heave, ho, heave, ho // [Lalia]

[wimdy]

The wind off the sea is moist, tiny particles of salt and water hitting my face and clinging to my hair. I breathe in the air, my lungs heavy with the ocean swimming within them. Everything feels heavy today. The grey clouds hang tired upon the shore, clearing out father in the distance and revealing the bright sky that hides above. There is no snow here, the white surrounding me merely the sun-bleached sands of time, washed upon the shores with careful strokes of foamy brushes. The soaked swirls of sand decorate the pale beach in sweeping flourishes. My sweater is beaten and pulled lopsided, hanging across my body in draping swoops. My legs a covered in thick denim, but it makes no difference for the cold that saturates my body. It is freezing, here upon the shore, and I am drowning in it readily.

Some days, it is easier to admit that I do have feelings. It is easier to sag in sadness, grin with glee, sigh with solemnity. It is easier to let myself be overrun by wave after wave of emotional toil until there is nothing left but to give in to it and sink under the rolling waters into the abyss. It is easier to breathe in the water and feel the weight sink me down than keep myself above water with careful, calculated movements. Then, I renew. I reign myself back in and curl my emotions tight into a ball and shove them deep down my throat, choking on them with every moment of passive indifference. There is no other choice, not when I am as I am, feel as I feel.

My heart thrums in my chest, air rushing from my mouth in a sigh as I drop my head forward to rest upon my knees. Heart heavy, head heavy, and world heavy, I try to hold together.

[L△LIA]

( H A R P E R K E L L A N L I B E R T I N E )

the ocean breathes salty
won't you carry it in
in your head
in your mouth
in your soul

It's bitterly cold on the shore, all salt-wind and ocean-grief, but I don't feel it. Instead the breeze seems to push right through me, emptying me out of everything awful and tugging my thoughts into the air until they are beyond me. The shivers and goosebumps become friends and a strange sort of comfort. The last few years have been heavy ones and it's nice to have an afternoon off from dwelling on loss, a few hours where I can remember myself and be content to allow everything — and everyone — else to vacate my mind.

When another person does find their way back to me, it is not unwelcome. The ocean is holding my ghosts at bay, so today is for the living. He is brutal against the pale shoreline, a bruise upon the sand, but Andros is not a mark of darkness to me. Friend isn't the right word, but it could be, perhaps in much same way that cold is today's confidant. Breaking into a sprint, I fling myself at him with far more enthusiasm than he will ever match. Hair whipping through the air and body soaring toward him, I feel a little more settled, as if I am in slow motion and life is mine for the taking. So I do. I throw my arms around him, an incoherent babble of sound echoing out my throat in place of hello, and I take... even though I know he doesn't want me to.

[wimdy]

The wind whips my face mercilessly with salty spray and rough sand, each blast burning at my skin. It is strange that something so abstract, so light, can be so powerful. I hunker down into myself more, hearing only the roaring of the wind in my ears and the beating of my own faulty heart. I am to be a rock. Emotionless. Powerful. As strong as the mountains and as untamed as the seas. Here upon the sand, I am but a speck to be whisked away. I should not be here, but there, dictating the fates of twenty-three other tributes with a swing of a sword, a jab of a lance, a toss of a knife. I am as fierce as they come and something to be feared, but I will never win their support here. Here, I am a Career, a trainee, no matter what rank I am. I am expected to be ready when my time comes, but I have been ready all my life. There comes a time for action. I let that time slip past.

I don’t even manage to make a noise when a blur enters my vision before it is knocking me sideways onto the sand. It’s instinct for me to roll with the blow, my momentum forcing me onto the top of the heap. My mouth is opened in a half snarl and my eyes are narrowed into slits as I look down to the person I straddle, my hands tightening on his wrists. For a moment, I am frozen. Recognition hits. My mouth drops into a flat line and my eyes open to a normal level. I am a mask of indifference. The tension in my body fades in an instant. Harper. Of course it’s Harper. No one else has the gall to even talk to me, not to mention tackle me in broad daylight. He seems to have no sense of self-preservation most times. I raise an eyebrow at him just slightly before tipping sideways to lay next to him in the sand. With my arms crossed behind my head, I lean back and let my eyes slip shut, accepting his company without a word.

