The Days Are Young // [Locust]

[Baby Wessex d9 [earthling]]

She spoke with a voice that disrupted the sky
She said walk on over here to the bitter shade
I will wrap you in my arms and you'll know that you're saved

It was cruel how often Reaping Days came around. A yearly reminder that his eldest children were almost out of danger, and his littlest just coming into it. He ached for weeks leading up to the day, no matter how much he guffawed, and laughed, and avoided the topic. It was always there, hanging in the distance, a storm waiting to crash into shore. He rubbed his chest where a knot had formed as he chased Verne around the living room, and later watched as Perle had her hair braided, even though she was years from attending the ceremony.

He had snuck away with tears formed. He'd gone to Althea and cried into her shoulder until she had pushed him into the closet and forced him to be the Mayor. Fabian Perch. Capitol F, Capitol P. There would be no tears on the podium today, even if Bellini or Lee were reaped. If both names were called, he made no such promises. There would be tears as he tore the Capitol escort limb from limb. One child was a sacrifice, a promised end to a threat President Snow made long ago. Two was the end. He let his mind wander down that vengeful path for awhile, but ultimately it just made him come crashing into the true character of his being: a coward.

Who else would even be willing to part with a single child? He tightened the tie to his adam's apple, imagined himself hanging in the closet. And then he loosened it to put two fingers between his flesh and the starched ivory shirt, sewn with delicate fish eyelets. The cuffs were flared, and vest of deep blue went over. He was grateful no jacket had been left out. He would sweating enough without it. When Althea came, and it was time, he offered her his kindest smile and his arm. "You are beautiful, stunning. You are everything," he whispered, before they left the bedroom and entered the world of servants and stylists and responsibilities. The children were lined up, the youngest simply to see them off and for a quick photo. Bellini walked ahead confidently, her Career center uniform crisply pressed. Lee was a little more shy, but he had a gracefulness to his steps that indicated his training as a fighter. After awhile, it was too hard to even watch them walk.

It was a relief to find the crowd waiting for them. He settled Althea, made his perfunctory speech, and stretched out his legs when he sat, looking like the picture of nonchalance. But sweat dripped from the back of his auburn curls, and he ground his molars to sand. Mercifully it was over quickly, and the name Perch had only been attached to him. He stood, clapping with the crowd for the new tributes. He glanced over the boy's head, refusing to look at him. He was certainly about Lee's age, a smirk on his lips. Too close to home. The girl looked much more like his daughter, but there was a carefulness about her, a reserve. He liked her instantly, which was a mistake.

After they had been escorted inside for their goodbyes, Fabian said his hellos. To wealthy contributes. To ordinary citizens. He waited the requisite ten minutes, and then excused himself to 'celebrate' with his family. Althea helped him navigate the crowd, and as soon as they were on the path home, he kissed her temple. "I think I'm up for one more duty this year. Since we were so very blessed."

He stuck to the back alleys of the town he knew so well, and found himself outside the kitchen entrance to the justice building. He waited only a moment or two before the escort, stylists, and finally the tributes spilled out. This time his smile was not kind. It was sad, a match to his anguished green eyes. "Miss Lovelace, is that right? You have a beautiful name. Perhaps you'd like to tell me how you came by it." Fabian offered his arm for the second time that day. The first to his wife, who could not be taken from him no matter how many reapings. And the second to a girl who had already been stolen. A citizen from his district. A fish from his school. What a shitty Mayor he had turned into, after all.

banner credit: this girl right hurr
lyrics: robert pattinson let me sign

[Python]

After soiling her expectations and projecting her stoic mask across television screens, The Capitol would demand her departure by train and summon her to their headquarters; the fantasy land she had only wanted to see on screens and photos.

They have branded me as one of their own, but first I must surrender myself to the battlefield to earn their acceptance. This abrupt shift in her lifestyle had been unwillingly thrust upon her like a catastrophic tidal wave, leaving only memories as remnants of the destruction. As confident as she appeared, she was agitated by the whole ordeal; why should she gamble for her life when there were those who were more deserving of the danger? Her present life was not of much worth, but she valued what she could manipulate and mold into something better - a life worth living where she would bask in light rather than shadow. She was not comfortable wasting her efforts for a mere Game of glory, but fate was not providing her with much choice on the matter. The winding highways that would symbolize her life decisions had now been narrowed into one fork; left was death, and right was life. I know what I must choose.

A silent sigh escaped her as the ceremony ended and the escorts smothered her. She was so used to Priscilla and others receiving incessant attention that the spotlight was almost discomforting, but certainly not unwelcome. This would be her life for the next two weeks; lights, cameras, and eyeballs tearing her personal bubble to shreds. She might as well adjust to this sudden influx of praise and attention while it was fresh. I may even begin to enjoy it. After all, she had endured the last six years of her life without a shred of motherly affection or positive attention. No, she was just the Lovelace’s little slave girl, and to Priscilla and her comrades she was merely a trickster and a sad excuse for a career only because she need not use brute force to tackle her opponents. They called her strategies silly, her techniques just “tricks.” Sure, they were useful once in a awhile, but it would never meet their standards. They accepted only giant, bloodthirsty savages into their ‘gang’ (though she wasn’t sure why Priscilla was there, she did not meet these qualifications). For once, it would feel rewarding for somebody to praise her rather than reject her. But that does not mean I will agree to play nice.

She recognized the district mayor as they approached the Justice Building. Her district partner - a younger boy named ‘Gaff‘, whom she chose to ignore for the time being - was beside her, but for now they would remain strangers to one another. The time for bonding and conversation would arrive later. ”Miss Lovelace, is that right? You have a beautiful name. Perhaps you’d like to tell me how you came by it.” When he offered his arm, she obliged only out of respect. There were two aspects to her name, a truth and a lie, and the district’s beloved mayor was questioning the origin of the lie. Locust was her honest name, and she knew the meaning behind it (I’m not just a plague). But the name “Lovelace” was a different story entirely; one that she would rather not share, yet parted her lips to explain regardless. ”The name Lovelace does not belong to me. I was adopted when I was eleven, after my true parents perished in a house fire.” In her mind she could define every bitter emotion that consumed her whenever she imagined the past and how it ruined her from the inside out, but externally she was apathetic with a dead drawl to match. She stated it casually to keep any oncoming feelings of pity to a minimum. Pity was one thing she did not need at the moment.

”I would rather be called Locust, if you don’t mind.”[/justify][/blockquote]