a dark, dark world [open]

[{ arietta]

I shouldn't be awake yet, but the irresistible call of the outdoors undid me. The birds are jabbering outside, and it's the best time to listen to them. It's early morning, and a light breeze slaps my dark hair against my mouth. Floaty wisps of white clouds dot the sky. I turn to face the sun that's slowly ascending against a pale sky; blotches of orange and red and yellow bleed across the horizon in a sunrise full of spring. Tall fruit trees loom over my vision, obscuring some of the cerulean blue sky, green leaves just beginning to creep on their lonely branches. There's still a barbed, crisp edge to the air, but the worst of the winter is over, and I can't help but smile mockingly at the travesty of winter that nature produces with the remnants of harshness. An exuberant laugh bubbles inside of me, and I swallow it down with a large gulp. Call me crazy, but the air smells fresher already. The Capitolites, they don't understand the momentous breakthrough of spring every year; their gluttony and excess exists all year round. They don't know what the yellow prisms of light dancing across the water mean; they don't know the fresh green newness that blooms only in spring. We rely on the crops for food and survival; the timely arrival of spring is just what we need this year. It's fickle to rely on something so unpredictable, but District Eleven is entrusted with producing the food needed to fuel the Capitol. After all, we can't have Capitolites in need of food, right? I think sarcastically, nastily, bitter disgust making my mouth pucker. I should be more careful - but what is there to be careful about? Emaciated and hungry, that's what I am; that's what everyone in District Eleven is. Not a threat to the Capitol and the high-tech weapons that it snatches from Three. Not a threat to the "order" that Panem's government has established.

I can see the orchards from my perch, and I slump down, sighing. I hate working there; my paranoid brain always produces the constant fear of having my brain taken away from me, of becoming the pretty robot that the Capitol expects. The thought chills me. The Capitol really needs more cronies, I think ironically, pulling my knees up to my face. Wrapping my arms around my skinny body, I allow myself to shake slightly. The silly part of me longs for company, but I know I won't be able to sustain it. Other girls - they're learning how to charm, to seduce, to attract mates that will ensure their survival. The thought of that sort of thing disgusts me, and my dry, deprecating humor assures me that I'm going to have a hell of a time finding a partner. It's all in the far future, though, and I assure myself that I don't need friends now. My brown eyes dull as they stare unseeingly in the distance, the trees melding into one kaleidoscopic panorama. Sometimes I whisper words to myself, wondering what they mean and how to use them. I don't know where I picked them up; certainly not from the ratty old tomes in our school. There's so much to learn out there, and so much censored by the Capitol that it's crazy. Of course, the Capitol wants it that way - only it is allowed to poison our minds. New books. Real books without the propaganda of the Capitol, I think hazily, my long fingers stretching out as if to touch the beautiful picture in my mind's eye. It's just a dream, of course. The Capitol had to find some way to corrupt its inhabitants; controversy wasn't what it was aiming for. Complete obedience was.

Look at me, my mood ruined because of some Capitol crap, I think, my mouth opening in a humorless snort. Everything I do- everything I think and feel- is influenced by the Capitol. Its influence reaches out like the tentacles of a beast, suffocating everything that's in its way. Weakness and indecision flood me, and I think that I might as well forget everything and become what the Capitol wants. I know I'll never be brave enough to do anything but work and hide. Work and hide. Work and hide. I could lose myself in the work - the fruit-picking, the inventory counting, the conforming. I had never been branded a "rebel", but I didn't know how to take advantage of it. Leave the brave words and dramatic actions to those who were more capable than me... keep myself and my family safe... It's a beautiful thought, a wonderful dream, but I know it'll never work out in reality. I am many things, but I'm not soulless. And only a soulless person would not be bothered by the Capitol's antics; only a soulless person can achieve my dreams. I don't want to be known as the one who allowed her talents to go to waste - but the danger, the damned danger in everything that I may face. I want to bury my face in my patchwork clothes and beat my fists against the ground like a toddler during a temper tantrum. I can't do this. I can't. This thinking, this speculation - it's driving me mad. I need to find someone to talk it through with. Someone who understands.

A shuddering breath racks into me again, and somehow the morning suddenly doesn't seem as welcoming to me anymore.

