Burning [Chaos and Stare]

[sbeeg]

Clayburn, Cassius

There were many courses that a Peacekeeper had to take before he was allowed to do many thing like firing a gun, or "dealing with criminals." However, Cassius Clayburn often skipped his Interrogation classes. They were boring and he had already developed a reputation for being cruel. That's why he was there, in that room with the those scared little children burning and crying. Because Cassius was the best there was.

His eyes were trained on the flesh that the metal rod was turning into a useless lump of charred gunk. He didn't need to pay any attention to his hostages they were too busy being scarred for life to do anything about their situation. Blood seeped down the girl's side, and skin covered the tip of the pole. It wasn't as hot as it was before, but it was still scalding to human skin. He could feel it under his hands, under the hands of the scared little girl. God, she really was pathetic. At least some of the other kids he had tortured had a little more guts.

When the whispering reached his ears, Cassius started to snap at them to shut their faces but before he could a pain filled his fingers, crawling up his arm and filling his mind. His hands flew away from the girl and she stepped out of his grasp. The bitch bit him! Growling he shook some of the blood from his knuckles about to smack out what little life Flight had left in her but the gutless one spoke up.

Why don't you stop? Anything he desired? God, this one just did not get it, did she?

"Anything I want?" he scoffed at her. Still angry for the deep teeth marks in his hand that seared with pain, he reached his hand back and slapped the chained girl across the face. Looking back at the other one, his eyes flickered up and down her frame. "I don't think you'd want to give what I desire."

[sadniss everdeen]

| I live to let you shine |

[/size][/color]

hush, child
the darkness will rise from the deep
and carry you down into sleep[/size][/font]

He says something but I don't catch it through the haze of pain. I had thought it a good plan at the time, but as the backs of his knuckles dig down into my face and rattle my brain around in my skull, a deep throb starts up and slows my thoughts. Blood drips from my parted lips as I blink lazily, stumbling into a standing position with the aid of the chains. Pain was always my strong suite - struggle through it, there is a horizon - but this, this unending tunnel makes me swallow a whimper as the brand jostles, cracking my flesh that has curled around the metal. It is, in some grotesque fashion, oddly alluring; how it fades from black to red to sand, splitting and spreading over my body like a plague. I've been scarred before but those clean cuts have nothing on the copious, blistering wounds that have made their homes in my bones. Everything burns to a composed heartbeat made all of different times, from light and fast (legs, fingers, sides) to slow and searing (chest, hands, neck) that erases all I've come to be.

Rusty vocal chords come to life as I clue in on the off-end of his sentence, his eyes raking down her form (one that I have admittedly watched before when her back was turned, young fingers aching for the things I could never have) with unmistakable greed. I grimace and bare my blood-soaked teeth, thick strings of both our essence mixed with saliva running down the corners of my mouth and seeping into my wounds. It splatters into patterns on the floor. "You... obviously h-have no morals," I say, spitting out the concoction that won't stop staining my tongue. Perhaps it would be worrisome, but I have more pressing issues at hand, "but even I thought you'd have more d-decency than that, going for the girl who's only done what you asked so far." My grin has no humor, only sarcasm and an overriding amount of hate. "Then again, I always knew the squad was full of pretentious pigs."

It's come to a standstill. Luna is close but not close enough and my foot snakes out to wrap around her calf, nudging her closer to me with my heel resting on her thin muscle. I'm suddenly struck with how small she's become over the months. (We won't last out in the wild. Not anymore.)

A clang draws my attention. Tired eyes flicker to the door where a man stands, uniform somehow brighter and untouched by the grime and decay in this room. There is a special badge pinned proudly to his lapel and it catches the reflection of the flames. I am filthy, covered in blood and sweat and ash, but he simply runs his eyes impassively over my form, lingering over the brand still buried into my chest, before jumping to Luna. He does the same inspection and nods his head once to himself, humming deep and clasping his hands behind his back. Curiously, I note how the other Keepers stand up straighter in his presence.

His eyes are drawn to the clock. (I've forgotten one was here. Kept so long with the burning and the screaming and the pain, time has little meaning in my head.) The man leans over to whisper something to the male and he nods in turn, spinning sharply on his heel to the stare of the older, more impressive man in the doorway. A knife spins lazily from his finger. I spit out another mouthful of red and wonder if this is the last time I'll be able to hear my own voice. When he sidles behind me and winds his hand in my hair, my neck snaps back with such force that my vision greys out for a terrifying second. I search the ceiling frantically for any type of marker but only come up with the vaguest of shapes. "The f-fuck are you--" A knife presses hard against the taut strings of my scalp.