[L△LIA]

[bg=ECF1F4][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] Momentum can be a strange thing. Once it starts, that kind of forceful movement becomes something momentarily permanent, undeniable and reckless. Throwing myself at Andros, we become unstoppable in this way. We are a crash. We are something bound to the future. We are something that no longer possesses a choice to be anything other than the moment that will follow. Our collision of bodies and heartless abandon falls to the sand in an aimless tumble as we roll and duke it out for a nameless kind of victory. I'm the kind of easy that is content to crown him, lazily letting him claim control of the situation as he pins my wrists above my head and plays directly into my amusement. Straddling my hips and wound up like his life is on the line, Andros glares down at me like he's about to slit my throat and I can't help leering back at him, a wicked smirk playing at my mouth as a snicker writhes in my lungs. "Dirty boy —" My eyes look him up and down in mock appraisal as I impishly kiss at the air between us, smacking my lips with curiosity to see how easily I can raise his hackles, always searching for a hint of the vulnerability he swears doesn't exist. "— and here I thought I was the only one who was excited to see you." It takes about a millisecond for him to disentangle himself from me in favor of the sand, leaving me with the disappointment of a single raised eyebrow and nothing more. Clearly, I'm losing my touch. Not one to give a conquest up easily — mock or otherwise — I spin against the shoreline and in one fluid motion reposition myself to use his stomach as a pillow, sarcastically fluttering my eyelashes at him as I nuzzle into his shirt like the obnoxious thorn in his side that I am. "How's life, Sugarplum? Doesn't your day just feel so much brighter with me around?" i spend my money on the regular m i r a c l e s just like you l i k e m e like everybody else

[wimdy]

Harper is a creature of strange habit and pleasure. The habit he maintains is one of constant bothersome presence while his pleasure is being such a nuisance to others. He speaks with plump lips curving upwards into a semblance of something suggestive and provocative, each syllable accented with the flick of a wicked tongue. His eyes, however, dull with every spoken word. The blue in them seems to have seeped out little by little each moment we have spoken, leaving them a flat grey slate. If the eyes are the window to the true soul, then I wonder what is truly left of the blonde-haired boy cushioned upon my stomach. Harper is the kind of opponent I wouldn’t want to face in the Arena because there is something mysterious lingering just below his skin and just out of reach. His every move drips with enticement to the world, but I am left standing along the sidelines wondering what kind of creature he truly is. Surely, he isn’t a human. I don’t like the uneasiness he leaves sitting in my stomach every time he tries to will an emotional outburst from me. The emotions are easy to keep at bay in front of others by now, but the sheer curiosity bubbling under my skin makes me feel nauseous.

He flutters his eyelashes at me coyly, trying for the seventy-fifth time this month to illicit some kind of emotion from my. I blink stoically back, raising an eyebrow in mocking at him. He is nothing if not incorrigible. A flicker of disappointment flashes behind those slate-grey eyes before he is upping his game. This is how it has always been since he realized I existed and that I had something for him to gain pleasure from. He makes an opening gesture to try and bring forth an emotion. I deny. He tries again. I very clearly point to the sign hanging on the wall that says ’Emotions are out. Please check back later.’ He tries to break down the wall instead, but there’s still nothing there for him to find. It’s a silly dance we have, him the aggressor and me the victim. I am not a victim except if by choice. I find entertainment in our game, like chess. It is move after move, one trying to outsmart the other. I’m winning. I always win. Harper presses his face into my stomach and nuzzles, earning another raised eyebrow. I hold back the smirk that wants to play on my lips, saving it to infuriate him later. ”How's life, Sugarplum? Doesn't your day just feel so much brighter with me around?” I let my eyes linger on his face for a moment before closing again. Slowly, I wet my lips, licking across the chapped skin and feeling the burn of salt.

“You seem to have some kind of mental disorder. I tell you, obsession is quite a serious matter. You might want to see a doctor about the one you seem to have with my functioning. I’ll indulge you this once, but you really must break your habit. It’s unhealthy,” I murmur, mouth moving lazily against the air. My lungs fill with salt as I breathe in, feeling Harper’s head bob with my exhalation. “My life is routine. You know that. You appearing to attempt to entice me to have a catharsis is just another piece of said routine. There’s no extra light by what I can see that comes of it. Check your wattage. You’re not as luminescent as you believe.”

