In the world of beasts, we rise {Teen Wolf plot}

[Python]

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

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D E D R I C H A L E
DISTRICT2 | EIGHTEEN

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Tonight there would be a full moon.

Not that this meant anything to the last remnant of the old Hale religion. The beliefs had burned with his family’s bones, withering to ashes beneath a disheveled roof leaving whispers of memories behind. He could understand their admiration of the moon’s children; wolves were experienced hunters, guided by instinct to thrive in the darkness as a pack where there was strength in numbers and trust between members. Teamwork was the key to survival, all organized beneath the eyes of an alpha - the trueborn leader who earned its worthy title. A “pack” was what his family had always labeled itself, and Dedric had once been a member of it despite his hesitation to practice true worship and conform to his family’s obsessive “old ways.” Now he was the lone wolf, severed from every bond forged by blood. The last Hale.

He couldn’t carry their legacy.

There was passion somewhere past the cold façade – rage hotter than fire, anguish deeper than a fatal wound, but there was no room for his family’s dead religion. He simply couldn’t find it within himself to love the mighty beasts as they had. Let the Argents believe what they wanted - Dedric Hale was no wolf. He was just the outcast descendant, the man left with only fragments to mend on his own. He had managed to scrounge up a “pack” of his own (though he would rather stifle the old habit of calling it that), a little flock of underprivileged hormonal teenagers that trained beneath an experienced chaperone’s criticizing gaze. When the idea first came to him all those months ago he had expected to recruit one, two, maybe three desperate kids. Four had been the limit, until some of them had started to bring friends.

Now his loft was a madhouse during training sessions. It always felt as if there were plenty of bodies but not enough dummies. These things weren’t cheap, and just recently he had been forced to downgrade to straw figures. Still, there were plenty of dummies arranged throughout the open space for various sorts of activities – even a few targets planted here and there for archery. Alita would be most talented with those, and by the end of today’s gathering he expected to pluck an arrow out of the center of every target. Then there were students like Jairus – a burly ball of competitive aggression and arrogance that would most likely attempt to destroy every dummy in sight, save for the few Dedric would guard for the less experienced hands. He was quite sure that Jairus did not belong in a place like this; he was already wealthy, privileged and blessed with natural talent. The career stereotype as presented on television.

It wasn’t just Jairus, either. Hands practically glued together he always brought his girlfriend without permission, displaying her like a trophy in this ugly room. He was nothing less than a show-off, yet while Dedric could reject his company he was too stubborn to heed his orders. He also couldn’t deny Liela’s company if she was serious about training alongside him, because she wasn’t much of a fighter, but he would only tolerate her if she took it seriously instead of strutting around and wasting his time. Her presence posed another problem as well, but only to one. Another straggler, actually, dragged along by Soren to the meetings. Or rather, it was more like the boy following his best friend like a puppy. Stiles Stilinksi. He had to be the least competent of the group, and the most distracted. Dedric couldn’t kick him out either because he was just as deserving as Soren, but if the kid planned to accomplish anything he would have to narrow his focus a lot. Lielia tagging along with Jairus did not help, since all the kid could do was pine over her.

Not all was hopeless and uncertain, though. There was an opposite end to this spectrum, one of wishes full-filled and pride gained. Teens like Soren, Icarus, Erin, Boyd and Alita were the flourishing pupils that could actually take this seriously and improve at unexpectedly impressive rates. He could use them as motivating examples for Stiles and Liela, as constant reminders that one day they could be that strong and agile and accurate as well if they put their hearts and souls into their work.

For now, it was one step at a time. Everyone was on a different level, and he would have to note each individual’s progress.

As the sun remained suspended over the horizon like a golden pendant, Dedric checked his watch and leaned against the window sill of the loft. They were due in fifteen minutes, though he knew there would be early birds either psyching themselves up for a day of success or rubbing their eyelids wishing that the sun would set quicker. He couldn’t really blame them – he was a teenager too, after all. Eighteen and still aware of how the education system and the workforce functioned. Some would be tired of a day’s worth of labor, others would be swamped with homework. He understood all of it, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would show mercy. This was career training, and essentially it was simulating the real deal. The real Hunger Games, where targets moved and tried to hit you back twice as hard. If any of these teens happened to be reaped, they could not afford to slack off.