[pianoplayer]

(ooc: Do you mind if I join?)
Finally morning, I think to myself as I sneak out of the house and down the road to the fields and orchards. I meant to be out earlier to see the sunrise, but I just was so tired from helping the neighbours with turning the soil for planting and checking the orchards for any unpleasant guests that I could barely climb to the attic, my room.
It's so nice out here, I can't help but think as I wander past the fence into the orchards. I mean, the birds are singing, sky's beautiful, it's actually nice weather to be outside working for once! True, we'll have to be working hard to get the quota of crops, and yes, the Reaping is in a few months, but, how can you not love a day like today?
The sound of a sigh catches me off guard, and I pause from my stroll and look around. I can hear birds chattering away, but where did that co-There! I think as I catch sight of a person in a tree, one of the old Apple trees in our orchard. Hmm, I wonder...
To disturb or not disturb? I mean, whoever it is could want to be alone, but then again might want company. Ah, choices...well, if they want me to go away, they can tell me, but I'll see what they're all about first.
"Nice morning, hmmm?" I say as casually as I can as I walk towards the somebody in the tree.

[{ arietta]

I don't know why I decide to climb up a tree, but I scrabble up the rough bark of the trunk of the closest one, my hands gripping the branches tightly. The view is fantastic, getting better as I ascend; everything seems closer, higher. However, the web of branches that surround me effectively block out a good view of the sun and the sky. I don't want to climb too far because the branches may not be strong enough yet; I'm afraid to risk injury, to myself or the tree. I settle into the crook of a sturdy branch and close my eyes, feeling like an adventurous bird.

My repose isn't quite long enough for me, and the sound of a voice makes my head jerk up instinctively. I look around uneasily, searching for the perpetrator of the noise before I realize that I should be looking down. I recognize the girl with the intruding voice - by looks, of course, and not by name; I don't bother to learn what everyone is called. Does she work in the orchards? I can't remember. My lips twitch into a passable smile though she might not be able to see me, and I try to act cheerful for her sake. Just because I'm not in the best of moods doesn't mean that I need to drag anyone down with me. "Hullo," I call down, shifting position so my face is shown more clearly. "It's a beautiful morning out." It's true in itself, though from where I'm sitting the tree branches are covering much of the slow illumination of the sky. I tilt my head, and strands of dark hair hang awkwardly, covering my face again. Ugh.

The other girl seems older, more assured than I do. I pick at a loose thread on my shirt, I can't help but feel self-conscious of my it. It was originally the color of freshly fallen snow and now an off-white cream. I've mended it several times, and patches of bright colors cover the holes that I've worn into it. It hangs too long, because I told myself I'd grow into it and I should wear it for several years yet. Compared to the womanly grace of this tall girl, I feel small and insignificant. I breathe in the fresh air of the orchard, and I purse my lips. "D'you know what time it is?" I call down to her, worry tinging my tone a tad dark. I do need to get to school on time with my brothers in tow, and I can't quite judge from the position of the sun in the sky. Especially since I'm too short to see the sun fully. Snorting softly to myself, I untangle myself from my pretzel-like position and allow my legs to hang down from the branch I'm sitting on. My perception of the time past is a little fuzzy, but I can assume that the early workers would be coming to the orchards soon, to make sure everything is according to schedule. And they don't appreciate children obstructing their work.

I gaze out at the rows and rows of neat apple trees, and I am lost in my own thoughts once more. I start mouthing soft words to myself again, but I dare not whisper them aloud lest anyone hear. Time is growing fuzzy. Fuzzy. Fuzzy...

ooc. I don't mind at all. :] Thanks for replying.

[pianoplayer]

(ooc: No problem, glad to join )
Turning to get a slightly better view of the person, I now see that she is a girl, maybe a tad younger than I, but she's a pretty thing with that dark hair of hers. I know I've seen her before-probably walked past by her on the way to school or to town, maybe I've helped her family with the harvest once Mom and I finish with the orchards. But I've never talked to her, and the only thing I know of her family is that she has some younger siblings, sisters or brothers? Hmmm, I should know her name though...darn, nothing comes to me.
Looking up, I call back to her. "It's just before 6; you aren't worried about walking out to the school, are you? Because last night some Capitol folks came around telling everyone that until the harvest was all replanted, no one's doing anything but work. Seems that we've fallen behind thanks to the snow, and of course they want to make sure that the Aristocrats can get their goods." I add a note of sarcasm in my voice for the last part. As if it didn't matter that a chunk of our crops were wiped out thanks to that freak snowstorm, and that some of us will be starting from scratch. Oh joy.
"By the way, what is your name? Sorry to ask, but I have a terrible memory, and I can't recall talking to you prior to this serendipitous incident." I tell her, giving her a quick smile for good measure.

