body gold | {nova/petal}

[dars]

"they came as a pair: brains and brawn rolled into one completely lethal package."

{ we were born with fire and gold in our eyes
got lightning in a bottle, hands on the throttle
even in the dust we shine ;

She was a princess by birthright and a warrior by force. She was built like a statue, her parents' hands those of a craftsman: carefully sculpting her to be exactly what they wanted her to be. She was supposed to be a machine like Pyrite, built to fight and built to win. She was supposed to blow away the competition with a simple flick of the wrist, but her game always had the best turn out when her brain was more involved than her physical training.

Petalite Shore found solace in the lies that slid so perfectly out of her mouth. It was an art, she had decided, and it had kept her from trouble time and time again. It was easy to make herself appear weak to such arrogant people. Sometimes even her family forgot what she was capable of. One of the first things a career is taught is to never underestimate the competition, and Petal took advantage of those who did not abide by it.

It didn't have to be in combat; she lied her way to the top of all the social circles using the same tactics.

Perhaps she was simply good at reading people. She told them what they wanted to hear and they, in turn, gave her what she wanted. But sometimes when she found it difficult to sleep at night, the thought that some day she might die without a true friend in the world haunted her most. It was stupid, really. She had everything in the world except friends. What if she was being selfish for wanting those, too?

She read A Career's Guide to Survival: Volume IV on a bench near the small harbor of District One. Gray waves slapped at the cement walls, white foam bubbling to nothing left in the aftermath. Like the water, the sky was gray with overcast. Hardly any light was allowed freedom past the thick curtain, and Petal was taking advantage of every bit she could.

She drew a sip of warm hot chocolate, sitting on her left leg as she read. Mostly, she hated the homework her parents gave her. It was always the same topics: Strategies, Positions, Weaponry, and For-Instances. She had just been reading about the quickest way to pull a knife from it's sheathe when she slammed the book shut.

That's enough for this week, she thought.

It was cold enough that she could get away with wearing sweaters, finally, as well as fur boots. People often told her she was shallow for dressing in so much money, but she guessed they were jealous that they couldn't do the same.

There were those who could, though. The Dempseys, Hayes, Devereauxs, Frays, Rexes, Morenos, Lightwoods: all rich, all not opposed to proving it. Families like those were both Petalite Shore's biggest competition and closest companions. She and her siblings were expected to marry into families like those.

Pyrite, for instance, would surely marry Kellan at some point, despite the fact that he was genuinely an awful person. (One who had convinced Petalite herself to climb into his bed ages ago, unfortunately.) Morganite spent time around Corran Devereaux and Kellan's sister, Pillar, often, so perhaps he would one day marry one of them.

In the mean time, Petalite didn't mind cuddling her cat, Rosie.

She was about to go home when she swore she saw a ghost.

"Nova?"

Nova Moreno was part of one of those "elite" families her parents had close connections to. She had spent a great deal of time with Nova and her brothers and sisters growing up, from dinner parties that allowed her to wear pretty dresses to training days out in the mountains, where Nova had always proved to be quite the lethal dose of career. Time, however, had not proven a friend to them. They had grown apart. Nova seemed to tread more down the path Pyrite had chosen, with alcohol and parties and hiding in the shadows of the night. Petal decided long ago she wouldn't ever be able to keep up with her sister's lifestyle, but she was damn good at pretending.

"It's been ages!" she remarked.

{ with fire and gold in our eyes
when you're stuck in a moment
this is our time to own it ;

. . .

lyrics: "fire and gold" by bea miller.

[presto]

PETALITE SHORE

[/presto]

[Python]

nova.

Liberty smelled like cigarettes and wild berry perfume. She wanted the stench to follow her like a storm cloud of the senses, designating her as the opposite of a “proper lady” yet still feminine enough to be treated with some amount of respect. Her name was bigger and better than ever – or her surname, she should say. Whether or not the other careers recognized Nova as much as they did Nova Moreno was not a concern of hers, but it certainly was a nuisance knowing that there was no originality to her supposed background. The truth behind Nova was locked away in a cupboard within a folder titled “adoption papers.” There were pages and pages of documents, and her name was printed at the top of one of them. Her background was much more raw and exciting than the label Moreno, but she was stuck with it.

The house itself was its own sort of trap. Not like the ones tributes constructed like arts and crafts projects in the arena; this didn’t involve bear traps or wires or landmines, but it was a cage. Inside the cage were bloodthirsty children intermingled with the ones who simply wanted a way out. Nova was a member of the latter. Survival was not an instinct she should be forced to follow every day of her life. Life was not about slitting throats at bedsides and learning how to sleep with her eyes open. There was more to it, and she had known it since she was born. Cigarettes outranked knives. Friends towered above enemies and fake siblings. Booze was much more refreshing than the stench of blood. The sky was much prettier than the view of the graveyard in the back of their home; a gentle shade of blue to oppose the grey.

Today she planned to avoid the grey.

What better way than to pollute the harbor with cigarette smoke? Wind swept by water was stronger anyhow, meant to steal away every worry between her ears. The ice cream parlor on the corner tempted her as she crumpled her finished cigarette against the concrete ledge, legs dangling above calm waters. It was as boring a day as anyone could imagine, but boring could be nice. It meant no responsibilities. It meant she could actually afford to be bored, and find something exciting to do as a result. Fight club was an option. It had recently become one of her favorite pastimes. It reminded her of home, her original home, where people challenged her not with weapons but with fists and bone. There was no promise of death, just pain. She could handle that.

She didn’t quite have the energy for a fight, however. Today she would lounge because she deserved a damn vacation. Hell was taking its toll.