[L△LIA]

[bg=ECECEC][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] Rolling my eyes at his speech, Andros breaths in and I exhale with an exasperated sigh. "Oh —" my voice lilts against the breeze, languid and all too used to our nagging banter "— just shut up and love me." Lips curling into silent laughter, I settle in against my human pillow and turn my attention to the clouds above us. High up in the air, sea monsters and unicorns float by and yet, none of them have a thing on the two of us. "Bitch, I'm fabulous. It's you who has the disorder — blind! Soulless! Pathological liar!" My hands bat at the distant clouds with each word of my condescending declaration, playing god within my own mind as though my movements were responsible for each shift in the aerial display. "Woe is your life, Andros. Woe." If nothing else, I know he's just as full of it as I am when he talks like this because it's moments like these when something sparks in me and I start to think I remember a little bit about what home is supposed to feel like. My smile dulled more and more with the deaths of my sisters and the two Ripley boys that were almost like brothers from time to time, but being called out like this must make me a little more genuine. Despite his brick wall style of comforting, Andros doesn't let me get by with quite so much of my bullshit as the rest of the world. I can only be so fake, even if he remains as tightly wound as ever. "Without me, that routine of yours would bore you to death. I'm the freakin' wind beneath your wings and you just need to learn to accept that." For no other reason than because I can get away with it when no one else in the entire world can, I pause to blow a kiss at him before pointing back to the cloud-creatures above us. "That is one mean looking unicorn. Like one of the four magical horsemen of the apocalypse... looks just like you." up on the sun looking sad and b e a u t i f u l just like you l i k e m e like everybody else

[wimdy]

”Oh, just shut up and love me.” He breathes the words with all the weight of a feather and all the attitude of an heiress. My lips tilt upwards in a slight smirk at his acting, watching as the heiress persona comes to life in his batting about at the clouds as if he is their ruler, their god. He’s high-strung on delusion, but he knows his own insanity just as well as I know mine. There’s no faking inside of himself. Harper knows exactly what he is, just as I know exactly what I am. I am a Career, fine-tuned to destroy all those who would dare stand in my way. I know my purpose in life better than most people know the palms of their hands. They all see me the same, however; blind, soulless, pathological liar. The same words Harper accuses into the air as he declares my life is woe and woe alone. This routine I have built, from the very moment of my realization of my potential, is not woe but focus. No one trains themself so completely as I do. No one goes to the lengths I do to be the strongest, the best, the most remorseless. When it comes time to step upon that pad and hear the countdown, I will have no qualms with my role. I’ll just have a weapon and a purpose.

Harper calls me out on my wall more than anyone else. My doctors have accepted my void of emotion and marked me down as psychotic. I know they’ve told the trainers at the center to keep an eye on me, watch my every move, make sure I don’t kill anyone. The trainers, in turn, have learned to harness my blank slate. They’ve spun a tapestry of me, a work of art. I’m a hunter, a specialist in survival and slaughter. I’m a power untapped and waiting to let go. I won’t kill anyone here. It would be a waste. There’s no bore in knowing one’s true potential and harnessing it. Harper is wrong. He has become a constant though. He shows up after my training from time to time, pulls me along to eat somewhere. Some days, he forces me to come to his family’s pawn shop and shows me the things they’ve collected from poor people and the Ripleys. He’s someone who is there, though I wonder when he will tire of trying to crack my shell with his flirtations and touchy-feely tendencies. A kiss is blown in my direction and I raise a hand to swat it away just to spite him. My eyes flicker up to the clouds, head shifting a little sideways to try and see what he is seeing. I breathe out a little in exasperation, letting my eyes narrow on his face at his insult. “How cute. If anyone is a unicorn here, it’s you. One with a very small horn, no doubt. The apocalypse is strikingly not frightening if you’re a leader of it, you Harpie.”

[L△LIA]

[bg=CCCDCF][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] The truth is: I'm the one who's bored. Somewhere along the line I decided it would be defiant to try to preserve what always was. Pen and Learna may have slipped away, but I could still hold onto the pawn shop and the dull nothingness of day to day. Until I lost them, I thought I wanted life to be exciting and new, because I didn't understand yet how that could also be synonymous with something too awful to handle. Now there's a part of me that likes being bored, playing with clouds and the locked-up emotions of someone I might be leaning on in a multitude of ways less literal than our current lay-about might suggest. This endless repetition of ours has become something for the future to aspire to, a promise that I'm terrified we won't be able to keep. Andros swats away my air-kiss and I promptly catch it and throw it back at him, the stretched-out sleeves of the fuzzy sweater I stole from Ursula fluttering dramatically in the action of the moment. "Trust me, Honeybear, this unicorn has the biggest horn of all." I roll over and stretch out across him, aimlessly sprawling my arms over his torso just to further violate his personal space... as if I hadn't done enough of that over the course of the last few minutes. And weeks. And months. And the history of ever. Shaking my pale blonde mane against the wind, I attempt to whinny like a horse — or, rather, a magical, sparkling unicorn of unfathomable fabulousness — and wind up sounding like a raspy harlot instead, which I figure is close enough. "You go ahead and lead your apocalypse. I'll just get senselessly maimed and slaughtered with all the other cute things in the world. Puppies and glitter and my face. All gone. Oh, the tragedy!" The other truth we don't talk about is that these ridiculous words of mine really are scary, because the name Libertine means they're true. you’re so sweet but I like it r o u g h light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

