Another Day (open)

[Legacy's]

[bg=343431][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px;] For Gunnar Perthshire, it was just another day in the musty smog of District Three. As he walked through the streets of his community, he drew. It was a skill not easily learned by him, he would admit it was quite difficult, but when he got the hang of it he was grateful. Today, his fascination was electricity, and he combined it with yesterday's fascination with robots, and clothes of all things. He walked on ahead without looking, careless to the pollution filled world around him, that he detested as much as he loved. The smog meant two things to Gunnar, progress, and enslavement. The factories that created the modern inventions and ideas of District 3, all to be stolen and brought to the grotesquely obese Capitol. Enslavement, the suppression of will. He wished that the Rebellion had succeeded, and if he was powerful enough he would start another, but first he would need weapons, weapons that were forever taken from him. He made a line he did not intend to make and it was quite a thick one. With a snarl he viciously removed it with his eraser. The paper ripped. "Ugh, now it's ruined. No use trying to fix that, it isn't a machine." He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into his full pockets. He started over, same idea, different perspective this time. He thought he heard someone in front of him, but if they were there he would simply go around using his peripherals and hearing for guidance.

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[k!ah]

I'm gonna pick up the pieces,
And build a Lego house
If things go wrong we can knock it down

A day as dead as night.

[/i][/color] Clouds drift across the clear blue sky, painting it with fluffy shapes all sizes. They stretch for as far as I can see. A day as dead as night. The sun slowly creeps up behind the clouds, the suns ray dampened to a dull light. A day as dead as night. Light lights up the small shape that sit on the shelves beside the window, making the shapes come to life. A day as dead as night. The thought kept running through my mind, distracting me as I looked around my bedroom, a place where I can escape the horrors of the day. A place where I can let my mind rest. A day as dead as night.

I slam my fist into the side of my bed. Why was this thought haunting me? Why could I not push the thought out of my mind. My heart begins to race. Here in my room, I was meant to be at pace. I was meant to be happy, and content. Not tense and flustered. Getting to my feet, the sheets of my bed crumple at my feet, I don’t bother to straighten them, I just untangle myself and walk out of the room.

The house is empty and quiet as I make my way down the stairs, my feet creaking on the stairs. A day as dead as night. A day as dead as night. A day as dead as night. What was that supposed to me? I ask myself silently. Usually these types of thoughts I would just be able to brush away, but no matter how hard I try to push the thought out on my mind it comes back, more persistent that ever. Maybe all I need is some fresh air. I conclude, my feet taking towards the front door.

My fingers curl around the handle of the front door thrusting the door open. I take a step outside and drink in the fresh air. In, and out in and out, in and out. I tell myself as I inhale the air, clearing my head. A day as dead as night. The thought races around my mind. Frustrated I run down the street, leading out of victor’s village and into the main streets of district 3. The sound of my feet pound in my ears. I am grateful for the sound. I put my whole concentration on the beating of my feet, and the sound of my breath as it comes out in puffs.

The ground beneath my feet soon turns from dirt into cement. And the sound comes harsher and more abrupt. I slow down until I am walking the sound not as harsh, more muffled. My side hurt when I breathed send a shoot of pain up my chest at every breath. In and out, in and out, in and out I instruct myself trying to get my breath back under control. That’s it, I encourage myself, a weak smile playing at my lips.

Building and houses loom around me as I enter the main streets of District three. The air is filled with gas and smoke and other rubbish that you generally shouldn’t be breathing in, but District three was by far the most polluted districts, with all its factories and stuff to fill the air with their toxic waste. I try not to take much notice of the air that fills my lungs, that the air is filled with stuff that can cause you harm. My feet lead me around some of the taller buildings and into some of the more abandoned streets, where I weave my way down, my heart still racing, sweet beaded on my fore head.

My eyes scan the people around me as I walk, they are drawn to one person in particular, to a boy, with a sketchpad and pencil. He doesn’t seem to notice anything apart from the items in his hands, his eyes tracing the sketch that flowed over his page. Suddenly I get a burst of curiosity. What was on this page that engrossed him so much?

