The Does and Dont's {cici} Blitz?

[cass]

Xana Quate

I’m not a quiet person, all my life I have never been quiet. I like being able to talk, yell and scream, to voice my opinion in front of anyone. Even if they don’t like it, even if what I say goes against everything I have been raised to believe in, I will always say it. It is perhaps the only one thing that I don’t hate about myself. I love the way words just float from my mouth, or when people stare at me wide eyed because they don’t like what I have said. Well screw them, they should grow a pair of balls and take it like a man. Fuck them all. If they don’t like what I say then they can deal with it. I’m a free spirited person, and I will say what I want to who I want and when I want. I don’t care what they think about me. I already think low enough of myself as it is. I don’t have high expectations for them. Screw them all.

I always found myself in streets, whenever I wake up from drinking I always find myself in a street on the middle of a path. Just lying there. That was where I found myself. Lying in the middle of the busiest street in the district. I couldn’t be bothered getting up, and looking around. My head pounded and my mouth was drier then sand paper. It wasn’t a pleasant combination. My eyes open to slits and I find myself staring at passing feet. They took no notice of me, and I didn’t really bother taking any notice of them. They could think what they wanted. But for me at the moment thinking wasn’t a very good idea. A small moan escapes my lips. I regretted my drinking, but no matter how many times I did regret it I still keep drinking.

[Deleted]

Serra Percocet

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A locked door is the only thing that separates me from happiness. Yet, the room that I stand in is still engulfed in marvelous beauty, difficult to ignore. Diamonds line the tiles; golden vases, statues, and paintings fill the room; and fine foods are set out on rich china. I take a couple of steps around the room, circling these marvelous wonders. However, when I try to pick up a diamond, it disappears in my hand. It’s all fake, I realize. At that realization, everything is gone.

However, the room still remains exquisite. Painted a magnificent shade of ride, the walls glow, seemingly surrounding me. I take a few steps timidly, nearly tripping my own feet. I take a long glance at the wall, as though I am waiting for it to do something, waiting for it to wrap me in its beauty.

But it’s just beauty.

After a few moments of mere curiosity, I place my hand against the wall. However, the moment my nimble fingers make contact with it, I quickly pull away, finding that the paint is wet. When I turn over my palm, the smell hits me like a burst of lightning. Blood. I give a small shriek, quickly attempting to wipe the blood onto my jeans; but my hands are already stained.

~~~~~

“Maybe you should talk to someone about this, Serra. These dreams you’ve been having aren’t healthy,” I mimic, recalling that same thing I’ve seen night after night for the past week. I laugh, thinking of how much counseling that would take. Of course, there wasn’t just the dreams, but the emotional insecurity, the depression, the turrets. “But then people would lose trust in me, you see. We can’t do that.”

I pop a pill in my mouth, feeling the capsule as it burns a deep and prominent hole into my pocket…
I pop another in, seeking to erase this indecisive anxiety.

Then, I head towards the door, but stop immediately before passing through. I almost laugh as I examine the color: red. How could I not notice? Fearing what may happen next, I place my hand against it before turning my palm over. No blood. I sigh.

Trying to stop this paranoia that keeps creeping up on me like a hawk, I swiftly shut the door behind me, taking a leap out the door. “Good impression. Good impression. Good impression,” I whisper softly to myself, as though I’m a second-grade student that doesn’t understand the meaning of manners. Keep smiling, and you’ll keep succeeding. Why do they never teach that to kids in school? If only I could get schools to teach that sort of thing—oh wait, I can. Smiling to myself, I walk down the block, heading for the grocery store. I suppose that’s where I might as well go. Days like these are rare: days when work fails to completely overwhelm me.

“Hello Mayer Percocet!” A man says as he passes by. I smile politely at him and return the greeting. I return a few more smiles and greetings as I make my way down the road. Little can these people see, little can anyone see, the dying feeling that consumes me. I wonder what anyone would think of me if they knew who I really was. Does it actually matter?

