aim your >>--->{arrows}<---<< high :: topaz

[Deleted]

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

take a look around
our time's almost running out
give back what you get
uproot questions in your head
the looking glass is clear, what you want is near

The posh decor of the tribute apartments is nothing short of awe-inspiring, but that doesn't stop Kiera from retreating into the confines of her room as soon as she and Peridot are released from their Opening Ceremony activities by their respective prep teams. The richly-equipped bedchamber is roughly the size of the bottom floor of her house, all sprawling spaces and a divine-looking double bed that she collapses into as soon as she wriggles out of the clingy, lacy thing that Kaiser shoved her into for the chariot ride, the smooth material of the comforter heavenly against her skin. There's a sort of bone-deep weariness that hangs on her like an anchor, but despite her fatigue sleep refuses to come. There's a fancy contraption on the alarm clock next to her bed that projects the time onto the ceiling, and Kiera loses herself in its progress, lying in sleepless suspension and watching the minutes tick by until the time is well past midnight.

Suddenly restless, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, getting to her feet and stretching languidly before going over to rifle through the drawers of the massive dresser against the wall. Kiera has never seen so many rich fabrics and high-fashion design in one place in her life, but rather than give into the insistent nudge of her inner girl to try on everything she settles for a wonderfully soft pair of sweatpants and a slightly oversized v-neck that looks enough like it could be one of Kae's to provide her with a wisp of the comforts of home.

As her door swings open and her bare feet pad silently over the plush carpet, Kiera wonders briefly of what the scene back in One must look like. Is her family crying? Is the Detective perched silently in front of a television watching her lauded arrival to the Capitol's glorified slaughter over and over again? Are Auggie and Ella Dahl clinging to each other in disbelief, given their lives back thanks to her sacrifice? The sights and sounds of the Capitol are far more festive than all of that, bright lights ans cityscapes flitting across her vision with every window she passes, thrumming music and nightlife permeating even the thick glass to wrap her in a muted celebration of the impending explosion of blood and death staring her down like a determined opponent.

A huge pane of glass composes one entire wall of the living area (the irony of the name is not lost on her but Kiera puts it out of her mind for a different place and time), framing a gigantic picture of Capitolite indulgence that is simultaneously beautiful and hideous to look upon. Kiera's head tilts curiously to the side and she steps forward for a closer look, only to see a familiar form hovering in front of the window, back turned to her, the ambient lights of the Capitol washing her hair in a muted crimson glow. Kiera smiles sadly, drawing level with her and joining her in staring out at the night as her voice blooms softly over her lips. "Hi, Topaz."

It is the first time all day that she's been close enough to the Victor to have a proper conversation. Perhaps it was cowardly and beneath her rightful status, but Kiera had hidden in her quarters for the entire train ride, a sort of frantic fear rising in her chest that wouldn't allow her to face the boy she will have to kill to survive, the friend who statistics say will have to watch her die. In all actuality, is Topaz Ross really her friend? They haven't spent a large amount of time together, just a few hours sprawled out on the hellishly hot grass of the Olympic park in shared efforts to hide from society, sitting next to each other on the train ride home, but there had been a sort of kindred spirit there, a shared sense of humor and laughter that came easier than it had since Kaelen left. If Topaz isn't her friend, Kiera muses, she's the closest damn thing she's had to one in almost a year.

"So, any handy tips on kicking ass and taking names?" she says, a sort of false bravado painting her words in an overly-chipper veneer, trying to fight down the sort of irrational guilt licking along the linings of her veins. Her decision to volunteer had been salvation for some but damnation for others, and Kiera is far from used to feeling the power of destruction sitting heavy on her shoulders. Toying absently with the hem of her shirt, she glances up at the red-headed champion with another smile that still doesn't manage to lose its lingering sorrow. "I don't think I like it here. It's all so... plastic."

