blood of my {blood} // annika oneshots
Feb 24, 2017 1:47:56 GMT -5
Post by esther kim d3 {lance} on Feb 24, 2017 1:47:56 GMT -5
a n n i k a l u m i e r e
The tributes fell like rain from the sky, a startling contrast to the standard practice of rising from the ground like the corpses of the damned. They fell, fifty two separate souls across two separate platforms, but she only had eyes for one.
She'd found him leaning against a wall, face pale like a ghost and eyes bloodshot from a night of activities she'd seen all too many times before. The words "I don't think I'm very well," reverberated through her eardrums and then her skull, eyes widening as she realized that, no, her cousin was very much not well, as he claimed.
Instinct had reacted before conscious thought, and the next thing she knew she was at his side, propping up his limp form with her own, the words "Oh, Atlas," pouring from her lips in a crashing flood of emotion.
She watched as he fell from the back of a great aquatic beast (one that had no place in the sky) and onto a chimney, hands finding a hold in the sides and grip tightening on for dear life - for they know full well what lies beneath should he fall
Seconds slow, dragging through the temporal molasses that is time, and she can see every heartbeat, every blink of polished eyelashes over fearful orbs of blue, every rise and fall of his chest-
Gong!
and he's off, moving too quickly for her to react. Her heart spikes, her eyes widen, and her blood chills, as too late she realizes his intent-
and her cry of "Atlas, no!" is drowned by his own shout of "No! Stop! I volunteer!"
-and she can only watch in horror and heartbreak as her cousin, not one she had never known about, but one that she had known since she was first capable of conscious thought, one that she had laughed with and fought with and shed blood and sweat and tears with so many times over gave himself up for the slaughter.
-and he's off, leaping from the top of the chimney down to the rooftop below, and he's running running running and he's at the Cornucopia and there's another tribute and-
She watches, a scream building in the back of her throat as his first wild punch causes the kneecap of one girl from Seven to crumble like old plaster. His second lands on one of his fellow Careers, and his third smacks a one-eyed girl from Six on the arm.
Atlas had never been the best or most dedicated fighter in the ring, and yet he was fighting like a demon possessed. Strike number four lands on the littlest Eckhart (and her mind flashes to her own sister Adora, no older than that girl, and scarcely more competent). Number five snaps the shin of Harbinger Rhodes' brother in two, yet number six and number seven, aimed at a pretty girl from Two, fail to leave any lasting damage.
And the scream is beginning to fade when his hands curl around a mallet, and she watches in mute horror as he swings as if every iota of strength from his namesake had magically imbued itself to him, and her mouth drops open as it cracks into the skull of a dark-skinned girl from Nine and then she screams-
and she can barely repress a scream as she slams the door to the Justice building behind her, a maelstrom of rage and grief and simple disbelief course through her system like a raging storm.
And yet, as her own gaze matches the cool blue of her cousin, she can't help but think back to a similar encounter not so long ago, one that had ended with the subject of her curiosity falling a hair's width away from his ultimate goal-
No, their ultimate goal.
Asha Lumiere had been an enigma wrapped in a riddle shoved into a seventeen year old mystery of a machine consisted of flesh and blood, and as he fought his way closer and closer to the end, she had began to hope.
Hope that such a mystery would return to her in one piece, one that she would get the chance to learn and unravel with as much kindness and gentleness that was required.
But now, in a field that could easily be twice the size of the long lost cousin (four had sentenced themselves to the meat grinder from her home alone), she felt...
Nothing.
And it is not anger but sadness that fills her gaze as three syllables, so simple and yet so loaded, push their way past her lips and into his ears.
"Why, Atlas?"
-and they fall again onto deaf ears, for this time their target is many hundreds of miles away, topless and covered in blood, waving a mallet and breaking bones left, right, and center.
Crack! goes the shin of another girl from Two.
Crack! goes the knee of his own district partner, a girl who couldn't have been older than fourteen.
And yet they're fast or he's hesitating, for both manage to escape the clutches of his mallet, both refusing to add to his body count of...
Oh god.
Atlas Lumiere, her own cousin, was a killer.
She watched as he turned, offering assistance to a lewd-mouthed District Four that could only be his ally. She watched as he began to loot the cornucopia of any and everything that he could find.
