be there in seconds flat :: D10 train thread

[pogue]

L A Z A R U S ;

"You fucking bitch."

He spits the words behind him, Scarlett trailing in his shadow (just like she always has). He can feel her smirk burn itself into the back of his neck, her silence burning bright in the dimly lit justice building. The wallpaper is yellowing, soaked in the blood of the tributes that never crawled their way back. Dust settles on their pictures, clinging to the only memory this district has of them, blending their stories into obscurity- he'd join them soon, what with Ansgar coming home last year. His mind thinks back to the Miristioma family, eternally cursed because of the luck of a lower district. He bites his lip, rolling his eyes before slowing his pace to even his sister's.

Her eyes drift to him and he can see it, the way she readies herself to dodge venom, to spit acid right back in his face. It's a dance they've played for years now, knives pressed deep into skin, soaking themselves in bleach to hid the sins of their mother- the sins they carry on their shoulders. For a moment, he is wordless, letting his gaze wander. 

"And here I thought you always wanted me to just, be gone." 

His joke falls into the air, fluttering in the breeze and melting into the floorboards. He glances over at her, sighing as her response meets his ears. 

"But if we're going to do this, we at least need to work together." 

Her silence is an unspoken agreement, forged in blood that is not their own. 

They sit in silence, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. Scarlett is draped comfortably on the couch opposite of him, while the two others occupy the chairs next to them. Ophelia, Riven, their names flash through his mind as he grabs a bundle of grapes, popping one in his mouth before narrowing his eyes at the two. 

"So, you guys have got a death wish too, huh?" 

The grape crunches his mouth as the door opens, bodies shuffling in with silence hanging on their backs. He looks up and smirks, chuckling for a moment before popping another grape in his mouth- the victors are here. 

"Welcome to the morgue. Let's see-" 

He points a finger to the most recent one first, then to the one with the gut, before resting on the one with fire on her head. 

"We have...the preacher, the grandpa, and....the girl who turned him straight." 

He practically glides over to the alcohol, pouring himself a glass, and another for Scarlett, pressing it into her fingertips before sitting on the armrest of the couch, narrowing his gaze on Saffron.

"I'm mighty sorry about your cousin, sweetie. She was a...wonderful woman." 

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I sit back in my seat, my eyes glancing between the landscape that flickers past outside the window, and the quarreling siblings next to me. I had never met them in Ten, only seen them on occasion or two. I vaguely remember their faces from past Reapings. They're my age, or at least close, so they've always been nearby when our escort pulls out the names of the two sacrifices of the year. Well, sometimes sacrifices. Last year we had an escapee.
"So, you guys have got a death wish too, huh?"
I look up, make eye contact with him. I dislike the way he behaves. The way he seems so comfortable, the way he acts like he owns the place. The way he eats those grapes like they're a simple snack and not a luxury his family has never been able to afford. Either he's arrogant, it's an act, or his family lives in a more fortunate part of the District than I. Sure, my family has never starved, but we certainly don't get to eat grapes like it's an everyday item for our consumption.
"I guess you could call it that." I force my tone to remain calm, open. I am not about to tell him I volunteered out of pure spite. That would be foolish.
Before I can say anything else, the door across from us opens, and our mentors make their entrance. I can't help sitting forward on my seat and straightening up a little. Yeah, I grew up in a poor district, but that's no excuse for bad manners. As Lazarus speaks, my gaze follows his words. Our most recent Victor, last year, in fact, who is only a little older than I. Ansgar, the one who did his best to convert everyone to his own faith. I'm unsure what I think of him, just that I sure hope he doesn't come down on me with hell, fire and brimstone.
The oldest of the three, Mace, still not in his forties and just out of his young adult years. I don't remember his Games. I was a year old, I think, when he won. Small and innocent to the death and destruction that they were playing before my eyes.
And then the only girl, Saffron. She won when she was what, thirteen? Fourteen? The year they forced all the youngest kids to enter the arena. God, I hated that year.
My attention is for a moment distracted by the boy, the arrogant one, who is now up on his feet and pouring himself a glass of some kind of alcohol. I've never touched the stuff in my life. Not after my father, not after my brother. I don't know what I'd turn in to. Violent? Foolish? It could go either way, really. My nose wrinkles a little at how comfortable he is with the toxic drink.
Then he mentions Saffron's cousin, and my brow knits together. He talks about her so flippantly, I get the feeling he's trying to push Saffron's buttons..I don't remember much about her, only that she didn't make it very far.
I don't say anything to the three of them. I haven't evaluated them enough to know how to approach the situation, and even if I did say anything, it would probably be outdone by Lazarus's jibe. So instead I sit back and wait for the scene to unfold.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 559}

[Rosetta]

~Ophelia Stromstatt

Ophelia sent a long time in her train chamber, smoothing hair back behind her ear. She prodded at the mole on her face a few times before worrying that she might turn her face red. No, she wouldn’t let Mace think she was crying.

