Twisted sisterhood // [Opal]

[Python]

There was little change of scenery during the transition from immediate danger to temporary safety. The air was still thick with rising steam and the acrid scent of carbon, the ground was still littered in black puddles of tar and there was still no sign of healthy plant life or fresh water. It was a wasteland meant to be a distraction, but Locust applauded the Gamemakers for this addition to the green arena. Tar was useful as much as it was a filthy nuisance - it was the medium through which one could wield a destructive flame, and though she disliked the element for its unpredictable behavior there was no denying its power in the Games. Add flames to her silver and it would be capable of simultaneously drawing blood for the sake of death and searing flesh for the sake of pain, and she would undoubtedly relish in possessing such power. Despite the eyesore and the gargantuan mutts residing by the edges the tar pit was something she would appreciate for its resources.

After escaping the last of the pesky mutts they had walked until they decided to settle near the bottom of the slope to asses injuries. Drace had sustained the worst of them all after his foolish decision to face off the charging beast as if a human could withstand the impact. She recalled his body being brutally speared and tossed into the air like a rag doll, and Xanthus reacting to the incident with teeth bared and eyes flashing. It was a temptation for unwanted disorder and unnecessary wounds, but fortunately he had been convinced otherwise and joined them in their sprints before the mutt could even hope to match their pace. Now she watched as Xanthus assisted Drace in limping to a secluded area and lowering him to the ground, away from any hazards such as slippery ribbons of tar seeping through cracks in the earth’s surface. Meanwhile, Opal was by her side with a bandage wrapped around her bicep to shelter her minor injury. Locust had received an almost identical incision on her arm where the mutt’s tusk had grazed the surface, and she too had cleaned it, treated it and protected it with bandages. She also tended to her wound from the morning before, checking for fresh blood or signs of infection. Fortunately, there was none. There was only the strange muffling of sounds entering her right side. It was irritating, but she was slowly adjusting.

”Damn you, Pyrite.”

She heard Opal curse and noticed her glowering at her blade, peculiarly named after “Pyrite” who - if she remembered correctly - was her sister. A sister she had boasted about during her interview. Judging by the slight contortion of Opal’s features she had accidentally prodded herself with the sword’s edge when trying to tuck it away, and now she was glaring at it, spitting acid at a blade she had named in her sister’s honor - or was it something else, a hidden cause that was meant for ridicule? Locust could imagine herself copying such an act rather differently to “honor” Priscilla on national television, but there was something inconsistent about Opal’s behavior when mentioning her sister’s name. It wasn’t surprising; career families contained the worst of sibling rivalries in many cases. There could be a small kink in their relationship, something that would drive her into this mild display of annoyance. There was a plethora of possibilities, and Locust knew a few things about sibling tension. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

”Why did you name your sword ‘Pyrite’?” she suddenly inquired, to fracture the silence between them while Drace and Xanthus sat huddled together to treat the new addition to the blonde’s collection of scars. ”As I recall, you mentioned good things about her during your interview.” She sat against the slope of the pit and leaned back, eyes flickering to her ally for a moment when the echo of a canon blast interrupted her thoughts. It was the sound of day two’s first death, and hopefully not the last. For only a second did she steal a glance at her walkie talkie, letting her mind touch the pessimistic yet plausible reasons behind her lack of response before she pushed the subject away and looked back to Opal in search of easier answers.