That was why he had volunteered to offer training in the first place – on the off-chance that some unfortunate soul with zero weapons’ experience were to be plucked and thrust into the Games to be slaughtered like undeserving prey. The harsh truth was that equality did not and could not exist, even in a career district infamous for its top-notch warriors. Where there were strong trainees there were also harmless orphans. Where there were kids blessed to be born into the right family, there were those who were never even offered a chance. There were plenty of careers, but there were also plenty of poor souls who carried only bad luck and loose change in their pockets.

Dedric Hale wanted to change this. He knew he couldn’t save everyone – he certainly couldn’t save his own damn family from a group of stupid hunters – but he could try. And who knows, maybe it will save a life or two.

As he heard the front door swing open, he turned around.

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template by chelsey

[[nyte]]

H O P E I S A F O U R L E T T E R W O R D

[presto]

V A N C E ♦ B O Y D

The morning was relentless. It's rays burning closed eyelids through the window lined with dust. Haven't been bothered to clean it, as this house is only used to sleep, most of my time spent with those whom I consider closer than family. A large hand wipes the sleep from my face and heavy feet force me out of bed. My eyes find the bed adjacent to my own, its silence screaming at me with brutal haste. It was hers. I dared not say her name. Even the sight of such a relic causes my heart to jump sporadically, emotions rushing through my mind like the white rapids of a river. And I, caught in its overwhelming embrace. For a second, I feel weak.

I take in a deep breath, holding it until the pressure behind my eyes has ceased. Air escapes through pursed lips, until I can feel nothing but the sun upon my exposed neck. No longer acknowledging the bed which has lay empty for many a month, I stomp about. Never known for my grace, I manage to get a foot caught in the worn comforter in which I had been wrapped prior. "Shit!" the tenor thunders throughout the room, and most likely throughout the entire household. "Shit. Shit. Shit!" it's more of an angry whisper now, as the rush to escape this house commences. Lest face the wrath of Ms. Rite.

I don't have to think about what I'm doing. A shirt soon clings to my chest, and course jean to my legs. I can hear her feet, like raindrops against a ceiling as they make their way up the stairs. The brass knob gives a satisfying click beneath my hand and it soon flies against the wall. My feet are their own storm as I fly down the steps, pushing past the kindly old lady in my haste.

"Thank you, bye!" It sounds almost unnatural leaving my lips. Usually sealed so tightly, almost impossible to pull them apart, to say something. Yet so freely they open when addressing the kindly woman who offered me her lodgings. How could I not, after all she was the only mother I'd ever had.

The only father at that.

Feet, carelessly squeezed into old chucks, soon hit the pavement. The speed I had so carefully cultivated aiding me in my rush. This sudden burst of energy almost takes me by surprise, had I not known why I was so eager to make it to the day's training. Reasons I am unwilling to admit outside the confines of my subconscious.

I've always been an outcast, caught in a current in which I did not belong. Stuck looking through a window, stuck an observer. I hated every minute of the role in which I had been stuck. That is, until I met Dedric. He knew which words would peak my interest. Words which caressed the need that had been growing inside of me a very long time. To finally belong. To be something in which I had never been.

Accepted.

I willingly intertwined my fate with the others, fifteen years of solitude being more than enough.

And so I run.

My first destination, however, is not to the man who I know waits for me. The growling within my stomach becoming something more than unbearable. I slow my pace, gently opening the door to a quaint little place which my mornings are usually spent.

I can see their recognition, the gleam in their eyes as I take a seat. Three booths down and one to the left, like always. She makes her way toward me, the pretty blonde with the dark eyes, in the bright yellow sundress with a white apron thrown carelessly atop it. "The usual dearey?" she speaks in the tone of a mother, eyes gleaming with hospitality.