Sighing, she climbed to her feet and stretched until her bones popped. The ice cream parlor was calling her name – yet as she walked, so was something else.

”Nova?”

Typical. Someone would notice her at a time like this. It was a Shore; the one who reminded her of the color pink. She was the only person who could physically remind her of such an obnoxious color, though she wore it quite well. ”It’s been ages!”

There were so many pretty blonde bombshell careers that she was surprised she could actually recognize this one as a Shore. She often mixed up careers like Pillar Fray with everyone, although Pillar had a particularly plain face. Not in the bad way, just in the “easy to forget” way.

”Petalite,” she retorted, not particularly enthusiastic, yet she sat down beside the girl anyway. She didn’t look very different from when she had last seen her – whenever that was – unless she hadn’t been paying attention. Nova was always snipping her hair in different styles. She couldn’t decide if long was too risky, or if short was too ugly. It was a mundane struggle, but she didn’t mind mundane. She needed a break from all of the crazy shit.

”Whatever you’re doing looks boring,” she continued, eyeing the book. It didn’t look like much of a fiction novel, so it was probably a career book. That was even more boring than what she had planned to do; and that, so far, was nothing.

[dars]

"they came as a pair: brains and brawn rolled into one completely lethal package."

{ we were born with fire and gold in our eyes
got lightning in a bottle, hands on the throttle
even in the dust we shine ;

Nova, unlike most, was not a person who strictly adhered to social cliques, it seemed. Petal was glad. She certainly could have used a break from the constant rehearsed conversations about how well-cooked people's casseroles were, or how lovely a family had decorated their home. It wasn't much to say that Nova was friendly when she didn't have to be, but silently, Petal was grateful.

"Whatever you’re doing looks boring," she noticed, and Petal nodded, hopefully shedding some of the color that had rose in her cheeks. "Honestly?" she retorted, "It is boring."

She smiled and closed the book. "But what are you doing that's so much fun?"

She offered a smile to the girl. She didn't want her to think she was being serious or rude: she wasn't.

But she didn't wait for an answer.

"Actually, I've just decided. The two of us are going on an adventure." To where? To do what? All answers Petal did not have the answer to. But she was good at seeing what happened. good fortune followed her well, typically, while the bad was usually heaped on Pyrite. (Anyone who accidentally fell in love with the likes of Kellan Fray was among the most unlucky in the world, as far as Petal was concerned.)

She grabbed for Nova's hand and raced for the nearest dock. Gray waves and white foam slapped against metal and wood, and he winter wind was enough to make her regret what she was about to do even before she suggested it.

"Let's jump in."

Yeah, she thought to herself, Let's give ourselves pneumonia for no good reason! She looked over each shoulder to make sure no one was around, then stripped down to her underwear. She wondered for a moment if she was coming on a bit too strong, but her underwear covered the same areas as any good bathing suit would, they were just more expensive than her bathing suits.

Maybe she was taking advantage of the chance to be free for once. Maybe she missed her childhood a bit more than she realized.

Maybe the way she kept looking at Nova when she was looking elsewhere had gotten her curious. But it was too late to go back now.

She pulled her long, blonde braid over her shoulder and stepped up to the edge.

"Coming?"

{ with fire and gold in our eyes
when you're stuck in a moment
this is our time to own it ;

. . .

lyrics: "fire and gold" by bea miller.

[presto]

PETALITE SHORE

[/presto]

[Python]

nova.

Nova couldn’t lie; her planned activity wasn’t so thrilling either. Granted, it was a freedom she cherished more than anyone could imagine, but from another perspective it was simply aimless wandering. A stop at the ice cream shop was in order, but other than that her schedule was empty. It was still better than absorbing a textbook. She hadn’t opened a page of her own in ages. There was no reason to.

She couldn’t respond. The infamous Petalite (as if every Shore wasn’t infamous already) slammed her book shut and dragged her into an adventure. A smirk painted her lips amused. She couldn’t reject a promising demand from somebody with such radiating confidence. Not on a monotone day like this, with only a bleak winter’s chill to stimulate the senses. Mind bathed in nicotine, she was satisfied for the time being; a tranquil balance between relaxation and thrill. The moment Petal grabbed her hand she knew today would be worth something. Probably more than the loose change in her pockets.

Her feet stumbled over creaky wooden planks. Petal pulled her to the edge, where she stood above white froth and sloshing grey waters. It was like the winter’s abyss, growling as it lapped against solid wood. Nothing about it was welcoming. Her hairs stood on edge as a breeze rolled beneath her shirt, but Petal didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it was the opposite; she stripped down to her undergarments and announced her bright idea of having a swim in the middle of winter. Her nerves tensed at the mere thought of it, but it didn’t erase her persistent smirk. The idea was amusing and interesting, and she was no coward.

”You crazy bitch,” she said in a breathy laugh, dropping her pants an instant later. Goosebumps littered her skin and she shivered, but she continued until she had a pile of discarded clothes around her ankles. Crazy bitch was a term of endearment. Her idea of adventure was completely ridiculous and absolutely appropriate. It was bad enough to leave them both bedridden for the next few days, sniffling into tissues.

She shrugged.

”Yup” she replied, stretching to channel the heat through her body. She would need it. ”Let’s do it, even though we’re totally gonna regret it.” And that was the fun part. Adventure was not about exploring or watering the seeds of curiosity – it was about trial and error, stumbling into nonsense that made her question her own judgment. Back at the old orphanage, that was life. Weighing consequences after they had already happened.

That was the way to live.