Don't Let the Demons Aboard // District 11 Train

[Arrows]

K I R I T O ;

                                                               - - - 

Sweet serenity slips through the streams of Kirito's thoughts as night toils on under sparkling stars. Bountiful beauty seemingly endless illuminates the world, yet in truth monsters murmur just beyond the horizon. A blood burnt sun soon would send signs of sorrow upon those unfortunate enough to draw its attention. Sunrise would bring with it the similar songs of sadness so known to the people of Eleven it is engraved within their minds by the age of four. Songs shut silent for three whole years before blasted upon by fresher blood. Blood shared with the very ones who silenced the sadistic songs in the beginning. There is a blood built balance on which Panem stands shakily atop, when too much blood is  not shed somewhere then demonic devices must used to maintain the fragile system. Gold glistens within grieving crowns, a fate shared by many victors alike. 

Sleep never falls upon Kirito's turbulent thoughts during this night. Too many phantoms flicker from the past while ghosts of tomorrow taunt his every movement. Warped whispers of the dead seep through the walls as their physical forms walk within all the mirrors. In the hall Wyatt O'Connor stands with his book torn and tattered. Down the stairs Stella Summit spins her hair as she watches Key who constantly sits with the old grandfather clock. In Kirito's own bathroom spits of squabbles sneak through the cracked door as Rhyme, Olivia, and Imp converse quietly. Then within the very mirror inside Kirito's own bedroom Elya Johnwayne sits watching with the same face Kirito got a tad too close too all those years ago. Her look never changing, its implied meaning always frightening, who the hell are you Kirito? Want an eye to match my own? Oh wait, you already got one. Shame I couldn't give it to you myself. 

But the phantom faces never end there, never end when the bleak early streaks of dawn spindle across the gray sky. Just as every time Kirito's body is numb and heavy as sweat hangs low upon his brows. His hair is misplaced making him look maddened but Kiri is still contained. Routine rules the following minutes as water washes over his scarred skin within his shower. Yet from within the mists of the steam snaking fingers falsely fiddle around his neck. A smile of white and eyes as fierce as a lion bear into his own eyes. Then with a laugh she's gone, back off to be with Orion and Jaime somewhere beyond, somewhere Kirito could never follow. 

As the flow of warmed water ceases by the screwing of the lever Kirito departs his delusional development. His own eyes gaze within the misty mirror at a man so far from similar to the boy broken battles ago. But with these thoughts comes more memories like moths to light. Little laughter leaps from Lily Hope's mouth as she and her sister Paige sit within Kirito's sights among the swirling steam. However, as soon as they arrive the tricksters are gone leaving Iain in there place and yet another I'm sorry, Kirito can never erase.

Wooden planks creak beneath Kirito's bare feet as he reenters his room with his hair now brushed and his face freshly shaved. Long tendrils of brown hair sweep past Kirito as he spots Rowan Combe vanishing with a stern unforgiving stare slicing his skin. Slowly skin is covered with a fine Capitol grade gray suit and a light golden rose brioche a symbol now embodying a piece of Kirito isolated within the body of his brother. A body so distant it is almost as though there is no rose at all and only thorns to leave Kirito bleeding. 

A light click sounds softly behind Kirito as he shuts his bedroom's door. Down the hall another opens revealing an angel among the living. A person not yet claimed by the reaches of the reaper seemingly following Kirito's every interaction. Soft skin of the sweetest soul is wrapped within his arms as he lets her warmth radiate through his chilled corpse. As he parts from her blessed embrace he lets a finger gently swipe away the strands of hair hiding her breathtaking beauty beneath them. Then even more gently he presses his lips to her's before whispering lightly. "I love you. I'll be home in no time I promise." 

Sadden sights follow Kirito out of his home and off to the square from the door frame. Every step Kirito takes he feels as though he is sinking deeper into a sea of sorrow. Being away from Oasis is one of the hardest parts about leaving. Second only to having to leave with two more chosen children. Children who more often than not are those of his or Harbinger's own family. Children who never get to know what growing up is really like. Children who toil in torture while their final moments are spent in agonizing pain. Children sent to demonic damnation from a sinister serpent. Children it was Kirito's job to save only one of, but only ever one if he and Katelyn and Harbinger got lucky. 