No one knows me: no one except for Roy Dorsey. “Just grow up, Serra! You’re such a child!” I shiver as I recall his words. Is that what I am? An ignorant uncaring child that never made it past puberty?

Erasing the thought from my brain, I pass carefully through the more dangerous part of town: not the best place to be seen.

Sometimes I wonder why this nation needs mayors in the first place. Honestly, the most overwhelming part of my work is keeping my social status up to date. And especially when you’re caught on this side of the town, people know how much money you have: more than anyone else at least. I try to avoid contact with the people in this neighborhood and sigh when I get past it.

If I could, I might change it. I might make life better for people—depending on if I had the energy to do it. But that’s not my job. Most of the time, I just have to stand up and give the announcements, reassure people when danger arises, and do whatever the Capitol says. Typical politics.

I reach the busiest street, in the heart of the city. “Almost there,” I think. Too many people surround me. I give a huff of frustration, letting the smile that’s been plastered on my face, fade the slightest bit. You’d think the mayor would get some special treatment. But no. She’s stuck in the middle of the traffic jam too. “Excuse me, excuse me!” I shout, trying to make my way past. I grit my teeth, impatience overcoming me. With my next step, I slip, the high heel on my shoe breaking beneath me. I shriek quickly and instinctively.

Before I can even manage a secondary reaction, I spot a girl lying on the ground. “What the heck are you doing?” I shout. “Get up!” Working against the flow of traffic, I grab her wrist, hauling her up and off the ground. The first thing I see when I look at the girl is myself: worn down, addicted, and obviously unable to stop. Almost shrieking from the impact of this realization, I cover my mouth. Drunk: that’s what this girl is.

For a moment, I wonder if I should be a little empathetic here and let her off the hook, or if I should be a hypocrite and turn her in as I should.

I go with the latter.

Still standing in the middle of the flow of traffic, still holding the girl’s wrist tightly, I look at her in the eyes. Any girl on the streets is either an orphan or…insane. Only guys did stupid things like that. “Do you have parents?” I ask, tightening my grip on the girl’s wrist.

Maybe I shouldn't turn this intriguing young girl in;
For, she may be my only hope to understanding myself.

Maybe.

OOC: Haha, sorry. Not much of a blitz. Still trying to adjust to Serra.

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[cass]

”Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me.” My voice seemed to fill the room, and yet the man moved closer, he walked over to me, my pleading, screaming and crying did nothing to stop him coming closer. I was usually the most bravest and boldest of people, but the blood that seemed to fill the floor, had made me stop. More so when I realised it was coming from my head. I cower at the back of the room, it was so unlike me to hide and fear anything, but the man that stood before me was horrid, he was the only thing I feared. I had never told anyone that he bashed me.

I had never told anyone the pain this man afflicted on me. I scream as he moves closer to me. I wanted him to leave, but no amount of endless pleading would stop him from raising his arm and brining it crashing down on me. I cry out in pain, the tears spring to my eyes, but I fight them down with a few ragged breaths. Tears would fix nothing; they would just make it all worse. I wished my brother would come home, I wish he would help me. He was the only one who cared, but he was stuck in the Capitol. Far away.

I cower as he throws his arm in the air once more, but the blow doesn’t come. Instead his hand fastens tightly around my wrist, tugging me sharply to my feet.

I cry out in more shock then pain, as suddenly the cool soothing stones of the road is no longer under me, and I’m flying the air, being brought sharply to my feet. I turn my head sharply to the strong grip on my wrist. I scowl pulls at my face, as the anger slowly makes its way past my hang over. I blink a moment longer dumbfounded at the hand. It wasn’t a very good looking hand, but the biggest thing I took from it was that it wasn’t calloused, scarred and dirty. It was a hand that lived on luxury. My eyes follow this pampered hand finally up to the owner itself. At first the face, was well just another person, and I was ready to just dare my hand away, but then I froze. My muscles tensed. Suddenly my mouth fell open and the anger I felt dissolved, in what I could only call as fear.

