubt any Peacekeepers would check in here for them. All there ever is anyway are the old, rusty people.

Finding a table that was next to a corner, he waved over Miles and Theron with a twitch of his hand over his shoulder, unsure if they saw or not. He really didn’t care; he could just wave them over again or yell at them, but he doubted that he was going to have to do that. Using his foot, he hooked his foot around one of the legs of the chairs, pulling it outwards. Without losing movement, he quickly sat himself down, and placed his forearms on the table, making him wince slightly. Oh yeah. The bandages. I need to pull the bandages back up.

In the slight darkness of the room, which was only illuminated by one light that hung from the ceiling in the cente, his blue eyes carefully scrutinized his arms. On the outside, his red jacket sleeves had odd, darker patches of red about them, but he knew that if anybody questioned it, it would be easy to disregard it as the way the jacket was made. He also took notice that on his upper forearm, where the gauze had bunched up, his sleeves were particularly bulky, and he realized it could be questionable. On the inside, the cotton fibers were in a mess everywhere, and it couldn’t just be a quick fix of pulling them up. So, he knew that later, when the brother and sister weren’t looking, he would have to rip them out of his jacket so it wouldn’t have the chance of falling out and becoming questionable to them.

In his mental conflict, Jinx had almost forgotten that he was in the rusted old excuse for a building, helping out two people that had just fallen through some stairs. Regaining his composure, he looked over at the two teenagers and questioningly asked them something that wasn’t exactly high on his list of things he needed to know about them, but it was at least good to understand what he was getting himself involved with. “Well, I’m just curious… but, ah… why are those Peacekeepers and pretty much everybody else hunting you down like bloodhounds?” [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Miles. and Theron.

"We didn't do anything, it's not us!"

"Attempted robbery, Mr. Nimick."

They glance at each other then, Miles with the nastiest expression: sour eyes and a curling lip. Theron on the other hand, with a look akin to a survivor of war or abuse, her eyes are haunted and she seems only slightly put out with Miles ferocity. It must be odd to a stranger, but then again, since when is any sort of abuse odd to anyone on District One?

And a better question is, who the hell would call them out on their dysfunctional relationship?
That's right, nobody.

Theron.

It's a mistake to have said anything, and Theron knows it. But she can't exactly take back her words. Nor can she back up her words with a feeble excuse of any sort. She hasn't the force to do a thing in the world, much less against Miles! His glares are sickening to her, and like any wounded, broken thing, she feels that last-hope inspiration to fight or flee.

But she could never do either to Miles. Perhaps she's not even broken, it would imply that he hurts her and that all of this pain in her chest is his fault. Perhaps, Theron thinks while she stares back at the black-eyed boy who she loves and who surely hates her now more than ever, I am addicted.

And everything really does make sense when you think about it.

Miles.

The idiot, his little idiot sister with her innocent big eyes. How the hell had he trusted her to do anything right? She can't sew like proper girls, she speaks like a freak most of the time (although he certainly plays along, to keep the street rats off his back) and she's a little - a little whore in that blue dress.

Miles wants to apologize to Jinx for the sheer stupidity of his sister, and offer that he get up from the table they're currently gathered around. He would kindly thank the stranger, and allow his anger at the oh-so-special boy to seep out of his bones, while under the surface he plotted a way to deal with Theron, alone.

Just as he always has.

Something stops him though, a strange sense of kinship between his delicate little sister-twin-of-blood and the boy. As though they share a mutual emotion that Miles could spend a million years searching for to no avail. His curiosity is peaked by the camaraderie, and he wants to know what the guy possesses that he can't offer to Theron-the-little-tramp. Also, he can't imagine leaving things on a sour note with Jinx now that his sister has spilled the beans of who they are and what they've done. He knows their names, he knows the deed - there has to be something that he could trade all those particulars for. A secret this stranger wouldn't like some other meaningless stranger to find out.

