silent voices { clover }

[cass]

It just takes a second for my world to come crumbling down
Oh I'm sure in the distance you can hear that awful sound
Oh I plead for an answer, plead for an answer from you
But if you give me an answer, that just makes no sense then whats the use
And just like that my life is broken

When I look up into the sky I no longer see what was once there. The colours of life seem drained and somewhat tainted by a world that has been spoiled. The true beauty that used to clearly colour and bounce across this land no longer exists. It hides in the dark depths of the shadows, biding their time and waiting for the moment when they can spread their wings and fly. Fly once more into the world, spreading colour and the real things in life. They were once there. Once upon a time my world seemed bright, I was happy, my family was happy. I had everything I wanted. I had a shop I ran and would own one day a family that I bickered with, but loved all the same. I had a house, parents and a place I could call home. I had open waters a mere few minutes away, a training centre, a place where I could train to kill and fight in the hopes of becoming a tribute. But that word tribute no longer draws a linger sigh of longing from my lips. It no longer makes my eyes blaze with excitement and joy. To be a tribute is to be cursed. Only now do I realise that weight of that curse.

One year ago my sister, Penelope Libertine was reaped. Pen was the strongest, bravest and most insane girl in my whole family. Her mins seemed to drift with the wind, her thoughts fluttered like that of a butterfly, from flower to flower, searching, seeking and hunting for the perfect place to sit and rest. But the butterfly never finds that place; they are doomed to wonder the world, eyes glazed with only a single thought: Keep moving, keep going, do not stop, for death will always catch up with you. It did just that.

[/i][/color] Pen was trap like a butterfly under a net, she roamed a small enclosure, in that place she meet her fate. Her last breath was drawn from her body. Her blood bled into the ground, staining it, and burning (The words Penelope, Penelope, Penelope) into my mind like an iron rod pressed to my temple. It is still there, it always will be, no matter how many times I cry, no matter how many times I wish upon a falling star I can’t get rid of it.

It stays with me like glue. It sits, often in the back of my mind, waiting. Simply waiting for the perfect time to shoot out and hit me. Often it collides with me and I find it being dragged to the fore front of my mind where I can do nothing, but watch as it somersaults across my eyes, clearer than the day it happened. Every hue of colour sticks out, but above them all the red shines like it stains white, it bleeds into my eyes so that it is all I can see. And through that fog I hear a scream, shrill and high-pitched, filled with agonizing pain and misery. A girl crying for help, but the scream never escapes Pen’s lips (And I often wonder if I imagine that blood-curdling scream), nothing does. All that I see, all that I hear is my own heartbeat in my ears, the way my hands shake madly. And Penelope’s eyes grow wide before the spark of light (The light that is brighter than the stars) that I knew so well flees them. It is the same dream that haunts me night after night.

”Learna Libertine!”[/i]

The words seemed like a fairy-tale, they echoed in the air, floating high into the sky, disappearing like the clouds that hanged high in the sky. For a moment I wished that they were no more than just simple words that meant nothing. They could easily be someone calling out her name, wanting to speak to her, ask her a question, they were just words. And yet the weight, the meaning, the shattered dreams, crushed hearts, bleeding bodies and years of lies, and lies that were behind them meant so much more. Her name was like a knife being stabbed into my gut, and then it was as if that person slowly twisted it to the right, rotating it in tight small circles, burrowing it deeper, painfully (Just as I always did when I practiced in training, on those dummies, and now it was happening to me).

It kept going as her name echoed in my mind and every time I tried to breathe and call out her name I would feel the air escape my lips like smoke from a fire. Learna’s name still rings in my mind and each time I do hear it the knife twists deeper and the pain that had started just solely in my side has spread and it consumes like a wildfire. Until I am only pain and every time I think of her all I see his Penelope’s dead body, her small limp form and it becomes excruciating. My heart tears into a million shards, like a thousand daggers springing forth from my very soul and piercing every organ in my body until I’m bleeding on the inside. The blood flows through my body like a river runs on a calm day, slow and painful. Covering every inch of my in agonizing pain until I can’t breathe and I no longer want to breathe. There is nothing left for me to live for.

Then she died.

Her name still echoed in space, mingling with that of Penelope’s, the two seemed to forever stay there like a stain you cannot rid from your clothes. I watched again. I watched it as if it were in slow motion as if time itself had halted for me. The time in which she died slowed down so that I could see every painful movement, every taunt that echoed in the air as my sister feel to the ground. The children laughed and only rage boiled in me, hate and loathing that I had ignored for the past year. It filled me with such a rage that pain raced through my arms, my hands were clenched so tight that the nails tug deeply into my skin, drawing trails of blood across the palm of my hands. It only reminded me of the blood that now stained my sister (Both of them, Penelope and Learna, both stained red as a cherry), who was now dead. Their savage taunts echo in my mind, the blades of her allies turning on her flash before my eyes. The girl from district two spins and without regret strikes at the girl she had sided with.