Soon seconds spiral into an abyss of nothingness and numbness. Kirito sits within the middle of Katelyn and Harbinger as he has done for the past three years. He watches with terrible thoughts the faces of those certain these games will call for them. He sees his family and Harbinger's, sees the sadness spilling from them knowing how the past has been. But this year, things finally change as not a single name is recognizable to Kirito's ears. A sickening feeling of relief strikes his mind for just a moment before it is replaced with grief. Two new names. Two new families to face horror. Two new families hoping with all their hearts for a fourth miracle in District Eleven. 

After the final farewells within the Justice Building Kirito makes his way along with the rest of the now camera surrounding group to the steel sorrow laced trains. An ever familiar feeling of familiarity creeps across Kirito's skin as he sits calmly within one of the various couch chairs available to them. He allows several minutes to slip away as the two tributes try to comprehend what was waiting for them just a ride away down these treacherous train tracks. However, as always a mentor can never let their tributes go on with sorrow, promoting hope is a mission each mentor has a chance to uptake, and it is a mission Kirito always dares to attempt. 

"Well, here we are. First off, I'm sorry you both have to go through this I really am. No one should have to ever ride these railways, but we can't change it now. What we can change though is how ready you both are going into that arena. But in order to do that you both have to be ready to accept this all, as bad as it is and dare to believe even as small as it might be there is a chance one of you can come home with us. Now that doesn't mean turn on each other it just means you have to step up to surviving if staying alive is what you want to do. So I ask each of you honestly, are you ready to start surviving?"

Breathtaking Table Made By Zoe

[pup]

Drake Harvest

Everything was whirl for the boy from district eleven as soon as he left the stage where he had taken his place aside the pretty girl with the complicated name he couldn't remember. There are so many things you can't remember when you've just been sentenced to execution. He had seen previously the gruesome images of those in the games, and he had never before been able to imagine himself as someone who would even be able to strike another human being down in a similar way. He still can't. Normally his imagination would allow him to envision something, anything, but now he couldn't escape the harsh reality of what was happening. He might as well already be dead now.

When he reached the Justice Building, his mother visited him, crying as she knew that he didn't have the heart in him to take another's and tear it out before crushing it into millions of tiny dust particles. He hugged her, told her that he loved her before giving her a small kiss on the forehead, his hulking, tall figure needing to bend over slightly to reach hers. He had never been one for crying, but as he saw his mother's figure bent over, shaking from sobs, he let out a singular tear drop before she was pulled away from him by the men in white suits and darkened helmets.

He had only an inkling to why the peacekeepers has such dark helmets until now, only suspecting, but in that moment he knew that those darkened visors were meant to hide the truth behind them. The truth that they were demons.

He was escorted towards the train station right next to the cursed Justice Building where so many were put to death. With a little plump, he sank himself into a seat, his tall figure curling up, his head facing towards his knees, an almost eerie silence emanating from him. Talking never helped him before, so why should it help now. He knew that the girl from the stage was near too, also await the train, the escort grinning madly from excitement at the two new pigs entering the slaughterhouse.

New footsteps approached and Drake raised his head for a moment, his chocolate brown eyes taking in the sight of a previous Victor from the last quarter quell. Another was coming up just next games and Drake knew he wasn't going to be here to witness it. After the three win streak for district eleven, Snow had wanted to crush out any possibility for hope in this district. He knew the odds were against him. They weren't as stacked as much not in his favor as in the previous games, though, where a fourteen year old sibling of Kirito and a frail thirteen year old girl had been sitting where he sat now, but he knew he could never take the life of another.

His head remained bowed, cover in shadow as the victor began to speak. After his little talk Drake's mouth remained shut. Talking wasn't his strength, it always brought him trouble. Sure, he accepted it, he accepted that he was going to die, and he knew that the chances of him getting home where a lot smaller than that of the other girl's chances. So when Kirito asked if he was ready to start surviving, the eighteen year old just looked up at him and shook his head slightly. No.

OOC: this is my first time rping with drake so sorry that this post is a bit bleh XD i'm still getting the hang of him

[grim.]

desi.

    After my adrenaline had decided to flutter away I felt a sharp pain in my fist. I had landed my middle knuckle just below her bottom lip, and now I would pay the price. I my wrist close to my abdomen, it burned an almost unbearable amount. I could feel every slight movement unleash a fury of aching. I was biting my bottom lip when the Peace Keepers enter the room to escort me to my new holding facility. When they turned away I made a quick attempt to wipe away the tears, wet hair, swollen eyes, guess you could say we are off to a great start. 