[мυтт]

Doing. Thinking. Speaking. Hearing. Misc.

Oblivious to the passerby, I sit with my palms facing upwards, fingertips spread, arms slightly wayward from my body. It is my way of embracing the sudden warmth. Cruel winter winds have vanished, and in its place have come the hesitant chirping of the birds in their trees, and the whisper of hope for District Eleven. People tend to wake up earlier, smile brighter, laugh louder when it is spring. This season always brings the quiet promise of more food, both for us and the Capitol. But not for me, I frown, wrapping my slender arms against my body for a comforting hug. If it wasn't for the shift of the winds direction, I would not have ever moved. Yet suddenly a chill tinted the air, forcing me to rise and find another place to sit with my thoughts.

Involuntarily, I turn to the left. If I squint, I can only just make out a hazy figure in a tree. A pang of longing surfaces, presenting itself in the form of a exasperating sigh. Call me crazy, but lately I have been craving company. When I try and discuss anything with Leilani and Sir-- who I can never really refer to as my parents-- they hurriedly make an exit, or ignore me and proceed to go about their daily activity. Envy strikes through me like a sword. Envy for all those who can go out in the daytime and speak to their friends, envy for all those who have reason for laughter. I reign back in my onslaught of emotion and paint the mask back on my face, even though there is no one in sight to witness this display of sudden feeling within me.

If this were any other season than spring, it would be around now that I woke up and dressed in my dowdy clothing for school. I would enter the classroom with a bored facade, and exit with the same facial expression, only slightly altered. No one would dare guess I silently detested every subject, which somehow managed to be directed back to the Capitol. There was math, with the equations that usually revolved around shipping food; if x shipments of food arrive at the Capitol by steam train at x o'clock, and the train departed at x o'clock, then at how many miles per hour did the train travel? History, which glorifies Panem and praises the Capitol as "the savior of humanity," as they "dutifully put an end to the rebellion, ensuring the safety of several lives." And then some despicable mind crafted The Hunger Games, horrifically putting an end to several other lives,

[/i] I parrot in my head, mimicking the voice of the woman who teaches my grade.

I halt every thought that rushes forward, aware even as I do so that I've been not only rambling to myself, but involuntarily moving toward the figure in the tree. As I bring my shuffling feet to a stop, I glance forward, easily able to see another person approaching whoever is in the tree. The person-- who I can now see is female-- calls up to the figure in the tree, and I can barely make out the conversation that the wind blows in my direction. "...just before 6..." I make out, and then concentrate on walking closer, until I am but a few footsteps from a female I recognize as Harmony, one year my senior. How embarrassing to think that I know of her and she wouldn't be able to come up with my name if she tried. The other girl I do not know at all, yet it is likely because she is much younger than I. Hesitantly, reluctantly, I stretch my mouth into what faintly resembles a smile, because just standing there motionlessly would make me look foolish. However I don't speak to them. Not yet.
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{ Template by Bryya }

[pianoplayer]

While waiting for the girl in the tree to speak, I hear faint footsteps, and I turn to catch sight of another girl, this one not much younger than me. A year, at the most. I know this girl, yes, I've talked to her a few times haphazardly, small talk, but I have talked to her before...hmmm, Ava, not, it's a flower name, starts with an A.......Azalea? Not 100% certain, but it will have to do.

She's smiling at me, the girl who I think is Azalea, it's slightly crooked, but it's still a nice smile. Now what would she be doing up so early? I ponder to myself. It's the first time I've noticed her up at this hour, although that may not mean alot. Maybe it's a routine, but she prefers to keep is quiet. I mean, she isn't friendly, but she usually seems content in her solitude. Perhaps she rather keep to herself, and if this is what makes her happy, that is good. But if this is the case, then why has she chosen to deviate from the routine to come over to us? I wonder.

"Good morning, how are you, Azalea?" I ask, smiling back at her, hoping I've gotten her name right. God, that would be dreadful.

[мυтт]

Doing. Thinking. Speaking. Hearing. Misc.

Stupid. I am inviting a conversation, with my lop-sided smile. Immediately, I retract my facial expression into one of nonchalance. It was a moment of weakness, one in which I craved company. Solitude is the better alternative. It demands nothing of you, no words, no false appearances, no self consciousness as you look dully at the almond-eyed girl you are speaking to. It calls for no shyness. With solitude, I would not be cradling my palm to my cheek to cover my scars. I would have no need for being flushed, if I were by myself. Silently, I vow to relish my times alone and never again to crave another human being's words. Being lonely is better than this embarrassment, for Harmony is speaking and I'm only barely tuned into her words.

