count the flaws {python/jamarion}

[✨ zozo.]

We're only young
And naive still
We require certain skills
The mood it changes like the wind
Hard to control when it begins

I will read this book.

Usually there's some underlining motivation as to why people have to sit down and physically read. Maybe they're lazy, maybe they've forgotten to read a book for school and a paper is due on the last decade's worth of Victors the next day. Maybe they've just been putting it off, or can't stand the plot, but have promised somebody they will. I envy them all. Because whilst they sit there, unwilling to use the perfect set of eyes they have been granted to read text like it's second nature (and by 19 years of age, reading is supposed to be second nature, right?) I struggle to read the simplest of equations and sentences. So I've been branded with the word stupid across my forehead and shut out letters and numbers like I slam covers of books down in defeat, giving up in a huff of frustration. But today, I'm going to try again. I won't be beaten.

I can't even remember the last time I read aloud. Fearful embarrassment courses through me, turning my cheeks read and my voice shaky, every time I remember the hurtful sniggering that taunted me all the way through the first few years of school. But I showed them. My whole family looks down on the little houses of District Three from the Victor's Village - not in pity, but in thanks. Thankful for anybody who sponsored our brother to his brutal glory, for the support, for the (general) privacy that didn't come from flashing cameras and glitzy Capitol media workers just dying to get a glimpse at Klaus Goravich and the Quintuplets. Nothing that a good punch in the face wouldn't do, but I've been trying to be nice for Klaus' sake. Ripred knows what would happen if he was ever punished for our acting out. I already had my family ripped apart once by his absence, and we've just managed to piece it back together again - if not for Marina's outbreaks. I can't loose my four puzzle pieces now that the rest of us have slipped from the reaping's grasp.

It's an easy book - for reading ages 10-12. One I found rooting through boxes of stuff from when we were little. (Klaus' one, to be exact, but I'm sure he won't mind.) He never minds. At 11, Klaus was miles ahead of the rest of the class, and so was I - but only because I forced him to do my homework and squeezed answers out of him on tests. Now I find myself drowning in the regret of all those years ago, pretending, lying, just so I could be better than him. At first I thought I needed glasses, but after stealing Klaus', I found that they only made things worse. I've never been good at anything - except for perhaps painting, but even those skills come to a relative stop just below the 'good' level - and I wanted so desperately to be the best. Now, I'd give anything just to be average.

Reluctantly, I settle down in the empty living room with the book in my hands. The great thing about living in a household fit for 7 people is that although you'd never think you'd get space, everybody appreciates privacy. I would never had dreamed that I wouldn't have had to share a room with Marina when I was younger. Crammed in a tiny house, we learnt to fit together. I just wish my brain would do the same. Even with the openness of the garden, the rooms, and the luxury of it all, I'm still cautious as my fingers find the corners of the front cover and my voice breaks into sound, squinting at the letters.

"District Three's..."

[/i] I begin, two of the few words I had managed to flatten out in my mind over the years. "T...Te-...Technology!" I beam, recognising another. "and how it" hangcde decgahn "Ch... Ch-Changed! Over Time."

There. That wasn't so hard.

Content with my efforts, I flipped the pages until I found a few short sentences, confidence rising in my chest. "I can do this," I pep-talked myself, taking a breath. "I can do this. Right. Following the..." (4 seconds.) "uprising of District Thr-" [/i]No. Not Three. Something else. (8 seconds). [/color]"Thirteen, District Three was" (2 seconds) "the main s-sauce? of the Capitol's..." (12 seconds)"in... inda... instra..." [/i]

I never finished the first sentence, for in my dismal attempts to struggle against a current of vowels and consonants, there was Jamarion, listening to every word I wrestled to pronounce with a smirk on his face that could only mean trouble.

[/color]Oh Lyana, you poor child, how long did you think you could keep you secret for, really?
[/justify][/blockquote]

The bittersweet between my teeth
Can't help myself but count the flaws
Claw my way out through these walls
One temporary escape
Feel it start to permeate

{ooc; wow ok idek what this post was but let's just say he was spying on her or something idk SHIT IS GONNA GO DOWN}

[/blockquote][/size]

[Python]

- - - - - -

It was a blessing to wake up during the sunrise of a weekday, knowing that he would never again have to drag his ass out of bed and step foot into a schoolyard to waste his precious time on something as insignificant as education.

Did I ever even learn anything? He couldn’t remember. School was a blur of obnoxious squealing, fighting and sleeping in classrooms while the professors drawled on about the history of the Hunger Games, or some math equation Jamarion would never memorize, let alone use. Reading and writing were the only useful skills he had gained from the years of waste, though there was a limit clear as crystal on the extent of his abilities. He was certainly not the best at reading, or the most skillful at writing. His spelling was pretty terrible, actually, and he’d proven that after attempting to write a “romantic” letter to Sephera (I can’t even spell the word romaintic romantik? romantic). Still, he could at least comprehend words plastered on paper if their meanings were familiar to him - not that he often used his free time to sit back and read a novel or a newspaper. He had better shit to do, anyway.

Stomach growling ferociously at him, he switched off the television in his room (nine dead so far in the Games) and mustered the effort to dress himself and comb his disheveled web of blonde hair. Eating and lounging like a potato would accomplish nothing but wreck the perfect physique he had exercised to achieve over the years, but he had enough time to compensate for all of the food he was about to inhale like a bottomless vacuum cleaner. Sephera was busy with her father, after all, so spending time with her was out of the question today. Hopper was probably out again, doing Ripred knows what and with whom. Klaus he could never manage to find, though ever since his Games had ended their conversations (if you could even call them that) have always ended awkwardly or on uncomfortable terms, so seeking him out was not too favorable. Marina was a complete and utter demon bitch from hell, so he definitely didn’t want to cross paths with her anytime soon, especially since he was feeling relatively serene for once in his life. Tacara he could easily tolerate, but her tears and fear of too many things to count was not something he preferred to deal with often. That left Lyana, who could be doing anything right now, actually, not that he would find the will-power to care until he put some food into his stomach.

He headed down their wooden staircase (Ripred our house is fucking huge) and planted himself on the first floor, listening for signs of activity in case there was something of interest happening. Surprisingly, he did not hear the echoes of voices on television. Instead, there was just a single voice, speaking in awkward stutters and pausing every few seconds as if in a struggle to locate words. When he curiously peered into the living room, he discovered Lyana speaking out loud to nobody in particular, a book propped open in her hands. Her face was contorted in concentration, eyes searching and wrinkled around the edges when she squinted or glared at the pages. She was trying to read the book out loud to herself, and he couldn’t help but notice that she was doing a pretty pathetic job of it. ”Following the…uprising of district Thr-- (pause) Thirteen, District Three was…the main s-sauce? Of the Capitol’s…in..inda..instra,” He snorted. Lyana had always forced Klaus to finish her homework for her when they still attended school, but he hadn’t known she was this horrible at reading. He almost pitied her.

Finally, she spotted him there wearing a smirk of amused mockery as he stared her down and resisted the temptation to chuckle at her. ”The main sauce?” he raised an eyebrow, smirk only widening as he teased her. Had she meant “source?” In that context, that sounded correct, even he knew that. ”I guess that’s what you get for making Klaus do all of your homework for you,” And even on a good day, Jamarion would never cease to be a complete asshole.[/justify][/blockquote]