She turned quicker than I could move to turn the light on. She seemed to forget that she had an alliance with Learna.

I could do nothing, but watch.

So I watch as another of my sister falls, her soul claimed by Ripred.

But there is a reason why I still live. Self-disgust has not yet filtered its way into my mind; it has not yet seeped into the very depths of my soul to the point where I ask myself why I am like this, why I am crying over the dead. Everyone dies, and I can do nothing to change that. I am not the weak and yet I am continuously in pain from the death of people I am not sure I liked. Love is no longer too strong of a word; I can easily say that I loved them. The same blood ran through our veins, and blood will forever be thicker than any substance that runs on this forsaken planet. I have the courage to say that I love both of my sisters, but I have yet to say that I liked them. They were both strong, they were both strange, but they were not my people. Yet I weep for them worse than I can fathom, my heart aches and my heart pounds with the misery that stains me. I find myself hesitating before the next tear slides down my cheek, a sense of hate brims below the tear, and I angrily swipe it away.

The dark room at least protects me from prying eyes. And I glance feverishly around the place. I wasn't sure what to do with myself, I no longer felt a need to watch the games, my eyes dared not stray to the blood red screen, but I already knew that this memory would stay with me. It would follow me to bed that night just as Penelope’s did. I was stuck with it.

A name is a curse.

The dull light of the room filters through thick curtains, stained with age. Flecks of dust float in the air, visible thanks to the faint light that fluttered through the small holes and tears that seemed very consistent in the curtains. I payed no attention to the small amount of light or the way I would flinch like a wounded animal if it dared to graze my skin with its burning touch. My hands lingered on the worn material of the sofa, it was rough, but welcoming. Something that was familiar and would always be there even when others left and would never return.

And it was all so silent, there was no noise, there were no voices.[/blockquote][/justify][/size][/blockquote]

I can barely breathe
and now I'm opened for suggestions
At the end of the day life's a lesson
So why can't he see it form my point of view
And how many seconds in the hours of a day did we lose

