.: to build a home :: anzie :.

[анзие (Anz)]

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there is simply nothing worse

T

his has never happened to him.

Lachlan won't go so far as to say that Odessa is the reason for his every breath, every beat of his heart. He won't say that Odessa's proximity gives him great strength - so great that he might throw all their hurts and pains out the window, so great that he feels he can conquer Panem with a single finger, or that the strange sense of trust he gets from the way she lets him hold her empowers his soul. He won't lose any sleep if she shoves him away, won't think late at night of what he might have done different to keep her around, won't dream about the things that they could have been, won't lock himself in his room and cry (not that Lachlan does anything like cry). It's certainly nothing as sappy as that.

But - and he finds this disconcerting - the way that she doesn't stomp away telling him to go screw himself even after all he's said gives him a sense of relief: relief that she's not going to abandon him (even if he's the one who abandons everyone else) and relief that she's allowing him - he hopes - a second chance. The way she calms in his arms is a new thing too; he is almost always the reason for feminine tears in his presence, but Lachlan has never once come across a girl whose tears stop because of something he's done. It's a strange sensation and it eases a grip on his heart he has not noticed before.

(He might be wrong but he thinks he might be attracted to her.)

He pets the top of her head lightly just before she pulls away before shifting back himself, studying her tear-stained face. It's not a flattering look on her, but he supposes nobody's looks are flattered when they were just crying their eyes out.

She sounds as though she's trying her best not to let her voice shake (and he feels respect rise for her), “I am sorry, I shouldn’t- I didn’t mean to break down like that. And no, no it’s not your fault; you weren’t to know… you weren’t to know about my past.” There's a pause where Lachlan continues watching her calm herself. She sounds better.

"Feeling better?" is what he wants to ask when she collapses on the ground. 'Fuck!'

“I am sorry to have inconvenience you this fine night… I am sorry, and I don’t blame you of you want to leave- especially after the way I spoke to you.”

She looks at him, and Lachlan takes a very long moment to realize that he's dropped down to his hands and knees as well, one arm outstretched like he tried to catch her. Clearing his throat he shifts back onto his heels (and feels his leg shake and threaten to fall). He wobbles and checks himself on the ground before taking a deep breath, wondering how he should respond.

'Best not to say anything insulting,' the oh-so-wise voice in his mind advises.

"I still have to fix your feet," he says lamely. (It's a bad excuse to keep her around for a little while longer, isn't it? He wants to find that out.) "And, well, I should have guessed. Nobody's parents are normal or nice anymore." Well, nobody that he's met thus far. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that home is a bad place for you right now, so we can go somewhere else. The morgue's always open - or at least, nobody's there to guard the entrance." A corner of his lips twitch upwards - there's nothing to steal from the morgue, after all. What a stupid sentence.

Lachlan offers his hands, then thinks of something and adds, "But if you want me to leave then I'll go."

He won't lose any sleep over leaving.

than knowing how it ends

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

o d e s s a mazur

I didn’t want him to leave- I wanted him to stay. It was odd, but I didn’t want to be alone. I have been alone for so long, always departing my friends to wander home to a place that was cold, that was empty that was lonely. Being alone never used to annoy me, I used to live with it, I used to be able to go home and transform it into a place of cold loneliness to a place that was warm and friendly- but lately it has become that much harder… I only wish that I could bring my brother home, I only wish that another body filled the empty space, made me feel as though I wasn’t the only person in this world. But I knew that was too much to ask for- I had escaped my parents, I had made sure that my brother was safe- happy almost… I have had my fair share My eyes watch the small creases in my hands, as I run my fingertips along the small indents. It was interesting, out of all the places on one’s body, hands were the most interesting- to me anyway. I was intrigued by how they moved, the amount of flexibility that they beheld. The way that they could rotate, twist and turn, it was all just so fascinating. My eyes trail the creases formed as I bend my fingers, extending them to touch the palm of my hand. Did the skin have to be tough? Strong? It would have to be… Suddenly I have the urge to study the hands of the boy in front of me- of Lachlan. I wanted to see the way the creases twisted and turn webbing out around the palm of him hand. I wanted to feel his skin- would it be soft? Or would they be hard and callused? I drag my eyes away from my hand, to find Lachlan crouched down in front of me. His eyes flashed with concern and it strikes me as strange. Why was this boy concerned for me? He barely knew me, for all he knew I could be a serial killer. But I don’t say anything, I just drop my gaze to is hands, one which was outstretched- as though to catch me when I had fell. "I still have to fix your feet. And, well, I should have guessed. Nobody's parents are normal or nice anymore. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that home is a bad place for you right now, so we can go somewhere else. The morgue's always open - or at least, nobody's there to guard the entrance." But I wasn’t listening to his words; they only seemed distant and dull in my ears. I was no longer connected to this world; I was lost in this world of my own, with this desire- strong desire- to explore the skin of his hand. Unconsciously my hand reaches out, closing around Lachlan’s outstretched hand. Often this happened. Often when I was so fascinated by something, I lost connection to the real world, lost in the desire that over comes me. But I was not sure why I was obsessed with hands, and skin- this was something new. My fingers come in contact with his skin and I pull his hand closer, my eyes studying the way the creases engraved in his skin slithered across his palm. My eyes narrow as I run my fingertips across them, tracing the outline, as soft as a feather. My head tilts to the side slightly, my fingers exploring the skin. It was soft in the palms, but rough around the edges, small calluses making home on his pale skin. It was captivating. Opening up my hand, I tuck one beneath his, my other hand opening up and coming to a rest on his, so that our palms aligned. My fingers only reach halfway up his hand, and I smile to myself. I have always had small hands- the hands of my mother. A frown slices across my face for the briefest moment, before it is gone, the small smile playing at the edges of my lips. Then I am coming back to my senses, my head clearing, my thoughts no longer consumed with the thought of Lachlan’s hands. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Then I realise that my hands still enclose Lachlan’s and I let them go in a rush, almost thrusting his hands away from me, my face flushing a deep red. “I- uh- sorry. Sometimes I just get these over powering desires to do things that seem odd, I don’t know what just happened, I am so sorry- what were you saying?” I push my mind to think back to what he had been saying, trying to catch some words that had slipped from his lips. Leave. Somewhere else. Morgue. I frown. I didn’t want him to leave, and no way in hell did I want to go to a morgue- surrounded by dead people who have been cut up and played with. “Uh a morgue? With dead people? Well that sounds like some sort of adventure, one that I would like to avoid,” I try and joke, my lips turning up slightly at the corners of my lips. “We can just go to my place, its fine really. I am fine- and plus its just around the corner here.” .

