and my {colors} grew colder || gentian

[Lyn𝛿is]

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gentian hope

[Part I]

I've never felt like this before
Am I awake, am I drifting?
There's a hole in the sky
Am I alive? Did I survive?

Broken pictures on my wall
A story of fallen heroes
Now stare ahead with their blind eyes on
Lost horizon

[newclass=.GentianText]text-align:justify; background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #5a0087,#5a3087);linear-gradient(top, #5a0087,#5a3087); -webkit-background-clip:text; color:transparent;[/newclass][attr="class","GentianText"]One moment, he was between Molly and the Seven girl, his fist landing one final punch on the loudmouth.

The next, a force jerked his head back, and he was falling. Skull met hard concrete steps, sharp edges and rough surfaces greeting fragile bone with a dull, sickening crack. Flat against the stairs, staring up at the floor, he could almost marvel that it was even possible to fall in a place like this.

A triangle of railings swam into his slowly dimming vision; above them was an archway, bright sunlight pouring in and revealing a lush green, an illusion of freedom. Even the tiles on the walls seemed to warp and twist, square checkerboard turning into birds and fishes that could fly away, away from the mansion, away from the arena, away from the violence and senselessness of it all.

A single crayon, rich and purple, floated down from the archway on a bed of shimmering silver, the light casting mesmerizing patterns on the parachute's cloth. It seemed to take all of his will just to move his hand the couple inches it took to catch the crayon in his palm and bring it forward.

A token gesture, perhaps. But who would sponsor a dying tribute? Frivolous items were for Careers, he had learned, ever since watching the Twos and Fours get toys and plushies and piles of real, useless, cash while they'd tried to scrape together enough money for Lily to get a simple bottle of water.

He could hear her voice now, shouting something as she drew closer to him. They guarded him side by side in the stairwell, strong where he was weak, standing where he had fallen.

"Find Eva," he said, perhaps, "protect her for me," or perhaps words were too bulky and unwieldy and Paige could pluck those thoughts from his mind and tuck them safely into her pockets. Bright blonde hair stood out in a world swimming with grayscale, the colors of sound blending together to form a soft blanket of white noise.

Lily's hand reached for his, nudging the crayon he still held in a loosening grip. She opens her mouth, her eyes still brimming with childishness and adventure and endless imagination -

"Draw me something,"

Sometimes the traces of life with you
Are clearer in my mind than ever
I'm reaching this feeling
It's misleading me away from you

Tonight I'll find what I've been searching for
You can rip off my wings once more
I'm not afraid anymore
I am ready to fall
I'm not afraid anymore

[attr="class","GrayedOut"]

OOC: MrMista marguerite harvard d2a (zori)

[Deleted]

You can do nothing to fix his mangled body. None of your teaching will change the outcome—two girls have torn Gentian asunder, and left him like all the rest. You know now why you heart must have made you leave Lorenzo. Gentian couldn’t go alone, not without you to see. It’s a funny feeling in your heart as you kneel, the tufts of red fabric tucked underneath of you, with your hands in the folds on top of one another. You want to believe that he would’ve been stronger—he seemed so much like your cousins. Perhaps that’s why you’d wanted to hold his hand. Silly to think of yourself at a time like this, but the little thoughts come to you in a flood.

He was a boy from eight, with a hat that hid the curls atop his head. You liked how just a few came out onto his forehead. You should’ve told him that. Or the way that he had been easy enough to talk to, he was unlike the other tributes in the training center. Even now, in the fading light of day, his body still, you feel as though he’s not got. Good spirits stay with you, your grandmother once told you. It was a comfort to think that the good in your life would still protect you. They were the same ones that you believed greeted you before walking to the other side. Had his family greeted him, then? A boy like Gentian was destined for the stars. Better that he disappeared so quickly, than having to watch him face worse.

Why did you want to trade places with him?

You are tired. Watching boys and girls fight, running for your life, seeing death as though it were a spectacle… all of it wore heavy on your shoulders. You wanted to push it away, to do more to remember Gentian. But that hurts worst of all, because you realize that you didn’t much about him at all. For your talk of kindness, you hadn’t spent enough time to know Gentian so that you could preserve his name. You place one palm over another and close your eyes. Could you forgive me? It’s for Gentian first. Can you help me protect Molly? And now you’re searching for your cousins across the veil. Can you make sure that I do as I’m meant, and not just for myself?

There’s not one, but two, three, and four crayons that come tumbling from the sky to your feet. You don’t know if there is an unnamed god; you cross yourself and wonder what miracle has happened. In truth, Sampson had rallied the whole of the Izar clan, the Kranes, and even the McClaines to provide such a bounty. You look back to Gentian, and make sure that Molly is within earshot. There were those out there that saw you worth something—what you could not be sure—but somehow the weight seemed easier to bare. “Thank you,” you whisper out. How much quieter it was now in the dark, with the stairwells creaking and the doors groaning.