I had never felt fear, never. Except for when my father bashed me, but now standing in front of this women, the mayor of the hell hall I lived in I learnt that others could provoke this kind of reaction from me. I snap my mouth shut as I realise I had kept it open. My eyes, turn from fear to anger. I wasn’t going to let this idiot make a fool out of me and most of all I was not going to be scared. I wasn’t going to fear a woman that knew nothing more than her own wants, a lady that could get me killed in one word. I despised this woman. She was nothing, but a pampered Capitolite in my eyes. My cold eyes glare at her, burning into her eyes. Her grip was tight on my wrist. We look at each other for a moment. My head pounded, but I was ready. I knew that I might have to run to get away. There was no way in hell that I was going to die.

Okay, so maybe I’m over thinking this, but I didn’t care this woman was an idiot. Idiot’s were unpredictable.

“Do you have parents?”

The question startles me. Well, wasn’t I just getting all kinds of surprises today. I look at her, trying to see what she was doing, but to me the questions made no sense. What did it matter if I had parents or not? Why would she give a shit. My parents are idiots losers. They are dead to me. “I don’t have any parents.” I spit. The lie came easily; it was because I believed it to be true. My parents had shoved me into a little shed, where I had to look after myself. They are nothing to me. They just have me there. They killed my cat.

All I have is my brother, but even he is gone.

With a sharp yank I rip my arm from her grasp. My fest shuffle on the ground. But I don’t go anywhere. Maybe it is because I really don’t have anywhere to go. Home. I don’t have one of those. I have a building that I live in called a house, but a home is a place that makes you happy. That place doesn’t. I stare at her. Challenging her to say something. Anything. I wanted her to call me a liar, filth, a scumbag. It would give me a reason to yell, to hit the woman. But I doubted she would. The woman looked tired. Stressed. Hopeless.

Kind of like me.

[Deleted]

Serra Percocet

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If there is anything parallel to disaster, it is the feeling that I cannot wash away. It is the feeling that consumes me every time my eyes wander past the truly tangible creations, sealing myself into a world only my eyes can see. I suppose only a mayor can see it, for any other citizen would not understand that the thoughts that run through the roots of your brain when you see the problematic lives of people, exacerbated by your own hands.

I see destruction: ashes filling the air, collapsed roofs, doors ripped straight from the hinges. I see a world engulfed in chaos: a world that I never want to see again. I see a havoc created by vivid, vehement thunderstorms. I see silence. I don’t need ears to hear it, for the empty streets are enough of a symbol. I have locked myself into this world, and lost the key, yet somehow, the sights truly capture me.

Ethereal clouds had gathered over this site years before, their wrath having no direct justification. However, little known is the fact that wide-ranged emotion had caused those particular clouds to be exerted elsewhere. I had been the one to bring down the rain. The thunder had only been my screams in the form of a hyperbole, and the lightning, the tearing neurons taken from my own brain.

My mind was a storm back then; yet I can still see the puddles forming along the edges of the street, the clouds that have never died away, and the humidity that still fills the air, weighing me down. The aftermath is still prevalent, even if the storm is completed. Yet, I try to disguise the destruction with a rainbow.

My mother used to pester me with the idea that rainbows weren’t real. However, it took years of childhood growth and influence, before I finally came to believe her. I used to chase the colors across the district, searching for the pot of gold that I was constantly told, I would never find. However, when I finally unraveled the truth, I did not despise the sky for its sly tricks. Instead, I came to admire it.

The sky is clever, just as I so wanted to be. Putting on a false image, a mere imitation of happiness, every child was convinced into believing there would always be a light at the end of the tunnel. I wanted so desperately to capture this intriguing idea.

