breathe easy for a while || lei : blitz

[Raseri]

The hinges of Stirling's easel creaked in complaint as she unfolded it, the sound constrasting boldly with the subliminal hum of the ocean and the seagulls' cries that always filled the air at the beach. After she'd finished setting her canvas on it and picking out colors for her palette, she stretched her arms out to her sides and stood on her tip-toes, trying to loosen up her muscles. Thankfully there weren't many people on the beach at this hour of the evening--she looked like a monkey when she stretched like this. Even though she was a Career, and strong for her size, carrying her paint supplies on the walk from her house to the beach always left her arms feeling tight and tired. It was probably because of how awkward and uneven the wooden easel's weight was, or maybe it was because she always insisted on lugging her whole set of acrylics down with her too. Either way, she was glad the walk was over.

Dipping her brush in the red paint, Stirling began painting the sunset, just like she'd done nearly every other day for years. Her canvas was no longer just a blank slate, a plain white background perched on an easel--it was tranforming into a fiery tumult of volcanic reds and bright oranges, deep purples and cheery yellows. However, just like all the other times she'd painted this landscape, Stirling felt like something was missing. It could have just been her being nitpicky as always, but she never felt like she was truly capturing the essence of it--the painting was bright, pretty, but lifeless all the same. Of course, perfectly capturing something like this would be an enourmous achievement even for a better artist, in her opinion. Stirling doubted that any sunset in Panem could even come close enough to rival the beauty of this one.

Despite her disappointment with her artwork, she continued. Her brush danced rapidly across the page, painting the sun, the water, the short blonde hair... Wait, what? Stirling didn't have to look up from her painting long to notice the boy standing directly in front of her, blocking her view of the receding sun. Obviously a Career--people didn't get that muscular just from fishing. He was probably another all-brawn-no-brains guy, just like half of the boys she trained with--anyone with an ounce of good sense would've noticed the obvious girl with an easel standing on the beach, because honestly, how many of those did you see on a regular basis here? Stirling tried not to sound too annoyed at him, but it was clear in her tone anyways. "Um, excuse me? I'm painting here, and you're right in the way."

tags: blitz, lei
notes/other: no need to rush with replies or anything,
whenever you have time is just dandy :)
also, most of my replies to this thread
won't be this long,
I just felt like writing a longer post.


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[Raseri]

I'm just posting so everyone knows not to move this thread to the post museum or anything. Lei is grounded from the internet for six weeks, but this thread will be up and running as soon as she gets back. Thanks.

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[Lei]

One of these days the ground will drop out from beneath your feet
One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat
One of these days the clocks will stop and time won't mean a thing
One of these days their bombs will drop and silence everything

I am not a proud person. I don't gloat about how attractive I am or my incredible strength or sharp wit (of which I don't even have anyway). I'm not arrogant, I don't strive for the spotlight or stand myself up above everyone else, staring down my nose at those beneath me. I am reclusive, quiet. I much prefer the shadows, as far away from the public eye as I can put myself without completely fading from existence, more comfortable with mystery than majesty. I know I'm a great career and a worthy opponent in the training center, but I certainly don't glorify myself for it- arrogance isn't exactly in my quota. However, when someone - a girl, of all people, a whole head shorter than your six feet, three inches - completely and utterly beats you down and humiliates you in front of every one of your peers (people you've beat down yourself, people who would love the chance to see you fall and relish in it.), you can't help it when your sense of dignity crashes and burns.

My toes sink into the sand as I walk, the brilliant red-gold rays of the sun sparkling off the tiny grains and turning the beach into a crimson canvas of reds and yellows in its dying light. It's a beautiful day, despite the frigid chill of winter that has been creeping down into our little summer wonderland here in District Four. But I'm not here to marvel at the weather, trudging along with my head bent forward and the seafoam iciness of my eyes fixed on the ground at my feet, breath huffing from between my chapped lips in a puff of steamed air - a walk of shame. I've had my fair share of losses in my life, but never at the hands of a five foot seven blonde chick who looked like she belonged in a salon, not a training center. It was a low blow (literally - I have bruises where no man should ever have bruises.), and what little pride I have has all but been snuffed out in a pitiful puff of smoke. Poof.

What had happened? How could she have taken me down so easily, like it was the easiest thing in the world? It had been almost effortless - like batting away a pesky fly - the damn smirk never even leaving her face, that familiar fear I so often see creeping into the eyes of those around me when my temper begins to boil never gracing her features - not even a flicker of it. I don't consider myself a bully, as I've never harmed anyone unless they've provoked me first, but I am a force to be reckoned with. At least, I thought I was. I didn't even get in a single punch.