The other tributes were surely already arranged in the dining section of the train, but Ophelia felt hesitant as she approached the door. Since joining Mace up on the stage, she couldn’t even look at him. She’d seen his look of surprise when she’d stepped forward, but now she was sure that surprise had morphed into anger. The very thought of Mace yelling at her—What were you thinking?—was enough to make her hands curl into fists, and her face burn. And yet, she couldn’t fight kin. Not even one that had walked away from all of them.

After a deep breath, Ophelia composed her face into its usual impassive wall and stomped into the room. She took a seat in the furthest corner and kept her head down. Best let the other tributes think she’s brooding than anxious. She picked at the upholstery.

“So, you guys have a death wish too, huh?” One of them asks. Lazarus. Ophelia knew his name, but not much about him. Now, he sat relaxed, munching grapes with gusto. Mace might like him, Ophelia decided. But not her. The other girl, seeming a bit too eager, answers.

“I guess you could call it that.”

Or you could calling it wanting out. Especially when fighting is all you got.

But, Ophelia didn’t answer, but instead turned to the door because at that moment, it opened. And in walked the Victors. Immediately, she ducked her head and began to pick more vigorously at the upholstery, tearing tiny shreds up. Suddenly her blood was boiling at the sight of Mace. Where were you? Maybe if he had visited sometimes, she might not be sitting here before him.

Before she could stop herself, she heard herself grumble, “Ma said to tell you ‘hello,’ Mace.”

[✨ zozo.]

S A F F R O N

Deja vu.

Haunting, Myara a ghost with flowers in her hair. Her absence fills the empty space between my fingers.

Ten years on and I'm still a child, really. Blink and I am there again, train station and tears and vomit on my shoes. A boy with broken bones, my own creak at the weight of time upon my shoulders. He disintegrates, as does my memory. My patience. My mind.

My, My, Myara-

We buried her in the rain.

I buried my ghosts a long time ago but the thing about planting seeds is that they tend to sprout. Some, love. (Two terribly sad little faces with red hair, their father, mine.) Some, hate.

And hate sits across from me like the devil himself, a predator, dead eyes finding mine. Ansgar likes to preach about heaven and I let him, hell lingering in my conscience, and here evil sits talking like an old friend. 

Myara's broken body flares to life behind my eyes and he is there, a hand at her back. Dead words. Dead inside.

"I'm mighty sorry about your cousin, sweetie."

Blink - life and death, I am threatened. Mirror image memories melt into reality and there he is again, only this time Myara's dead and my skeleton snaps underneath the weight of her absence.

Striking to kill. It's something second-nature, fire spills from my blood and I snarl. "What?"

"She was a... wonderful woman."

I pounce, wildfire, seething underneath my breath "I'll kill you myself!" The muffled shouts of men in white blur into background noise and I swing madly, furious, hellbound. Hands come inches from his skin and my heart sinks, Mace catching at my waist, hauling me back to a prison of arms and shocked eyes.

Silence, save for gasps of air.

And then his sister laughs.

table by elegant

[✨ zozo.]

S C A R L E T T

Acid on my tongue but I'm used to the taste, even when Lazarus rips my jaw open by force and pours it down my throat.

"You fucking bitch." 

I roll my eyes. It's the same old story. Bitch, slut, devil spawn, yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.

"And here I thought you always wanted me to just, be gone."

True. But-

"Like I'd let you have all the glory."

Like I'd let him leave me all alone with our parents.

Waltzing into the carriage behind him, my feet filling the ghosts of his steps, I shrug and slouch down next to him, cherry stem twirling between fingertips. "Can't get rid of me that easy, brother dearest." 

I think I was born with a smirk on my lips.

"But if we're going to do this, we at least need to work together."

He's right. I hate to admit it so I keep my mouth shut, popping cherries between my teeth like some sort of ethereal ruler. The other two arrive without their names and I don't care to remember them. Meat shields. Dumbasses. Suicidal. Whatever. There's only ever been room in Ten for one secret assassin family and I'd cut my own foot off if they could do anything more than shake a stick at me with trembling hands.

Cherry lips hide the stench of poison seeping from my mouth so I twist my lips tightly shut and let Lazarus do the talking. He's got a bite, I'll give him that. I should know - littered with puncture wounds and bleeding skin. It's a nice change to see someone else take the brunt of his anguish.

He hits an artery and Saffron erupts - I blink, surprised, yet amused. Nerves spasm and as she launches for the kill I remember that kid on televisions from my youth. Rusty, inexperienced, lacking technique or skill. But firey. And selfish.

Terribly so.

When chaos clears and all that's left is silence my hands begin a slow clap, grin stretching from ear to ear. Five sets of baffled eyes turn to look at me and quiet laughter bubbles forth, applause ceasing only to catch my breath.

"Well at least we're all on the same page!" I smile through joyous mania - it's easy to forget we have hearts on our sleeves stitched in secrecy, vows of silence, words never uttered in anyone elses' ears.

Another laugh. "I've tried to get rid of this bastard for years now, so if you could do the hard part for me while we're here it'd save me a helluva lot of trouble by the time this train stops moving."

Terrible people share terrible ideals.