[/color]

shoot out all the lights hold your ground, we'll hit the sky
it's time you aim your arrows high
take down all the doubt
cast it out, let's do it now
it's time we aim our arrows high

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[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i don't like walking around this old and empty house
so hold my hand, i'll walk with you, my dear
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Often Topaz recognized the tributes she was forced to mentor. More so in the earlier years, of course, because she'd spent over a decade of her life training with many of them, but even in the more recent Games she recognized faces from around One, at least. Allen Hearst; she'd known him, because of his brother. The Morenos; well, she hadn't known them individually, but she'd known the name. Mike Smith she'd seen in the gym, although she didn't like to think about that brutish monster. So yes, she was used to recognized the tributes she was given to train up and ship out to their impending doom. But the one face she'd never expected to see making her way up to the Reaping stage? Kiera Dempsey's.

She had no idea why it had shocked her so much to hear her volunteer; it was most likely because Topaz had never associated the other girl, who'd nearly become her friend with being of Reaping age. But she was only seventeen years old; nearly five years younger than Tope herself. Of course she was in the Reaping. And she was tough; of course she had volunteered. But Tope had still gaped, open-mouthed, at the Dempsey girl she'd met at the Olympics a few months previous, having never expected to see her in a position that the victor believed she had horribly, dreadfully cursed.

But now, as her mentor, she had to face her. Because this girl had a fighting chance of winning, more so than anyone she'd ever mentored before. You said that about Stark, too, remember? Then you went and screwed her and her chances. Assuming Kiera was allowed victory by the Gamemakers — after all, her lineage was rather pockmarked — Topaz had to pull it together and be the best possible mentor she was capable of being, regardless of the fact that she was pretty certain that wouldn't amount to anything good at all. She'd been better about the drinking, now that she was a married woman — a married woman, she hated the sound of that — and mainly only drank socially (unless she was with Arbor or the other victors, in which case they got completely hammered just for the sake of getting drunk) or with Maverick in their brand new, excessively lavish Capitol home before a long night of sex. Having eliminated the usual excuse, liquid distraction, it would be a lot easier to focus on getting Kiera to the end.

Topaz had been sitting in the living area of the District One training center apartment when she heard the younger girl enter and greet her. The moment she spoke, the champion was immediately dreading the very likely possibility of watching tho acquaintance of hers die. Where they were now wasn't friendly competition, like the Olympics had been. It was real. It was life or death, and that made it a thousand times more intense. In the Hunger Games, losing wasn't an option. "So, any tips on kicking ass and taking names?" Kiera asked, sounding falsely confident. If anyone knew that feeling, Topaz did. "Well look, if anyone can win this, it's you," Tope replied with a small laugh. "So I'd say being your usual self will suffice."

Kiera's next words were a complaint about the Capitol's shallowness, its fakeness, something Tope understood when comparing it to the districts. But the difference between her and Kiera was that she'd adored the nation's ruling city when she'd come here for the first time as a 56th tribute; it had seemed so stunning, so massive, so illuminated with splendor. Years later her opinion of the place had definitely diminished, but she still thought it was better than One. For her, at least. "You get used to it," she responded finally, turning her head to gaze out the window at the streets below. They were packed with Capitolites trying to catch glimpses into the training center and maybe spot a tribute or a mentor; these people relished star sightings, and this was their absolute favorite time of year. Tope desperately wished she could be as carefree as these people, her greatest concern whether or not she'd be able to snatch a tribute's autograph before prep week ended.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
the stairs creak as you sleep it's keeping me awake
it's the house telling you to close your eyes
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[Deleted]

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

take a look around
our time's almost running out
give back what you get
uproot questions in your head
the looking glass is clear, what you want is near

There is something quiet and hidden within the depths of Topaz's soul that is so brilliantly broken that the nearly poetic destruction of it radiates off her skin and casts a halo of unspoken regret around her that Kiera sees with the perception her elevated state has brought to her, singing a mournful swan song of could-have-beens through the silence before she laughs, unable to hide the melancholy from the tones that might otherwise sound like bells. "Well look, if anyone can win this, it's you, so I'd say being your usual self will suffice."