As per usual, when addressed directly by another, I feel myself shrink. It's almost comical, a boy my age doesn't allow me to be considered a man, not by my standards at least whose stature is one as powerful as mine, cannot face even the simplest of social situations. I give a nod, picking up the menu which I now know by heart.

It takes only ten minutes for the dish to be sitting in front of me. Coffee, always black with three cubes of sugar, and a Danish sits in front of me. I pick up the cream-colored paper, spreading it across the table below me, the small black lines telling tale of the day's events. Upon the front page, in large print is of course the hunger games. News of deaths and the capitol's general bloodlust disgusts me as much as it fascinates me. I cannot help as my eyes fly across the paper, reading of the events which have taken place over the first four days. And as sickened as I am, I wonder who will make it out of this sick game.

My feet once again pound the pavement, a few scattered bills left upon the polished mahogany. The wind slides across my face with cold fury. My morning ritual is nearly complete. Only a few more steps until I once again am ready to push my body to the absolute limit. To impress those who have welcomed me into their embrace with open arms.

I want nothing more than their approval.

The night radiates power. I can feel it in the air as it the day ever so slowly recedes into the night. Even if the morning has yet to wield I can feel it coming. The night has been waiting a long while for this. And with baited breath, it yearns for a release. The wind once again caresses my cheek, coaxing my hand forward, to wrap around the metal door which stood between me and my adopted family.

And so I pull, the door giving way with ease. I cannot help but smile as I inch forward, trying to make as little noise possible as I slip into the room. My arms cross and my shoulder braces itself upon a column.

"Hope I'm not late." despite the somewhat sarcastic phrase a smile spreads across my lips.


Vance Boyd is always fashionably early.

[/presto]
♦T E M P L A T E B Y C H E L S E Y♦

[✨ zozo.]

[presto] A L I T A A R G E N T I SEE THE LIES IN YOUR TEETH. [/presto] "Do you want to talk about-" "No." Dad sighs. "Alita-" "Dad, no." I don't want to talk about her. Them. About how my Aunt was killed in a riot caused by Peacekeepers searching for the Hales twenty-six weeks fourteen days eight hours fifty-seven minutes and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen seconds ago because she jumped in front of a bullet that would have hit me instead. About how my mother killed herself because I wasn't good enough. About how I drove her mad, about how I drove myself mad. How I get everyone killed because I am not damn good enough. (I haven't slept in 17 hours. My eyelids bleed purple bruises of exhaustion and my fingernails dig into my palms to keep me awake. I will do this. I can do this.) "I wanna talk about this mission," I say at last. "Test me." "Al you've done this a hundred ti-" "Test me." I sound scarily like my mother. (His eyes flinch and I can tell he hears her too.) The way she'd snap from silent to deadly in a heartbeat always frightened me. Her eyes would glower, cut and tear through a person's walls until she grabbed you by the neck and choked out your loyalty to her, and with what breath she let you hold onto you heaved in with promises to never disappoint her ever again. Train, breathe. Solve, breathe. Hunt, breathe. Do my duty and she'd let me breathe. Perhaps if I do mine right this time my heart will still be beating by the time the moon rises. I tell him that my name is Alita Garnet. (Aren't we clever, anagramming our surname we once bore proudly across our chests. It's scrawled into my too-new schoolbooks and stitched across too-new clothes. I've lived in this house less than a year and already it's starting to feel like home. It's too real and I hate that.) That I'm seventeen and that my father designs and deals weapons for training centres. That my family has always been skilled with bows and arrows and that I learnt from my Grandfather when I was small. That we moved because my parents divorced and our house was too big, that we needed a change. That my Uncle was a training instructor and taught me how to be a Career. That since we moved across the District I needed a new instructor, new friends. Tongues are loaded with answers to every question that they could ever possibly aim at us. It's a story I have told myself enough times that I'm starting to believe. We write our own lives to hide who we are and I'm sure if they ask about my mother I'll spin up a story good enough for curious ears. Nobody wants to ask about married-to-her-job mothers. Everybody wants to hear about suicidal ones instead. Dad kisses my head before I leave. Nobody asks to be born with the family that they are thrust into. (Nobody asks to die because of them either.) Most people my age at least get to chose their friends. But as for I? My friends are picked out for me by my family and I watch as their own are burnt to the ground. I do not have time to pick them out from the ashes and tell them how sorry I am, to lie behind a press of hands and a hankerchief and a whisper of condolence. I am whisked away with the wind to destroy another family and I leave them to rot in the dust I created with slips of conversation and exchanged whispers I found in the corners of homes and cracks in the roof. I was created to destroy but my own ties are crumbling because I am too weak to hold my family's legacy up high enough. (I slipped up. I choked under pressure. I let the wrong information get into the wrong hands and my mother deteriorated underneath my wrongdoing. Avox or death. Avox or death. I found her with a knife in her chest on the kitchen floor when I was 14. I must be stronger than that.) Stronger than my Mom, or my Aunt, stronger than all of them. Than Erin, than Boyd, than Miles or Soren or Icarus or Jairus or even Leila. I am destruction. I am chaos, and strife, and pain. I am the fire that burnt down the Hale house all those years ago - I feel it in my bloodstream. But I will not set my skin alight to melt their freezing ice-cold hearts. "Hope I'm not late" Vance grins. From the shadows I aim and fire - an arrow flying into the column he rests beside. I laugh and step into the light. "You're never late." template by chelsey