I wanted to be like the sky, like the rainbow that was so well able to disguise the truth behind its magnificence. Yet here I stand, constantly despising my own actions, waiting for someone to reveal my secret. But who would? Who would tell their children that rainbows were only reflections made by the clashing conflicts between sun and rain? Who would destroy their child’s dreams, the building blocks of their only hope? Who would throw a district into insecurity and chaos, just because they realized the rainbow is fake?

No one would.

Being a rainbow isn’t all it’s made out to be. If only I had learned that sooner, because now, I’m stuck in the sky, reasserting my roots every time someone gets too close. The storm never seems to end.

“I don’t have any parents.” I am warped back into the conversation. The street still looks destroyed to me, empty, even with all of the citizens rushing to and fro. No one is really there, though.

Finally, I divert my attention from the sights around me, and focus myself back on the girl, only a child, or rather a teenager. Seeing such a young person brings me back into my own world of terror. She’s just another child that isn’t mine. So many times I pleaded to have a companion of my own, if not a husband, then a son or daughter, preferably the latter. However, my pleas never had any sense of direction, and were therefore, never answered.

I knew bribery wasn’t worth it though. I knew that if I tried harder, I could have succeeded in my dream to have a child living in my hauntingly silent mansion; but I was also smart enough to know, anything I did after sunset, would hit the news before dawn. Weighing it all out, medication was worth more than a child.

The girl pulls away, taking a few steps back. I can tell by the elusive expression on her face, that she is somewhat afraid. Somehow, this causes me to guess that she may be lying, but I have no way to be sure. I smile slightly, trying not to mock her fear, considering I see it all the time. Yet, what people tend to forget is that I don’t have the entire world in my hands. “Don’t worry; I’m no peacekeeper,” I laugh. I am aware that I do have the power to throw her in prison if I want to, or file a report to the peacekeepers and offer her a punishment, but even I have more sanity than to do that.

For a few moments, I look at her skeptically, merely seeing another citizen I have failed. I know that District Six could be great, I know that our district is the smartest in the nation, and I know that I am the only thing holding it back. Though, I always manage to hide this discontent behind a smile.

I suddenly wonder what this girl sees when she looks at me. She obviously feels anxious; but does she see a rainbow? Or a storm?

If I turn this girl in, will I be creating more destruction, or more peace? Either way, I know that leaving her here to rot away, drunk on the street, is a terrible idea, especially if she is in the possession of no family.

No family…Is this the girl I am speaking of, or myself? I do have sisters and brothers and cousins scattered throughout the district, but they don’t know me, not like a family should. They are just people who come into my life once a year, when we gather around the table the day of the reaping to feast. Yet, I never see them there. I only see empty seats, as I force a smile and a couple of laughs.

Loneliness is what I like to call it.

As careless as I may be, there is no way I can leave anyone to suffer the same fate I did. The mistakes that I made and the feelings that I felt, are things that I never want anyone except my ex-husband to experience ever again, no matter how little I care for them.

In response to this, I quickly snatch the girl’s wrist, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“C’mon,” I say, reassuringly, “I’m taking you to the orphanage.” My feet take off beneath me, but the war in my head rages on.

I just try to hold onto that rainbow a little bit longer.
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[cass]

XANA QUATE

”Hey, hey kid get up.” The soft voice of Mercury floated down towards me who lay on the floor of a road. This was a common thing for myself, I often woke up on a road. They weren’t the best to lie on, but when you pass out you don’t really get a choice. My head lifted up and I eyed the girl. I looked her over, she was nothing special, but when I looked at her she had a motherly air. The closest thing that two me was anything like motherly. I had never felt motherly before.

”Why should I?” I grumble slapping my head back onto the ground. The ground was cold, and it leaked into my skin, my face was quickly becoming numb, but it blocked out the pain of my life and the throbbing headache that I had. The girl –mercury- bends down until she is kneeling right beside me. ”Come on, get up off the floor.” She gets back up, but her words had been warm and sweet, they hadn’t been biting or harsh.