[wimdy]

Mother was frightened that there was something wrong with me at a very young age when I would watch the Hunger Games and refuse to speak to her ever. I absorbed every word she threw at me, every syllable she spoke, but I refused to reciprocate. Even then, I didn’t really need her. I was invincible. I could break my arm and not feel the snap of bone. I could burn my hand and not feel the singeing of flesh. I could cut my cheek and not feel the stab of pain. Pain was nonexistent and, as such, I didn’t need the coddling that every child did. I was better. Without a thought, I carried on without the need of affection or love. My father kept busy with work and my mother kept busy with watching me, hateful eyes cautiously waiting for me to strike. She used to be frightened that something was wrong with me. Now she’s simply frightened of me. Most people are, now. I’ve got eyes like slits and inky hair that covers my face and long fingers with jagged nails. I’m lethal looking. I’m feral and dangerous and just waiting to snap, in their eyes. It isn’t time.

I ignore the kiss thrown back at me, watching through weary eyes as Harper twists around until he’s cushioned and curled up upon my chest, closer now as he speaks. “I highly doubt that, princess,” I mutter, lips curving into a wry smirk. Harper, in no doubt his sister’s sweater, looks more like a girl than a man. His lips are plump and he pouts them unconsciously. His hair flutters about in bleached waves. He’s ridiculous if he thinks that anyone would believe him. The sound he makes next however is simply lewd. My muscles tense in a gut reaction I’m not expecting because nothing makes me move so involuntarily as this. This is new and decidedly not a part of my routine and I don’t like it in the slightest. I have half a mind to hiss at him in response, but I bite it back in favor of pushing him off of me quite unceremoniously. My body loosens slowly, arms coming up to cross behind my head again in an attempt to retain my normality in an outward appearance. I feel strange inside and it makes me nauseous with just the though. When he speaks again, my narrowed eyes shift to look at him from the corners, vision blurry at this angle but just enough to show me his melodrama once more. This time, I really almost do hiss, but it comes out as more of a dull breath of a command. “Desist, Harper.”

[L△LIA]

[bg=F4E3AD][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-bottom:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-bottom:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-bottomright: 25px; border-radius-bottomright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 25px; border-radius-bottomleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] Damn straight I'm a princess unicorn. "It's about time you recognized I'm royalty." Nonchalantly, I flip my hair before my attention snaps to awe as he tenses beneath me. By the time he's throwing me off of him, it's too late — I've already felt it. A reaction. That involuntary spasm of muscle and denied emotion is all it takes to make me cackle with a more honest kind of pleasure than any of the cheap and sarcastic seduction I've given him so far. Oh, sweet proof. Look, there's a soul hiding in that fierce robot body! The command to desist only spurs my laughter until I'm practically rolling in the sand, the girlish pale pink fluff of my sweater and mussed blonde hair bright against the overcast shoreline. "As —" I gasp for air as though I can't remember what it is. "— if." Maybe I've truly forgotten, because I laugh until my head spins and the world around me becomes as light and soft as my clothing. It's not an easy task to win a reaction from my companion, but even if his single-minded Career boy thought process can't realize that I'm actually quite the worthy foe, I know it. I'm a less expected kind of threat. "Caught you, Andy-darling." My voice turns sing-song as I raise my eyebrows at him, attempting and failing to mimic the understated expression I usually get in response from him, but caring little that I inevitably end up over-doing it. Just like everything else. Just like the second round of blatantly sexual, unicorn princess whinny-moaning I respond with. when it gets l o u d i turn it up shake it like a bad girl up in h a r l e m

[wimdy]

The only ‘emotion’ I have ever outwardly shown in public has been during training. Fighting is a brutal savagery if practiced at the right level. Rage is something inherent in true battle. The swing of a sword holds behind it the strength of a lion letting lose all aggression. The swipe of a leg has the force of a hurricane bursting open. The key to battle isn’t to void oneself of all emotion, but to harness the strongest ones until they no longer look like emotions, but perfection. When I lunge and pierce and swing, there is fear not because of the contorted wrath carved into my face, but the utter passion behind the attack. I do not show real emotion. I don’t have it.