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

Vanessa Libertine has spent her whole life waiting for something to happen. The blankets are rough beneath her twitching fingers, but she waits. Her feet ache to touch the ground, but she leaves them dangling a few inches from the wooden floor. Wide eyes struggle to stay fixed on the door, and yet even tiny Nessie manages to stay still enough, just this once. And then the door creaks and Learna appears and sits cross-legged on the rug before her. "The voices say it's your birthday," she announces, and Nessie stops glancing uneasily about long enough to six her sister a pointedly disbelieving look. "You already knew that it's my birthday." Even then, the girl was more than used to being the insane one, the one with irrational beliefs and fiery mane of red hair, the one who's fears were dismissed and biting sarcasm was admired. Now the child without a soul had come and snatched it all away. "You're not the same as me anymore," Learna points out helpfully, her fingers tracing the delicate patter of waves and fleeting tides upon the threadbare rug. A thousand arguments jump to Nessie's sharp tongue, but she bites them back, instead placing her hand beside her sister's on the floor and staring at the two hands together. They match, Nessie and Learna, with the same long fingers - when they hold their palms together, it is as though they are staring into a mirror. Nessie doesn't know that the following autumn will leave her being mistaken for the younger of the two ever-after. All she knows is that Learna Libertine is nothing like her, not at all. "No. I'm not five anymore. I'm six now, and you're still five." Not that she cares. What's nine empty months when you are two children with a world ahead of you? "When will I be six, like you?" Learna persists, pulling her hand away just as her elder sister spits, "Ask your precious voices, they'll tell you." Nessie does not regret the cruel words that leap from her lips and onto the canvas of her sister's smile, destroying it. More than ever, she wants to run, now. Run away from accusing glares and Ursula's touch and Penelope's daydreaming ramblings. But she stays all the same, bored, for the first time in her life, with being alone. She is waiting for something spectacular, on account of her no longer being five and now being six. "You're no better than me, you know." Nessie knows. It isn't that she cares to be better - she simply wishes to be herself. "So, what did you get me?" Learna looks up at her, puzzled, and then stops and closes her eyes in a way that makes it look like she is drifting away into an endless slumber. Nessie knows she isn't sleeping - she is listening."What do you mean?" Learna manages, struggling to remain responsive. "Why do you pretend, Learna?" At this, the sisters stop and simply breathe for a moment, because this is not a question that either of them has ever stumbled upon before. They dislike each other's peculiarities, but they accept them. Nessie Libertine is not, however, one for following the rules of what one does and what one doesn't do. So she asks, and Learna stops. Thinks. Listens to the voices that Nessie cannot hear. Silence. Waiting for something to happen. And then a deep breath and a sideways glance. "Why are you afraid of the cameras, Nessie?" Then the bedroom is gone, and the youngest Libertine sisters are no longer five and six years old, no longer sitting alone in a bedroom. Nessie glances at Learna and pushes a sunset strand of hair behind her ear. "Why are you afraid of them?" Learna repeats and Nessie frowns. Soul snatchers, they are. Hold your entire being as though you are encased in stone and take away all that you were. Steal it from inside your eyes and leave the empty. Nessie wants to say all this, but she doesn't. She fidgets, tugging at strands of hair and shrinking backwards. "You wouldn't understand, Learna," she says, because nobody understands. Not the stupid counsellor, not Penelope, not even herself. It was just something she knew and had always known, a rule, a fact, her life. "Learna - those mornings when you wake up, and you know that it's going to rain, even before you've looked out the window?" Nessie stops, just looks at the girl before her, and smiles. "Well, I kind of like the rain." In this moment, Nessie is not biting or bitter or fiercely sarcastic. She is calm, perfectly still, eleven years old and finally accepting that Learna might not be such a terrible reflection to possess. The mirror holds something far less than tolerable - empty, hollow eyes the colour of the ocean in a storm, surrounded by the kind of fire that is never quite ablaze and limbs that are almost frail. Learna nods solemnly, the two eleven year olds so serious, as though dealing with the kinds of problems they do not have to care for yet. Then, Learna's first reaping, where Nessie does not speak to her for a whole morning, and makes a fleeting remark and Learna replies with a hushed babble of instructions that her elder sister does not care to make out. And then footsteps on the hillside and no care in the world for where the other is, slipping into her room late at night in the hope that Learna is already asleep. I don't like you, Learna Libertine. "I was worried about you," says the girl curled in her blankets in the darkness, eyes wide open in an accusing stare. "Why?" Echoes, accusations, the kind of arguments that are never resolved and carried out in hushed whispers. An unspoken agreement to dislike each other, but sisters all the same. "Because one day, you might not come back." "I'll always come back." Nessie turns away in the darkness so the moonlight does not give her doubtful expression away. She pretends not to care, but the reaping shakes her just like it scares the rest. "I promise," she says, because she does not care for keeping ones word. In her opinion, a promise is no more stable than a lie. They just stop people worrying. (Are you sure you're okay? Yes, I promise.) And then Learna promises too, and although Nessie is not inclined to, she believes her. Believing people is not something that the girl does, but tonight she makes an exception and slips into her bed. Tonight, she does what Learna wants in closing the window over her bed, even though she can't sleep properly without feeling the starlight. And then everything changes again, and Nessie is in her bedroom waiting for something to happen. This time, however, she is all alone. She never did get her sixth birthday present - but she doesn't see why anybody should be awarded for not being five anymore. Just another tick of the clock closer to death. Just another moment closer to Learna, because Learna is going to die. Nessie knew this, in theory, from the moment her name was called at her second reaping, but it is only real in the sense that fairytales are real. They hold some truth, but nobody bothers to believe it. That, or they're too afraid. So she walks through to the shop, wonders vaguely when someone will get around to dusting the shelves for the second time since her birth, and sits down in front of the television. And then her sister dies. Suddenly, Nessie Libertine is not immortal. Her little sister had been reaped, and that meant that she too could easily go the same way. This was not strong, magical Penelope, who died a death that people admired, set apart from ordinary life. This was Learna, her mirror, with the same twisted, irrational flaws and mane of fire, the same matchstick wrists. From this moment, Vanessa Libertine was no longer indestructible. Learna broke her promise, because today her body will be coming home without her in it. No photograph is burned inside a locket to hold her forever, she is simply gone. Ever since she was six years old, Nessie hated her sister for being too much like her. Now, she hates herself for being too much like her sister, far too susceptible to the usual human fates such as death. All her life, Nessie has been waiting for something to happen, and finally, it has. "Why do you prentend, Learna?" Silence. "Because I have to."

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[cass]

It just takes a second for my world to come crumbling down
Oh I'm sure in the distance you can hear that awful sound
Oh I plead for an answer, plead for an answer from you
But if you give me an answer, that just makes no sense then whats the use
And just like that my life is broken

The dull lighting flickered on his arm, throwing delicate patterns across his tanned skin. The light flickered with each swift movement of the curtains from which it came, it danced in a series of steps that the eye could not follow. It was unlike any dance that he had seen, he was more accustomed to the brutal and deadly dances that stalked the land when the swords came out to play. The clashing of metal on metal, the dull ringing thud of a bold hitting wood. The deadly dancing that he loved the dances that he had trained himself in every day. But as those dancers keep you watching and as you peer forwards, eyes intent he felt just the same. Mesmerised by the way that the light changed, leaping and moving swiftly and elegantly across his arms.