So different from what I knew.

I slowly get up and position myself facing this girl, my feet are shaking on the ground, and she reaches forward placing a tender hand on my shoulder to help me not fall. I flinch away from her touch and she moves her hand hesitantly away. I look over into her eyes, they were filled with kindness, and something else that made me want to scream at, it made me want to run and hide. Something I didn’t want to see. Sympathy.

That was a long time ago, but I still remember the day I meet Mercury. How could I forget? That girl to be honest had become my family. She had taken me in when my own family had ditched me. I might not live with her, or like her much, but she was all I had. Mercury had found me just like this lady, on the floor drunk and defeated. But the difference was Mercury had been kind, she had helped me, made me feel loved and cared for. This person had pulled me to my feet demanding to know if I had parents.

I had lied to her. The words had come so easily, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t care that I had lied to her. I cared because I had lied to myself. I didn’t see my parents as family, but I did see Mercury and the rest of the people who sang with me as family. They were kind to me in a way that I didn’t deserved they treated me like a person and not a toy. They weren’t rough and abusive. They were where home was. My eyes meet the mayors and I don’t turn them away. I wouldn’t I wanted this lady to see the hate I felt for her.

Respect was earned not given.

“Don’t worry; I’m no peacekeeper,” The lady laughed. I am hit with more distaste for this lady. A peacekeeper. Pffft if she had of been a Peacekeeper I would have spat in her face already. I would have ran and hidden until I knew it was safe to be out once more. I scowl, this lady was useless, just like everyone else in the district. She was as crap as the Peacekeepers here. Then suddenly I wanted to laugh, but I held it in suppressing a smile. That was it! This lady, this mayor was just like them, just like those stupid Peacekeepers.

She was useless, just watched her people die, She didn’t care like those idiots, that thought they owned the place. She had so much more than the rest of us, but she didn’t care. She knew nothing, she probably barely suffered much, she had an easy life, growing fat on her food. I wonder if she even knew what it was like to starve and live in pain. I knew she had been in a reaping, unless she was some Capitol pedigree, who knows, she could be from the Capitol.

“C’mon,” I stare at her. I wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m taking you to the orphanage.” Her arm rushes out, snatching mine tightly in her own. I stare dumbfounded at her the words not sinking. Then I’m tugged along as she hauls me forward through the crowd of people. I pound my feet into the ground, and pull back. I was not going to no fucking orphanage no way in hell.

My lips girl into something like a snarl as I pull back on my arm, bringing us both to a halt. I try yank my arm out, but for such and old lady she has a strong grip. I look up at her furiously. ”What the fuck. I ain’t going to no orphanage. Those are for people who are abandoned, left out in the cold. They are for kids whose parents ain’t give a shit about them!” I spite. I stare at her, my anger bubbling away at me. But as the words sink in I realise that those kids there were just like me, their parents didn’t care for them. Their parents had given up on them.

My mouth drops open into a perfect ‘o’ shape. I stare past her, I can’t look at her. But I wasn’t like them. I was better than them all, right? No. I wasn’t like them. Those kids had no choice in the fact of being dragged into that hell hole. I had a choice. And I was not going. I had a home I know I did, it was with Mercury and my friends.

I just had to find it first.

(OOC: I'm playing with her colours x3)

[Deleted]

Serra Percocet

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”What the fuck. I ain’t going to no orphanage. Those are for people who are abandoned, left out in the cold. They are for kids whose parents ain’t give a shit about them!” The girl says, her face red with anger. She pulls away, and I immediately stop.

The first thing I realize is the fact that I had forgotten how old this girl was. She isn’t just a little kid, helplessly lying in the street. Yet, she isn’t an adult either. This girl is a teenager, which is almost always, the worst age group to deal with. Of course she had refused to come to the orphanage. Teenagers want freedom and independence, without even knowing what those two words truly mean. Getting this girl to do anything could be a seemingly possible task.