[анзие (Anz)]

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there is simply nothing worse

T

he cliched thing about what's going on right now is that it starts with a touch. Just a simple touch - not even something that would actually garner a reaction, or something that should get the kind of reaction that Lachlan can deal with. He can't deal with the welling of emotion up to his throat. (It's not something he's used to.)

Odessa's fingers are feather-light on his skin. Lachlan holds still (and realizes much later, when he begins to feel dizzy, that he's also holding his breath), eyes following the movement of her fingers over the creases on his palm, the rough callouses forming at the tips of his fingers (and elsewhere). His hand is so close to her face that he can (he can feel warm breath on his skin from parted lips, the way the air washes color back into fingers that were too cold before) reach out and shove her back by the face if he so desired (but he doesn't because it's captivating seeing her captivated by his hands) but he's nice enough that he doesn't think he should.

Slowly, it seems from Lachlan's perspective, Odessa takes her other hand, the one that would mirror his own, and lets their palms meet (a kiss of skin on skin, that's all it is). His eyes scan her face; some part of him wishes he knows what she's thinking, but at the same time another part tells him that it doesn't matter what she's thinking.

(Distantly he notes that it seems like nothing he's just said to her has fully sunk into her head; it's a nice turnaround, considering the extent to which she was a distraction for him just five minutes ago. Lachlan thinks that her reaction might be amusing and as disoriented as his own.)

“I- uh- sorry. Sometimes I just get these over powering desires to do things that seem odd, I don’t know what just happened, I am so sorry- what were you saying?” He's not exactly disappointed but she seems to be so much cooler about her lack of attention than he'll ever be. 'Damn.' Not that Lachlan will ever tell her that he was actually hoping she'll make more of a fool of herself (just so he can feel a little less stupid and a little more connected with her). Lachlan can be a gentleman sometimes, if that's what gentlemen do.

She hurries on just as Lachlan is about to repeat his words, “Uh a morgue? With dead people? Well that sounds like some sort of adventure, one that I would like to avoid.” The joke falls a little flat for him but he smiles at the upturn of her lips (it's only a little bit amusing, that joke, but Lachlan isn't too much of a joker himself so who's he to talk?) “We can just go to my place, its fine really. I am fine- and plus its just around the corner here."

"Are you sure?" Lachlan tries to ask (except that it comes out more like a choked breath because the dizziness from holding his breath comes rushing into his head with the blood. Lachlan sucks in a breath and teeters backwards to fall on his butt. 'Good move, Lachlan. That will definitely endear her to you.' His vision blacks out for what feels like a long time (but it was probably five seconds) and he shakes his head clear, blinking away the last of the spots.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, his voice a little ragged from... nothing at all. He clears his throat and looks at Odessa, reaching up to rest a hand on his head in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. 'She looks pretty even when the world is screwed up.' "We can try sneaking into an empty house if you don't want the morgue or your home." He doesn't add that he knows how it feels, not wanting to be home at all.

(There will always be an answer to everything, and Lachlan wants to know the answer to this particular issue he's having about her. 'But shoot, the girl's gorgeous.')