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

[presto][/presto]

L I E L A  M A R T I N

{ the primadonna life
the rise and fall ;

Careful hands painted the circumference of her eyes slow and steady. It was all that was left to do- her hair was already curled and pulled into a ponytail and she was already dressed. "Seriously, Liela, let's just GO." She scowled. "People are gonna be there, Jarius. I'm not gonna look crappy in front of everyone." He spoke as if he didn't hear her. "I'm leaving." his muffled voice declared from the other side of the door. "Don't be surprised if I have a new girlfriend by the time you get there." She rolled her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see her. As soon as she finished she smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt- yes, her skirt, even though she knew Jarius would give her hell about it.

She knew he couldn't be too far ahead of her, she'd only taken another two or three minutes to finish up before stomping out of the door and heading his direction. After a few minutes of speed walking, (she hated walking alone; it made her look like a loser) she caught sight of him. "Hey!" She yelled as soon as she saw the confident boy, then she strolled up to him and pushed him in the shoulder. "Two things. One, don't leave me again, and two, don't leave me again." then she wrapped her hand in his and sighed, not bothering to wait for a response. "How much longer do you think it'll be before we get there?" She didn't mind walking, Alita made her walk with her often, but when she was around Jarius she found herself acting more like a whiny teenage girl than ever. Shallow, hungry for attention and craving acceptance were only a few of the things Liela Martin knew she was when Jarius was around. She had actually taken quite a liking for the boy, even if she had initiated the relationship in order to stay on top of all the social circles, to be more widely known as the queen bee.

Liela was the only one good enough for Jarius Whittemore, the school's most talked about boy. She was the only one that could tame the lion that was now her boyfriend, the only one that could get him to look her way more than once. Girls envied her already, when she walked down the hallway holding his hand, they envied her even more, each of them wanting something they couldn't have but she could, each of them wishing more than anything they could be her, be Liela Martin. But what had started as a reminder to everyone that she truly ran the school had blossomed into quite an attraction to the boy. He was a bit arrogant, and he liked to bite off more than he could chew, but he was easy on the eyes and, regardless of how he acted, he cared about her.

She leaned her head on him as they walked in silence, enjoying the setting sun and the smell of grass until they finally arrived at their destination: a spacious loft that housed a boy with dark eyes, darker hair, and an even darker past. Dedric Hale was a mystery in all senses of the word, and no matter how much Liela tried, he was one of the very few things she could never figure out. She knew about his family's history, the legends that swallowed all of district two about the Hale name, about what supposedly happened long ago. She remembered hearing the stories as a child, but most of what she knew was from her own research. After reading article after article in the library, after questioning and quizzing anyone that would know anything, she had all the things that she felt he would easily share with her, but still nothing that revealed what was on the other side of that shell he had around him.