    After a short walk I am brought to the door of a train, a very sleek metal train that seemed to hover. I step onto the train cautiously, cradling my hand with every step. I notice I am now brought in with the boy, his face unknown to me. I give him a quick glance and nothing more, he didn't seem the kind that I would get on with. It had been a few moments now and we were still lacking the presence of any victors, so I begin fumbling through the drawers and cabinets. I quickly find a small bin with ice in it and sigh in relieve. I then take a small towel from the counter top and place a handful of ice in the center of the towel, bundling it up into a small makeshift ice pack.

    I fumble back over to a suitable chair and take a seat awaiting whatever bullshit was to come in these next few hours. The ice stung for a few moment, but after a while my wrist went numb. Shortly after I hear the footsteps of those that i believe to be our "mentors". I was correct, in comes Kirito, victor of the 70th hunger games. I was familiar with the way his face rose and fell. His general structure and his distinct eyes. But all of that was in the past, Kirito had no idea who I was or what I had done for his family, and I prefer to keep it that way. 

    He begins a long lecture about how sorry he is and so on and so forth, but it all seems to strain into a worthless puddle in the back of my mind. I had no use for sympathy, though I could use a little brandy. I continue to blankly stare at Kirito for a while, watching his mouth move, but getting very little sound to actually connect to my consciousness. But then I hear these words. "So I ask each of you honestly, are you ready to start surviving?"

    I take a moment to hold back laughter and decide to try and cover it up with a cough. I raise my fucked up hand in the air placing the ice pack against my wrist with my spare hand. "Have been for seventeen years Mr. Miristioma, I would think someone who has been in this district for so many years might have grasped a hold of that concept." I say, sliding my lips into a smile. I'm sure the poor guy didn't deserve my attitude but hell, there was going to be nothing left of me in a few days, why not let the world feel my wrath?              

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

 It had worked. God help her, Tinselton had kept his word. Whatever sway he had with the higher-ups, what she had done on the show to prove she could play the game the way they wanted her to had paid off. But she’d damned these two children to death, Drake Harvest and Desimae Warble, in the process. She’d burn those names into her brain and onto her skin. But for the first time in five years, the Rhodes and the Miristiomas could rest easy. So why did she feel so awful?

For once, the reaping had passed by in a blur, instead of in a slow burn of rage and misery. She thought she might be happy, but she was anything but. No worries about one tribute feeling that they were doomed because the tri11ogy would be focused on family. No letters or tearful nights, not another empty seat next holiday dinner. Not for the people she knew. But for the Harvests. For the Warbles. Did she really have the right? Was this her fault?

She’d done the goddam show to save people; she’d known she was damning someone else’s children but she had avoided facing it until now. And now? She hated herself. Kirito was the first one to talk. Good on him. Oasis is a good influence. The reaction that the tributes had to his little speech was different than she’d been getting used to. No Miristioma. No Rhodes. No conflicting emotions. Though that last part was a lie.

Drake, the male, wasn’t resigned like Iain, or wroth like Weaver, if anything, he seemed scared shitless. If she couldn’t shake that out of him, he was dead already. Carrita had been chillingly ready to die for a fuckin thirteen year old, and Iona had been a clam. Desimae? Snarky. Pissed. Already punched something apparently, given the damage to her hand.

Anger was good, she could work with anger. Desimae might actually be willing to fight. Katelyn drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair she was sitting in and watched the two of them carefully. She wanted, no, needed to help them, even if one of them coming home spelled further disaster for her family. They wouldn’t take her drive to help these kids. Even if they were planning on rigging the odds against them. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d figure that Katelyn had learned a lesson and wouldn’t lead the charge to mentor another tribute to victory. Maybe they only had a vendetta against those two families.

It was a lot of maybes.

She let out a yawn and cracked her knuckles one after the other. Time to get down to business. That fire was kindling in her chest again, the same way it did every year after the reaping.

“Good.” She stated in a clipped tone, staring at the redhead and leaning forward in her seat, resting one hand on her knee and her opposite elbow on the arm of the chair. “You’ve got anger. Use it. You,” she continued, pointing at Drake. "Use whatever you have to stay alive. Grow some balls, because being scared or trying to play nice will only get you so far. Once in you’re in there, your survival depends on you, and you alone. And you better hope you choose your allies wisely if you decide to join up with other people.” Same spiel, different set of tributes, though perhaps there was more bite in her tone than there had been before.

“Don’t expect that you’ll get much in the way of sponsorship from us. We’ve tried damn hard the last two years and it’s been hell. If you’re lucky, then the Capitol has something personal against these two gentlemen here,” she said curtly, nodding at the mentors seated by her. “If you’re unlucky, it’s the district they still have a problem with.” It was probably the latter, but she wanted to examine all sides of the issue. Let them know what they were up against.

