highway to hell [python]

[lance]

i'm dying again natalie brandt i'm going under

"Mom, I-" "Shhh, darling. We don't have much time, so let's not waste it with excuses." "But how are you not crying?" "Natalie, mothers and fathers know from the moment that their child is born that this day may come to pass. Only the foolish do not prepare for it. When you were born, I knew that the day would come when you would have to enter the Reaping, and so I prepared for the worst." "But first you lost father, and now I-" "Darling, you're not lost to me yet. And besides, your father was lost to us both long before the Peacekeepers riddled him with bullet holes. But he was a good man before he let the drink consume him, and we both made it through that, right?" "Yes." "This is merely just another bump in the road, my dear. You're much stronger than you give yourself credit for. The fact that you suffered through your father's ailment and passing and still emerged whole is living proof of that." "But Mom, what if I have to kill someone? What if I can't-" "Do not focus on the what-ifs, Natalie. You'll find that the human body can go to great lengths to preserve itself in times of strife. "But I'm not strong! I wasn't born in a Career district! I know nothing except how to sew dresses." "And that, dear, will come in handy when it comes time to sew up a battle wound, am I right?" "I guess." "Darling, as I said, you are stronger than you could ever imagine. True strength isn't swinging around a weapon or killing as many people as you can. No, true strength comes from within, comes from your ability to persevere, to continue moving forward even when all hope seems lost. "Now, dear, I want you to take this, as a reminder that no matter what the odds, no matter how bleak an outcome may seem, that you have the strength to push onward." "But that's your wedding ring! Why would you give that to me?" "As proof, and as a reminder. Just cause the odds are not in your favor does not mean you are doomed to fail." "Mom, if I don't come back-" "If you don't come back, then life will move forward. It will be hard, yes. But the moment that we let tragedy shape our lives is the moment we quit. And we're not quitters. Neither of us are." "Ma'am, your time is up." "I love you, Mom." "I love you too, Natalie. And remember, I have faith in you." -------------------------------------- I have faith in you. The words echoed through her head like a shout in an empty factory.  Yeah, cause faith is totally going to get me through this. The train was strangely silent aside from the faint hum of the engine. The gaudily dressed escort was nowhere to be seen, and she was too focused on the window to notice where her district partner had situated himself.  She absently twisted the ring around her ring finger, mind traveling between thoughts as fast as the train she was riding.  Fuck this fucking shit Of all the years for there to be no volunteers, of course it had to be this one. She watches as the factories from home slowly fade away into the distance to be replaced with endless fields and a clear blue sky. She had never traveled much except to school and the factory she worked at, let alone to the outskirts of the district. Yet here she was now, sitting on a posh train that probably cost more than the combined wages of everyone in her factory, traveling to a hell that disguised itself with wealth and riches.   The irony of that fact did not escape her, and she grinned slightly in reaction. But just as quickly, it vanished, along with her amused attitude, once again replaced with the oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck adrenaline filled mindset that had existed ever since the words "Natalie Brandt!" had echoed across the district square. Yet no matter how encouraging her mother had tried to be, no matter how desperately they both applied their facades of "It'll be aright", one thing was certain. Natalie Brandt was the latest in a series of cursed tributes from a cursed district, and she was utterly, irreparably, completely fucked.

Inspired by the lovely Chelsey <3

[Python]

MACHAON AMADOR

Fortunately, he wasn’t alone. His mother understood how hopeless the situation was. In the Justice Building his father was silent, overlooking the scene with a grim expression. Machaon could only embrace his mother as she sobbed against his shoulder. This definitely wasn’t what she had in mind for an improvement of his lifestyle. Death was never the answer. As much as they could spend time discussing how he would try his best to make it home, all three of them knew what the outcome would be. District Eight was cursed, and not even a miracle would allow him to break out of that cycle. ”Sorry,” was all he could mutter. What was he supposed to say? He wouldn’t make an empty promise to return alive because that would crush her. False hope was worse than accepting the outcome, he knew that from personal experience. Lucia would tell you to have hope, to try anyway. He could try, but where was Lucia now? In the ground. The three of them hugged until the Peacekeepers ordered him away. They led him into the train, knowing damn well that he was never going to see his folks again. Not that they cared. He looked up at the spacious tables and furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure what he expected the inside of this thing to look like, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t all grey with uncomfortable seats, and it didn’t have ugly posters of capitol propaganda plastered everywhere. It looked…beautiful, actually. Comfortable. And he could smell food coming from somewhere. The other girl was already here. Blonde and pretty, yet he had already forgotten her name. Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention to the Reaping every year. The only detail he knew about last year’s games was how swampy it was, and how a good number of the tributes died in suspended bird cages. Those assholes in the capitol were creative. He couldn’t imagine what was in store for them, but for the first time in his life he would be forced to. He was actually going to die. ”Some place, huh.” he sat down across from her, not caring whether or not she replied. They were both probably suffering from some form of shock, although right now he was still in disbelief about how expensive the damn train looked.

table by zoë

[lance]

i'm dying again natalie brandt i'm going under

"Some place, huh." Natalie's thoughts were broken by her district partner, who took a seat directly across from her. She remembered that his name started with an M or something like that, but in the chaos of the Reaping the majority of it had escaped her notice. Not like it's going to matter in a couple of weeks anyway. The boy was a stranger to her. Dark-haired and mature-looking (definitely an eighteen year old), he looked like he would sport a perpetual brooding expression if it wasn't for the fact that his eyes were wide open in awe. Granted, this is pretty impressive once you stop thinking about how much fucking wealth the Capitol poured into it. Instead of saying that, however, she responded with a joke. "Yeah, really. Must have cost the Capitol a fortune." She attempted a lop-sided grin at the poor joke, before returning to her trademark blank face. She nervously twisted the ring again, an unconscious habit that was quickly becoming reflex.  Shit, now it's awkward. Abort, abort. Her mind furiously raced as she attempted to think of a solution. Oh, right, his name. That's a good topic changer. She focuses her gaze back on that of the boy's. "So, um, you're..." Fucking shit, what was his name? She makes a wild guess. "...Macaroon, right?" Probably not.