Without another thought I race over to the boy, my eyes glued to the paper in his hand. But unfortunately on my way over I stumble over my feet, my hands coming out in front of me at just the right moment, taking the impact of the fall. Pain surges up through my arm, and I try to hold back the grunt of pain that threatens to explode from my lips. Opps, should of seen that coming.
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My three words have two meanings,
There's one thing on my mind
It's all for you

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[Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort]

I rarely left the estate, but when I did, the smell was often the first thing that registered.

Did the district stink like this all the time? It had everyday day I had been brave enough to venture out on my own. Still haven't been caught.

Hell, if I didn't sneak out, I might not even know what the rest of the district looks like.

I walk briskly with my hands in my pockets. Factory workers and average, everyday joes looking at me oddly, likely because of the way I'm dressed. Light blue, short sleeved shirt, a grey vest with a pocket watch chain hanging out hanging out. I... stood out a little.

That, and with how often I left my home, it was very likely no one in this section of town even recognized me. Good, I didn't like when people did.

Wham! Girl hits the pavement. Instant worry comes to my face and go to help her up seeing as no one else seems like their going to. There's a boy not to far from her with a notepad in his hands who is so absorbed in his work he must not of heard. Everyone else just seems unwilling. I wonder why...

"You okay?" I ask, tilting my head at a slight angle while kneeling on the ground.

[Legacy's]

[bg=343431][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px;] Gunnar had obviously been walking completely absorbed in his business. That noise he heard? The girl who fell. Where was he headed? Straight over her. Like a clumsy kid he tried to avoid the inevitable at the last moment and just like that, wide eyed, fell down too. His note pad was, once again, ruined. His face though remained neutral, after all, it was paper and an honest mistake. He stood up and brushed himself off, before actually realizing what happened. His normally very polite self was halted until he heard a kind Samaritan offer the girl some help. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. Probably my fault really." He spoke as he turned to the two people. He was in mid brush as he spoke so his hands began to descend to offer some assistance, but backed them off when it was clear that this other person had it under control. Feeling a tad useless, he turned back to collect his dropped things. "I'm in no rush if need anything, uh..." His faced scrunched a moment, then it dawned on him. "Oh right, names. Call me Gunnar." He laughed awkwardly with an outstretched hand for a... handshake or something. To be honest, today he wasn't a people person. In his head he was a bit preoccupied with his mental project, that really had no meaning to his life at all.

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[Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort]

The boy who wasn't paying attention before is still not paying attention, and this time it leads to his quite literal downfall. He trips on top of the girl, who's still flat on the pavement, before being helped up by a kind lady and absently and awkwardly introducing himself. I scratch my head awkwardly and shake his hand.

"Wirick." I tell him simply. His mind seems to be on other things.

[Legacy's]