“I’m not going to lie. It sucks. It’s only been three years since Harbinger won and eleven’s placements got worse, one year after the other. I wish I could tell you that I believe either one of you has a fair and even chance of coming back alive.” She sighed deeply, arching her eyebrows sullenly. “I can’t. Because you don’t. I’d offer comfort, but it would only taste bitter when you find out there’s none to be had in my words.” She stood, arching her back as a dangerous glint entered her eyes and she took a couple steps towards the pair.

"That being said, I’m willing to train you as needed, answer any questions, listen to you cry when the reality of this situation stabs you in the heart. Whatever. This is my fifth year mentoring and I-we,” she continued, gesturing behind her. "- have only failed twice." She jerked a thumb back hard.

“Kirito’s the nice one. I used to be, not that long ago either. "You want a heart to heart? Talk to him. You want to fight? Harbinger’s your man. You want to talk strategy? Reality? Come find me after we get to the capitol, but I am NOT going to help someone that’s already measuring themselves for a coffin, are we clear?” Her shoulders were heaving by the end of her rant, nostrils flared and eyes boring into the tributes in front of her.

“Now then, I have paperwork to fill out. Harbinger and Kirito can take it from here.” She turned to leave, refusing to make eye contact with either of her fellow mentors. If they had anything to say about her outburst, if they took issue with it, they could come find her later. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. Wasn’t she allowed to be pissed off every now and then? Wasn’t she allowed to hate herself because she couldn’t face these kids? Kids that her actions had almost certainly doomed?

As soon as the door to next car clicked shut she curled her hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall.

Then the hot, stinging tears came, and she cried.

"I'm a realist, and an optimist,

but I swear to you, I'm not getting over this."



table coding (c) ghosty

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty One| Male | District Eleven

Nobody I cared for was reaped. The Miristioma family is safe this year. My family is safe this year. And that's all that matters. I don't care who these tributes are because they aren't my family. Maybe it's wrong to feel this way, but I can't help how I feel. Watching Weaver die did something to me. Watching Iain and Carrita and Iona die did something. It changed me. But here I am making my way through the train to attempt to help because I don't want to piss of Kate. I'll try, I guess, but if they die it's just dead people.

I shrug my shoulders as I make my way through the door. Kirito is already talking to them. Once he was finished, the boy said nothing. He was quiet, reserved. Maybe I could change that in him. Maybe. The girl is fierce, and I want to slap her across the face for disrespecting Kirito, but I remember that I can't, and besides hitting a girl is wrong. I take a deep breath as I slowly move before sitting down in one of the chairs because I have to pretend I care.

A silent sigh slips past my lips as Kate comes barging in. Her tone is filled with anger, and I wonder what's going on. But I don't dare interrupt her right now. Something's wrong, and I'll have to ask her about it later. Maybe it's all the death she's seen. Maybe it's losing people. Maybe she's becoming like me.

I almost smile, but I hold it back because I'm afraid right now, and the words she speaks hold true. District eleven has done worse since I made it home. Carrita died early, Iain made it far. Weaver and Iona did terrible, and it hurts. I cared for them both. I cared for Weaver, my brother, and now I can never see him again. I have failed miserably.

Kate is all about telling the truth, and she's definitely being blunt about it. The odds aren't in district eleven's favor this year, but maybe something can be done. "Kirito's the nice one." Well then. I consider myself nice. I haven't harmed anyone since the last reaping. I've got a family to look after. My daughter.

"Now then, I have paperwork to fill out. Harbinger and Kirito can take it from here." My eyes are wide as I watch her storm out of the room. I quickly turn towards Kirito wondering what to do. How can I help them. Part of me wants to follow after her. To make sure she's okay because she's my family, and I need her to be okay, but right now I have to pretend to care for the tributes.

"So is anyone ready to begin?" I sigh.

Victor of the 71st Hunger Games

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

[Arrows]

K I R I T O ;

                                                               - - - 

Tremors tremble through the calm unstained lake. Ripples ravish its once clear crystal reflection of the spacious star lit sky. Winds whistle through warped willows as the songs of sparrows fall silent. Gray creeps across the light of the night sky's shimmering stars bringing with it falling forms of winter wisps. Through the white winter falling in flakes from the clouds streaks of blue flash and flicker. A storm has blown in upon the serenity, shattering all in its path. The Queen of Winter is releasing her wrath. 