You take the grey crayon between your fingers. A drop of imagination would cheer you, if only for a moment. You think of the beauty of your dress—something that you never had—and how it made you smile. What was a dress without shoes? When you were in district eleven, you wore boots, and on hot summer days had gone barefoot. The silver loafers you wear chafe, and you slide them off. You start to doodle on your toes, and think of the women that you saw in the capitol. You trace around your foot, until at last you reach your heel. You give a good six inches, and then start to curl up over your ankle into a boot. A mix of both what you know and what you wanted, your high heeled boots reflect your connection to the old, and a desire for the new.

Yet as you stare at your new high heeled boots, the ounce of happiness fades.

Your eyes fix on the large window that flushes the wall. Stars. Your cousins were there, and Gentian was there, too. They were safe—so far and removed from all the danger to you here now. You look back at the crayons and to the great window lining a lengthy staircase. You climb atop the widowsil and begin to unlock each of the locks, until at last, you start to pull upward. The wall seems to groan on its own, and lift far and above our head. You fall back onto a stair, and are thankful for the extra fabric to break your fall. Air rushes in, and you turn to look back at Molly, and Gentian. The moon comes into view, and a strange horizon.

When you were a small child, there was a fair that came to town. You wonder if you imagined it—but what you picture now was the great, red balloon that hovered above your heads in the air. It floated gently, and touched the sky as though it were magic. And yet it seemed safe, far and away from the troubles down below.

You take out the brass colored crayon (shiny for Molly) and begin to drag it along the base of the windowsill. You drag for as long as you can, until you start to shift upward. You step up, up, and up (onto your tiptoes) before you give a jump and circle back down again. You impress yourself with the giant circle you’ve created, just as your crayon seems to run down to a nub. But you hurry not to let this strange shape be the only thing you create—instead, you take out the sienna and start to draw a lattice across the top of the circle, and then lines downward. They connect to a box, big enough for you and Molly to stretch your feet. For good measure, you add the drawings of sandbags to weigh down what will be your means of travel. Of course, the basket doesn't have the heft quite needed for the both of you. Thinking quickly, you draw four wheels with pedals and a steering wheel. At the least you'll be pushing your balloon contraption as far as it'll go.

As the balloon expands, you give it a push toward the waiting window. “C’mon, Molly. We’ve got to get out of this place. I can’t keep you safe here, but I know where I can.” You look up at the stars. You step into the waiting box, and move to help your companion join you.

[Salome Izar:

-Pays her respects to Gentian

-Receives crayons from sponsorship

-Draws armored high heeled boots

-Uses 2 crayons to create a small hot air balloon for her and Molly to float off into the stars (for now)]

[Lyn𝛿is]

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gentian hope

[Part II]

I am lying on the frozen ground alone
I've got lost on my way, my time is up
I'm done

I need to find the key
To eternal life and see
The joy, the smile,
The overwhelming love of your heart
Is what I need

Give me a sign, and show me the way
To the sacred place

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A scrap of red cloth became a flag, rippling gently over castle turrets. A colorful curling wire was a crown fit for the most stately queen, with slips of metallic foil as the royal riches.

He should have known better than to hold on to those inclinations. Childhood was supposed to end the moment Lily stepped forward to volunteer. Eva had realized that.

Yet he was, nonetheless, still a child. Maybe the documents said he wasn't, but he still felt like one. And children had no business stepping forward to protect adults. Children had no business trading blows meant to kill.

Lily and Paige looked just as they had the morning of the 70th reaping; not a day older. Twin guardians standing at a threshold just in front of him, they gestured again at the crayon. Crayons were little kids' toys, everyone knew that, but their gesture had given him an approval that shoved aside any hesitancy. Lily was there, and so he was permitted to be a child.

Perhaps, he thinks, the silvery scrap shall become a field of violets in bloom. Perhaps it will be a scarf fit for a king. His shaky hand pressed down with the crayon, and the purple seemed to melt into the cloth, dissolving into the flowing fabric like dye in liquid until the entire surface was a shimmering, glittery purple.

For the few short days he'd known her, Molly had been singularly obsessed with shiny things. He had always wondered about that. Surely being from District One, she could get anything shiny she wanted. But then again, people thought of colorful fabrics when they talked of District Eight. Perhaps in the end they were not so different.

He looked up. Lily, Paige, and Molly's faces seemed to all blur into and out of each other, blending together into two-then-three-then-one.

"You deserve,,," he said to her, his fingers falling limply to his side as he tried to nudge the fabric a little towards her.

"A little color,,,,,,"

Your shadow lurking in the corner of my eye
I'm losing sense of what's real
and what's a lie

Eternal calling
Your faith was not mine
Remedy this fallen life

I feel it burning with me ahead
The earth is turning to red
I'm staring at the flaming skies
Too tired to fight, I just close my eyes

I can hear you calling my name
From the distant skies
I am holding a falling angel
In my arms

[attr="class","GrayedOut"]

OOC: Notes

[MrMista]

Filler because scheduling.

Accepts Cape and thanks Gentian. Says something about light and/or shinies