[cass]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 050505; border: 000000 solid 2px; width: 450px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 25px 25px 0px 0px;] opal shore. It was odd. Opal felt strangely annoyed that she had not yet killed anything. Locust, Dace and Xanthus had all taken a life, granted, Xanthus had killed a mutt, but it was still a life nonetheless. And it annoyed Opal that she had not yet done the same, she felt like the odd one out, the only one that had not yet spilled the blood in the form of death. He shouldn’t have. And it was taking most of her willpower to revert from the idea that she had to do it. Taking a life, whether it is a mutt, another tribute or a friend was not something that should be taken lightly. It was a sin, and you were punished for killing. Maybe that was why Locust had been hopeless in that last fight, maybe the thought of death was weighing on her mind. Maybe that was why Drace was being hurt and hurt, his wounds the worst and most severe of them all. Was it because he had killed? Was it because he had taken a life he had had no right to take? Was that why Xanthus was being hurt and why when she had looked at him, he looked at Drace with a different kind of pain then before? Opal did not know, but she was more than sure that taking a life, even if it meant protecting your own would do more damage to your soul then anyone could ever imagine. Hell, she was completely puzzled as to why Locust had not spoken about who she had killed, or why the district two girl had not even made a sound. Maybe it was just eating away at her and it would continue to do so until she died. Maybe it would be the death of her. Who knew? Nobody did. Raising her eyes upwards she glanced at Locust. She watched as the charming tribute from district two moved. Everything she did was with an unnatural ability to remain silent. It was spooky sometimes, and at other times Opal just liked to listen, eyes closed, stretching her hearing capabilities to the limit to see if she could just hear her. Xanthus held the same uncanny ability as Locust. Even Drace was silent when he moved, but that was because he had spent years on the streets stealing. The only ability Opal had to remain silent was when she sat and did nothing, pretending to imitate her plants. She could do that for hours, allowing her body to blend to the movement of the lives around her until she did what they did as though it were second nature. When she was focused or moving she was rather clumsy, hell she had already fallen three times since she had entered the arena. Even though she had great skill in gymnastics and dance she was a klutz. However, when she danced or flipped or spun her body seemed to focus on all the elegance she contained and it would play out only then. But when she was just running or walking she could trip over thin air. Her movements were never loud, though. She was naturally light on her feet and she had gained a few more tips and skills during the training she had had as a career. Once more she found her dark brown eyes finding their way to the thin figure of Locust Lovelace. Opal’s sword, the Dao lay on her lap, she was in the middle of cleaning the razor sharp blade, but as always the sight of Locust had her distracted. Frowning slightly she forced her eyes onto the blade in her lap, where she was using a bit of her shirt that she had ripped off to clean the blade. The blood had dried and was coming off in brown flakes. Her left hand moved over the top, wiping sideways to catch the bits right at the tip, whilst her right hand grasped the hilt. Her left arm stung slightly from the wound the combustiphant had made, but it was clean and she had wrapped a small length of the bandage around it. It had barely bled, so that had been reassuring. After a few seconds Opal’s gaze began to wonder and eventually she found herself looking at Locust, again. Her stomach clenched as she eyed Locust, eyes roaming over the girl with an odd need. Opal had been desperately trying to ignore the fact that every time she glanced at Locust she felt her stomach flutter, or that every time they were in a fight and after a fight the first person she checked on was Locust. Opal Shore liked Locust Lovelace. But it was more than the friendship kind of like, it was the like like kind of like. And she hated herself for feeling that way. But she could not help it. Locust was charming, tall, strong and very much capable. She was powerful, attractive and smart. She was everything Opal liked in a person. Now, Opal had never before liked a girl in that way, and in all honesty she had only ever liked a boy in that way once before. She preferred her plants over people. But in this case Locust was much better to look at then the plants and every time she looked away Opal found her eyes almost absently wondering back to her. Locust shifted position and Opal, startled by the sudden movement jumped slightly, the sword slipped in her grasp and within seconds she was scowling, her dark eyes frowning angrily at the sword in her hands. Cursing under her breath she lifted up her bleeding hand, a cut crossing from her thumb to the other side of her palm. ”Damn you, Pyrite.” She snapped, roughly shoving the sword off of her lap and away from her body. Glaring at the sword she wiped the blood off of her hand, pressing the new wound into her other hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. ”Why did you name your sword ‘Pyrite’?” Opal’s attention was snatched from the blood and focused onto Locust, her eyes meeting the other girls. She pursed her lips, unsure of how to respond. Opal was guarded and normally any mention of her family sent her running the other way. Besides Pyrite was hardly a subject she wanted to talk about. "I named her after my sister.” She replied, acutely aware that Locust would probably already know that, snorting she said, ”But not for the good reasons, you would think.” Opal once more found herself unable to look at Locust, the mention of her dysfunctional fmaily darkening her mood. ”As I recall, you mentioned good things about her during your interview.” She laughed at that, her smile more tight then she had intended. Shrugging slightly she leaned back a bit, head tipping back to stare momentarily at the sky. ”That was me just being cruel. I could imagine Pyrite sitting at home screaming her head off. Yelling at the tv and maybe even throwing a few things.” Looking back at Locust her expression darkened, ”Pyrite Shore is hardly an angel, she is the worst kind of person.” I'm waking up to ash and dust I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust I'm breathing in the chemicals I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

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[Python]