"You feel up to standing?"

than knowing how it ends

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

o d e s s a mazur

I tell him we can go to my home- and I mean it strangely enough. Sure I wasn’t exactly comfortable- him being a stranger and all… But to be honest what was the worst he could do- what was worse than the things that I had gone through? I have had my heart- my soul- broken countless times now, this boy would be nothing compared to what I have gone through, I knew, deep down I knew it. But also deep down I knew- really knew- that this boy, that Lachlan didn’t want to hurt me, he wanted to help. If he had wanted to hurt me wouldn’t he have done it by now? He has had lots of chances, but yet he has done nothing but help. He helped me when no one else was around, he held me when I was down and now he sat beside me, putting up with my weird habits. But why? Why pt up with me? My dark eyebrows knit into a frown slightly as I look up at Lachlan again. He was a handsome boy, one that took my breath away. I could feel the small smile slip past the guard of my lips as I stared at him, my dark gaze sliding down his body. His hair was dark, and muscles hugged his arms tightly. Dark and handsome. That’s what my friends tell me, those who are dark and handsome are the ones who are mysterious, the ones who keep you guessing, the ones that catch them, that drag them into their traps making it hard for them to escape. But looking at Lachlan now I don’t feel that urge, that feeling of being trapped. I felt… comfortable. Surprise filled me as I realise that that was how I felt. I didn’t feel like I had to shy away from him, I didn’t feel like I had to avert my gaze because I was out of his league- no. I felt comfortable, slightly confident even. Is this how they felt- each and every time- they flirt and talk with the opposite gender? Do they feel like they have the power? Do they feel this comfortable? So many questions raced through my mind. Was I supposed to feel like this? Talking to the opposite sex - talking other people out of my friend group- hasn’t really been a strong point for me… But here, now, I felt somewhat at ease. "Are you sure?" His voice seems to break as the words fall from his lips, as though he was trying to swallow something that had gotten caught in his throat and I can’t help but let the smile on my lips grow slightly. "Are you sure?" He tries again, this time the words coming out smooth and fluently- but still a little off tone. It was odd, and I couldn’t help but think he was a little nervous… But why would he be nervous? It must just be my imagination, I reason letting my narrow shoulders fall into a light shrug. His coat that sat on my shoulders slipped down a bit, and my shoulder was exposed to the frosty air of the night around me. With a small shivers I hastily tug the coat up and over the bare skin of my shoulder, my hands snaking around my body, holding myself tightly. It wasn’t until now I actually realised how cold it was out here, my legs were almost numb, the frosty wind bitting away at the bare skin. Gentle I remove one of the hands that held me tightly and rubbed the chilled skin of my legs, instantly the skin warms and I feel as though I am an ice block melting away into a pool of chilled water. "We can try sneaking into an empty house if you don't want the morgue or your home." When I turn to face him this time, he is not kneeling in front of me, but actually sitting, his butt flat on the ground. It was almost as if he was prepared to wait for me, to stay here until I made the right decision. Something inside me stirs and I cannot help but feel a surge of gratitude slip through me, warming me from the inside out. I am no longer rubbing the cold skin of my leg- there is no need, because I am no longer cold. “I- I honestly don’t mind, really…” But my words come out barely in a whisper as I watch Lachlan reached up and places a hand on his head, as his arm moves the muscles that hugged them snuggles rippled to and the words on my lips died. He really was handsome… Shaking my head I try to push the thoughts of his good looks from my mind- I didn’t need fluffy stuff lie that clouding my head, not now. "You feel up to standing?" I did feel like standing up. Ducking my head and averting my eyes from his, I place my hands beside me, my body preparing itself to be lifted off the ground, my feet readying themselves for the sharp burst of pain that would flower through me- staring at my feet, before climbing my legs like vines, before entwining the strings of my heart. But then I pause and tilt y head to the side slightly in question. I didn’t have to do this by myself, Lachlan would help. The smile on my lps grew until it reached my eyes- something that seemed to foreign on my face. How long had it been since I had actually smiled? Not just smiled, that forced smile, just to please the people who are close to me? How long? I didn’t know, but at the moment I didn’t really care because it felt nice, natural even. Giving it one more tester I let the smile stay on my face, lighting up the dull features of my face. Then my dark chocolate eyes are looking at Lachlan again, but instead of that haunted look hiding within them, they were alight, dancing with life, something that I had thought to have died a long time ago. “Wanna be a gentleman- and help me up,” I ask and swing my arms out in front of me, waiting for Lachlan to grab hold. I smile at him again, “And its fine, my place will be perfect.” .

[анзие (Anz)]

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there is simply nothing worse

T

here's something weird going on here.

It's not weird in the kind of way that would have Lachlan slipping away, not wanting or caring to know if the child of disobedient parent is found dead somewhere, or if children too young to be killers are in the arena killing each other. He doesn't care about that kind of weird because that kind of weird has no care for him. It's also not weird because of anything externally alien - hovercrafts that aren't hovercrafts bobbing around the night sky with flashing green lights fit that category, and whatever's going on here doesn't.

It's the kind of weird that Lachlan finds in his own head, the weird he long ago decided he'll never understand. (The kind of weird that involves him realizing just how much dear Amarante meant to him, or how little he cares for any other girl - yes, that kind of weird.) And it's only weird because Lachlan, for all his general, derogatory thoughts of women in general, can't find it in himself to put Odessa in the same category as anyone else. Because she doesn't quite fit into the category Amarante belongs to - not yet, perhaps (and he wonders where that came from because that fit the kind of weird he's talking about) - and she's certainly not in the same category as the other girls he's used before (or he might have left her here in the cold, curled up and shaking from whatever trauma he was willing to impart).