Though I know this isn't the case, I feel as if her gaze is burning into my scars, my insecurities. Inwardly, I bristle. I am always up at this hour, but never with other people. Perhaps, now that spring is approaching, more and more people will awaken earlier. I will have to shift my routine from the orchards to the desolate planes. Hardly anyone is spotted in those areas. "Good morning, how are you, Azalea?" I neglect her question for an instant and taste the air. The wind has shifted once again, tinged with foreign lands. It is blowing in from the east, from beyond our fence, from another district. I've always wondered where the wind originates from. Likely, from gases and other things we are unable to see with the naked eye.

If I don't reply soon, she's going to think I'm a freak,

[/i] I muse silently, and then a wry, nasty thought surfaces; Too late. I give myself a tiny shake. Now is not the time for disagreement within my mind. "Good morning," I say, and then wince.

I speak too quickly, too high-pitched. I talk like I'm singing, and I feel my body temperature rise in agitation. Talking is never such a chore for other people, Bitterly, the thought arises. So why for me? I make another attempt to speak, this time much more deliberately than before, and then halt it, relishing this time between my words. At least she got my name right. I hadn't thought that she would. Now, how to respond to this question? How are you, Azalea? Generally, there is a standard reply of; 'fine, thanks, and you?' especially for those who pride themselves on their manners. If I were to say that, it would be a lie. Yet what else could I say? I'm in a deteriorating state of mind? I'm scared that each day could be my last? I'm depressed, sitting here recalling moments of my mother and Angel and the step-father who I killed, who I used to love? I'm still grieving, and the day of their deaths haunts me as if it is my own? All of these revelations would be shocking and the absolute wrong thing to say.

So what do I do? I grit my teeth, try for another smile, and finally talk to her. I lie. "I'm fine, thanks, and you?" The words escape from my lips before I can process them. There is a whisper of reluctance in my tone. Probably because I haven't maintained a conversation with someone outside of my family in quite a while. To make my words even more convincing, I look at her with bright eyes. It is easy for me to mask my emotions, or rid them of plaguing me daily like I am doing currently. I hear my words again in my head. I'm fine, thanks, and you?[/i] Hopefully, she won't be able to sense that I am lying. That I am not fine. That, truly, I am broken.
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{ Template by Bryya }

[mocking]

(OT: can i join?)

Ivy opened the door and walked outside, carefully closing the door behind her quietly she didnt want to wake her mum. She was happy, she didn't have to go to school today, but unfourtunately she woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. So Ivy had desided to come outside, where she felt happiest. Ivy never liked being indoors, it was all manmade and unnatural. But outdoor Ivy felt like a bird, free, surrounded by nature.

She walked arond, not needing a purpose, just breathing in the fresh air. Ahh spring most of District Elevens favourite season. More food for us and more for the Capitol. Ivy hated the Capitol, hated thier games. With the reaping just around the corner, Ivy got more and more worried each day.

Sudenly Ivy stopped, she heard voices. Who else would be up this early? surely none of her friends. They would all be enjoying the lie in. Getting rest before begining to replant all the food that was destroied by the snow. God ivy hated snow, it destroied everything.

She stopped and listened to the voices, she recognised none of them. They were talking about how they were. Ivy desided to step out and say hi. She walked arond the corner and saw two girls on the ground and one in a tree. Ivy stepped forword, "hi" she said.

[pianoplayer]

(To: Mockingjayheart: Technically, I do not own this thread, so I cannot say anything on Arietta's behalf. But I do not think that it would be a problem, and if anything arises, I will take the fault. So I think Yes, of course!)

Got the name right, I think to myself, trying to resist the urge to grin at this miniscule victory of mine. I watch her as she says "I'm fine, and how are you?". The grin she has on her face now is different though, although you could barely tell the difference between this one and the one before it. But this time, well, I vaguely sense that she is trying to be cheerful, acting as if everything is fine like she says. Of course, I could be looking too deeply into things.

But at the same time, I cannot help but wonder how someone could say things are fine, when they may be the complete opposite. I do not know the whole story, but I know her family died. It wasn't yesterday, but it wasn't all that long ago either, in the big scheme. I would think that she must still be grieving; perhaps this is the source for her desire for solitude. I do not know the details, and I do not wish to be nosy. I don't know Azalea well, but I doubt she would like for someone to try to poke too much into her business.