They walked in to find him standing in the center of the room, already joined by Boyd, another one she didn't particularly know everything about, and Alita, whom she knew everything about. Even things her friend didn't realize she knew. "Hey stranger," she said, letting go of her boyfriend's hand and walking over to the narrow faced girl and nudging her with her hip. It had been a few days since they had last talked- something unusual for the two of them. "What's up?"

[presto][/presto]

[arx!!]

JAIRUS WHITTEMORE

district 2 - seventeen - the nemesis

I should have strove,
I should have fought,
I should have shown a little love.

---

"Seriously, Liela, let's just GO."

Her hair, her make-up, her outfit ... whatever it is this time, I'm sure it can wait. It's always something with her - something - that holds me back. We aren't going to this training session for her, we're going so she can watch me kick everyone's asses. Her priorities are all out of order. It's been all about her status lately, about making sure this girl Alita doesn't steal away her "Queen of District 2" title. The only reason she was able to even attain that title was because of me. As if she would be the most popular girl around if she wasn't dating the one and only Jairus Whittemore, District 2's most promising Career since Julian Bryze. Without me, she is nothing - and without her, I could have it all.

"I'm leaving." My hand curls around the doorknob and I smile. "Don't be surprised if I have a new girlfriend by the time you get there." And because I think that is enough of an explanation, I leave with nothing more than the slam of the door. She'll be there soon enough, and I will make sure that when she does show up, I am talking to Alita or Erin - depends who is more fun to piss off, McCall or Boyd. Either way, I will be killing two birds with one stone. Liela tries harder to please me, and I manage to toy with the minds of my opponents. Just another successful day being me. The rage fades, my jaw relaxes, and my lips twitch into a smirk. I curse myself for forgetting to bring a pair of sunglasses with me as I throw up the collar on my jacket, ignoring the bit of pain that shoots through my arms.

Training earlier today had been more brutal than usual, leaving me with purple knuckles and, despite even my best efforts to keep my face from harm, a cut across my cheekbone. "You should see the other guy," will of course be my explanation for it, but in truth, I hadn't even managed to lay a solid hit on my opponent - just some measly kid from down the street. I'm failing publicly - where everything matters - and excelling where there was no one to see me. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic ... No. I'm better than McCall. Better than Boyd. Better than even Dedric Hale himself. And the more practice I get, the more I will twinkle in the public eye, the better I will be when my time comes, when my name gets called - when I become the greatest victor Panem has ever seen.

"Hey!" And for a split second I consider speeding up. But as it is, walking alone doesn't suit me well, so I slow to a near stop to wait for her. And I guess if I had to pick anyone to walk anywhere with - no matter how much she infuriates me - I would pick Liela Martin. Because those rumors are true - she's the only girl that has ever made me look twice. I ignore the itch, the voice in my head that whispers, "She's slowing you down." I don't even mind the pain when she shoves me. I know a part of me deserves it.

"Two things. One, don't leave me again, and two, don't leave me again." And I roll my eyes as she takes my hand and my fingers close around her's. I let the comment slide without a complaint about how long she had taken to dress up to go to a Career training session. Sometimes I swear she was put on this earth just to make my life that much harder. Then again, at least I'm not walking alone through the woods right now.

"How much longer do you think it'll be before we get there?" And I groan and run my empty hand across my head. "Too long." I mutter. But soon she falls quiet again, resting her head on my shoulder, and we walk together in silence. I run my thumb over her palm and kiss the top of her head, all of the tensions of the day washed away by the light of the setting sun. But as we draw nearer and nearer to our destination, I begin to feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins again - the rage. I'm ready to fight.

We walk in the door and immediately Liela breaks off to talk to Alita. I decide not to intervene, despite what I had implied earlier. I didn't come here to pick a fight with Liela anyway. I came here to pick a fight with myself, to become the very best. I make my way to a corner, managing a smooth glare in Dedric's direction for the hell of it, and lean back against the wall, waiting. It's only a matter of time before the live dumbies come crashing through the door. Only a matter of time before the real fun begins, and I battle to prove my worth once again.