[bg=343431][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px;] "Well ah, hello Wirick." He gave a weak smile, he attempted to bounce back as best he good. "Nice to meet you." He looked over to the girl who had gotten up from her fall and his slightly embarrassing trip. His cheeks reddened slightly, while he apologized again. "What brings you two out here? It doesn't quite seem like Wirick here has seen the light of day in weeks." He chuckled jokingly, although in his head he began to become more convinced it was probably closer to the truth. It wasn't really a surprise, if you weren't an intelligent techy holed up in your home when in District Three, all you would get is a raised eye brow before the questioner themselves would get back to work. Everyone was a techy, weather or not they wanted to be one. This was one of Gunnar's greatest hates in regards to the Capitol. It showed up slightly on his face as he thought of it, but it vanished just as quick. "I don't mean to brag but... since you people are here I'd like to show you what I've drawn. Or at least, what I tried to draw on my way down here." Another kind laugh as he sorted to find some of his more finished products. He pulled out one paper out of dozens of others, either crinkled up or discarded as a major unrepairable mistake. Or perhaps he simply did not want a commoner letting the Peacekeepers out on his thoughts. There was nothing worse and frightening than a notion that such a thing could some day actually exist. Perhaps it already does. Regardless, his discarded 'master pieces' included many varying themes, and apparent uses. The one he showed them was a rough draft, titled "Lightning Hands." It was merely a doodle that eventually ran rampant in his mind until he could make a more revised and an easier design to manufacture and build with the greatest discretion. This was fairly over complicated being as in the little doodle he would want to fit in as much as possible, but essentially it consisted of a large Battery back pack with wires protruding form it to be coiled around the arms into metal gloves with arcing tips at the finger. He had label few things, but the things he deemed important to remember were largely the safety precautions, such as rubber lining where the electrified wires and metal would be touching the skin. Anything else would be far too much information to have the risk of seeing. It was nothing really, a mere fantasy. But he had indeed, at least in his head, refined the idea into something more practical, and easier to hide from Peacekeepers. He had a sudden moment of fear though, of these too. How could he be such a dolt as to show them anything before even meeting him? He was obviously very distracted with this, and far too excited. It had been set up by him before as a general rule never to become too interested in his own works, least it frames him in a way that appears like a traitor. "Don't tell anyone. Swear to me you won't. It was a mistake to show you any of these. I know you may think they are doodles, but they have gotten me in a great heap of trouble before. I'd rather not repeat that, a barely made it out by the skin of my teeth last time!" He hoped that these people share similar sympathies toward the Capitol. If not, he could very well be in trouble. What would he do then? He can't stop them from speaking, no more than the Capitol tell Gunnar what to, and what not to think. The Wirick kid didn't look nearly as healthy as he could be (but then again you could argue that about anyone in the District), and although he had great disdain for the practice he could fairly easily (he hoped) 'threaten' them not to tell. Those though were last resort options.

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[Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort]

Before I even know what's happening, I find out very quickly that Gunnar's mind works at a million miles per hour. He rifles through his notes, apparently various schematics he had been drafting (you didn't have to be a tech whiz to recognize a schematic in this district, nearly everyone could read one let alone recognize one,) but then just as quickly has a paranoid freakout, making the girl (who I had just helped off the ground) and I promise not to rat him out to the peacekeepers. Apparently because he inventions were "forbidden" or some such. Not that hard to believe his story though, that he nearly got into trouble for drafting something he shouldn't have, the Capitol would make breathing illegal if it made any sense.

"Calm down, calm down. We won't tell anyone." I tell him gently.

"Now let me see that." I practically snatch his schematic away from his hands.

It looked to be a sort of gauntlet with wires running the length of it, meant to have electric charges of high volt range run through it. A weapon? What practical use could this have? Whatever it was, it piqued my interest...

"Now what's this?" I ask Gunnar in an intrigued tone of voice, an eyebrow upraised.

"I can appreciate mechanical and electrical know how more than most people, you know..." I tell him admiringly.

[Legacy's]

[bg=343431][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px;] A hand reached out in protest as the other boy stole his paper, he mouthed 'hey!' as he looked it over more closely. He didn't like it. He gave him his word, but he was unsure whether or not that meant anything yet. He praised him for his apparent knowledge of technology. He seemed quite interested in its design. Almost too interested. "Ahhh, yes. Thank you very much, I worked quite hard on it. Cost me few grades, so if you saw my report card you might think other wise." He smiled faintly, while he stepped nearer to the boy in order to hover over his own design. He tried to see what he saw in it, and he was not incredibly pleased. He cursed himself for his detail, it was all too clearly recognized as a weapon schematic. "All the better to topple governments my friend, heh. It may be small, but a boy can dream yes? The Capitol hasn't banned that yet." Again, a faint smile. "Try your best not to take all my words to heart. Often times they can be dangerous. The Capitol doesn't take too kindly to children enticing rebellion." He reached for his schematics again to retrieve them. His brow was beginning to moisten.

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[Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort]

This guy gave the word "finnicky" a whole new whole new meaning. He was obviously freaking out at my observation of his work. It was admirable work, but I can see why he'd want to keep under his hat, so I simply smile and let him retrieve his schmatics.

"Lovely piece of work you have there. Really." I smile conspiratorially at him.

"You enjoy the machinery? I do too. Something sublime about it." I remark as I step theatrically onto the sidewalk, letting my gaze get lost in the vast gears and cogs of a technologically superior society. Much more superior than the Capitol could ever pretend to be. All they had was lavish parties and fancy garments, we had this.