I panic.

"Stop fucking touching--" My foot lashes out and meets his knee with a cry of pain from us both. "my head! Get off, get off!" I'm not saying words now, simply garbled jumble as I thrash and fight the inevitable. The other steadies me as my neck is yanked almost to the breaking point. A sawing, sliding noise. "N-no!--"

My head snaps forward. Around me, chunks of hair flutters to the floor. I blink dazedly, rotating my aching neck from side to side as the comforting weight against my shoulderblades vanishes to irritate the skin of my neck. I have forgotten the brand in my skin, the wounds on my flesh, even Luna and the peacekeepers. Humiliation courses through my veins and causes my cheeks to flame as my jaw grits and I fight back the irrational onslaught of tears. Years worth of care and pride and femininity to claw back against stereotypes lie in pools around me, smoke-black against the white of the room. It feels like I'm losing something more than I had ever dreaded - more than the pains he could inflict upon my body. All throughout, the badged one watches.

I slowly raise my eyes to meet Luna's. The subsequent numbness that had invaded my body is gone, replaced to a palpable ache that snakes sticky tendrils into my eyes. Grey begins to claw at the edges of my sight, body shaking from its effort to stay upright. I falter. "I-I'm so sorry--" A stumble towards her and my knees buckle slightly, shackles jerking to keep me higher than I wish to be. The buzzing in my ears grows louder along with the returning agony and the clouds in my gaze.

I need to fight for her. She can't be alone with him-- she can't-- I won't let it. Luna can't be here. She's not supposed to. I try and get up but my legs refuse to support me. With trembling arms I use my biceps to force myself up to his level, swinging close to his face and letting the copper tang from my breath wash over his sallow skin. "Fuck you." My body may be broken but the insides are still intact despite how hard he's tried to rend me from my flesh. Burns can only go bone deep and my resolve is even further than that, nestled confidently in my heart beside where Luna has made a permanent home. I will heal. He will never take that from me.

Exhaustion has taken its toll. I shudder once and buckle, knees failing and slamming to the ground. In one last attempt to be strong, I glance up at her; arms strung and wounds weeping - I smile. It's going to be okay.

There is a blow to the back of my head and everything is dipped in blessed darkness.

[/blockquote]

[Stare]

Luna Whitestone
After the fire the flames still burn,
The heart may grow older
but it never will learn.
<><><><><><><><><><>

"I'd like to be your friend."

It's a voice that echoes quietly out of my past, the sound velvety and smooth in this sick, twisted nightmare. I'd know her voice anywhere. As the blow lands on the back of her skull and she falls to her knees in a pile of sheared onyx tresses, golden disks rolling back in their sockets before her eyelids finally flutter closed, the words float into the voids of my mind, wrapping around me tightly and pulling me away from the abyss despair has led me closer and closer to in these final moments of agony. Though I know my reaction should be greater, I can see by limp limbs and relaxed features that she is finally free, and a moment can be spared to investigate the source of a sentence spoken long ago. My eyebrows draw together slightly, and I try tasting the words on my lips. "I'd like to be your friend." And then time is thrown back in total disregard as I remember.

She spoke those words a very long time ago (could it only be a year? It feels like a century since that time of simple elegance and sweet summer breezes). I refused at first - I hurt people, I don't want to hurt you - but she forced her way into my heart anyway, not accepting no as an answer. And after a while, she was welcomed there.

It was back when we were all just children, tired and weary things that had been tossed around by life too many times to count, but still soldiering on because we would forever remain of a stubborn mindset. Back when life wasn't easy but at least we were alive and free of the tortured sorrow that rests heavily on our souls today. I remember a flash of glinting gold (his wedding ring, my necklace, her eyes), and then a feeling of friendship. I remember something like happiness. It was light and cold and slippery, easily gliding through my grasp but always brought back to me by her sarcastic comments or his young eagerness. Ripred, what would I give to have those days back? For the rebel base to rebuild itself from the ashes, for Jasik to walk among the living once more, for Flight to have her heart in tact? What happened to it all?

They took it from us.

They took it from us in the form of burning flames, cinders shimmering as they rose into a midnight sky. They took it from us in the form of sorrow, inescapable and inexcusable as I desperately tried to stumble through that time when I was without a home or a family. They took it from us in the form of a glowing brand, bright in darkness and red against white, everything worth fearing captured within the simple Capitol design. Ripred, they took everything from her, didn't they? The only home she had, the ones she loved, her freedom, all stolen away without a second thought. And now they walk away, hands clean underneath sterile white gloves.