And it's really weird, with emphasis, that he feels like anything but a gentleman even though his actions might be seen to people outside his head as gentlemanly, all because his gaze darts briefly (for half a moment) to her bare legs. That's just weird.

(If he had time he'd sit there and ponder over his thoughts for a conclusion but clearly there's no time to be had here. Perhaps just before he went to sleep - if he remembers at the time.)

Odessa smiles at him, suddenly, surprisingly. It seems so genuine and not at all out of place, like the expulsion of raw emotion just two minutes ago made her expressions so much more natural than they were when they met. (It feels like they met months ago.)

Too late Lachlan realizes that he's staring and tears his gaze away (hoping she didn't really notice the way his eyes dropped from her lips downwards; he covers it up by pretending to be studying her feet).

"Want to be a gentleman... and help me up. And it's fine, my place will be perfect." At the sound of her voice, Lachlan looks up to be caught in the full beam of her smile. If this keeps up, he'll soon need sunglasses whenever he's around her. If ever, Lachlan corrects himself mentally.

"Sure," Lachlan says, giving her a slow smile of his own. It's much more eager and genuine than he bargained for, but he can't help it. He rolls to his knees, then pushes himself to his feet. Her hands are held out to him, the smile on her face not quite faded. Lachlan catches her hands (twining his fingers in a much more deliberate way briefly with hers), then - checking his balance - sliding down her arms to lift her in the air. "Better hold on," he murmurs, caught for a moment at her proximity. Like the creep that he's beginning to feel like, he hugs her close to memorize her scent. Do you know what I'm feeling?

than knowing how it ends

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

o d e s s a mazur

My arms only hover in the air by themselves for a moment, the cold air of the night wrapping its cold arms around the shelter skin of my arms. I don’t feel it tho, not through the warmth of Lachlan’s Jacket, not through the warmth of his hands in mine as he lifts my body from the ground like a dead weight. A smile was painted across the stern features of his face, making it softer, welcoming and I cannot help but allow my smile to grow, my teeth peeking out from beneath the pink flesh of my lips. His fingers were entwined with my own, catching each of my fingers between his and I could feel the heat in my cheeks flare up slightly. But I tried to brush it away, trying to allow my face to fall the nice soft white it usually is. He murmurs something I cannot quite hear as he pulls me from the ground and into the warmth of his arms where he holds me close for a moment or two, his arms enclosing me, trapping me in the smell of him. I don’t mind, actually I like it. I like the way he hold me tight, secure against the sturdy frame of his body. I have only known him for a little while but already I was starting to feel my nervousness fade and a sense of confidence replacing it. I pull my arms awy from his hands and wrap them around his waist for a moment- but then realise what I am doing and try to push away hastily, my face painted with embarrassment. What was I doing? Yes I felt comfortable around him- but we still didn’t know much about each other, and hugging him? wasn’t that a bit weird? What if he thought I was a creep or some clingy girl who wanted something from him, something more than a hug? I try to stand on my own feet, but reach out hesitantly with one hand to lean on his shoulder, pulling a bit of the weight off my feet. “Uh, sorry, I yeah…” I stumble, my words not making any sense as they slip from my lips. My eyes are no longer looking at his face but at the dark material of the stone beneath my shredded feet. “My house. Right.” I correct myself, making myself breath, trying to make the pounding of my heart slow down so that I could think straight. Come on now Odessa. Just stop. Take a deep breath in, and hold. Then let it out. And I do. I take in a deep breathe, holding it for a moment or two before letting it escape. “My home is this way,” I tell him, lifting my arm that was not holding onto him in the direction that I had come up from earlier this night. “It’s only a five minute walk,” I reassure him- well, myself- as my eyes turn down the empty street, to study the cool cobble stone, to watch the windy cracks wind their way up and down along the cold cement, to watch the dancing light of the moon as clouds swayed back and forth cause the light to dance around. I peel my eyes away from the dancing lights and look at Lachlan once again, my eyes still alight with a life that had been void from them for as long as I could remember, “you ready? The place is not big, or fancy or anything, and is a bit messy, so don’t judge me,” I tease, “But it should do. I have some tweezers, and I don’t know if my feet will need stitched, but I think that would be able to wait to the morning,” I say, moving to stumble down the street, Lachlan at my side. It felt nice. Nice to have someone I didn’t particularly know at my side, but also to have his strength as I wandered to a place where I have lived for years, empty and alone always a reminder of the demons that lurk behind my eyes. I turn to smile at him once more and find myself wondering how easy it was to allow my face to split in a sigh of happiness, something that I had found hard to do for years, so easily it came to me when I was around him. Even in just a few hours my life seems to be changing in ways that I had never dreamed of… And I liked it.

[анзие (Anz)]

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there is simply nothing worse

H

e finds himself a little bit more drawn to her with each smile she offers him for reasons he (knows, but doesn't want to think about) doesn't really understand. ('I know who she was before, but this time it's right. This time it's moral and acceptable and I don't know if I should hate that.') Lachlan finds himself smiling in response anyway, like a goddamn teenager who found his first crush paying him attention in secret. With a look not unlike bliss, her arms wrap around his waist, which he finds both adorable and amusing.