Impatient, I look down at my watch. Do I really have time to deal with such nonsense? The girl won’t even listen, and most likely, never will. I try to refrain from rolling my eyes. I still have several hours before my next meeting. Of course, the groceries still need to get done, I have to sign a few papers, and some of my files still need to be in order before that time.

My head is spinning. I should just leave, shouldn’t I? The girl would probably be happier if I did. Plus, there’s nothing I can really do. Stubborn teenagers won’t listen. Trying to get them to do something for a stranger who approaches them on the street is a useless waste of time.

My feet shift a bit, as I prepare to take my leave. Yet, the realization that this is my district stops me. Anything out of place, anyone suffering, abandoned on the streets: those things are all part of my responsibility.

I shake my head slightly in exhaustion. Don’t get yourself into this mess, Serra. Where is helping a lost girl going to get me, if I am also facing that dilemma?

I reach into my memories, thinking about my own life as a teenager. I hadn’t been quite as profane in my words or obvious in my emotions, but I had still been just as angry at the world. Few people noticed it.

“Serra Percocet? Oh, you’re Taylor’s sister, aren’t you?” My high school teacher’s eyes are lit with curiosity.

“No, actually, my name’s Serra.”

“Yes, I know, but aren’t you—”

“No, I’m just Serra.” My words are unstrained, but inside I am boiling with impatience.

I hated being compared to my siblings. They constantly left me fending for my self; and even though I found ways to hide my insecurities, I never truly did get over the severed relations I had with my family.

The door to my house is almost daunting. I know that the moment I walk inside, I’ll be someone else again. I won’t be the well-liked schoolgirl who has teachers that adore her and friends that admire her eloquence. The smile on my face fades as I open the door.

My mother is cooking dinner, and my siblings are seated the table playing some sort of obnoxious game. The only person who notices my presence is one of my brothers, who flashing a small smile at me before focusing his attention back on the others. I debate on whether I should tell my mother about the perfect score I got on my presentation today, only further maintaining my flawless grades. Yet, I don’t. She won’t listen; she won’t care. She’ll just say, “Good job honey,” without even knowing what job had been accomplished. I slip into my room: the one I share with my sister’s. Lying down on my bed, I stare at the sheet of paper clenched between my fingers: my presentation score.

I smile, reading my teachers words. “Lovely charisma, Serra!” For a few moments, I am confident. There’s nothing that can stop me from loving the world, from loving myself. Everything is way it should be; until, the tears come.

Nothing is the way it should be.

The tears soak into my pillow as loneliness enwraps me. I fall asleep early, just like every night, buried under the covers in attempt to hide my emotions.

I am pulled back to reality, out of the tears of my past. Yet, those tears had traveled with me. They had never really disappeared or found a solution. The tears that I had shed as a girl were inescapable. Good grades and a decent social status didn’t make up for the stress I had been put through as a teenager.

When I look back at the teenager in front of me, I realize that I don’t want anyone growing up to be the person that I am. I don’t want to see girls growing up only to realize their whole life is a mistake.

Whereas I had still been able to maintain a decent lifestyle as my parents continually ignored me, this girl seems to be throwing her entire life away.

Trying to reason with her, I take the risk of reaching out. I watch the girl skeptically for a few moments, trying to figure her out. There wasn’t much more to say, seeing as how resistant this girl was. “Well, it’s my job to make sure this district is running correctly, so if you’re parents aren’t treating you well, you’d better let me know now. Better than having to deal with it later,” I say, trying to give the girl her space.

I shrug my shoulders, looking at the ground as I add, “If you let me buy you a coffee or something, we could sit down and talk about this.” I think of how ridiculously intimidating it would be have that question asked to you by the mayor. I slip my hands into my pockets almost shyly, ready for the rejection I’m about to face. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/justify]