Because while Theron stares at the boy with an appreciative interest and unnamed emotion, he knows that there is more. He knows that while Theron steals small, abashed glances at her brother, Miles never looks away entirely from him. With all that attention directed towards the stranger, its hard for him not to notice something they have in common.

He may be injured, but the shifty savior has a secret he can - and will- use against him. In the uncomfortable silence, Miles mulls the information over, and thinks about his own idiocy, for once in his life.

It's all for you, you stupid, good-for-nothing slut. Theron, why are you such an idiot? Why am I such an idiot that I let myself think you could do anything for yourself?


semi-concise day post

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, threatening a smile. They certainly didn't look like thieves, or people who would get into trouble that often, as a matter of fact. Well, he could believe that the boy was a thief by the way he seemed like he needed to hide everything, but the girl, on the other hand, seemed like one of those good girls that would get straight A's in school and would be nice to everybody and everything. But, just as he knew from personal experience, looks were deceiving. For example, he bet to himself that they had no clue that he was a both murder survivor and a suicide survivor and cuts and burns himself every night.

Miles, the boy, seemed angry that Theron had told the truth, and instead of looking at her with hatefulness, he looked at Jinx with the malice instead. Jinx couldn't exactly figure out why though. Not only did he ask them to come inside from their hiding, but he even had to risk going up the fire escape and almost fell through a stair. Theron, on the other hand looked totally calm, almost positive that he understood, and he did. I do wonder why Theron looks at me like a friend and Miles looks at me like a fiend.

For reasons even Jinx didn't understand, he smiled. He was pretty sure that Miles would bitch at him for doing so, but he did it anyways.

"Thanks for your honesty Theron. And I really don't care if you did or didn't either way, I wouldn't tattle because my sister and I used to do that sometimes." Looking over at Miles, with the smile still on his face, he anticipated him to yell at him for saying so, but he didn't care. He lost no time asking his next question. "So, what were you two trying to steal? Clothes? I'm truly interested."

((blitz post :D )) [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Theron.

Deception is hard for her to understand, but recognizing it isn't as hard for Theron as Miles seemed to believe. He was the intuitive one who understood the intricacies of human thought patterns and thought-emotion-tone-to-speech translation. God, half the things he said, she'd never even hope to grasp, and it wasn't even as though she was very interested. Her preference lied within the euphony of pure, honest music: music, with it's properly placed of rests, the expectable, no doubt desired, crescendo of an instrumental expression, and the constancy of the chorus in one of those sing-songs that people gathered around bonfires to sharply pitch out.

Jinx reminds her of a song, one that triumphs. She certainly is willing to share her information, she senses none of the mixed-up, head-hurting confusion of a human being like Miles in Jinx. She likes that, that she fells even if she doesn't understand him (as well she shouldn't) Theron can quite simply see "goodness" in a very broad sense. But it really would anger Miles if I told him, I don't really see the sense in that -

"Some food, yeah? Is that all, ahh, what was your name?"

Firstly astounded, Theron reels back a few mental steps. Her eyes glance from Jinx to Miles, as though they were dangerous animals who both needed to be monitored, else one of them spring on the other. Not like Miles would eevveerr do that, though.. His smile isn't pleasing though, and before she can help it, Theron wants to make a point to her brother -

"His name is Jinx, yeah? If you'd stuck around, you might've heard, Miles,"

she says, attempting animosity with as little success as she'd ever acquired. Insults were not her forte, but the mimicking, sad tone seemed to pain Miles more than any fiery anger would have, if only for a moment. He smiled and said gruffly "Cheers, sis! Atta-girl! You may have to hold her back, Charms."

And Theron's eyebrows just crinkled with dissatisfaction, "Jinx, Miles, Jinx!"