It gets more so when she pulls away and blushes bright. He stifles a grin, ignoring the way his stomach swoops in his abdomen.

(He wants to touch her pink-stained cheeks, ask her if this is for him, because of him. He wants to twine a lock of her hair around his finger and press kisses to her skin. Wants to hold her close and safe, place her on an altar, make her his idol, his better half. He wants to lift her into his arms and say, "I missed you. I missed you so much and I'm sorry," but this isn't really her, or at least it's not the her he's been subconsciously looking for since the day she died.

She's a mirror image with a difference, an altered portrait that's been brought to life. She's gorgeous but that's not the reason why his heart's fallen into the abyss of her making. She's Odessa and she's alive.

'Don't get her killed,' Amarante says, her voice amused. He won't, because he can't get this moment back from the grave.)

It's cold out here. Lachlan absently rests chilled fingers on his warmer neck and looks down at Odessa, who must be a million times colder than he is. 'Too bad I haven't got an extra shirt on me.' He'd readily offer it to her, if only because he knows that the wind isn't too merciful on bare skin. Just as he turns to ask her if she's very cold, Odessa cuts in, “My home is this way. It’s only a five minute walk." One of her hands grip Lachlan's arm, and obligingly he pulls her closer to keep her steady.

"Alright then," Lachlan says. "D'you need me to carry you again?" (He stifles the lascivious look on his face because he's pretty sure it'll get her mad again.

Not that she notices, anyway.)

"You ready? The place is not big or fancy or anything, and it's a bit messy, so don’t judge me. But it should do. I have some tweezers, and I don’t know if my feet will need stitches, but I think that would be able to wait to the morning." She says it all with a little grin that suggests there's a private joke that Lachlan's not privy to. Lachlan quirks an eyebrow at her.

"If you could only see mine," he says in as casual a tone as he can muster. 'You don't want to see my place,' is the unspoken part of his sentence he hopes she understands. "Carrying?" he says again, because the glass in her feet can't be comfortable. Offering his arms to her, he gives her a grin as big and innocent as he can make it.

He's not sure if he's speaking loudly enough because she just stumbles right on, tugging on his arm to make sure he follows. He does, hyper-aware (of her) that she might fall at any given moment. 'Be ready to catch her.' She's a patient, he can't afford to get her even more injured than she is already. Shaking his head, he decides to just go with it for the time being.

(Lachlan feels like he should be making conversation, but... 'What can I say? "What are you doing out here so late anyway?" Or maybe, "Daddy issues, huh?" No, that's too harsh. "The weather today was pretty good, without the wind and the cold..."' Screw all that, really.)

"So," Lachlan says mildly in a horrible attempt to make conversation, "What happened to your shoes?"

('That's a little better, but you need to work on your social skills.' Lachlan doesn't want to acknowledge the speaker.)

than knowing how it ends

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

How long had it been? How long had I known this boy know? I few hours? and how much did I know about him? Something close to nothing? Then why? Why did I feel so comfortable around him? Why? Why did he make me feel as though I was safe? It scared me, scared me to the bone about how comfortable I was around him. It was as though he had an air around him, one that made people feel at ease. I didn't know if anyone else felt this around this boy- but I certainly knew that no matter how many times I told myself that it as nothing, that I was being silly, there certainly was something about this boy that set me at ease…

After I take a few paces my feet begin to burn and in the back of my mind I hear Lachlan as if I want to be carried. The idea makes me feel weak and needy and I thrust the idea to the back of my mind with a mindful shrug, “I think I will be okay,” I mumble against the pain that swells up within me. I close my eyes for a moment and allow the wave of pain to rush over me in a heated wave before breathing out heavily and leaning heavily on Lachlan’s arm as I take another painful step.

I try to be as quiet as I can and when s few conversational words slip from Lachlan’s lips relief surges though me. A distraction. Thats exactly what I needed. “So… What happened to your shoes?” At first it seemed like an odd question and a frown knitted itself arose my brow. Shoes? Why would he be asking about my shoes? But then in dawned on me and I suddenly felt vey silly. Thats why we were even conversing in the first place. Cause I had been silly and thought that going for a walk at the strike of midnight in nothing more than an old baggy shirt would be such a fantastic idea.

“Ahhh my shoes,” I sigh with a small smile playing with the edges of my lips. “well that may be a long story- well not really… are you really interested in listening?” I ask him quietly, turning my dark gaze to meet his, the question shining brightly in my eyes. Did he really want to know about my shoes? it stumped me.

I take one more close look at him, my eyes crinkling in the corners as I take him in, then without warning I launch into my rather boring story about my shoe issue, “well you see, it was night time, a glorious night, one where the stars shined brighter than the sun- where the birds sing louder than the unhealthy chuff of chimneys. And I was mesmerised, I was totally caught up in it all- I know it sounds silly right, but its the truth. Then I took one pace out the door and it hit me like a summers breeze on a cold winters night- it was like heaven, and I wanted to be part of it. So without another thought I had taken that daring step outside my door and into this heaven… and then my feet had meet the devil and then I meet the devils side kick and here I am now.” I finish with a grin that spreads across my face wide. It was a rather believable story I scoff to myself.