A low, appreciative smile lingers on her lips, but Kiera is a Dempsey and has never been good with things like thank you and help me and I'm scared, so she leaves it to the soundless almost-grin to convey everything she wishes she could say but doesn't know how. The cityscape spread out beneath them looks like some sort of macabre, neon Ratmas tree, filled with too-bright colors and too-loud music and a general saturation of anything and everything that overloads Kiera's senses. From the street a crowd of absurdly costumed people looks up to their window, fingers pointed and cameras flashing because look, there she is, our very own sacrificial lamb. We should revere her before her blood is spilled over the altar of the Capitol's iron-fisted rule, should dress her up in fine silks and parade her around and make her into a graven idol of our own self-absorption.

"You get used to it," Topaz says, but Kiera doesn't see how anyone ever could, how anyone could bring themselves to live in this world with its plastic veneer and empty soul, all neons and silks and vibrancy to cover up the fact that beneath its surface there is nothing of substance except an ugly, violent thirst for children's blood. The God of the Capitol must be a cruel and deceitful one, Kiera muses, to demand such a sacrifice and then cover His altar with bright damasks and pretty distractions.

"Maybe," Kiera shrugs, pressing a palm flat to the cold pane of the window and blinking through the haze of camera flashes that leave multicolored imprints on her vision, ghosts of the pieces of her soul snatched away to be mounted in someone's scrapbook, her participation in the most bloody and dark of rituals marked only by a picturesque score of passing folly. "It's just... confusing. It bothers me. I've never seen something so full of life and yet so empty."

People continue to pass on the street below and Kiera can almost map out their stories - two men comparing betting slips for who will die first, a mother shepherding her porcelain-doll children down the street to some pageant where she can live vicariously through them, a couple her age strolling arm in arm and pointing animatedly at the volunteer from District One and her Mentor standing in the window, the two of them watching the hollow world go by from behind the glass like some sort of inside-out fishbowl. "It's like they don't even know how soulless their existence is. Even though they're calling for my blood I feel bad for them."

She turns away from the multicolored spectacle outside and takes a few steps through the posh living area. An intricate fountain murmurs against the far wall and Kiera crosses to it, letting her fingers whisper over the water's surface but finding no solace there no wisdom. That is how she truly knows that the Capitol is dead inside - not even the water here has a soul. She sighs sadly, wiping her hand against the plush fabric of her sweatpants before turning and walking back over to Topaz.

"I'm sorry you're in this position. I can't imagine the burden it is," Kiera says softly, something within her not registering that perhaps she is being too bold when she reaches up and lays a consoling hand on the taller girl's shoulder. From the point of contact she can hear the baby-bird cry of Topaz's damaged soul, burned alive and flayed raw for too many years to count, and the pain she finds there makes tears well and linger unshed in her eyes. Perhaps even in her sacrifice she had been selfish, thinking that it was more of a burden to risk death in the Games than it would ever be to deal with the fallout of winning them.

[/color]

shoot out all the lights hold your ground, we'll hit the sky
it's time you aim your arrows high
take down all the doubt
cast it out, let's do it now
it's time we aim our arrows high

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[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
some days i can't even trust myself
it's killing me to see you this way
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

As Topaz sat on the cushioned chair in the sitting room—a favorite one she'd frequented since she was a tribute herself—her subconscious called up uninvited recollections of the countless tributes she'd mentored while sitting in the same exact place. Ana and York. Quite a pair, the two of them; she'd been pretty relieved when York died, but it had been a pity to see Ana go so early. Allen and Soyala. Allen had reminded her all too much of Timothy, his twin, one of her victims. Soy had made it far, although she'd lost it towards the end. Just like all the rest. Mike and — alright, not even going to go there. The 59th had been nothing short of a train wreck. Reyes and Avon. Perhaps the best chance she'd had to date, but again, it had slipped from the grasps of both teenagers towards the very end. Stark and Jae. Another lost cause. Now, finally, there was Peridot, a formidable fighter who had a lot going for him, and Kiera. Her friend, a warrior in the truest sense. Was this going to be her year? Would this be the Games in which she'd be able to shake off the curse she seemed to carry as a mentor? She certainly hoped so, if not for her own sake then for Kiera's.