I must've been so lost in my thoughts, as I didn't even notice that I'd stopped walking. Nor did I notice the girl not ten feet away, standing directly off to my left with a red-tipped paintbrush poised above an easel, until she opens her mouth. She politely tells me I'm in her way, and I really am, but for some reason her words piss me off. Maybe it's the crappy day I've been having, or maybe I'm just an ass, or maybe it's because the last girl who told me to move punched me in the nuts, but in that moment I decide that being a stubborn jerk is the best way to respond.

So instead of being a gentleman and apologizing before continuing on my way, I narrow my eyes and growl, "Then move."

One of these days
I bet your heart will be broken
I bet your pride will be stolen
I bet I bet I bet I bet

[ooc: i don't know why, but my intro posts always seem to be longer than necessary. Oh well, we're even now. x3]

[Raseri]

"Then move."

The boy's snarled words and narrowed eyes caught Stirling off guard. His reaction didn't intimidate her or frighten her--no, she just hadn't expected him to respond like that. For a moment, she wasn't totally sure she'd heard him right. All she'd done was politely ask him to move out of the way. What kind of decent person would respond with a growled, rude retort like that one? Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, she thought, biting her lip.

Stirling didn't want to be nasty, but something about the arrogant defiance in the boy's narrowed gaze had flipped the "on" switch on her defensive side. She stepped slowly towards him, gripping her paintbrush tightly in her left fist, her right hand on her hip. "I'm sorry," she said sharply, "Maybe you didn't hear me correctly. I was here first, and I asked you to move." She narrowed her eyes at him slightly, wondering if this jerk was going to cross the line ever further.

tags:
notes/other: I've got a play going on each weeknight this week, so replies will be less frequent.


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[Lei]

One of these days the ground will drop out from beneath your feet
One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat
One of these days the clocks will stop and time won't mean a thing
One of these days their bombs will drop and silence everything

"I'm sorry. Maybe you didn't hear me correctly. I was here first, and I asked you to move." Part of me admires the girl for her boldness, but another part is still boiling with anger and humiliation over my recent defeat at the hands of a girl who had been just as ballsy, a fresh wound that only continues to fester. But this girl is different, from what I can see of her in the fading sunlight. While the other was all ice and steel, cold blue eyes like twin glaciers and a face of angles that screamed don't fuck with me, this girl seems all warmth and flame, with thick, messy-brown curls and molten dark eyes where the other girl had white-blonde wisps and orbs of frosted glass. Even pissed off, she somehow manages to be somewhat polite. I would have punched a bastard like me by now.

But that fire inside of me is only burning hotter and hotter by the minute, roiling beneath my skin and muddling my anger-addled thoughts into something that whispers violence through my ears, urging me to show this girl that she can't get away with telling me what to do. My fists clench at my sides, glass-bottle blue eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Even though she's done nothing wrong, and even though I know somewhere deep down that I'm being childish and cruel, I can't seem to stop myself from growling, "I heard you fine. And I'm staying right where I am, bitch."

One of these days
I bet your heart will be broken
I bet your pride will be stolen
I bet I bet I bet I bet

[Raseri]

There he goes, thought Stirling, as the line was crossed. And no, he hadn't just barely passed it, he hadn't tested the boundary first, sliding a toe slowly past it to see if she'd bite or not. No, he'd hoisted up a foot and leaped over it without consideration of consequences or retaliations. And if the brown-haired girl did snap back, what then? Stirling would bet her bottom dollar that he didn't care. She'd lived in District Four all her life; she knew his type. She could tell by the look in his narrowed eyes, glassy blue spheres that glinted fiercely from the fire within them, that he was just like the others. Young, arrogant, prideful, quick to strike. He probably thought he was invincible, even.

Her attempt at civility had failed; her temper was breaking free from where it had been so carefully locked inside its cage. There were few words that could irk her, but somehow he'd managed to hit a bad nerve with that one. She'd asked him politely to move, and yet she was a "bitch"? Well, she could think of a million colorful words to call him. Stirling approached him further, suppressing the urge to slap the glare off his face. Though her fists were clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms, her face was calm as still water. Or so she hoped.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she retorted sardonically. "I wasn't sure you heard me. Must have been that blank, moronic expression on your face. Huh." She finished with mock thoughfulness, her brown eyes holding onto his narrowed gaze. Eye contact was important, her mother had always said. It let people know you weren't afraid of them. He might have been a few inches taller--she had to crane her neck slightly to see his face--but that didn't phase her. Stirling stood her ground. "Anyways, by all means continue whatever it was you were doing. It definitely looked important," she told him with a slight smile. The chilly seawater crashed against her ankles as she watched the blonde-haired boy, wondering what oh-so-clever reply he would come up with next.

tags:
notes/other: sorry this is so sucky omg she talks like shes from the 1800s wth and late, I hope I didn't kill your muse xD


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others' speech
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