And yet, she could only feel....
Empty.
"Oh, Atlas," she whispered, echoing exhales of breath spoken not very long ago.
"What have you gotten yourself into?"
She'd found him leaning against a wall, face pale like a ghost and eyes bloodshot from a night of activities she'd seen all too many times before. The words "I don't think I'm very well," reverberated through her eardrums and then her skull, eyes widening as she realized that, no, her cousin was very much not well, as he claimed.
Instinct had reacted before conscious thought, and the next thing she knew she was at his side, propping up his limp form with her own, the words "Oh, Atlas," pouring from her lips in a crashing flood of emotion.
She watched as he fell from the back of a great aquatic beast (one that had no place in the sky) and onto a chimney, hands finding a hold in the sides and grip tightening on for dear life - for they know full well what lies beneath should he fall
Seconds slow, dragging through the temporal molasses that is time, and she can see every heartbeat, every blink of polished eyelashes over fearful orbs of blue, every rise and fall of his chest-
Gong!
and he's off, moving too quickly for her to react. Her heart spikes, her eyes widen, and her blood chills, as too late she realizes his intent-
and her cry of "Atlas, no!" is drowned by his own shout of "No! Stop! I volunteer!"
-and she can only watch in horror and heartbreak as her cousin, not one she had never known about, but one that she had known since she was first capable of conscious thought, one that she had laughed with and fought with and shed blood and sweat and tears with so many times over gave himself up for the slaughter.
-and he's off, leaping from the top of the chimney down to the rooftop below, and he's running running running and he's at the Cornucopia and there's another tribute and-
She watches, a scream building in the back of her throat as his first wild punch causes the kneecap of one girl from Seven to crumble like old plaster. His second lands on one of his fellow Careers, and his third smacks a one-eyed girl from Six on the arm.
Atlas had never been the best or most dedicated fighter in the ring, and yet he was fighting like a demon possessed. Strike number four lands on the littlest Eckhart (and her mind flashes to her own sister Adora, no older than that girl, and scarcely more competent). Number five snaps the shin of Harbinger Rhodes' brother in two, yet number six and number seven, aimed at a pretty girl from Two, fail to leave any lasting damage.
And the scream is beginning to fade when his hands curl around a mallet, and she watches in mute horror as he swings as if every iota of strength from his namesake had magically imbued itself to him, and her mouth drops open as it cracks into the skull of a dark-skinned girl from Nine and then she screams-
and she can barely repress a scream as she slams the door to the Justice building behind her, a maelstrom of rage and grief and simple disbelief course through her system like a raging storm.
And yet, as her own gaze matches the cool blue of her cousin, she can't help but think back to a similar encounter not so long ago, one that had ended with the subject of her curiosity falling a hair's width away from his ultimate goal-
No, their ultimate goal.
Asha Lumiere had been an enigma wrapped in a riddle shoved into a seventeen year old mystery of a machine consisted of flesh and blood, and as he fought his way closer and closer to the end, she had began to hope.
Hope that such a mystery would return to her in one piece, one that she would get the chance to learn and unravel with as much kindness and gentleness that was required.
But now, in a field that could easily be twice the size of the long lost cousin (four had sentenced themselves to the meat grinder from her home alone), she felt...
Nothing.
And it is not anger but sadness that fills her gaze as three syllables, so simple and yet so loaded, push their way past her lips and into his ears.
"Why, Atlas?"
-and they fall again onto deaf ears, for this time their target is many hundreds of miles away, topless and covered in blood, waving a mallet and breaking bones left, right, and center.
Crack! goes the shin of another girl from Two.
Crack! goes the knee of his own district partner, a girl who couldn't have been older than fourteen.
And yet they're fast or he's hesitating, for both manage to escape the clutches of his mallet, both refusing to add to his body count of...
Oh god.
Atlas Lumiere, her own cousin, was a killer.
She watched as he turned, offering assistance to a lewd-mouthed District Four that could only be his ally. She watched as he began to loot the cornucopia of any and everything that he could find.
And yet, she could only feel....
Empty.
"Oh, Atlas," she whispered, echoing exhales of breath spoken not very long ago.
"What have you gotten yourself into?"