Yet here is the uneasy clench in my gut as Harper laughs with pure, unadulterated glee. It’s something I’ve never seen in him. In this one moment, he is more real and authentic than I have ever seen him for the simple fact that he isn’t trying to entice, or seduce, or provoke. His head is thrown back and he’s rolling across the ground with the sheer force of his mirth. My eyes are narrowed in thinly veiled loathing as I watch him. For days, weeks, months, he has tried to elicit a reaction from me without fruition. All it took was one breathy noise from his lips and he got his wish, an involuntary movement of my muscles that set my routine from scheduled to off-track. He can hardly speak he enjoys it so much, this response at last from my unwilling body. Harper is buzzing, staring me down as he practically sings his victory. ”Caught you, Andy-darling.” I breathe out slowly, gathering what little patience for his childish antics I have left before I am cut short by that sound again. My stomach clenches uncomfortably and I sit up, quickly removing myself from the situation before he can laugh or speak again. The sand slips under my feet as I walk away, allowing the frigid water to lick at my heels in an attempt to soothe my boiling anger.

[L△LIA]

[bg=FEFEFE][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] Riotous laughter consumes the beach as I glut myself on my own amusement. For all my effort — whispered sweet nothings, raunchy commentary, and handsy feel-ups — in the end, all I ever needed to do was exhale like a unicorn in heat. Suddenly the world seems to be such a simple place, as if learning what makes Andros tick were on par with the ABC's. (A is for anything but abstinence, Andy-poo, B is for boobs, C is for come a little closer because D is for dirty, dirty things, I promise —) "Does this mean I win?" Andros picks himself up and marches away while I lay back and begin making lazy sand-angels, imprinting my holy likeness into the ever-shifting surface of the beach as I call out to him. "Who knew conquering the mighty Andros would be so easy. It's alright, sweetums! Don't be ashamed to retreat! My charms are not to be reckoned with; defeat was always inevitable." Voice slinking through the air, sleek and sticky against his fading shadow, I wave goodbye with a showy toodle-loo-twirl of my fingers. (— E is for emotional denial, F is for fornication at all hours, G is for gay machine, goats, girls, guys, and galloping abs —) What he doesn't yet understand about his deadliest daydreams that I do, is that if he ever makes it into the Games, it's not brute force and sharpened swords he'll need to watch out for. It was the mind games and last-chance-before-death feelings that took the hardest toll on the people I loved and lost... there is more than one victory to be found within his emotions. That's why, one day, my lewd advances might just save his stubborn life, but (— H is for Harper hopes he never has to see that happen.) and if you close your eyes does it almost f e e l like you've been here b e f o r e

[wimdy]

The moment my back is turned to him, I drop my attempts at keeping my anger off of my face. I let my lips sink into a fierce scowl, muscles straining with the effort of holding such a foreign concept like emotion. My eyes are narrowed, but wildly darting around the beach before me, looking for something to take my rage out on. There is nothing. There’s not a single thing with which to alleviate my stress. The muscles all along my shoulders feel tense in a way I've never felt. This isn't anything like the tension from a good training session. It’s white hot and uncomfortable and persistent despite my attempts to roll it away. My stomach rolls in mutiny to add insult to injury. This isn't supposed to happen ever. My body is traitorous and I want to peel back my skin. I could probably do it. I wouldn't feel the pain, just the pressure of blunt nails digging away the flesh that crawls with discomfort. I can practically feel it squirming as Harper calls across the beach in mocking.

I pace away until his voice is muffled by the rising winds. The sand strikes my face and lashes out at my exposed skin, wearing it down little by little. I don’t feel the stinging pain I've been told I should, but the pressure of hundreds of tiny particles hitting me. I’m numb to the block attempts at evoking a reaction. That’s how I always should be. I shouldn't be able to be cracked. I sit down slowly, stretching out my legs in front of me to rid myself of the cramping that has come from my outburst. The water is coming farther up the beach, but still I lay down within its strike range to let it kiss across my ankles. I don’t feel the cold much, just as I don’t feel heat when I burn. The pain simply doesn't exist. There’s no reaction to bring about. Instead, I lay myself back and shove my hands below my head again. My eyes close slowly, tension fading out of my body as I focus only on the routine sound of crashing waves and striking winds. It’s not a perfect rhythm, but it’s constant. It’s a give and take that continues no matter what. My muscles all but turn to liquid as I finally let go of my anger. This cannot happen. If these were the Games, that could have been the one movement that broke my chances of success. I cannot let that happen.

