faith's aftermath |clover|

[Sampson]

leave your things behind
¦ sampson farron ¦

Excuse me, too busy you're writing your tragedy
These mishaps

Being hopeless and having no hope were two very different things. Sampson knew this; she had always known. It was nothing new to the redhead who had spent so many days working among both types of people. In a saw mill, where the normally calming scent of pine was overwhelmed by the stench of sweat and people who still had all their fingers were rare, it was hard not to notice the different sorrows that plagued the factory. So now, in the thick atmosphere of the training center, Sampson couldn't help but feel at home. All she needed was the screams of the saws and the teen would have maybe felt some hint of comfort.

But there was only her own soft breathing as the girl hunched over a small pile of sticks, trying to ignite some kind of flame. It seemed like an impossible feat, truly, almost as if the station's attendant was asking her to perform magic. It was hopeless, but she was not. If she hadn't seen so many tributes use the skill so often in the arena, Sampson would have allowed her frustration to drive her away from fire-making. So, instead of giving up completely, the girl opted to taking a short break.

Strolling past the station that harbored the vast selection of blades and weaponry, scarred fingers plucked a single knife from the table. Sampson offered a faint smile to the station's attendant as she slipped away, back towards her defeated pile of firewood. She sank down beside it once again, selecting one stick from the small group of others. The girl's hands moved out of instinct, rather than any form of decision on the brain's part, as they dragged the blade across the outer surface of the wood. It was like signing one's name. After so much repetition, carving was second nature to Sampson. It was also the only thing that kept her head straight and chin up.

You bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8086/8395194440_1d4d7fd413_m.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] ivy soren.

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you are my sweetest downfall
i loved you first, i loved you first
beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
i have to go, i have to go

[/center][/i]

You've been watching the girl for a while. All morning, your eyes have traced her supple frame as it worked away. Luckily you do not grow impatient easily; she has been trying unsuccessfully to ignite a small stack of kindling. Unsure that you could do any better yourself, you simply wait by the medical supplies, idly binding up a dummy.

When she finally leaves - unsuccessful - you rise without thinking about it and walk toward her. No doubts flicker through your mind as you do so. As long as you try to contain your snark and do your best to mimic what Indigo would do, people here seem to respect you well enough. "Giving up already, Matchstick?" You offer her a genuine smile and fall into step beside her.

She's certainly awfully pretty - she doesn't look strong, but you know from watching past Games that girls from Seven can be deceiving. It doesn't matter. All you need is somebody, anybody to talk to. Perhaps the nameless girl can take away the loneliness that has begun to claw at your insides. Perhaps.



Ooc: I am so sorry. This is terrible sdfghjk I'm sorry. My muse just... left.

[/blockquote][/justify][/color]

and history books forgot about us
and the bible didn't mention us
and the bible didn't mention us, not even once
you are my sweetest downfall

[/center][/i]
[/center]

[/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

[Sampson]

leave your things behind
¦ sampson farron ¦

Excuse me, too busy, writing your tragedy
These mishaps

"Giving up already, Matchstick?” the voice alerted Sampson, breaking her solid concentration. Her mind consumed with the small creation forming in her hands, the teen hadn't realized her guest. Now, it was too late to ignore her, for the words were meant to spark up conversation. And a spark was just enough to ignite a matchstick.

Her eyes left the carving for a moment, knife slowing to a halt as its work bringing forth a sculpture were delayed for a moment. The District 9 girl isn't anything too frightening, not compared to the Careers that have risen from the depths of their districts, but a nervous smile still spread across Sampson's face. It was one of habit, one that came forth when a situation was awkward or brought her anxiety, but it looked just like one meant for an old friend. "Not quite," the words slipped from her mouth, quizzical smile still lingering on her features, "But a person can only take so much failure in one sitting."

You bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8086/8395194440_1d4d7fd413_m.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] ivy soren.

[/font]

you are my sweetest downfall
i loved you first, i loved you first
beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
i have to go, i have to go

[/center][/i]

The girl takes my teasing well - she's passed another unspoken test with ease. (If I was choosing people, I never would choose Indigo. She tells me when I'm wrong.) I look her over, and do my very best to understand her as she speaks - when she says there are only so many times she can handle failing, I flinch. If it's visible, I recover quickly. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself. Up close, she's even more beautiful. The freckles that flush her face were something I always envied in others - my own skin is chalky and untarnished.

She smiles at me, and I can't help but smile back. This is probably for the better - apparently, my permanent scowl isn't awfully becoming. "Usually, I find the trick to never failing is changing your original intention." This, I know from experience. When Indigo and I both try to do the same thing, she ends up better. It's then that I change what I was trying to do to begin with. Sometimes, it even works.

"For example, if you'd been trying to get yourself into a conversation with me, then you would have succeeded." I say this as a question; a tentative offer that implies a need for her conformation. I need her to say this is okay. I need this, because I know this is something I wont manage to do again - the smiling and the open honesty she's somehow lured from me with her freckles and her persistance and her carving. "So, Matchstick, what's the plan?"

I can't be alone anymore.

[/blockquote][/justify][/color]

and history books forgot about us
and the bible didn't mention us
and the bible didn't mention us, not even once
you are my sweetest downfall

[/center][/i]
[/center]

[/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

[Sampson]

leave your things behind
¦ sampson farron ¦

Excuse me, too busy, writing your tragedy
These mishaps

The flinch was Sampson's first clue as to whether or not she had said the right words. It was like reading dark clouds on the horizon in order to predict a storm. By admitting so freely to her failures, Sampson believed she had—in a mere handful of seconds and her first few words—destroyed any chance she had of nurturing a conversation.