Opal’s laughter felt genuine, but her smile was laced with bitter contempt. Locust knew then that she had touched upon a sensitive subject, perhaps one similar to her own or worse. Her response implied a case of a temperamental and discontented sibling, as if Pyrite were a demon who writhed at the idea of being addressed as an angel during her sister’s interview. She could ask a hundred questions regarding the what’s and the why’s to delve into the Shore family history and discover the source of this tension between siblings, but in her own experience as a career she had learned that jealousy was the most infamous and most common cause of violent clashes. Could Pyrite be jealous of sister’s opportunity to fight in the Games? It was a probable scenario, and one quite unlike her own. Priscilla’s startled expression during the Reaping had warned her that there was no envy shared between them. It had puzzled her to say the least, because what she had expected was a scoff or a slap on the shoulder accompanied by a cheery “Good luck,” with a faintly concealed trace of condescension. Instead what she had seen was an apologetic mask mixed with affection and pity. She hadn’t known whether to feel grateful or disgusted by this unusual display.

Now she knew it was the latter.You spent years chasing me into the shadows, and now you expect me to accept your silent apologies? She refused to acknowledge kindness from anyone who chose only to value her life when it was endangered. After years of playful mocking, forced dominance and the constant assertive griping (”Know your place, Locust.”) a sudden shift in behavior would not coax Locust into forgiveness. It was far too late for that now, and she would make this known the moment she returned to her district adorned with her golden crown. Victory was days away, but she could taste the sweet flavor of glory mixed with the salty sea breeze in district four. She could already imagine herself drinking every last drop of her sister’s guilt until she was a shriveled raisin of misery and regret. Then, Locust would cast her into the darkness just as she had been years ago. The career friends who had always amplified the taunts would suffer a similar fate, and there would be none who would not bask in the shadow of her throne.

The story of Opal Shore would end on different, more unfortunate terms, but at the moment she was concerned with its beginning. She was eager to unveil the secrets behind the name Pyrite Shore. From what she had understood in the past, the Shore family was a rather large one. Emerald had been the first of kin to enter and fall in the Games, and by the hands of a district twelve tribute of all things. But Opal’s tale was untold and mysterious, and although her curiosity had its limits the existence of a bad sibling was a subject she could not steer away from, especially if Priscilla was watching her right now. Perhaps there would be notable parallels between their two lives - or maybe their families would contrast on every level. If she wanted the details of this devilish sister she would have to press for more information, even if prying was unwanted and obnoxious behavior. What more was there to discuss, anyway? The battle she did not want to remember? The bloodbath where she sustained her worst injury? The boy whose life she had claimed? These things did not matter to her anymore. There was nothing left to say about them.

”Tell me more.”

[cass]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 050505; border: 000000 solid 2px; width: 450px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 25px 25px 0px 0px;] opal shore. ”Tell me more.” Stretched out before her was a loud that was inhabited by the strangest of creatures. Her alliance had injured and attacked one of those very beasts. After many more minutes of glancing around her and looking left and right she could see no other sign of beast. Instead she was struck by the silence that surrounded this place. It was like a veil of fog, where her voice seemed to echo through it, slicing it like water is cut, and exactly how it reforms after you have disrupted its pattern. It was eerie and to some extent uncomfortable, there was no relaxing echo of the forests world, there were no insects, no fresh, healthy hum of life. It was dull, quiet and all in all completely and one hundred precent not peaceful. It made Opal restless and every few seconds she’d stretch out her injured hand, flexing it to the bit where a small spike of pain would grasp her. And then from there new blood would well up as she tore the cut open once more. Then she’d stop, hand falling to her side once more, letting it relax and clot and feel better. She’d turn to her sword and grab the hilt, before shoving it away and she’d grip the pocket watch, hold it in her good hand and squeeze, then she’d let go and look upwards. Hoping that the sky would offer some kind of distraction, but it gave nothing. The air was clear, blue, boring and still. Then after staring up there she’d look down eyes searching for her water jug, which was wrapped in the tarp she had received from the cornucopia. In the jug was water, clean, fresh water, enough to keep her alive for three more days after she drank it. Her mouth would itch and her thirst would arise and Opal would have to force herself to look away, before she took a sip, before she drank ad could not hold back. She had gone without water for two days, and she would be dammed if she wasted what precious bit she had now. Not until she needed it. And of course she felt oddly guilty at the idea of drinking water when both Drace and Xanthus had none. Locust had escaped with a water jug and both of them; early that morning had awoken to see that the fog had condensed into their jugs. Quickly she turned her attention away from the jug and away from her stuff. Forcing back the urge to once more flex her hand she faced Locust. Allowing herself to be taken away by her charming looks, slim figure and amazing face. Biting her lip she paused, Locust’s prodding to hear more and no more making her shift uncomfortably in her present position. Any thought of Pyrite was generally a bitter one. Opal could not even remember one time, if there were any at all, that Pyrite had been anything but a bitchy, whiny little brat. Pyrite had always been an odd one, she was hardly charming, snarky and very rude, she had the attitude of a badger and the ferocity of a tiger in heat. Opal often wondered how she had even survived to the ripe old age she was at now, the girl surely had enemies and people that would be willing to kill her. And yet, Opal was also sure that more people at the training centre and basically in district one hated her, or disliked her more than they ever did Pyrite. At least Pyrite played by the rules, she trained, she was a good little career, Opal was most definitely not. Sighing she closed her eyes, briefly willing herself to say nothing, but knowing that she wanted to tell someone about her sibling problems. And frankly she was running out of time to have anyone to talk to before she died, and well, she liked Locust enough to trust her with this kind of matter. So she did just that, she trusted Locust, and she looked into Locust’s eyes and pretended that there were not millions of people potentially listening to what she was going to say. "What is there to say? I think everyone has family problems, I can hardly say mine are the worst. I don't know, I just hate mine, I guess." She offered Locust a curious glance, ”if I recall correctly from your interview you had some family issues as well. What is your family like?” I'm waking up to ash and dust I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust I'm breathing in the chemicals I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