[L△LIA]

[bg=ECF1F4][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i41.tinypic.com/aox4le.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;] One. Two. Three. The seconds tick by slowly as I shimmy against the sand, swinging my arms wide above my head until my implied wings have claimed ownership of the entire earth. It's not lost on me that there's no halo drawn above this angelic harpie, but either way I have faith that I'm worthy of stories to be told. After all, the victors of war are the ones who write the history books and today will not go unsung. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. That said and done, this is steadily becoming the most peaceful horizontal dance of my life, silence descending as Andros seeks an escape from me. I think we both know that his effort is as futile as it is temporary, his habit of walking away just as constant as my lackadaisical persistence. Eighty-four. Eighty-five. Eighty-six. "So. Bored." Yet even as I heave an exasperated sigh and flail a little in a moment of vacant frustration, there's just the smallest hint of a more truthful smile stitched into the crook of my lips that appreciates this lack of eventfulness. Then again — It's been one hundred and eleven seconds since huffy-Andros abandoned me and I'm so done with this laying still and experimenting with zen thing. Scampering across the beach, a skip in my step and fluffy sweater fluttering in the breeze, I track my ill-mannered companion down twice as quickly as he'd ever wish me to. "As the newly crowned champion of your soul, I demand a prize." Plopping down a few feet away, I pause for dramatic effect, arching an eyebrow and making certain my expression holds as much subtext as possible. My face says: You know you missed me. You know that was the longest two minutes of your life. Smile, bitch. "I will accept diamonds, imported shampoo, sexual favors, excessive compliments, and your endless devotion as acceptable rewards. Victors have a right to the spoils of war, so —" Crawling toward him like an amateur model playacting as Cricket Antoinette's infamous tiger, I whip my platinum mane around and swipe at the air with faux-claws before lunging and throwing myself at him, because this is what I do. Curling up beside him, my voice turns to a feline purr as I oh-so-eloquently make my demand for him to "— spoil me." we were caught up and lost in all of our v i c e s in your pose as the dust settles a r o u n d u s

[wimdy]

A growl lodges in my throat when I hear the sand start shifting in ways far too loud for it to be from the simple press of the tide or sweep of the wind. There are feet coming towards me in fluttering footsteps across the solid ocean of white and I want to cringe for its disturbance of my solitude. I came here to unload, to allow the release of emotion, but that isn’t within my choices if there is another soul to bear witness. It’s too late for that now. Harper has drawn an involuntary response. He has seen a flicker of emotion come from my form and from my actions and from my words when he was not supposed to know I possessed raw emotion at all. I am the Career, the emotionless machine, the man without a heart. I’m the psychotic boy who can handle a spear and cleave a heart in two, not the boy who can smile and cry and love. This is not who I am, not who people know me as. They never will because that boy does not exist. He died with my birth and I do not regret the strength it gave me to not feel what he did.

”As the newly crowned champion of your soul, I demand a prize. I will accept diamonds, imported shampoo, sexual favors, excessive compliments, and your endless devotion as acceptable rewards. Victors have a right to the spoils of war, so-” My face is schooled into my usual blasé mask of indifference, lips slack and eyes dulled of all life. My skin is quiet instead of rumbling with the power of unused emotion. I allow my eyes to blink open, adjusting to the light again as my head tips sideways to glance at Harper and his inane prattling on. He’s feline and feminine, lips drawn up and eyes twinkling as he swishes his hair and hips and crawls inch by inch toward me. He’s only a few feet away when he lunges, colliding with my side and sprawling atop me for the merest moment. I allow it, if only because it doesn’t require an effort or façade to create. My eyes slip shut as he curls up by my side and I can feel him pressed against every inch of me. ”-spoil me.” It’s obscene, the way he acts. I want to push him away, to get up and leave him behind. That involves another break in routine though and I won’t stand for that. Instead, I stretch out the arm that lies above his head and breathe quietly before gracing him with a response. “But I’m soulless, Harper. You said it yourself. You won’t be receiving anything from me. Surely you have someone else to keep up with your petty whims.”