I tumble slightly as my feet hit the ground roughly, wincing lightly. I could see it now, my house that was as we rounded a corner. Come on Odessa pull through it, just a little further. I reassure myself trying to push the pain into the back of my mind. “We are nearly here now,” I say lifting my hand to point in the direction of a small house on the corner of the street. “There it is, that one right there.”

[анзие (Anz)]

aɪm frends wɪð
district 6 | 18 | male | Brendan Ruck

[presto]

Strength.

Strength seems to be personify largely in the form of Odessa, and Lachlan can appreciate it. He doesn't have to admire it from afar even, he's up close and practically personal with the way she pushes past pain and emotional baggage into steady (quirky, adorable, gorgeous) light humor. Her story makes Lachlan smile to himself (he doesn't think she notices if his face softens into something a little more than polite humor).

They're both different, or so he thinks. Strength isn't a huge part of himself, he's only good at hiding and that's not strength, that's cowardice; so is this any reason to be attracted to her? (And he thinks, arrogantly, that she may be interested in him, too.)

He finally admits it. He's attracted to this girl - and, he realizes with a touch of shock, not for who she looks like, but who she is. The thought sends a jolt of (fear, anger, desire) electricity into his brain, and it's as though the lens on his eyes have just been cleaned.

Shit. No. Stay calm.

Odessa stumbles, and Lachlan reaches to catch her. I'd have given up a long time ago, he thinks, and the thought both depresses and endears him more to his idea of Odessa's poise and rationality.

“We are nearly here now. There it is, that one right there.” Odessa points, and Lachlan's gaze follows the direction of her finger to a cosy-looking home in the corner. Looks, Lachlan decides to himself as he recalls the way she broke in his arms, can be so deceiving.

The silence stretches between them. Lachlan glances at her and steps a little closer, unsure if she wants to be so close to any source of misery just yet. We don't have to go in, he wants to say. We can stay out here.

Good idea. Then she'll freeze to death. He bites back a sharp retort and mental sneer that may well just slide past his lips like a fish in water, trying to not induce another waterworks display (not that he thinks she'll break so easily again but he's still nervous around crying people. But at this point Lachlan's nervous about everything, but he doesn't want to admit it. He does not bite his lower lip and look at her as though expecting her strength to shine through and hit him with a beam of knowledgeable light. Whatsoever.)

Lachlan's got to act stronger than she does (Chauvinist pig, Amarante's voice says and Lachlan bites the tip of his tongue when his heart jumps and his nerves jangle discordantly. Tears spring into his eyes, and he looks away from Odessa and hopes she can't see.). The words, ready to go? sits on the tip of his tongue but for some reason he swallows them down.

More silence. He feels like she might be expecting a response of some sort by now. Okay. Let's talk about the house. What do I say about it? 'I like your house.' No, she doesn't like her house so that's bad. 'It looks cosy.' Horrible. ... Let's not talk about the house. That's probably a good idea.

"Did you just call me the devil's side-kick?" he asks instead, keeping his tone mild and attempting to wrangle his expression into a disapproving frown. He glances at the house again and thinks, It looks pretty close. "That hurts." I hope she's not making her injury worse.

(Hesitantly) he offers his hand to her. "It looks close enough, do you think you can keep going?"

[/presto]

[k!ah]

It was not far now, it was only a breath away compared to the distance that I had walked. I could do it, I could pull through this pain, this pain that seemed to meagre compared to he pain of my past, compared to the pain that my brother has been through. Taking in a deep berth I try to tell myself that I was just walking on some gravel, that the win in my feet was nothing but my imagination. I could push it away, with just one small flick of my finger, I could push away the pain, I could do it, couldn't I? Pain was nothing, nothing but the figure of ones imagination… The figure of ones imagination my arse. If pain was just something that my imagination had managed to form… well then there was nothing else I could say but that I was one messed up girl. I had been through a lot of pain, pain that has broken me in two… so if that was just something that I had thought up, if all this pain was not real… wouldn't that make me some sadist or something? Someone who enjoys pain; subconsciously?

No. No. Pain was not just something in my imagination- it was real. It had to be, I had the proof after all. My eyes fall to my feet, even though I could only see the top, the part untouched by the fringes of the devil, I could tell that it was bad. Blood had climbed up my feet, streaked across it, dirt and gravel mingled with red. What had I been thinking? Honestly? I close my eyes for a moment, sending me into darkness. It makes me slightly light headed and I feel as though I am going to fall over, but at the last minute I open my eyes and catch myself just in time. It only takes a minute for the world to stop spinning around me, and in that inure I hold onto Lachlan’s arm that little bit tighter. I hope he doesn’t notice, no need to create more worry… or other thoughts that might be caused to misunderstanding.