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[Python]

The lack of elaboration was disappointing, but she wouldn’t scorn Opal for withholding personal details. The nation was watching, after all, and Opal might’ve thought it wise to keep her lips sealed about family details, especially regarding her dislike of Pyrite Shore. Locust faintly wondered if Pyrite would be watching as well. Was she the type to witness and wait, or the type to ignore her sister completely as she struggled (or succeeded) in the arena? That was a matter for the Shores to untangle, but in Locust’s case she knew for certain Priscilla would be watching. Her beloved career friends would also observe for the sake of entertainment and support their favorite tributes, but would they root for her to appease her sister’s battle against guilt and the district‘s hope for a victor? It would be foolish not to be in favor of her victory - she was a member of their district and a top contender. They may not approve of her methods, but with her score of 11 she was undoubtedly a favorite to win. The cameras would constantly be focused on her face, her movements, and her words along with Opal’s. A conversation about siblings may not make for memorable footage, but this would not stop her supporters from absorbing every word. Whether the girls approved of the intrusion or not, the cameras would catch every word that passed through their chapped lips.

”If I recall correctly from your interview you had some family issues as well. What is your family like?”

”My real family is dead.” Issues didn’t even begin to cover that aspect of her life, when her last memory of her parents involved ashes scattered across their bedroom floor and Peacekeepers informing her that if the carbon monoxide hadn’t poisoned their lungs then their bodies would be eaten to the bone by the heat of the flames. They never told her what caused the fire, only that the outcome was inevitable and that she should be grateful to be alive. It was a distant memory she would rather not revisit, and one she wanted to erase more than anything. ”My adoptive family treats me more like a servant than a daughter,” she continued, eyes trained only on Opal despite her knowledge of the cameras capturing her at every angle. ”And I live in the shadow of my older sister, Priscilla. She’s probably watching the Games as we speak.” Her eyes flickered away for a moment, searching for the concealed lenses they would never see. If there was a fight occurring at the moment the television screens of every district square and citizen would be displaying the action. But if all was calm, it would be her face broadcast all across district four. It was almost surreal, knowing that thousands of eyes could see her when the arena felt so empty.

”She always told me that my battle tactics were just tricks,” she added calmly, her eyes taking to the skies as she awaited sunset and prepared to be shrouded in blackness - as if the tar hadn’t already provided that cover. ”I think I’ve already proved her wrong.” Her training score was proof enough that she was capable of handling herself in the arena, and now she had a kill on her plate. The boy named Samuel Tulius, one of the clumsiest and most unfortunate tributes to have crossed paths with a career. There was little to boast about given his training score and his obvious disadvantages, but his blood on her hands and her lack of remorse was a sign of no weaknesses. She could kill without regrets and brutally maim without second guessing her humanity, and that was what mattered most.