His eyes trailed the fine ray, moving to the old tattered curtain that hung, barely clinging to the frame in which it stood. The day underneath was evident, the sun had climbed so high into the sky, the point in which it dangled at its zenith before it began its downwards spiral to fall, leaving the world in darkness. The curtain fluttered gently with the slight breeze that dared to stray into his home that dared to step into Kraken’s room. And yet there was no reaction for the boy that sat slumped on the floor. His eyes did not even take in the flickering box in front of him, instead they stayed glued to the window, away from the prancing figures, that twirled and swirled in that deadly dance that he loved so much.

And now it only made his heart ache, his chest tighten, his head pound and his blood boil. A year ago he had witnessed the same heart aching pain. He had watched the deadly dance as the young people spun and twirled, their weapons -of all sorts, swords, flails, glaives, knives- clashing and hitting, cries of pain and agony filling the air, taunts being called and a body, her body falling to the floor. He could remember the way he had cried, tears falling relentlessly down his cheeks as he gasped in pain, an emotional pain he had never felt before. He had been sitting in the exact same room, the curtains drawn tightly together to the point where not even a tiny ray of light could penetrate into the deep dark depths of his rooms.

Dark shadows lay long and drawn out in the corners of the room, hiding the rubbish and the general untidiness that laced the place(and the air whispered their names, like a tantalising drug, Penelope, learna). The air smell faintly of dirt and damp mould there was nothing clean about this place, there was nothing welcoming you and asking you to stay. You didn’t want to be there, it was not a happy place and it reflected well the mood, and the disasters that had struck the Libertine family. Shadow-like projection protruded from the ground, they reached forth and envelope half of Kraken’s body, covering the scars that layered him with darkness and anchoring him down with their cold touch, stopping him from running and escaping the misery that swallowed him.

And yet he knew that even though his sisters were dead he had wallowed for far too long in a world of darkness. He had allowed the coldness of his emotions to steal his soul and tear it from his body. The silence around him echoed his own isolation, speaking the words which he refused to believe.

[/i][/color] He had become sentimental, he had let his depression seep into his bones and immobilise him. This was not the Kraken Libertine that had sneered once when his sister had broken her leg, this was not the boy that had once taunted and teased his sisters and dared them to fight him and play his sick games. And yet he felt the darkness call his name and beacon him, whispering that he had suffered and that their touch could release him and tell him the things he needed to hear.

They would let him drown in his sorry, his self-pity and pain. And it was oh so tempting. The need to feel that inwards pain, a pain that was so foreign and odd, so different from the physical pain that often stained him. It was not only a need for that misery that made him want to go back and sit like a zombie, but it was that want to conquer it, to beat it and not have it beat him. That idea did not reach him, it was merely a subconscious thought, the memoir of a boy that loved blood lust and the ability to conquer everything, including one’s own emotions.

A dull reluctance seemed to hang over head and it gave way to his shoulders which were hunched, his figure sullen, and the perfect and dejected picture of defeat. There was always wonder in his eyes as he gave himself the swiftest of glances, his gaze taking in the hollow eyes that would stare back at him. They seemed to be void of all life, it surprised him just how much grief at away at the very essence of a person. It bore into their souls until there was nothing more than the skeleton, the person gone, dead to the world. Kraken despised the dull eyes, the sullen looks and the all to saddened gaze. He hated seeing himself this way, and yet he could not gather the strength beneath his feet to pull himself away from it. It was a comfort that he had not had for a while and although it destroyed him it gave him a sense of need. It made the hollow aches become a throb as the grief tore through him and the pain that had once made him cry was no more than a flicker of a dying flame.

Grief did not only destroy a person it stopped them from feeling real emotions.

On shaky legs he stood up, his feet weak beneath him. The pulls of misery clawed at him, trying to tug him down wards, trying to pull him back into his misery and the self-pity that ate at him. The claws snagged his clothes, and grazed his skin, a ruthless pleads for him to come back and sink into the depths of his pain. For a brief hesitant second his eyes flashed with determination and he stepped off and away from the spot he had sat on for two days. His foot weakened on the second step, but he persisted. He was not yet ready to let himself be swallowed once more. It teased him, and his resolve was weakening. His heart was aching; his eyes strayed towards the television where he knew he would see her and the people that had killed her.

He didn’t.

On legs that seemed too weak to carry him he stumbled out of the room.

Fleeing the grief and the agony that called for his return.