Icy tendrils tenaciously slither beneath the surface of Kirito's stiff skin. Eyes normally filled with envy for Katelyn's true power and positivity are encased with shock. Razors line her every phrase physically sharpened to leave those listening bleeding, to leave both the tributes frozen in disbelief. Then in a burst of frost felt anger Katelyn is gone with the door of steel sealing in those still surviving the storm. 

Tightly Kirito's hands grip the arms of his chair as his finger tips dig within its leather skin. Calm, calculated, concise, and caring are the emotions Kirito knows define Katelyn's shielded heart of gold. Yet now due to her rage Kirito can feel as his heart beat thundering with worry within his chest, still scarred from wounds of war. A war Katelyn saw him through. A war the two before him now would soon endure as the dismays of damnation attempt to condemn them. A war which Katelyn's allegiance would be critical to winning. A war Eleven has never won without Katelyn's influence in some shape or form. 

Taciturnly Kirito's words wrap themselves within wicked wasteful mixtures. No phrase or comment could follow such devastation. Katelyn is no lamb nor was she ever, and now her true lion has bared its fangs. Years of support, insight, and advice... but nothing sounds right without her. Without her ice lined irises interviewing every aspect of every situation. Hell, Katelyn had said it herself, she is the true core of District Eleven's strategy. Without her watchful worried words the percentage of failure all but doubles. It is then the most important question quells the qualms of Kirito's riddled thoughts, what has broken through Katelyn's walls?

Memories upon memories flood Kirito's  brain searching sorrowfully for an answer. Could the pressure of being District Eleven's esteemed victor have finally devoured her? Could the Capitol's cruel concoction of a show contorted her mind and forced her to sadness? Or perhaps by some unimaginable length had Katelyn actually grown cold? Cold to existence and bitter towards the very aspects of survival while living day by day. Was it possible for someone as powerful as the Queen of the Sixty Ninth Hunger Games to fall perilously into an abyss. Still, Kirito can feel the determination building within his body as he thinks. Whatever Katelyn's ailments might be Kirito was going to help her battle back the beasts, help her return to the place they all once were. A place where war whipped warriors can drift above the corpses contained within their souls. 

Harbinger's eyes soon break Kirito away from the frightening fragments of his fractured mind. Silence now consumes the room as the thaw from Katelyn's storm is only just beginning. Luckily words will themselves from the lips of Harbinger as a slight nod is given in return from Kirito's own body. Slowly Kirito's sullen eyes set themselves upon the tributes once more, only this time several other figures flicker faintly behind them. Carrita's smile sorrowfully reminds Kirito of the failure he cannot face again. Then there is Iona's intelligent eyes holding all the motivation to think once more. Even Iain's and Weaver's strong statures and stone faces urge Kirito to use his strength and fill in for Katelyn for once and live life in her place. For now Kirito knows what matters is preparing them for their doomsday, whether they want to or not. 

"Yes are you ready to learn what it takes to actually survive in an arena and not a District?" Kirito says sternly with a sharp stare to Desi in response to her earlier comment. "Go ahead and believe you are so clever and be sassy. But when you die that's it and you aren't surviving anymore. Finding ways to live in a District is one form of surviving, but surviving in an arena is an incredibly different case. If you want to stick to being stubborn and persist your survival in the District is training enough so be it. I won't help you nor will I try to get you sponsors. But if you want to actually give yourself a real chance and drop pointless sass then I will gladly do everything I can to help you. Don't make enemies with those of us who aren't. As for you," Kirito swiftly shifts his eyes over to Drake as he begins to address his issues. "Step up, short and simple. Like Katelyn said, you want to build your own coffin then go for it. I will spend my time helping someone like Desimae with a fire to fight. But if you want to just die then don't waste my time. My whole nice guy spiel is over, now I am just a mentor who wants one of you coming back with myself and Harbinger and Katelyn at the end of these games. So returning to the point, are you both ready? If not then I will gladly join Katelyn in another car. I'm here to help you both, but you have to want that help." 

Breathtaking Table Made By Zoe

[pup]

D R A K E    H A R V E S T

 

His head was slightly bowed, covering his face, as the train's constant rumble along the tracks shook him gently. The grandeur of the train only impressed him somewhat because the reality of the situation still hadn't sunk in to his mind. The fact that he would either need to kill others or die immediately. He wasn't even sure if it was possible for him to kill someone else. The games were always a bit surreal to him because of the fact he could never get through his head that there were people out there who would actually kill for themselves.