I'll leave it be, for now. Perhaps one day, if we ever become something like friends, maybe then I will ask. But not now. Now, well, the most I can do is let her do what she needs to do. If it means keeping to herself, that is fine with me. I will say that if I was in her position, I doubt I could maintain her composure. She's a strong one; quiet, but strong.

"Ahh, you know how it is. School, Work, Starvation; it's all nothing new." I tell her, my grin fading a little. If we were allowed to eat some of what we grow instead of the meagre, beaten up stuff that the Capitol doesn't take, we would all fare better, and work harder. If we had proper, functioning tools instead of rusted old things, the work could be done quicker and more efficiently. We would be able to rest more, and the students could do better in school. If the Hunger Games weren't around, we wouldn't have to provide those giant proportions of food to the winning District each year while we are withering away.

But how would that sound, having anyone hear that kind of talk? Everyone already knows it, so it isn't necessary. No need to be bitter over such things that, at the moment, we cannot change. Well, we could change, but I am sure that the consequences would exceed the possible, if any, benefits of trying to change things. Uprising could mean anything, except another District being blown up. Blowing up our District, who provides the food, would mean the death of Panem. But still, this is not the point.

"Hi" interrupts my private thoughts, and I turn to see another girl coming towards us. Goodness, it must be the good weather bringing people out this early! I know I know her, even though I barely speak to her. It's Ivy, I believe; she lives only a few houses away from me, and she is younger, I think, than me. "Morning, Ivy, and what are you doing up this early?"

[мυтт]

Doing. Thinking. Speaking. Hearing. Misc.

Let's assume you were close to me, a companion, the reliable comrade I had lacked since the death of my family. You would be able to spot the telltale signs, the signals that I am lying. One of them would be my lips. It isn't too long from when the words have escaped my lips that they begin to falter. The smile isn't as wide as it once was, my bottom lip is trembling ever so slightly. And then there are my eyes. They are two almond-hued supernovas, glinting brightly as they fixate on your face. That's one thing I have going for me, when I tell petty lies like 'I'm fine'. My gaze doesn't falter, and my facial expression has yet to waver, nor does my pitch or tone. Another is my arms. Whilst they usually curl into fists without me knowing, now, as I lie, they spread, my fingertips tingling. You wouldn't know, couldn't notice. I hope Harmony did not.

If I were another girl, the kind to pour out her emotions and did not mind expressing them, I might have told the truth. Perhaps I would have told Harmony that I wasn't fine at all, that I was truly struggling. I could have opened up, and we might have been friends. And then what? Friendship is useless to me. And then, maybe, she'd get reaped in the Games and die. Or she'd encounter a vicious rumor about me and abandon me in the hopes that she wouldn't remember me well in a year or two, or five, and people would forget our names were ever linked. Or she'd simply replace me. There are so many bad endings to what might begin as a happy story. Experience had taught me that the only person you could ever place trust in was yourself. Anyone else, and you'd be screwed.

So I don't tell Harmony an inkling of what my version of 'fine' was. I just focus on making polite small talk. Soon, I'll be able to end the conversation and speed-walk home. It shouldn't take long before the Peacekeepers awaken to stroll the fields, and those who work by the light of the pale morning begin to tend to the orchards. Then we'll all really have to leave. Before I can even muster another thought, Harmony speaks. "Ahh, you know how it is. School, Work, Starvation; it's all nothing new."

There's more to her than I'd thought prior to this encounter. I'd assumed she was just always that friendly girl in town with the large chest. Never thought for a moment that she may be the brooding intellectual who had the gall to casually mention our starvation as though it weren't a dangerous topic. As though the Peacekeepers wouldn't make a fuss if someone were to complain about the lack of food, the lack of resources and finery in our District, and about the Capitol. About Panem. What if someone were to complain, really, about the Capitol? Create a scene? Begin a rebellion? I wonder briefly, a match struck inside of me.

The cold cackle of my innermost self extinguishes the flame at once. What would happen? The Capitol would come back and crush us into tinier versions of bugs on their windshield, tinier than we are today. Maybe make the Hunger Games twice a year, send in twice as many kids. What would happen? Something disastrous. Something deadly. Something that would make us regret starting a rebellion in the first place. Something we wouldn't like. The match has been reduced to rubble, and I am glad. I've had enough fire in my existence to last me a lifetime. At the thought, my hands snake up to the scars embedded deep in my cheeks, my chin, my upper arms. This is what fire does. That is why no one would dare be stupid enough to light the match in the first place. We'd only get burnt.