"This isn't me."[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

I can barely breathe
and now I'm opened for suggestions
At the end of the day life's a lesson
So why can't he see it from my point of view
And how many seconds in the hours of a day did we lose

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

Nessie Libertine counts her losses on both hands. First, Penelope, because somehow that loss was greater than any other. The photograph that promises it's entirety still sits above her heart, a burned soul trapped inside a golden locket. It doesn't matter to Nessie that all she has left of her older sister is a sprinkling of ashes and a thousand faded memories. She puts down three fingers for Penelope, because she lost her stories and her soul and her life. Learna, however, only counts as one. The television on the shelf shows a third replay of her little sister's death, and Nessie makes no move to turn it off. It hurts to watch, but Nessie doesn't mind. Perhaps the pain is not so sharp as when the Stark girl sent the spear through Penelope's eye, but it certainly holds much of the ache that captures Nessie's throat and stops her from breathing for a moment. Her hand doesn't dare venture to her heart, but she can feel it beating all the same. Slowly, methodically pounding against her ribcage and reminding her that she is alive. For now. Every year since Penelope was stolen, a Libertine sister has been snatched away and met her fate in the clasp of the arena, at the hand of somebody destined to die themselves. Only Ursula and Nessie herself remain of the girls. Ursula, seemingly untouchable, always able to bargain her way out of any danger. Little Vanessa Libertine, the one who hid. With a glance to the clock that hangs on the far wall, Nessie concludes that she may not be able to hide much longer. Looking back on that day with a hope in her heart that Penelope would come home again, little girl Libertine frowns. Naive, skittish and afraid, the didn't begin to assume that that day was the beginning of the endgame. That reaping, her life fell apart. Unlike some of the others, it wasn't that the loss of her siblings has torn her limb from limb, filling her with a pain from which she will never recover. Nessie is quiet in her greif. Sullen and frowning and often thinking of her lost sisters. She does not yearn for them back - the most fearsome thing she has lost is her own immortality. No longer is she invisible. Time after time video cameras have been waved in front of her eyes, and before she can manage to pull herself away the film has started running. Her name is in the reaping bowl four times, and yet the three that Learna held were enough to get her dead. She blinks, worrying as always that death will come and take her prisoner long before the end of time. Not ready. Not yet. The cacophony of voices that little crazy Learna heard creep closer to the edges of Nessie's consciousness. perhaps if she listened hard enough, she would hear them. A memory, faded and worn and perhaps not altogether truthful. A day in the training center. Ten year old Nessie jumpy and completely afraid of the world around her. It's strange, the way the child evolved into something silent and strong and still almost invisible and yet so very brave through the realisation that one day she will die. Desperate to evade this fate. Her elder brother stood beside her, no more protective than the thin fabric she wore. He had asked her to play his Games, and although she was not certain, she wanted to prove to herself that she could. How hard could it be to draw a sword and save yourself from the blade of another? Slight and supple as she was, her brother was sturdy and strong without a hint of mercy of in his glowing eyes. That was something they shared - the inability to pity another. The will to fight at all costs. It wasn't that either of them liked the other - the only person in the expansive house that Nessie would admit to caring about was Penelope. The rest she tolerated, with their clunking cameras and loud voices and stolen souls. So she drew her sword and backed away, and when Kraken swung, she jabbed back. Then all at once the floor wasn't so steady beneath her feet and she turned and fled, scaling the net on the wall with the sword still in her hand. You lost the Game, little girl Libertine. Ten years old, fearless, and yet so very afraid. It was only once she was high on the wall that she stopped and blinked down at her brother. Frowning, she let the sword clatter to the floor and her feet carry her back down to the ground, out the door, across to street, and down to the sea. She could swim, but it wasn't something she ever enjoyed. The ocean offered only her caves, and in them she found quiet and a perpetual sense of alone that was seldom rivalled elsewhere. That was not the first time Nessie Libertine ran away from her life, and it was also not the last. She is sure, though, as she reaches out and sets the volume on the television to silence, that she will never run away again. "This isn't me." Kraken's hollow voice surprises her, and her body jolts violently. The eyes that have been watching her fade as she realises that she is not alone. It seems to Nessie that she is almost never alone these days - even her cave does not offer the privacy she yearns for. She used to spend days away, huddled by a fire, and turn up home to realise that nobody was truly worrying for her. Only Learna, with wide eyes, would ask where she was and make her promise that she would always come home. In the end, it was Learna who didn't make it back to the shop. "It's not you, it's her. Learna. She's dead." The hypocritical words leave room for no regrets. You're never invisible if you're beautiful or dead.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[cass]

It just takes a second for my world to come crumbling down
Oh I'm sure in the distance you can hear that awful sound
Oh I plead for an answer, plead for an answer from you
But if you give me an answer, that just makes no sense then whats the use
And just like that my life is broken

When he looks down at himself, his eyes swiftly moving across his broad chest, strong lean arms and all together solid figure a twinge of disgust prods him in the stomach. Scars littered his skin, markings that came from the years of harsh training he had done; the years of solid labour had rewarded him with many lacerations that had become thin white lines that now stained his skin. And beneath the aged old markings, and strong muscles that rippled across his body was a weariness, a certain tainted sickness that seemed to follow him. The air around him was filled with his own pain and misery, when he breathed he could sense the misery that swamped him, and as he filled his lungs he could feel the despair that washed through them as if breathing took too much energy.