Tope rose and stood beside her tribute as she stared out the window of the training center just as she had, although her gaze was one of disgust rather than weariness. They weren't high up, as they were in the One apartment on the first floor, so it wasn't surprising when a couple spotted them and pointed eagerly, drawing the attention of a few other pedestrians as well. Deciding to appease them before they went too ballistic the victor gave them a slight wave and a small smirk, and they looked as if their lives had been made. She was accustomed to such behavior: her companion, however, was not. Characteristically, what followed was another perplexed expression of repulsion on Kiera's part. "It's like they don't even know how soulless their existence is. Even though they're calling for my blood I feel bad for them."

"That's exactly it," the champion muttered quietly. "They don't know. They cheer for the Games because they've been raised to. They live in comfort and ignorance because they don't know what it means to have a purpose." Topaz realized with a small start that for the first sixteen years of her life she'd been living just the same way. A luxurious One mansion perfect for the family of a renown manufacturing CEO, with a private chef and parents who gave her anything she wanted, if it only meant getting her out of their hair. Cheering on her district's tributes every year, booing the other competitors she disliked. And her major worry? What she would wear to that evening's party, whether or not the bitch down the block would call her a whore (probably rightfully so, but it still hurt) again. She'd grown exponentially since then, sure, but the fact that she'd seen the other side before emerging into the light—the darkness, more like—had allowed her to tolerate the Capitolites in a way that none of the other victors could. "But I've never hated them for it, like everyone else outside of here does. Because, well... I understand. And in a way, they're lucky."

"I'm sorry you're in this position. I can't imagine the burden it is." To Topaz's surprise she felt Kiera reach up to place her hand on her shoulder in what was probably meant to be a sympathetic way. The young woman attempted to gauge this act of empathy, wondering whether or not it was genuine because she'd received so many similar ones in the past that hadn't been. I'm sorry for your loss, Topaz. I hope things get better, Topaz. Don't be fooled by my caring facade, I'm really just trying to get in your pants, Topaz. But Kiera seemed to legitimately understand the unspoken horrors her mentor had gone through over the past six years. And though she could not offer true relief, at least not in any way that would heal her broken soul, she was offering the best she could: a comforting hand.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about me." Tope pulled herself together and turned towards her tribute, knotting her eyebrows together in a stern expression. "Right now all I want you to worry about is getting out of that arena alive. If you survive, you'll have done me the biggest favor you possibly can. Maybe then people won't give me so much shit for sucking as a mentor." These words were accompanied by a snicker that was a concealed attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "But the biggest tip I can give you? Don't be like me. Because as I think I've successfully proven, it's not going to get you anywhere you particularly want to go."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
cause though the truth may vary
this ship will carry our bodies safely to the shore
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[Deleted]

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

take a look around
our time's almost running out
give back what you get
uproot questions in your head
the looking glass is clear, what you want is near

“Right now all I want you to worry about is getting out of that arena alive. If you survive, you'll have done me the biggest favor you possibly can. Maybe then people won't give me so much shit for sucking as a mentor,” Topaz says, brows knitting into an austere expression that looks out of place on the pretty, delicate planes of her face. However, it seems to mesh perfectly with the unspoken weight sitting heavy behind her eyes, a soul so burdened with death and loss and worlds of responsibility that no one should have to bear alone. Kiera watches her with something trapped between empathy and an uneasy whisper in the back of her mind that maybe he doesn’t want to make it out of the Arena if this is what awaits her. But in all reality, it seems as if a good portion of the Victor’s brokenness is self-crafted, evidenced further in the end of her statement. “But the biggest tip I can give you? Don't be like me. Because as I think I've successfully proven, it's not going to get you anywhere you particularly want to go.”