But she's losing an impossible battle with her brother. And she can't help but hate him a little bit, even while he smirks and her eyes soften a degree.
[/color][/size][/center]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

Jinx’s smile slightly deadened as soon as Miles muttered the nickname ‘Charms’. What does he think he’s doing? I didn’t do a damned thing to either of them. At that moment, he had to urge to get out of his chair, reach across the table, and slap him as hard as he could across the face. Although, he liked Theron, and he didn’t exactly want her to believe that he was a temperamental bitch. She dealt with Miles every day, so she didn’t need him on her platter either. Licking his lips and looking down at his hands to try and think of what to say next, he did a small smirk and replied to Miles.

“I love my new nickname. Matches my looks and personality. But seriously, you mean to tell me that I go up some old, rusty fire escape – and nearly fall through, may I add – just to have you pay me back with your dumb-ass sarcasm and hatefulness? Whatever.” Jinx rolled his eyes and directed his attention towards Theron, who seemed to be monitoring them closely, as if they were going to spring at each other. He was kinda glad that she did, because if it was just him and Miles alone, only God knows what would happen between them. It wouldn’t be pretty; he could pretty much guarantee himself that.

Theron, on the other hand, seemed like a person that he could just talk to. She seemed like a person he could talk to about anything, whether it is about little things like books and such to larger things like life in general. She had these eyes that had life and genuine interest in them, and she seemed to be able to listen and understand someone just by their voice and looks. But she also had an edge to her, a rough, rugged feel to her, like she was a girl that had just returned from war. He couldn’t exactly place a finger on why she did, though, but he assumed that they were homeless and had to steal to survive, and according to what he heard, a life like that is a hard road to travel on.

Glancing over his sleeves for a moment, trying to gather up what to say next, he talked to her with a gentle voice that he silently vowed not to use towards Miles. “So… you guys stole some food… are you guys homeless or something? Or is it for your family? You guys sure don’t look homeless, you look extremely clean, actually.” It wasn’t a lie, either. Sure, they looked pretty banged up, but he assumed it was from the hell of the fall they took in the fire escape, but other than that, they looked pretty good. Miles, with his regular shirt and pants, looked acceptable, but he wouldn’t ever dare dress like that partially because he hates Miles. So much. Theron, with a very nice dress, looked very pretty and clean-cut. Closing his hand into a fist and resting his cheek on his hand as he waited for Theron’s reply, he hardly noticed that the part of his wrist that was still wrapped with gauze slightly shown out of his jacket sleeve. [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Miles.

It's very hard to keep a secret from Miles, because he himself owns quite a few of them. Dangerous things made of cutting, angry words and half-remembered whispers of Childhood. He doesn't think Theron's his sister, he thinks he's in love with her, he thinks he's going to die very, very soon, and he knows he has two older siblings.

Ones that could take care of Theron when he's gone.

But the charmer, Charms, as Miles' tongue so-deemed him, needed to be dealt with immediately. He was a threat to Theron, a threat to Miles, and a threat to months of careful planning. Ever since he'd (in theory) "become a man," Miles had been carefully plotting out ways to take care of the girl he'd lived with since age too-young-to-care. It's a glimpse of a bandage that saves him, though. The better part of man in Miles says Jinx (not Charms) could help Theron. He seems kind enough; a bit too concerned for my liking, but I'm going to hell. I'm fifteen years old, I'm too young to take care of her, but not too young to go to hell. So he could help me, couldn't he?

No, never trust a kind stranger.

Especially, Miles notes, when that stranger has a spot of blood trickling through home-made looking gauze strapped to the inside of his arm. No wonder this guy was a moody bitch with his eyes on Theron. She was a broken thing, and so was he.

They'd get along pretty well.

"Whatever you say, Lucky,"

he muttered in a queer, strangled voice. And then with empty eyes and a half strained voice: "Be right back, Therry.."

[/color]

Theron.

Luckily for Jinx - and Miles - Theron's eyes barely skimmed over the bandaged arm, and she'd hardly taken notice of anything unusual. District One was home to trained careers and more deadly weapons than a Hunger Games. Illegal, of course.