I almost entirely forgot about Harmony, about the girl in the tree, about my surroundings. I have completely lost myself in a world of what-ifs and matches that strike deadly fire. "School, work, starvation," I echo wryly. "It's all daily activity, isn't it? Well, excluding school. Of course, we don't go to school when we need to work longer hours in the orchards to get food. Not for us, though, obviously. The Capitol would never be so careless as to make sure we're well-fed, well enough to strike against them." Like a waterfall cascading over rocks, the words are tumbling from my lips. I can't stop, can't turn the tide. I've already come too far. "No, they keep us crippled and weak, begging for food that we grow so close to home. They keep us shipping them food by the train. Carts and carts overflowing with nutrients we could use. And when we try and take them home, hide them in our work clothes in the hopes that no one will notice? The Peacekeepers, they shoot us dead. In front of our families, on our doorsteps, from the windows. They're assassins for the Capitol. Everything is for the Capitol. And don't get me started on The Hunger Games."

Violently, I tremble. This ought to be the most I've said aloud to another person at any given point in time, for a while. And what is the topic? One that does not need discussing. I kick myself mentally, flooded with regret. If I could take it all back... I think wistfully. But the damage has been done. I slap my palms over my mouth instantly and stumble backwards, nearly trampling a berry bush in my wake. My ears are ringing. Faintly, I am aware of someone else approaching, greeting us. I cannot even properly register their words. I sink on the floor, sitting, resisting the urge to curl into fetal position. I just rock forward and backward, not sure if I am more shocked at my words or the fact that I actually spoke.

Quietly, inside of me, a match is lit with flame.

Tags: -- | Words: 1,021.
Other: And to think I lacked muse when I began to post this. xD

{ Template by Bryya }

[mocking]

As I walked forward one of the girls, one I didn't know, started to stumbe backwards. Then she crouched down and started to rock back and forth. "Morning Ivy and what are you doing up this early?" says one. Its harmony, I didn't notice it was her, she lives a few houses down the road from me.

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep" I replied not bothering to tell her what had really kept me awake. My mum had gotten news that i was going to have a step mom. My dad was getting remarried, grrr. That wasn't the worst part, he wanted me to be a flower girl. He expected me to be happy, but I wasnt.

I now realised I had kept on to a tiny shred of hope that my parents would get back together. How stupid. "Why are you up so early harmony?" I asked keeping my feelings inside. I didnt have to tell anyone.

[pianoplayer]

Never have I heard Azalea speak so many words, and it takes me a second to get over the shock of it. Once the shock fades, I briefly ponder whether she is stupidly crazy or simply passionate enough to speak the words that I am sure many people would like to say; Azalea does not strike me as stupid, so I will take the second option. They aren't sugar-coated, or portray any abstract picture of the situation; her words are merely the truth, albeit venomous and bitter in tone, but who wouldn't be? Starvation, deprivation, poverty, they are serious and dismal topics, but they are part of our lifestyle.

I decide at that moment that I like Azalea, despite the fact that this is the first time we have had a proper conversation, and despite the fact that she may completely despise me. But I want to know more; I want to know what she thinks of the Hunger Games, and of other things, and then compare them to my own views. She is someone who thinks, who has opinions on all sorts of things, and there are not many people like that, well, in this district at least.

"Azalea, are you alright?" I ask, concern leaking into my mind, and probably my voice, and I watch her sit on the ground as though in a daze. A look of bewilderment is upon her, as though she herself cannot believe the words she has just said. But before I can say more, I remember that Ivy is with us, having heard everything just spoken, possibly considering everything that was revealed and telling a Peacekeeper. Oh dear.

"I am awake this early because it is the only time to have interesting conversations." I tell her wryly, turning to look at her in the eye. "Now I trust that you will maintain strictest confidence in what you have heard. After all, we all don't want another Mary, do we?" I ask her, recalling the memory of Mary Witaker. At 19, she was in a discussion in the fields with some farmers complaining about the Capitol, and afterwards told a Peacekeeper in order to receive a reward. Her prize was being hung with the farmers in the town square for insulting the Capitol during the conversation- the bodies were left for a week to rot before the families were permitted to bury them. I was 9.

No, we do not want another incident like that.

[pianoplayer]

(OCC: In the last paragraph I am speaking with Ivy)

[pianoplayer]

(OOC: Um...is this thread dead?)

[мυтт]

(( OOC: Sorry, I haven't replied in a long time! I'll reply later on tonight. Again, sorry about that x3))