Sugar and acid coupled with hatred doesn't taste half bad.

she's got a good time wrapped in gold for you 

all red dress with the devil eyes

table by elegant

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,that's when you feel my kind of love

From the instant Ophelia Stromstatt volunteers, Mace is very careful not to think. He empties his mind of thoughts, retreats to the white out portion of his mind, the place you visit between sleep and waking. It's not as difficult for him as it appears to be for other people. Maybe it's practice, maybe it's nature, but he's always been able to tune out all the noise of life and simply be.

There's three girls and a boy on the stage, which is too many tributes - fade to white.

As they march past his home, his children join them, and pepper him with questions about Aunt - static.

In the train, he's alone with Saffron for just a moment. Here, he doesn't even have to try, he simply drifts.

Too soon she's leading him to the living room car and his diamond world is breaking apart. It's shattered into: Lazarus pouring alcohol, Riven silent and watching, Ma said to tell you 'hello'. His world collapses, his hands are already ice cold, and a venomous response is on his lips. "You should give her my best yourself - "

But it's drowned out as Saffron launches. He's not as quick as he once was but he's still strong. He grabs for her hips, hands hooking in familiar places, and draws her back. "Saffron, Saffron, Saffron..." He whispers into her flame hair, a prayer for stillness, for something - anything - normal. "I need you."

He doesn't hold her for long; she's not his to trap. When he loosens his grip, he squeezes once, and then steps to her side. There's something else in Scarlett's words - a threat? a promise - but he can't quite make sense of it. None of this makes sense. "Everyone, sit down," he growls, employing Papa voice. "No one is dying on this train but you can do whatever the hell you want when we get to the Capitol. You don't want our help? Fine. You're dismissed. If you do want our help, you can stay, but know that we," he pauses, looks Saffron and Ansgar in the eye, "won't take kindly to disrespect for the dead, past and future, of our District. Understand?"

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

[Kire]

Ansgar Todd

He is the last of the three victors to arrive. Guided by either Ripred's sense of timing, or by an innate knowledge that Mace and Saffron needed time without him, or even perhaps by his own sudden need to be alone before facing this journey, he waits until mere moments before the train begins to move before boarding. When he arrives, Saffron stands and takes Mace by the hand to guide him to the car where their charges are sitting. He follows, nearly as blank as the older man.

His brother might have volunteered this year, there was enough leeway in their ages that Anselm could have slipped in, but something had convinced him to stay. Be it the glassy stare of his false eye or the knowledge that Ripred had not called him forth, the victor hadn't paid much mind. Their mother could not have born the weight of another son off to fight Ripred's war, whether he also succeeded or not, and the brothers had known that. So, even as the spear went off to the Capitol, the shield remained to shelter their mother.

Now, though, he faced a situation he had not been prepared for. There were twice as many tributes this year, too many by half, and they had volunteered. The churning sense of competing beliefs swirled behind his one good eye. Had Ripred called to them? Or were they acting out against the wishes of the god? His own winnings would have provided for the district, even if their supplies had been cut due to a lack of volunteers. That could not have been their justification. For the first time in what felt like ages, the need to seek advice settled on his shoulders.

Ripred, what is your plan for these four? They have placed themselves in a place of death that only one might return from but likely none of them will. When you called to me I knew it was my duty to go, to serve, to guide. You led me to this point here, gave me back the life I gave so readily to you. Did you call these children as you did me? Are they the ones who will carry your name once again into the arena and defend your honour as I had?

As had been since he had left the arena nearly an entire year ago, he received no words in return. Ripred still hadn't forgiven him for those moments of doubt and blasphemy. He would have to demonstrate true faith once again in order to win back the favour of the god. This moment of prayer was only one brick in the wall of Ripred's shelter. There were many more to be laid.

As the compartment door opened and the three victors stepped inside they were immediately greeted by a voice. This voice, however, was not welcoming. "Welcome to the morgue. Let's see, we have...the preacher, the grandpa, and....the girl who turned him straight." There was a brief ripple of motion through the car, each person reacting to the blunt caption of district ten's three mentors. He barely stirred, other than to turn his one-eyed gaze on the boy who spoke - the only male volunteer from district ten. He could see that this boy - the name Lazarus echoed like a distant whisper in his mind - was not a servant of Ripred. His sister - Scarlett, said the whisper - was not one either.

More words came, crude and aimed to hurt. He didn't move as Saffron leapt forward. Mace had pulled her back for just long enough to settle her before letting go. Looks were exchanged but his eye was only for Lazarus. An inkling in the back of his mind told him that this boy would be trouble, perhaps more than was worth dealing with. Empty hands itched for the handle of a spear. Saffron may have had the right idea - it would be better to end this problem at the start. His look flits quickly to catch Mace's glance as the older man tried to get a handle on the situation. "But know that we won't take kindly to disrespect for the dead, past and future, of our District. Understand?"

He doesn't move as Mace finishes speaking, holding a straight and stable posture as he now looks over all four young faces before them. Once more, his gaze holds on Lazarus. He knew, even more now that in the moments leading up to this point, that Ripred's new task for him was to watch Lazarus closely. Keeping him out of trouble was not necessarily the goal, keeping others out of his trouble was.