What had preoccupied her from the site of covered flesh and spilling blood? Even just a trickle would have attracted her eyes, only a moment ago. But now she had a blue stare leveled silently at Miles. The obnoxious twin, the one who stole all of the fight out of her at birth, and yet he still took more and more and more from her. Every day, every hour, every second he planned a new teenage heist, or got to making puppy eyes at a room-mate, she knew they were in trouble.

Usually, Theron's music calmed her, and she'd play for strangers in the streets, letting sweetness fill her head right up. But Miles' thought on the dynamic of Jinx and Theron was right in one regard: no, the boy wasn't destined to usurp Miles in her fragile, fluttering heart. He'd owned the seat of power so long - the very idea - impossibility.

- However he'd been correct to call Theron a "broken thing." Often enough, she'd thought of herself in similar terms, with added on bonuses like cheap tramp, airheaded whore, little freak, and untalented waste of space. Wherever she went, words assaulted Theron. She hadn't ever liked them much, except in the context of a great song, but Miles twisted people everywhere the twins went, and left her a friendless heap of a mess.

He claimed to protect her, and God he tried, but there was something fundamentally wrong about the way he went about it. So rather than calling out to her brother, Theron sighed quietly.

"He'll be back, - [/color] pausing then, as if "Charms" could care whether or not Miles came back or not, "sooner or later. I'm obliged to answer your questions, of course. We're orphans, down in the center a few blocks north. 'Been there long enough that we hadn't a chance to learn a thing about "screwed up families."

Naturally, the conditions are rather poor, but we've gotten by for long enough, mind you. On our own. We're twins you see, or may not see - little resemblance in any way,"[/color] (more quietly) I hope.

So neither homeless nor wanted. Miles takes an interest in speech and appearance, and presumes it'll help us "in the long run," but honestly, underneath the fine and polite surfaces, we're street rats through and through.

I know you're not, though. " [/blockquote] [/size][/color][/center]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

His head bobbed slowly as her high voice crashed against his eardrums as he comprehended what she said. So she and Mr. Wonderful are orphaned, use appearance and personality to get by, and almost practically live on the streets. And she mentioned that the two of them are… twins? Jinx could hardly believe the words that past over his ears. Theron seemed honest enough, but the resemblance between the two was so little – so little in fact, that it would have been almost acceptable to believe that she was being a liar. But, she seemed like she had no reason to lie. It was almost like someone meeting your girlfriend and then claiming she was just a friend – there was no reason to do so.

Jinx had been so wrapped up in the thought of them being twins (a thought that was still hard for him to comprehend) that he hardly even noticed that there had been more words after her explanation of herself and Mr. Wonderful. He felt slightly complemented that she had taken notice that he wasn’t a street rat like them. Jinx had the urge to lift up his arm and take a sniff to testify against that statement, but he didn’t exactly want to look like a dumb ass in front of Theron. She was a girl that was intelligent, and just basically a person you would like to leave a good mark on. It was like a friend almost; the type of person that you wouldn’t put down or use too much hateful sarcasm towards.

“May I just say first that you are very well spoken. I respect that. Second, I am not a street rat. I’m still seventeen so I still live with my parents, but to be honest, there is no difference between being at my house and being homeless. It’s like I’m invading in a house I shouldn’t be, you know what I mean?” Jinx felt like cutting slapping himself for saying if she knew what he meant, because he knew that just thirty little seconds ago she had poured out to him that her and her twin brother were orphans. I have to be one of the most inconsiderate asses ever. Well, besides Mr. Wonderful. He’s bad too.