Grief was a horrid thing. Warriors were trained to not feel it when their friends and comrades died, they were taught day in day out to withstand such emotional attacks. Hours upon hours he had studied the art of psychology, the art of the mind and the way people work. It was one of the many things that were drilled into those who trained at the career academy. Pages were covered with techniques, tips and advice on how to keep hold of your emotions and not let them control you. Kraken had read the pages, devouring them in hours. He was a boy that had to control everything, he had to be able to control the boy he was and that included his emotions. He despised having vulnerability and so it was he spent his days working to defeat every aspect of him that kept him human.

Kraken Libertine had to be better than everyone else and to do so he couldn’t show weakness by having compassion for others. He couldn’t have guilt or mercy, the two would end with people back stabbing and he ultimately ended up dead. For so many years he rose to the top of the boys. He was the best and he knew, not only how to control his emotions and keep himself under control, but he also knew how to manipulate others. And he used their weaknesses their inability to keep their emotions out of a fight to his advantage. It is simple to twist words and use them to aid you in a battle. Wit and slyness, as well as power and strength one a fight, there was never simple hit and strike, kill and win. There is a deeper complexity to winning and just fluking it. Kraken was a master.

And suddenly you can lose it all. One lucky swipe can get under a guard; one swipe from an unexperienced person can knock down anyone. People who just hack and hack are dangerous, they are unpredictable and if you don’t play safely they can knock you down and destroy you, no matter how amazing you may be. It was how Kraken felt right now, he felt as though years of gruelling training, years of hardening himself and building a resistance and fighting and hitting and all that blood sweat and tears was for nothing. Because in a few seconds all that hard work had been for nothing. In a few seconds that idiot who knew nothing of fighting, but was as unpredictable as a boat on the point of a wave destroyed everything.

Except it was different. His on stupidity had one out over him. The walls he had so carefully crafted in his mind were shattered with a touch. Years of perfecting them all for nothing, just because of a tiny slip, just because he had misjudged the human nature. When Penelope died the wall stayed, but it begun to crack and the cracks ran deep spreading across; until it was no more then a thin piece that could hold nothing. The day that Learna did was like a tsunami had hit that wall. The wall that could barely hold back a breeze and it smashed his careful weaving and hard work and it drowned it, and destroyed it until he could do nothing.

He drowned in the pain and misery that he had bottled up for so many years. It was like a storm that had been building and building and when it hit it had no mercy. It hit with all the power of the universe, all the strength of his emotions that he had tried to crush. It, to say the least, destroyed him.

Vanessa Libertine spoke. The words, although hypocritical struck Kraken. He stopped, his feet pausing on the ground, but his mind urging him forwards, telling him to run and leave. He had grieved enough; he had grieved for over a year for Penelope. He had wasted a year of his life for her; he would not do the same for Learna. Kraken turned slowly, he had not realised that Nessie was there. He gave her an even look. A sharp comeback springing to his lips and he couldn’t help but grin. Although the grin looked rather distorted and more like a grimace it was a grin none the less. He had not even thought of anything other then his sister for a long time and now he had fiery comebacks ready to say. For a second he hesitated his eyes flickering to the television where for perhaps the hundredth time they replayed Learna Libertine’s death.

Reluctantly he looked away. He had lost so much of himself to grief, just because he no longer could control who he was. His figure, his beautiful handsome, sexy figure had suffered and he resented that. He loved his body, his strong capable limbs and hard lean muscles and he had let himself go. He gave Nessie a glare, his eyes determined, his shoulders pulled back that small touch, but enough to give pride to his stance and strength. He was done. He was tired of grieving, he wanted to live once more, he wanted to feel others cower beneath him because he was the best, because he was better than all of them. Squaring his shoulders he looked once more at Vanessa.

”Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to get of your lazy ass and do something?” He snapped, an old bit of fire biting his words. “I’m going to go and show some idiots who is boss,” he hesitated, his next words lingering on his lips, uncomfortable. “Would you care to join me.” He finally choked out, and even then the words were more of an order then a question.

I can barely breathe
and now I'm opened for suggestions
At the end of the day life's a lesson
So why can't he see it from my point of view
And how many seconds in the hours of a day did we lose

ooc -- [ btw this one is just rambling, but yolo ]