About ready to begin apologizing for her own faults, just in order to keep the District 9 girl around, Sampson was cut off by the other girl's voice. Watching as she spoke, green eyes witnessing the fierce scowl fade away with a smile of her own, relief flooded the District 7 girl's mind. "Who knows? Maybe that was my original intention and I have succeeded at something today," her own words caused her to chortle a little, airy laugh fading as the stranger spoke again, still referring to her as 'Matchstick'.

Sampson paused briefly before replying, choosing her words carefully, "I've never been one for plans, to be honest. " But why was she being honest? This girl could kill me in the arena.

You bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i46.tinypic.com/1e3uyx.jpg); width: 498px; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true] ivy soren.

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we keep on paying those freaks on the tv
who claim they will save us but want to enslave us
and sweating like demons they scream through our speakers
but we leave the sound on 'cause silence is harder
and no one's the killer and no one's the matyr[/center]

Indigo said that the reason I don't speak much is so that nobody can hurt me - as though allowing somebody the key to my thoughts would leave them open to be broken[/color]. That's not the way I see it. Today, if I don't manage to let Matchstick in, I could end up even more hurt than before. (Death in the arena is always painful.)[/color] Being alone is not simply something I fear; it could be my death sentence.

This in mind, I smile at her again. It's almost too easy[/color] to let myself go. She reminds me of Indigo. Perhaps too much.[/color] She tells me that's she's never been one for plans, and I blink. Why tell me this?[/color] Does she already know what I've come to ask? I take a deep breath and count to three before I offer my answer. "Well, Matchstick," I move closer to her. "If you're fresh out of plans, you could always share mine?"

I laugh, because our common goal defeat's the purpose of the other. I don't notice that I'm biting my lip until it bleeds.[/color] (Be calm.)

the weather report keeps tossing and turning
predicting and warning and warning of
possible leakage with news publications and possible
leakage from news tv stations, the very same morning
right next to her coffee she noticed some bleeding

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[/center]

[Sampson]

leave your things behind
¦ sampson farron ¦

Excuse me, too busy, writing your tragedy
These mishaps

Another smile sent her way, partnered with a few more words, and Sampson could feel herself shaking with anxiety. No, it wasn't anxiety; the quivering of the teen's lanky body reminded her of the giddiness one might feel when opening a present. It was different, welcome, compared to her normal loneliness. Even with the prospect of the unknown—the girl's intentions, her reasoning for choosing Sampson, and even her name—the redhead wanted nothing more than to know a face, any face. With the girl before her offering such a deal, it was hard for Sampson to contain her relief.

"I... That'd be nice," Sampson replied, allowing a softer smile to raise on her freckled cheeks. She extended a scarred hand, not really thinking too much of it. Was a handshake necessary? "Name's Sampson," she added, "But you can keep calling me Matchstick, if you'd like." She tried, she really did, to look confident, to keep her hand up without her insecurities leaking through. It just proved difficult, especially when her own eyes realized how ugly the pattern of scars on her hand were.

You bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i46.tinypic.com/1e3uyx.jpg); width: 498px; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true] ivy soren.

[/font]

we keep on paying those freaks on the tv
who claim they will save us but want to enslave us
and sweating like demons they scream through our speakers
but we leave the sound on 'cause silence is harder
and no one's the killer and no one's the matyr[/center]

The rush of relief when the girl accepts my offer is unexpected. My heart slows enough for me to realise how fast it was humming[/color]; my breath catches between my lips. I am not alone anymore.[/color] The words echo backwards and forwards inside the confines of my mine - a great weight lifts from my conscience for the slightest of moments before it is replaced. Am I replacing my sister?[/color] I blink, trying to remember the reasons I chose Matchstick.

She's pretty; clever, quiet[/color], seemingly obedient and skilled. Persistant. Somebody I hoped would let me lead them[/color] - whereas I'd follow Indigo to the edges of the Earth. When she accepts my offer, I grin. (Don't get ahead of yourself.)[/color] She extends her hand and introduces herself - as if I don't already know her name. "Ivy," I say, shaking it[/color]. The surface is rough and scarred - perhaps she's tougher than she looks.

"What are you best at?" I glance around the training center, noticing all the areas I could do with work in. I wonder if she can feel my hands shaking just a little.[/color]

the weather report keeps tossing and turning
predicting and warning and warning of
possible leakage with news publications and possible
leakage from news tv stations, the very same morning
right next to her coffee she noticed some bleeding

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[/td][/tr][/table]

[/center]

[Sampson]

leave your things behind
¦ sampson farron ¦

Excuse me, too busy, writing your tragedy
These mishaps

"Ivy," the girl's name caused Sampson to stiffen for a moment. Like poison ivy? The thought surfaced in her mind for the briefest of moments. There was a possibility that this girl could very well be a poison. Even so, Sampson had to believe she wasn't. It was too late to second-guess herself now. "What are you best at?"

"You're looking at it," Sampson replied, lifting her hands that carried a knife and the partially carved object. Even as she said it, the teen wished she hadn't. She was worth more than her carvings, she really was, so why did she keep insisting she wasn't? They did not define her anymore than these upcoming Games did. "I mean... I'm good at other things," more words came out rushed. "What about you?" she asked suddenly, hoping to branch away from her earlier fumble.

You bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like