And that is when it all registers in my mind - her wounds screaming red against bronze flesh, midnight locks lying in a dark ring around her, satisfaction riding bright and bold on their faces. They don't understand that she's not theirs to break. Her body may dangle in its disrepair now, but her soul is stronger than them, stronger than me, stronger than anything this world could throw at her. As strong as the sun. The flames still spit and crackle inside of her, and it is all I can do for a moment to stand in awe of that simple radiance that is her. And then my eyes travel to her burns. They cannot break her, but they have hurt her. They have scarred her. I imagine her pain, and a spark lights inside of me. Agony, muscles stretching and expanding in an attempt to rid themselves of the fire. My eyes travel down to the strands on the ground, and the last of my memories slip away, leaving only a burning rage.

"You," I hiss, spinning around to face the source of her torture, of her unjust anguish. "You disgusting, repulsive, despicable..." And then there are no more words to describe my absolute loathing. There is only fire, flickering inside of her tired form, flashing in the hearth nearby, burning through my veins as liquid hate, and I lash out, striking him on the side of the face with all my strength (admittedly, it's not a lot - not enough to bruise or bleed, and certainly not enough to demonstrate my absolute rage). The crack of skin on skin snaps through the air like a gunshot, and my bruised fingers tingle at the impact, pinpricks of pain running up and down my palm. And there are no consequences this time. Not for her, anyway. She is too far lost to them, to all of us. They can't hurt her anymore. And in the white room stained black and scarlet, with her unconscious form behind me and his swelling face in front of me, I recognize finally the grain of truth behind my mother's stories and smiles. We can fight through this. He can do what he wants with me now.

There's a happily ever after waiting for her yet.


((OOC: Just to make sure everyone knows, this is our last round of posting, so GB's post will be the last in the thread. ^^ ))

[/justify][/blockquote]

[sbeeg]

Clayburn, Cassius

The Peacekeeper had to admit, she did put up a hell of a fight. There is something a little sad about watching a feisty prisoner finally breaking. Sure, it took a blow over the head to take her down, but still. Flight's broken body, hanging limply from the chains attached to the ceiling, looking more like a corpse. With her hair hacked away one could barely recognize her, that and all the burns covering her skin. For a split second Cassius regretted using fire on her, she had just lovely skin before. Then the other one spoke up- the small one. All the words she slung at him had been said before.

Disgusting, repulsive, despicable.

"Cassius that is disgusting!"
The girl slapped him, striking him on the cheek with enough force to turn his head and redden the skin but not to hurt. Sure the action was provoked, and yes he was very deserving of it but little slips of girls do not slap men like Cassius Clayburn. It isn't done. Street rats do not insult Peacekeepers. Criminals do not punish officers. Clayburn ran his fingers over the mark on his cheek, turning to look at the girl. She was all defiant now, standing her ground. He couldn't help but smirk at her. Oh how funny it is when the weak ones think they're strong.

"Oh God, what- that's repulsive! What the hell are you doing, Cassius?"
He took a single step forward, his black boots clicking against the floor. Lowering his eyes to hers, he shot his hand out, taking her slim throat into one hand with ease. Pinning her to the wall behind her, Cassius' fingers automatically pressed together.
"You think you're the first kid to call me names?" he whispered sharply into her ear. "You're like everyone else. Stupid."
That's when the supervisor's voice cut through the air of the room like a knife, freezing the next words in Cassius' throat before he could spit them at his target.

"Clayburn! This is despicable even for you. Let her go." For a moment he wasn't going to listen to him. He'd be thrown into a cell, black listed- even avoxed for not listening to orders. The girl's lips were turning a light shade of blue, and his fingers were still pressed to her throat. He stared at her long and hard before finally releasing his grip, merely laying his hand on the girl's neck now. She took in a gulp of air, he could feel her chest rising and lowering under his hand.

It was over. His fun had come to an end all to quickly. The officer in the doorway ordered for him to follow, then the sounds of footsteps down the hallway. Clayburn would probably never see this girl again, so he wanted her last memory of him to be strong and very, very clear.

Cassius' fingers slid gently up her neck again, caressing it, running his thumb over her jaw. He leaned in, planting a single kiss in the middle of her forehead like a parent tucking their child in to bed, right before he yanked at down by the throat, throwing her tot he floor and not even waiting to see how she landed. His boots clicked on the bloody floor as he crossed the room and slammed the door behind him heading towards the officer's quarters to change out of his smokey, bloodied white uniform.

[Deleted]