One of those killers had already walked out, and the other three seemed to be sitting around him on all sides, surrounding his escape back to the district he once was apart of. No escape back to the life in the fields where he was surviving. No escape back to his sculptures resting gently upon his desk. No escape back to the world where he wouldn't need to kill another living creature, even if it angered him.

The victor of the 69th hunger games said a few brief, sharp words, before walking quickly out.

The boy turned his down turned gaze to the most recent quarter quell victor as he began to speak again.

There was silence for a moment after he spoke. His words weren't as kind as before, but instead more forceful.

The boy sat in the silence for a moment, allowing himself to speak.

"I suppose I do like living." He said in his quiet voice, looking up slightly, it was the most he had said all day to anyone besides his mother when she ran crying into the justice building.

"I just don't want to kill someone else."

D I S T R I C T E L E V E N

beautiful table made by zoe <333

[grim.]

desi.

    The only other women in the room takes a moment to expel her tiredness through a yawn, and snap the joints of her fingers. I see her sit up in her chair, "Good". she says, her vision pinned on me. “You’ve got anger. Use it. You,” she says now her vision turned to the boy. I smile to myself, acknowledging that she somehow understood my point of view. She was remarkably observant, it was rare people took me seriously. My attitude had landed me the title of disobedient and shameful, but my skin went so much deeper then that. I listen as she roughs up my district partner. Her statement of his lack of testicles caused me to let out a sigh of enjoyment.

    She continues on about some sort of sponsorship details and explaining who would best be capable for filling our needs, but it was all useless information to me at this very moment. These thoughts were not swimming about my mind, because form the moment I heard my name echo through that microphone, I had been thinking about who I would have to become. After this, if I do come out of the other end standing, i knew damn well that I would not be Desimae Warble, I would be a new concoction within itself. I would stir and fester into a foul new being, one who could survive. The most recent victor seems to be rather disconnected form the group, his eyes wondering about as if all of this was old news. He had only been around three years, I'm unsure who he could already be indulged in boredom. 

    He stutters a few words out about us getting started, but Kirito is quick to ignore him. "Yes are you ready to learn what it takes to actually survive in an arena and not a District?" Kirito says. His words now spit out like stiff venom. My amused face now drops into a glare. Survive, I hated how he used that word. He acted as if there was a way to survive the games, there wasn't. I knew that the only outcome was death, but in the second outcome you simply were left standing to suffer an even more terrifying fate.  "Go ahead and believe you are so clever and be sassy. But when you die that's it and you aren't surviving anymore. Finding ways to live in a District is one form of surviving, but surviving in an arena is an incredibly different case. If you want to stick to being stubborn and persist your survival in the District is training enough so be it. I won't help you nor will I try to get you sponsors. But if you want to actually give yourself a real chance and drop pointless sass then I will gladly do everything I can to help you. Don't make enemies with those of us who aren't. As for you," he continues. I feel my eyes begin to twitch with rage, my fists balling up for the second time today. 

    He wasn't asking if I was ready to survive, he was asking if I was ready to kill for my own benefit. I wasn't ready to become a murderer, and I never, Desimae Warble never would be, that is why I will be forced to conform to the system, it was the only hope for the continuation of my days. Kirito continues spitting his acid rain at the timid boy, all the while my rage brimming. I watch as the boy replies in the most pathetic of tones. His sorry face dropping lower then his self worth. I stand from my chair and approach Kirito, my eyes now lit with a rage that could not be extinguished.

     "Don't ask me if I'm ready to survive, Just ask the real question at hand. You want to know if I am willing to kill innocent people to continue my worthless life, simply because just like the lot of you, I fear death? Don't talk dumb to me Kirito, we both know there is no surviving this hell. You either die, or you go on living as a token for the Capitol to use at their disposal, and if you wanna know if I am fucking ready. I sure as hell am not ready, but I'll have to be, wont I? And I do what I have to Kirito, just like I did for your fucked up brother. So don't ask me if I'm ready to survive, that privilege was stripped from me the moment my name echoed through that microphone." I say, my face stubborn and my vision beginning to blur. 

    I feel my tear ducts rise with the moisture that has now been created due to the rush of anxiety that fills my chest. I scoff and leave this portion of the train. I find a car that is empty, and I sit on the warm couch, and again, the snakes of sorrow pour from my eyes. I would not be seen as weak, and I would not be made a mockery by these Capitol instruments. I am Desimae Warble, and I have had my freedom stripped from me. I faced two realities, death, or\an eternity of living as a marionette puppet. My strings controlled by the mind behind this all...Snow.