By now I begin to realise the silence that had begun to flower around us. How long had it been since one of us had spoken? I had been lost so much in my ow thoughts that I hadn't realised the time passing… and surpassingly I feel a surge of guilt race though me. I felt like I had almost forced Lachlan to take me home and now I was holding on to him, using him for my own support, and I have not even bothered to engage in conversation, but allowed myself to get lost in my own thoughts. I should apologise, I should really apologise.

But when I turn to speak to him his face is turned away from mine and I feel as though I have let him down somehow. Was he okay? Was it me? Had I hurt him in some way? I could tell by the drop in his shoulders that he was sad, that something, weather it was me or something that he was thinking about, had made him feel down.

I pull my gaze away from him and look at him hands, which were holding his arm tightly as I fourth the battle of pain- mental and physical- raging on within my body. I should probably tell him that he didn't have to help me, that I was going to be fine… But I didn't want to. I didn't want to tell him he could leave, that I didn't need his help. In a way I felt selfish. He didn't have to be here, but yet he was and I couldn't help but think that it was because I had broken down earlier, allowing him to see a vulnerable side of me. So why? Why could I let him go? tell him to leave?

“Did you just call me the devil's side-kick?” He asked, his voice mild. I don't want to look at him, but I do, allowing my eyes to meet his disapproving frown. “That hurts.” I almost smile, remembering the silly story that I had told him earlier. It was funny, how easily this boy made me smile, even when he was not trying too. For years I have hidden behind a false smile, never on this side of the earth did I think someone, other than my brother, would allow me to smile to naturally. Why? Why him?

“It looks close enough, do you think you can keep going?” Lachlan says, offering me his hand. I quickly look at the house and calculate the distance before taking his hand in mine. It wasn't that far, and as I said before, if I had managed to come this far I was pretty sure that I could make it the rest of the way. “I think I can make it, its not that far.” But thanks for the offer, I think almost bashfully. “Lets go,” I say and begin my painful shuffle towards my house, which seemed to glare at me with taunting eyes. I was not sure that I wanted Lachlan into my place, the place where memories flew by on the breeze, on the dull paired walls… on everything. Everything in my house would be something that told this boy more and more about me. What if he misunderstood what he saw? What if what he saw made him not want to know me anymore, would he hate me? I knew tat there was nothing in the place that would send him screaming to the door, there was nothing that wold be deemed inappropriate.

But that was not the point, my house held so many whispers of who I was. Just the plain walls, dull and clear of any pictures, the floor which was covered in dust in the corners or the unused room… or even the stale air, or the cold presence. My place was not a place that resembled the place of a happy family, it had an air of loneliness about it. Even when I was in my house it still felt empty and lifeless. It still del as though their was no living presence in the place. My place was dark, only a candle in each room for light… “I… I… I just want to warn you,” suddenly my face was flushing red, my eyes focused on my hand which was wrapped tightly around his. “My place… My place might not be what you’re expecting,” I manage to say still unable to look into Lachlan’s eyes. I just have to hope he wont hate me… and maybe still be willing to help me rid my feet of glass… was I asking too much?

[анзие (Anz)]

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[attr="class","atemplate"]

yeah, you think i'm crazy

E

ach time Lachlan thinks they've gone too far (leaving too many bloody footprints behind), Odessa goes on like there isn't an issue with her feet in the first place. It's insane, the pure strength of her will, the way she straightens her back, tightens her grip and takes step after step with two feetful of glass. Lachlan wants to admire her but at the same time he feels like he shouldn't look or she'll just break and he'd be the one to catch her ("I don't know if that's such an issue for you," teases Amarante). Lachlan can only follow her as she goes, not really knowing which house is hers (Could be any of them at this rate). And go she does, with the quiet determination of a tribute who's seen the finish line. She's crazy, he thinks, but smiles sardonically at himself. He's crazy, too.

I guess I don't have the right to say anything to her.

But the point stands that Lachlan fully expects her to fall over in total agony in the next few moments, and Odessa doesn't seem to even think about that possibility. She goes on strong with no indication of stopping and crying out, "No, stop it! I give up! I can't go any further!" Lachlan is pretty sure he would have given up fifty feet back. Crazy, but I like it.

They're not too far out from the house. Maybe a few long steps away, but they're slowing a little; maybe Odessa's hurting a bit more now. He slows as well, keeping his strides in time with hers, (resists kissing the top of her hair in reassurance that he's here if she falls) waits with the steady patience of a healer as they move towards the suddenly dark and ominous house. It's as though the memories inlaid in the house's foundation recognizes its tortured inhabitant and is reaching out to meet them halfway with hooked fingers and a delighted smile.

Lachlan finds it slightly intimidating.

Hunching his shoulders a little against what feels like an onslaught of oppression, Lachlan tucks Odessa a little closer, keeps her a little steadier, and he takes each step by her side, his legs making soft crunches on the dirt-covered ground where his calf is braced with metal. And they're steady that way, with his depending on her and her kind of depending on him.

Somehow, Lachlan knows neither of them will let the other fall.