Kiera’s brow furrows into an expression that matches her mentor’s, underlined with a sort of bone-deep sadness she can’t shake. What it must be like, she wonders, for Topaz to watch year after year of children march to the slaughter and know that there’s nothing she can do about it other than pray and try to make the sponsorships work out, and only then to have the infinitesimal hope of maybe getting one tribute home to their families and loved ones. A burden like that could rend a soul to shreds. Not to mention what it must have done to her to mentor her own sister – she imagines herself standing in Topaz’s place and Kaelen in her own, or Moira, Cora, Aurora, Blair, left with the duty to keep them alive from miles away, and her heart nearly shatters at the imagined agony. There is no doubt that Topaz Ross is damaged, and yet there’s a spark beneath her skin that calls to Kiera with a fragile hope, a sharp sense of humor and a smile that could outshine the sun if she let it. The idea that such a hope could be left to wither by the champion’s own self-deprecation is heartbreaking. Kiera has always seen herself as a savior, cleansing away the pain and sins of others until all that is left is a clean, shining soul that is free to know peace.

“My cousin told me once that all souls are born pure,” she says quietly, memories of long philosophical lesson-debates at Kaelen’s kitchen table over sandwiches and lemonade ghosting across the canvas of her memory. “That we’re all brought into this world steeped in light and purity. He told me that as people grow, they’re corrupted by the world and become flawed things, steeped in sin and unable to regain what they lost, cast into darkness for eternity.”

As if to visually illustrate this, Kiera carefully pulls one of the elegant silver trinkets that Kaiser had braided into her hair before the Opening Ceremonies from its place, sending dye-mottled waves falling down across her shoulders. Presenting it on the flat of her palm, he clenches her fist hard enough that her knuckles go white, for the bite of the filigree flowers against her skin to be painful. When Kiera opens her hand, the delicate thing has been warped into something almost unidentifiable, its beauty diminished into a shapeless lump of wire and jewels. Then, slowly, carefully, she begins to bend it back into shape, readjusting metallic stems and petals until the ornament gleams in all its former glory, looking for all the world like it had never been bent seemingly beyond repair. “He used to get so irritated with me because I disagreed with him on that. What’s broken can always be remade.”

Spinning the delicate thing carefully between spindly pianist’s fingers, Kiera purses her lips contemplatively, looking from the ornament back up to the redheaded Victor with a sort of timeless wisdom sitting inherent in the fabric of her soul. “You think you’re beyond saving, and I know better. I think the problem is that you don’t think you deserve it. I see light in you, Topaz. I really do. If anything, that light’s what’s going to get me through the Arena, knowing that even if I come out broken there’s still hope.”

Smiling softly, she reaches up with her free hand and gently pushes a lock of crimson waves into an artful twist behind the taller girl’s ear, carefully sliding in the repaired ornament to hold it in place. Maybe her family was right and Kaelen was wrong, maybe Kiera’s going to her death and will never emerge from the Arena, but there’s a sort of peace that comes with that knowledge given the prospect that while she’s here, she has the chance to ease the burden of someone who never deserved it in the first place. “In all honesty, I’ll feel safer in there knowing that I’ve got you out here watching out for me. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re my mentor.”

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shoot out all the lights hold your ground, we'll hit the sky
it's time you aim your arrows high
take down all the doubt
cast it out, let's do it now
it's time we aim our arrows high

ooc - I don't even know what this is. She just sort of started getting all ~spiritual lesson~ on me and this is the product. For reference the hair ornament looks something like this.

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