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

When Nessie Libertine was one year old, she waited. Back then, her life was filled with things she can no longer remember - day trips to the beach, hours spent lying beside Penelope on her back. It was then that her father's hands began to stray and her world began to fall apart, not that the baby knew it. That was the year that Learna was born - tiny and rosy-cheeked and the perfect mirror of the newborn Nessie had once been. It was that year that the girl stopped being the baby of the family and became nothing. Second-youngest, far from second-best. Still, she smiled, rolling away from photographs with a subconscious fear perhaps grown from the songs Penelope would sing over her cradle and the hushed warnings the young Ursula would give. This was the year Nessie Libertine began to develop deep crimson curls and a fearful expression, not that her absent mother noticed. When Nessie Libertine was two years old, she waited. Although walking around for months, it was not until the wake of her third birthday that she finally opened her mouth to speak. Doctor said it was those endless siblings that stole her words from her, so she need not bother trying, and that the words would come soon. They did, in the end, but not until after countless days of silence, toddling around the store and beginning her obsession with laying her hands on whatever she pleased. Ursula warned her again that those who steal regretted it. Vanessa Libertine clapped her hands and smiled, not yet fearful but still withdrawn, not yet terrified but already beginning the tale of her own peculiarities. When Nessie Libertine was three years old, she waited. Words began to spill from her lips - few and far between. Penelope had drifted away, and despite sticky fingers pulling at the hem of her skirt, it seemed that her elder sister was rather lost indeed. She got on well with everyone - left to wander far more than a toddler should. This was the year she found her cave. The year that lurks right on the edge of her memory, not quite there but hardly forgotten. She grew more steady on her feet and ran whenever she got the chance. An older sibling instructed to babysit would find their little sister gone as soon as the eye wandered from her. Despite the constant escaping, the tiny child wasn't waiting to get away. She was waiting to grow up and finally be something more than the one lost in the middle. When Nessie Libertine was four years old, she waited. She started school that year. It took a week for the teacher to inquire at home as to why Nessie had not yet spoken. Perhaps she needs a little extra help settling in? she suggested, and yet when Mama Libertine turned to Nessie, the tiny child smiled and pointed out that nobody had let her know she was expected to speak at school. Even there, she was just a shadow. Waiting. It wasn't that she didn't try. An entire month passed before she finally slipped through the classroom door and returned to the safety of her cave. Since then, it's been a constant struggle to keep Nessie anywhere at all. She didn't like the eyes, that's what she said. How they bore into her soul and try to see much more than she wants to show them. When Nessie Libertine was five years old, she waited. They bought her a camera for her birthday, did her parents. Penelope smiled at her, worry in her eyes. Maybe she knew. Perhaps they all knew, Mama and Papa and Kraken and Learna and the rest. The baby began to cry as she loaded the film with shaking fingers. One polaroid of Ursula with little Learna on her knee until somebody suggested that the birthday girl have a picture taken. All at once, the camera was on the ground and little-girl Libertine was gone. It took them two days to find her, and she swore that the camera was trying to steal away her soul. Childish nightmares, perhaps, but Nessie was livid and so afraid. Penelope sung her to sleep again that night, for the first time in far too long. When Nessie Libertine was ten years old, she was still waiting. That year, Kraken took her hand and led her to the training center. This is where you'll learn to fight, they said, but Nessie already knew what she needed to know. Cameras can steal your soul, eyes bore deep into your flesh and take your secrets. Sinners pay. Urusla knows everything. Learna is upset when she doesn't come home, but she does it anyway, because she's tired of Learna being a better Nessie Libertine than she. Penelope is the only one who can sing her to sleep, not that many tried. She put up with it. It was better than school. Hours spent clambering up and down netting and painting pretty patterns on her skin set the itching inside of her at rest, just a little. She didn't yearn to flee the way people do in nightmares, when their feet are stuck to the floor. She was okay, for a while. When Nessie Libertine was fourteen years old, she stopped waiting. It turns out that there is no difference in coming of age. Nothing Penelope gained by approaching her eighteenth birthday and being free that Nessie didn't have. Still the confines of the district snatch a person up, still the cameras blare and the Games play and people pry into her thoughts. Still, she was venerable to knives and spears. School and career training are mandatory. Still, Urusla teases her and Kraken asks her to fight him and Learna cries when she doesn't come home. Only not anymore, because even when you close the door after days in your cave alone, there is only the brother inside. No Learna waiting up. No Learna smiling, no Learna ever again. Nessie Libertine squints at her elder brother in the fading light, trying to work out what he wants and why. ”Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to get of your lazy ass and do something?” She blinked, startled by his sudden accusations. She isn't just sitting there. She's waiting. Waiting for the pain to go away for the little sister who she never even liked. Waiting for the fear to fade of following in the footsteps of dear Penelope. Waiting for something to happen, something to change. “I’m going to go and show some idiots who is boss.” There is a pause, and the girl remembers his hand in hers, taking her to the place with the pretty pains and nice nets, spears and knives and terrible things. She shudders. “Would you care to join me?" At first, Nessie shakes her head. No. No, because what will that fix? Who can ever pay for what Nessie has lost? Then she hesitates, thinking through the morning with a slow and tentative mind. “Alright." And then - “She's not coming back. Nothing we can do will bring her back." Although her words are confident and clear, Nessie Libertine has no idea as to whether she is talking about Learna. Perhaps Penelope. Or maybe she is referring to the little girl on the beach, the baby with the entire world ahead of her. Waiting to grow up is not, in fact, the best way to spend one's life.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[cass]