“Ahh… I’m sorry, I forgot you two were orphans…” Jinx knew he wasn’t improving the situation or the position he was tied into. He wanted to shut up and just let her talk and do whatever, but the small, curious part of him got the best of his mind and made him speak again, a slight stutter deterring his words. “So… erm… I-if I may ask, what’s the deal with your brother? He is the biggest ass I have ever met, not offence. I really can’t believe you guys are twins. You and him are so different from each other, it’s like you are not even related. You are all nice and sweet, and then you see Mr. Wonderful and his pessimism.” [/blockquote] [/justify]

[cinder]

Privately, Theron thinks: He's wonderful and you're wrong.

But something in her brain ticks, and she registers a feeling[ that tells her to keep her mouth shut. A breath on the back of her neck - a pair of eyes reading her lips. And suddenly, Theron does not want to go to Miles' defense.

"I stole the good, he got the bad. Honestly, you could blame me, Jinx: I'm the thief, aren't I?" But she says this with more malice in her voice than she'd ever thought to use in the presence of an almost stranger. Ironically so, for hadn't Theron been talking about how sweet she is? I might as well start calling him Charms and throwing things around the room, Theron mildly thinks. She looks back at Jinx and wonders what - (ironic again) - charms he's placed upon her to free her tongue and anger Miles more than any other mild Career boy ever had. Usually he reserved the abuse for Theron, and saved cocky eyes and smiles for those he thought to impress. Those who had more to offer him than undying love and a few nighttime lullabies for when the world itched his sores.

But does she care about his hidden wounds now? No, not particularly. Theron's eyes are utterly distracted by a rusty stain blotted against Jinx's shirt. She hadn't noticed it before, she'd been preoccupied with those inner wounds of her soul wombmate, and yet here Jixn was, bleeding on the outside. And here she was, unharmed in through out with a boy who cared about her too much to show it, and a career who was kinder than any brother Theron had.

She doesn't think announcing loudly that Jinx is bleeding will win them any points with the elderly. Already, a group of keen-eyed men with cigars stared hungrily at the two youths seated in the hush-hush part of their musty, old building. Women who walked by let their eyes flicker over Jinx and Theron, as though cataloguing them. Two boys and a girl had seemed friendly, but a couple? Unheard of. There was no blood between them (or well, Jinx was bleeding, but there was no sense of familial, familiar kinship).

Twin concerns washed away Theron's bitterness, for the physical pain of one boy, and the self-destroying insides of another. And what could she, a helpless musician, do to help either of them? How did she fit in the puzzle?

She didn't.

ooc- this is basically a filler post for getting back into the thread c: miles is a'lurking somewhere...

[cinder]

bumpybump c: just edited out my reply now!

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real."
Jinx Nimick

[/color] [/size] [/center]

There had never really been a time where he felt guilty for saying something. He would say something, people would get offended, and then he would go on his merry way and pretend nothing happened. But for some reason, she had him feeling that little twist in his stomach. And for the first time since he met her, he realized that she must really have an impact on him, and a fleeting thought crossed his abstract head. What is it about this girl that makes me so connected to her, that I feel the need to apologize for something? Is it because I know that she’s a broken thing that doesn’t need any more pain in her life?

Putting his forehead in his hand for a moment, he tried to gather words to apologize to her. He wasn’t sorry about what he said, because he wasn’t the type to hide his feelings. He was sorry that she felt so offended about what he said to her. And broken things gotta work together. Using his hands to talk (not like sign language, just some hand movements), he tried to apologize to her the best he could. He wasn’t too good at apologies. I knew that I wasn’t good at them ever since two years ago as I held her body. But, he could always try.

“Aw, shit. Look, I’m sorry. Uh, that’s just… well, he kinda pisses me off. Um… well… I’m sorry that I offended you. I just… um… nevermind. Anyway, you seem smart enough to steal something, which is why I think that Miles put you up to it, which is probably why I don’t like him too much. Did he make you steal, or was it your plan?” He knew he had made more of an ass of himself than when he told her he didn’t like her brother too much. He wanted to slap himself yet again, but of course, he wouldn’t do that. I got other ways to deal with things. [/blockquote] [/justify]