Lighthouse [Through the Looking Glass]

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

Abuela Marisol was the one that had made you pray. When you had a cold, you prayed. When you wanted the crops to come in full, you prayed. And when you sat in the middle of the night, hoping the knock at the door was nothing but the wind, you prayed extra. To whom it was never quite clear—Abuela Marisol was a mystic more than a follower of anyone—but that there was something stronger than anything on this earth was the only thing certain. You would be protected just as long as you were good, and you prayed. Because you were young and she was the wisest person you knew, it was easy to believe. After all, what sort of world would it be if things didn’t happen for a reason?

The lunch room was far more of a warzone than the training center floor. You dreaded the long walk along the lines, if only because there were so many faces that would stare back. Tables were lined with ones that had already found protection; others were already plotting revenge for slights that you didn’t know existed. You were ghost walking along the sea, ready to be swallowed up by the surf and never seen again. The smile that you plastered upon your face did little to hide the energy underneath. You twisted your index finger between your ring finger and thumb, waiting for the salad to be piled onto your plate.

There was one thing that could calm your nerves and put steel back into your spine. Between your fingers you squeeze the long chain of your abuela’s necklace, the one thing that was to serve both for protection and a reminder of home. Pray, and twist the beads, and then pray, and pray, until you can’t twist them anymore, mmm? You can see her tiny little shawl wrapped body waving a bony finger at you. Munching away at the greens on your plate, you place the long silvery chain alongside the table, close your eyes, and begin to think. You think about how when you volunteered, it was for everyone else. You think about how there are too many people here. You wonder whether or not you’ll fall in seconds, minutes, or last a few days before being snuffed out.

And you think, and think, until you hear the clatter of a tray at the table. You open your eyes and give your best smile. “C-can I help you?”

[MrMista]

Molly Malachite | 14 | D1F

---

Even the brightest of diamonds seem dull in the wrong lighting.

Molly knew the Capitol was supposed to be the most glamorous place in all of Panem; she’d seen the snapshots and had definitely gotten a glimpse of luxury on her train ride over. So why did they have to stuff them all in the most boring building in the entire area? Everything in the training center was painted over in dark, dull colors, and the lighting always seemed to be turned down halfway. If she knew she'd be denied their shinies, Molly would have just stayed home.
Fortunately, she had her necklace with her, the vial filled to the brim with specks of glitter. Even in near darkness, her sparkles would dance in front of her, lightening up her mood. It was a shame so many of the others didn’t seem to be interested in doing so. Everyone seemed to be so focused on themselves, or on training for their upcoming adventure. Molly hadn’t given the arena much thought, but she really hoped it was a sunny place, nothing like the 72nd or 73rd, or, Ripred forbid, the 68th. She wouldn’t be able to handle being robbed of the light, of the way it could dance around the largest of walls and slip through the tiniest of slivers.

As she walked through the dining hall, staring at the tray in her hands and marveling at the faint glint it could produce at just the right angle (At least these aren't dull), a glimmer in the corner of her vision caught Molly’s eye. (Oooh, another person with an appreciation for shinies! Maybe there’s someone here who’s not so boring after all.) Molly lit up in a grin and sauntered over to the girl and her white beads, which, juxtaposed with the dark outfit the girl had on and her complexion, seemed to light up the space around her at the table. The unknown girl kept looking at the beads intensely, as fascinated with them as Molly was, and the young girl from District One could barely contain her excitement as she approached.

Without hesitation, she plopped her tray onto the table and leaned in really close, her head resting on her hand and her elbow on the table, exclaiming with a smile, “Those beads are gorgeous! Do you know where I can get some?”

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

Perhaps there were still surprises here after all. When Molly approached, whispering about the beads of the necklace between your fingers, you half expected some sort of insult. It was always taught the careers would care little about much else than killing. Was it a joke? But the look upon her face is the same one Magdalena has when she watches the boys at the watering hole (and she thinks you’re not watching her). She’s transfixed. You relax, sitting back in your seat. You hold out the necklace and offer it up to her with a smile. It couldn’t hurt to have her on your side—could it?

“My abuela—my grandmother—she gave it to me,” You were nine when she thought it time to give you the “prayer beads.” Your mother had gone back and forth with abuela Marisol about why you shouldn’t even have seen them, much less carry them around in your pocket. Back and forth they went, hissing both in the tongue of Panem and a language from before the dark days (and so it was that you discovered your mother had been taught it, too). She was afraid of what it would mean should anyone discover what the beads meant; your grandmother rightfully pointed out that there were practically none remaining in the district that so much knew what they could possibly signify.

“They’re from… a long time ago. Before the dark days.” You wonder now how old the metal necklace is. Was it always in your family? Your grandmother had only said that it was a piece of tradition. You carried it around to keep you safe; you held it close to you when you were sick. “I use it to help me think about what I want. And sometimes I ask for help getting those things.” It’s a clumsy way to describe your prayers, but you don’t expect anyone else to understand. You’re not quite sure yourself what or who you’re praying to, only that it makes you feel better. And that’s what truly important, isn’t it?