“I… I… I just want to warn you. My place… My place might not be what you’re expecting,” Odessa says, her hand gripping Lachlan's as though he were a lifeline (and doesn't that thought just make him feel angry-scared-euphoric all at once?). He tips his head to look at her, wondering what brought on her abrupt declaration of what Lachlan can only think of as doubt. Is she paler from blood-loss? It won't be good if she passes out, though he's pretty sure it's better than sitting through tweezers digging out shards of glass from her foot.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, reaching up to rest his hand against her forehead. Is she too cold, too warm? Shit, I have to disinfect her cuts before she catches anything.

Then, he realizes two things: one, he didn't even answer the girl (God damn it Lachlan), and two, she can't meet his gaze.

"I don't expect much of anything when it comes to family things," he tells her, and maybe that's not the best thing he can say but what the hell is he supposed to say to that? Maybe something along the lines of, 'That's alright, Odessa, you should see my place, actually maybe you shouldn't or you'll realize how much of a fucking prick I am and then I...' He what, really? He doesn't even know at this point. Does he want something, does he not? Fuck, she's messing with my head and that isn't alright.

He's got a good mind to leave, he thinks, but then Lachlan looks down at the miserable girl and thinks, I can't leave her alone like this, can I?

Lachlan exhales quietly.

God, if only she didn't look so much like Amarante I'd have a fucking chance.

"Lead the way in?" he says with a lopsided smile, then sobers up a little to add, "If you've got any alcohol you might want some of that." It's going to hurt like a turd.

but that's not fair

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

O D E S S A M A Z U R

"how long do I need to hide behind this fake smile?"

I wasn't quite sure why I was so flustered about this, why did I feel so nervous about this boy entering the place where I livd? Was t because I was scared of him finding out more abut me, I didn't want him to get to know me, to add a personality to my name and face? Or was it that I was just uncomfortable vein alone with him? No. I had already told myself it wasn't that- I didn't think he would hurt me, take advantage of me.. I trust him- could I really say that tho? Trust him? I had only known him for a few hours and I was already saying that I trusted him? What was wrong with me? I knew next to nothing about this boy, I only knew his name… so how was it that somewhere deep inside me I felt as though I could trust him, when me, being the girl I am, has had so many issues when it comes to trust. So why? Maybe it is just the pain getting to my head and making me think desperate things, I think to myself, almost trying to convince myself that it was true. Sighing I try to push my nervousness to the back of my mind. There was no need to be nervous, who cares if this boy hate you… he is no one but a stranger after all. But was it really hate that I was scared of? I couldn't care less if he hated me. So then what, what was I scared of? He would feel uncomfortable. Lachlan would no doubt feel uncomfortable in a place that was so cold, so empty and so lifeless. When you walked into someones place you find out so much about that person. Like if the walls a decorated with pictures and art and bright and colourful, you feel like you have walked into a happy safe place where you know that the people int his house will keep you safe, be warm and welcoming. When you walk into another place you can tell by the way the furniture is arranged and the condition of it just that bit more about that person, you can tell if they are organised, if they are creative or if they tare just lazy. But when someone walks into my place it is like walking into a world of blankness. There is nothing to give away who I was, only evince to show how empty I really was, how cold and scared and vulnerable I really was… Walking into another persons house, the place they tried to call their home is like peaking into that person themselves. Thats what I was scared of. I was scared of letting a complete stranger poke around inside my brain. My heart. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked and I feel him gentles press the back of his fee hand against y forehead. I close my eyes of a moment and try to let the warmth of his sin soak into mine. I was freezing and the warmth that spread through my forehead almost made me feel at ease. He was so warm, I just wanted to lean against his body, to feel his warmth sink into my skin, to take away the cold chills danced around the edge of my body. "I don't expect much of anything when it comes to family things," he says and i am not quite sure how to react, so instead of saying anything, I stay silent, still unable to allow myself to look the boy in the eye. Almost as if he is sensing my uneasiness, or if he felt uneasy himself he tells me to lead the way inside. I take a deep breath. Dont hesitate. No need to make a big deal over this, no bigger than i have already made it. “Uh, sure,” I say lightly and once again begin my excruciating hobble to the door. My fingers close around the cool metal of the door knob and instantly any warmth that had filled me artier from Lachlan’s small touch; is gone. I am stone cold. I take in a deep breath once again and pull the door open. Instantly I am hit with how silent the house is and I try not to let it effect me. “Well this is it,” I say and for the first time in a while I look into his face, my eyes meeting his. “I would give you a tour but really the place is pretty small and I would not see the point,” I try to joke, trying to paint over the tension that I had created earlier. “I think I have some tweezers in the kitchen, which is this way,” I turn away from Lachlan, I am no longer touching him now, my whole body being supported by feet which have been slashed and in betted with small share of glass. I lean against the wall and try to shuffle down the hallway. My feet felt like they were on fire and it took all I had not to cry out in pain, not to let the small tears that threatened to to slip down my face fall freely. I had been strong for this long, I could be stinger for a bit longer. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember Lachlan saying something about alcohol, and at first the question strikes me as odd, but who was I to question the person who had more experience with first aid than myself. “I think there is some alcohol in the kitchen too,” i mumble almost to myself.

District :: 6 Gender :: female Age :: 17 Faceclaim :: Zoey Deutch made by Anzie