Inspired by the lovely Chelsey <3

[Python]

MACHAON AMADOR

The train looked like a million dollars, but he doubted it cost the Capitol a ‘fortune’. He supposed that was the joke, judging by her fleeting grin. Not even a large fraction of their wealth could’ve been dedicated to one measly train, and he knew this by watching the television screens. With so much focus on giant buildings and rainbow-colored costumes for tributes, there was no reason to pour that much money into a tin can. That was the upsetting part; only a pinch of their wealth had been invested in this, he guessed, yet it was more than he would’ve ever earned his entire life. His eyes wandered to a distant table, where glistening metal trays were taunting him. This must’ve been the source of the delicious smell. He could detect freshly-baked bread and sweets among other things, and he couldn’t decide what he craved more. ”You’re…Macaroon, right?” ”Um, close,” he lied, because it wasn’t. ”It’s Machaon.” He leaned back and tapped his fingers against the armrest. There was no reason to feel offended; he had forgotten her name also. ”I can’t remember your name either, it’s okay.” He shrugged, an outward attempt to brush it off. In reality, it was probably important to learn who she was. They could team up or end up running into each other later on. Oh, right. The Arena. The Games. This was really happening.

table by zoë

[lance]

i'm dying again natalie brandt i'm going under

"Um, close. It's Machaon." Shit. Well, at least I got the first syllable right. Her face flushed slightly, and instinctively she broke eye contact with him, glancing down at her lap.  So much for a good first impression. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. She gazed at her hands, thin and delicate and so good at weaving and sewing. Would blood be spilled because of them? Would hands that had only ever created and mended be able to destroy? Would these become hands of a killer? She heard Macaroon -no, Machaon- lean back in his seat. A few seconds passed, and then he spoke again.  "I can't remember your name either, it's okay." She chuckled, a small smile the only betrayer to the wave of relief that flooded her. So it wasn't just a me thing. "Natalie." She stated simply. "My name's Natalie."

Inspired by the lovely Chelsey <3

[Python]

MACHAON AMADOR

He soaked up silence as the train budged. It felt smoother than it sounded, a gentle hum that reminded him of nothing else. Natalie seemed the reluctant type, but perhaps it was the shockwaves of the Reaping that had tightened her lips. He didn’t know how to think or feel, sitting in a place he didn’t belong. This destiny had been thrust upon them so suddenly, and he guessed that neither of them were in any shape to accept it. The Games had always been such a faraway thing, just a television show he would glance at when the hype was too loud for him to ignore. Now he was staring out the window, watching the blurs of tree soaring by. He didn’t know what anything outside of Eight looked like. ”So, what do you do?” he asked, tapping his fingers until he had to fidget. Normally he was relaxed, but everything about this was strange and wrong. By the time he could adjust to how fast this thing was moving, the prospect of imminent death would be too potent. There was no way to adapt to this situation, and he suddenly felt sympathy in his gut for the poor people who had to endure the same and die for nothing. He cleared his throat and spoke again. ”I’m a nurse. Well, nurse’s assistant technically.”

table by zoë

[lance]

i'm dying again natalie brandt i'm going under

Her words are met with silence, but for the first time since the conversation had started, it wasn't laced with an uncomfortable awkwardness. Tension? Yes. Anxiety? Most definitely. But awkwardness? Nope. They sit in silence for a few more minutes. She watches as endless fields slowly transform into a forest, trees rushing by faster than anything she had ever seen before in her life.  She still couldn't quite believe that such technology existed, and that some people in Panem have access to it like she might have to water. Having grown up relatively poor, she considered herself lucky to have a loving parent and be able to consume three meals a day, while on the other hand, there were people who wanted for naught and lived in luxury and comfort.  That fact irked her almost as much as the unfairness of her present situation.  Sure, it was one thing to be selected for a death games. But it was another thing entirely once the fact that she was fighting for her life for entertainment purposes sunk in.  But alas, there was not much she could do about it at this point. After a while, Machaon speaks up again.  "So what do you do?" he asked, fingers drumming against the table.  "I'm a nurse. Well, nurse's assistant, technically." Once again, she turns her gaze away from the window and back at her district partner, staring at him with a newfound interest. "Really? That's actually really cool." And she means it, too. She's always had an innate respect for those in the medical profession, and how they're able to seemingly work miracles on the sick and wounded.  It's something that might actually make a difference in someone's life. At least, in a different way than new clothes would be able to.  "My profession isn't quite as interesting, really." she begins. "I am - well, was, really - a seamstress. My job was designing and making different types of clothing, usually dresses and jackets and the like."

Inspired by the lovely Chelsey <3