building castles out of dirt :: [ quest + calliope ]
Jan 26, 2019 17:15:13 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Jan 26, 2019 17:15:13 GMT -5
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we always made it work
building castles out of dirt
building castles out of dirt
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When the train doors open there is a part of Calliope that doesn’t know what to expect despite having already seen their faces on television. Not because of the death; she has faith enough in the abilities of her District to believe without hesitation that they’re alive. Instead she wondered if this might feel like watching Aesop swinging a knife around, his face blurred into slight unrecognizability with the movement. She had never met Quest or Parson before they stepped onto the Reaping stage, but it’s hard to think that they won’t be coming back different than they left.
Just say it, her thoughts mutter, the corners of her lips contorting with the effort of trying to keep a frown off her face. That’s one thing they certainly don’t need to be greeted with. Different? Try totally fucked up. There’s a small shake of her head. She still remembers every word of bullshit she ever heard spoken against Aesop — how people said it was good that he was put down — and she won’t join in echoes of that negativity. These kids can be fucked up if that’s how they feel or they can disown the past couple of weeks as something separate from themselves. That’s for them to decide and no one else. Another voice chimes in to remind her that they were both volunteers, that they already chose —
She punches that thought in the face before it completes itself. It’s a badly kept secret that District Six kids don’t volunteer because they think they can win; it’s because they know they won’t. Calliope doesn’t judge them for it, she can’t, not when there have been times where she wondered if she should have done the same. It might have been easier, but in the end she decided that she didn’t want to give the Capitol the satisfaction. Whatever Quest and Parson’s motivations were, they’ve been sent back to a second chance, whether they want it or not. Odds are they don’t, but maybe a little kindness can still turn their hearts around.
Regardless of why, their choices saved two other kids. Calliope was always selfish enough to wish that someone had been willing to make that sacrifice for the people she cared about and knows exactly what their volunteering must have meant to Keshak and Rudy, to their families, to their friends. It’s messed up to call their willingness to die heroic... but it’s also messed up not to. She tries not to name it at all. "Quest!" She calls out over the chaos of the crowd, waving a hand over the heads of a few gawkers in order to catch her attention, nudging them aside and winking as the recognition sets in. It’s still bizarre when anyone steps aside for her in a gesture of respect, but it’s a nice kind of strange. Their faces look interested instead of repelled when they turn to whisper at one another and she hopes the newfound notoriety of the kids she’s here to greet follows suite.
"Welcome back," she says to the Hertz girl. There’s no sign of her District partner next to her, but he can’t have gone too far with the living barricade of spectators gathered at the station. There’s a pause as Callie resists the impulse to speak too bluntly: You look like shit, but that’s still pretty good for a dead girl. Her mind circles and lands on something more reassuring. "I mean it. I’m glad you’re back." I hope you are too. Standing there in her dead brother’s tattered denim jacket and whatever clothes she could find that didn’t immediately give away that she had probably already worn them for three days straight last week — sleeping at the office and forgetting to care what people think the way she did when she was Quest’s age — she doesn’t look particularly official. That’s not the point. That’s not why she’s here. That’s just an excuse that she wonders why she needs.
Just say it, her thoughts mutter, the corners of her lips contorting with the effort of trying to keep a frown off her face. That’s one thing they certainly don’t need to be greeted with. Different? Try totally fucked up. There’s a small shake of her head. She still remembers every word of bullshit she ever heard spoken against Aesop — how people said it was good that he was put down — and she won’t join in echoes of that negativity. These kids can be fucked up if that’s how they feel or they can disown the past couple of weeks as something separate from themselves. That’s for them to decide and no one else. Another voice chimes in to remind her that they were both volunteers, that they already chose —
She punches that thought in the face before it completes itself. It’s a badly kept secret that District Six kids don’t volunteer because they think they can win; it’s because they know they won’t. Calliope doesn’t judge them for it, she can’t, not when there have been times where she wondered if she should have done the same. It might have been easier, but in the end she decided that she didn’t want to give the Capitol the satisfaction. Whatever Quest and Parson’s motivations were, they’ve been sent back to a second chance, whether they want it or not. Odds are they don’t, but maybe a little kindness can still turn their hearts around.
Regardless of why, their choices saved two other kids. Calliope was always selfish enough to wish that someone had been willing to make that sacrifice for the people she cared about and knows exactly what their volunteering must have meant to Keshak and Rudy, to their families, to their friends. It’s messed up to call their willingness to die heroic... but it’s also messed up not to. She tries not to name it at all. "Quest!" She calls out over the chaos of the crowd, waving a hand over the heads of a few gawkers in order to catch her attention, nudging them aside and winking as the recognition sets in. It’s still bizarre when anyone steps aside for her in a gesture of respect, but it’s a nice kind of strange. Their faces look interested instead of repelled when they turn to whisper at one another and she hopes the newfound notoriety of the kids she’s here to greet follows suite.
"Welcome back," she says to the Hertz girl. There’s no sign of her District partner next to her, but he can’t have gone too far with the living barricade of spectators gathered at the station. There’s a pause as Callie resists the impulse to speak too bluntly: You look like shit, but that’s still pretty good for a dead girl. Her mind circles and lands on something more reassuring. "I mean it. I’m glad you’re back." I hope you are too. Standing there in her dead brother’s tattered denim jacket and whatever clothes she could find that didn’t immediately give away that she had probably already worn them for three days straight last week — sleeping at the office and forgetting to care what people think the way she did when she was Quest’s age — she doesn’t look particularly official. That’s not the point. That’s not why she’s here. That’s just an excuse that she wonders why she needs.
queens misterwives
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