It just takes a second for my world to come crumbling down
Oh I'm sure in the distance you can hear that awful sound
Oh I plead for an answer, plead for an answer from you
But if you give me an answer, that just makes no sense then whats the use
And just like that my life is broken

When a storm rages and the water smashes against the bow, the ship sails over waves. But waves grab it and tug it backwards to the point where it rides to the top of the wave, but it won’t be enough and the ship is sent back pedalling into the curve of the wave, where the water is like a cleaver and chops everything in half. It is as hard as any metal and it carries the strength of Ripred as it crashes down on everything beneath it. As the ship is destroyed only the echoing wails, screams and cried of those n board can be heard, but even then the roaring wind, and the leaping clouds swallow it up in seconds and it becomes part of the eerie song that is sung. It is part of the swift moving birds that talk, the whales that sing their mournful cries and the dolphins and sharks that hunt, their silence and echo of the dead.

It is said that if you listen for long enough in the dead of the night and at the point where the wind drops you can here them all. For a brief second the wind stops all together, the last wave crashes against the shore and just before it drags out again the voices of the thousands of dead, claimed by the sea cry. They beg for an escape, because if you die in the seas grasp you are stuck there forever, with in its folds drifting, drifting, drifting until you can drift no more. And then you become part of it and you drown every day. But they all know that the time in which their cries are heard is at its quietest because when every one hears them they ignore them, no one wants to save you, and the sea has claimed you.

That was the way kraken Libertine wanted to die.

He never wanted to see himself die any other way. To most the sea warned them to flee, to run and escape, but to those who are truly born of the ocean the sea is a calling. Those like Kraken and his family were meant to die with the sea, feeling its cold waters slowly inch closer to you as death creeps across your vision until you the water fills your lungs; you drown. Kraken libertine had been named after one of the true monsters of the sea. His parents had placed the title of a monster on him and he lived up to the name. It was a sad sight that he had been seen grieving, he was the Kraken, he was a fearsome beats, the prince of the ocean and he had let himself become something less then that. It was not something he was proud of and pondering on the memories only increased his self-disgust.

The stairs flew beneath his feet as he leapt down them, regardless of where his feet fell, he knew they would fall in the right places, he was graceful and coordinated. There was elegance to his every movement, he knew how to stay balanced he knew how to move swiftly and silently and not even a year of destroying himself could destroy it. Years of hard work, hours of gruelling training and hardship had left his body capable and strong, instinct drove him forward and it was that instinct and carefully honed in skill that allowed him to move swiftly from step to step at blinding speed. He did not look back to make sure Nessie was following, if she wanted to come with him, as she said she would, she could run to keep up. The Kraken stopped for no one.

Darkness seemed to fill the house as if light no longer seemed to be remembered. The darkness embraced the corners, filling the entire building as though light had simply been forgotten; it was as if sunlight, candles or the flickering flame of a fire no not of this place. It was dark and the shadows crept across the floor and they stayed there, staining the house with their mark. It was sad to see the dwindling state of a home, a place that had once been strong tall and proud, a family now ripped and hurt by the disaster that had torn through them. He paused at the door turning around to face the hallway. He ignored the ruined state of his home and instead leaned casually against the doorframe, blocking the way out of the house.

And he stood there a cocky grin lifting the corners of his lips, his eyes never straying from the hall way, the place from which Nessie would exit. He was waiting for her, not for the fact that brotherly love begged him to do such, but because when he went outside he would need someone to look on in contempt. He had not prowled the streets for months; he had not stalked young ladies for half a year. He was sure that people would have forgotten his power, no not forgotten. Only the foolish would forget to fear Kraken Libertine. The people would have simply thought that he had gone, gone like so many before him. He had seen others like him disappear, when people ganged up on them and hunted them down, because they were scared of them, but not scared enough. Kraken had installed a different type of fear and he knew that no one would dare kill him in his sleep.

Besides, if he was going to fight, and train again he needed someone to fight against. "Hurry up, Nessie!" He called. Nessie was nothing compared to kraken Libertine, but there was always something to gain for playing with children before getting rid of them. Toying with them as you fought prolonged the fight, but showing how you moved with such casual manner and ease showed them all how comfortable you were with your power. No one challenged a person with casual confidence. Those that showed contempt only did so because they his behind the fear that one day they would be beaten. Those that ended a fight quickly were showing that they had no stamina and that they believed that one false move could have the fight going against them. Kraken was going to use his sister.

Use her the same way the Game maker’s had used Penelope and Learna.

I can barely breathe
and now I'm opened for suggestions
At the end of the day life's a lesson
So why can't he see it from my point of view
And how many seconds in the hours of a day did we lose

ooc -- [ will code this later, wanted to get it up for you <3 ]