“You can sit here if you want. I’m Salome.” You offer a seat, and hold out your necklace as well.

[Lyn𝛿is]

gentian hope

"Those beads are gorgeous! Do you know where I can get some?"

There's something about the way the Career girl says it that catches his attention. Coming from a district where where art is often livelihood, he can't help but hear alarm bells in his head at the statement, for how often had he seen the designs his coworkers agonized over, reduced to cheap, tawdry Capitol costumes that made fun of the very people creating them? Perhaps there was even some woman with a tribute obsession selling a whole shop of replica tribute tokens, somewhere in this city. Capitol children hugging Lily's Frankdragon doll.

"That's not a very nice thing to ask about someone's district token," he blurts out. For all I know, she could be one of those Careers that collect tokens like trophies. But the District Eleven girl is far more patient as she explains the beads, her words hinting at ways of life that existed long before Panem. Long before the Dark Days. Long before it became treason to even talk of such things.

His grandmother had gotten nothing but knitting patterns passed by word-of-mouth, that some foreman had made a pretty penny for when he stole them as his own. He hadn't known that things - actual things, that could be purged or confiscated or melted down for materials - from those times still existed.

In the end, it wasn't the Careers who had done those things - the Careers weren't the Capitol. It was easier and easier to forget that, even if it was an Eleven girl that had led the chase and a Five girl that had stabbed a spear through Paige's neck, even if the outer districts were just as vicious when they got in the arena.

"I'm Gentian," he introduces himself. "I couldn't help but overhear - uh, I mean, can I join you guys?"

He glanced around. They'd probably find it strange he wasn't sitting with his cousin, but Eva was nowhere in sight...

OOC: Notes

[MrMista]

Molly Malachite | 14 | D1F

---

The light shines brightest in the dark.

Molly tore her eyes away from the glistening beads to look into the eyes of the girl holding them. She was eager to get her answer. Where was the Capitol hiding such treasures? Better yet, why wasn't it sharing? 
Before Molly could get a reply, however, a voice called out, touched by a just enough disdain for Molly to sense it. ""That's not a very nice thing to ask about someone's district token." (Not nice? I said they were beautiful. Guess they don't value aesthetics where he's from. That's a shame; if he weren't a bore, he'd warrant a second look.)
(But oh? Did he say District token?) "My abuela-my grandmother-she gave it to me," began the girl. (Oh? Guess he did. So I won't be able to get myself a pair after all.)
"They're from... a long time ago. Before the dark days," (No way!) Molly's eyes widened at the words. It was hard to imagine that something so stunning could be so... old. The beads' creator was likely long dead, yet his creations lived on, unfazed by the passage of time. 
What's left when all else is gone? Darkness... and light.
“I use it to help me think about what I want. And sometimes I ask for help getting those things.” "I want to get to know this girl," Molly decided then and there. Her answer didn't quite convey the same fascination with shinies that Molly  had, but there was something in the girl's eyes that staying by her side would make their time at the Capitol at least slightly more fun.
"You can sit here if you want. I’m Salome." Molly smiled at the girl, at Salome. "Thanks, I'm Molly. I think we're going to get along just fine," she beamed.
"I'm Gentian," the boy who'd questioned Molly spoke up again. "I couldn't help but overhear - uh, I mean, can I join you guys?"
Molly considered her options briefly. He was quite a bore it seemed, but on the other hand, there was no use in turning people away. "Sure," she giggled, "But only if you liven up that dull attitude of yours." With a grin, she stuck out her tongue. "After all, nobody likes a sourpuss."

[Lyn𝛿is]

gentian hope

"Only if you liven up that dull attitude of yours." The Career girl has the audacity to giggle and stick out her tongue. "After all, nobody likes a sourpuss."

Must be a lot different in One, he thinks with a certain amount of bitterness, when you volunteer for your own personal glory instead of for food or family or desperation. But however immature she is, she has a point. It's hard for tributes to get anywhere in the Games if the Capitol - or the Gamemakers - don't find them exciting enough. And how many times had people, even back home, told him that his brain jumped through too many scenarios and thought of strange possibilities that never could happen?

The Career girl - Molly - was like a ray of sunshine. A childish, obnoxious, impertinent ray of sunshine. People used to get annoyed at him for being the same way - but if he could give up that awareness, the fear of misstepping, the powerlessness that came with knowing everything was wrong and nothing was fixable, he'd go back to being that child in a heartbeat.

So he bites back any number of insults he might have spoken about the Career girl's character. "I'll try," he says, in what he hopes is a light voice. "Not much opportunity to learn how to liven up, in Eight."

OOC: Notes