iron walls: will you shatter and fall? [turner/nanette]

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

I am alone, my feet kicked up onto the sofa as I lay down, my eyes searching the small intricate details of the ceiling. As I lay there silently I begin to wonder how it would take the news to spread to Callan... To reach my mother. She would cry when she found out. I knew that. She would cry at the memory of history repeating itself. She would cry at the loss of her daughter. She would cry at not saying goodbye. Not being able to sweep me into one last hug.

She would also break at the thought of having to fight her disease alone.

The thought is almost enough to cause my eyes to water, to cause my throat to burn. I should have forced mum and Callan to make up sooner. I had plans, you know? Plans that would now be discarded. Plans to make things right between the two of them. Perhaps my death might just be the bridge to mend their past. Perhaps this was some sort of blessing in disguise.

I don't know.

Though I do not plan to go down easily.

I did know that, unlike my descendants, I would not allow myself to be butchered. I would not allow myself to be ripped open, heart exposed to the world as it is ripped from its protection. I would rip those open who tried to tear into me. Unlike my decadents, from the farming district of Eleven, I was equipped with the means, with the education and training to fight. Even though the fundamentals of what they stood for was brave. To stand up to the Capitol in such a collective way was too damn right spit into the presidents face.

But as the generations continue, the desire to fight, to confront the Capitol waned, especially after witnessing the lengths they were willing to go too to maintain control.

Massacring 24 children who refused to fight.

A bloody mess that no doubt left the districts just as torn, as agonised as those who died by the creatures hands...

Finally the door opens, my heart jumping in my throat. It was silly of me to hold onto the hope that my brother had heard so soon. Childish of me to think he would have sprinted all the way here to see me off. It wish me luck. But I still held onto that childish hope as I turned to look at the entry way. But only a peacekeeper pokes his head in, demanding that I ready myself to board the training.

Grunting in his direction I slowly begin to unfold myself from the couch, lazily plucking a few grapes from their stems as I give the Peacekeeper a bored look. "Lets go, then," I order, delighting in the temporary anger that flashes on his face at the authorisation that I held in my voice.

After all I was the 87th Tribute for District 4. I was the one who could potentially bring glory to our home. I was above him.

In the train I blatantly ignore the peacekeeper as he tries to direct me to my sleeping area, waving my hand at him as I head deeper into the carriages. I only stop when I come to a panoramic view of the ocean, of the waves crashing into the shore, of the wind blowing through the small scrubs that danced along the edges. Standing on one of the chair I wrench open the window, but it only gives enough for me to feel the slight kiss of the breeze against my cheeks.

Barely enough for me to hear the ocean sing.

Looking to my right I know that my mother was going about her daily business. Maybe she had her feet dipped into the water, waves lapping gently at her ankles.

Maybe she sat in her armchair, watching the door. Waiting for me to return with the roast that I had promised.

I don't release that I have bitten my lip to hard until I taste the metallic taste of iron in my mouth. Sighing I release my lip, hand moving to wipe the blood from my face. I take a seat, eyes examining my home, wondering if it might be the last time.

[Arrows]

Several grains of sand slip from my shoulders as the breeze bellows in the from the beach. Stares from the shapes below still gaze up to my bare skin on the stage. As if anyone in this District hasn't seen this much skin. We live on a fucking shoreline after all. I ignore the conclusion from the escort and focus on sharing a couple well timed smirks with the lookers. I know right about now I am probably supposed to be feeling afraid or anxious or some kind of shit that makes the heart race, but I don't. All I feel is the sand falling from my drying skin. Oh, and a little bit of a wedgy from my trunks. A free hand of mine adjusts the suit slightly before the boys in white come to guide us into the Justice Building.

Inside the tiles on the floor flood my feet with creeping chills. The sensation is somewhat similar to that of stepping into the sea, only this floor is far more smooth and fun to slide my toes across as I walk. Even inside the murmurs manifest, colorful Capitolites with their cameras follow my face to the edge of the main room before I am buried behind a door. Just before it shuts I can hear one of them even mention putting something more suitable on and I stop the slam with my palm.

"No one fucking asked you did they?"

Inside the room it's just a waiting game, probably better than the one that will be happening sooner rather than later now. I make my perch 0n the windowsill as my skin shudders up against the cold panes of glittering glass. I can see the surf shop across the Square along with the families that slowly walk by its boards and wetsuits. I catch my Dad's eyes from his place on the porch and I give him a wave. He returns a double tap onto his chest before going along the side of the shop to grab the board I left standing there. It's a thing we do in the family before anyone goes out to the ocean. Two taps meaning I trust you and I'll see you soon. I let my head lull back against the wood of the window and my eyes slide shut. They won't be coming to see me off, everything that needs to be said has been. I wonder whether that girl is crying. Who knows, she didn't really seem like the type.

When the door opens again and my escorts in white return, I give them a shrug before following them out. The walk to the train is filled with familiar sights. I see the arcing avenue that leads to the training center lined with palms. I see the spot where I beat the shit out of some boy who got all sorts of attached. Why do they always do that? I see the spot where I kissed his sister too. Alright, I guess by some standards that may have been somewhat shady of me. Oh well, it gives me one more good laugh before I board the train turning towards trial by combat.

Inside, I let them lead me through the twisting tunnels before ending up in some kind of bedroom. Without a care in the world, I throw my body onto the silken bed letting sand scatter off of my skin. I could get used to this kind of quality if they are going to throw me into the arena. However, I quickly lose interest in the isolation and seek out some kind of actual entertainment or action. That's when I find the girl cranking open some window and staring off towards the sea. I walk inside of the room and turn an eye towards the coast.

I don't know the blonde girl from what I can remember, but that really isn't all too surprising. I've never been one to really put all that much effort into names, or people, in general. She looks pretty similar to me actually, almost with the same strands of blonde hair as my own. Her eyes tell the story of someone far away, searching the sea for some kind of answers she can't find. I've seen plenty of those types. They usually end up lost in the waves.

"Looking backwards might not be the best way forward with where we're heading."

Though I do admit, I do wish I were out on the waves myself right now. I'm still dressed for it after all.

"Don't you think putting yourself through more pain before they do is pointless?"

I sit across from the girl and reach out a hand to her's. My thumb runs over the scarlet stain from her mouth. I don't hold her too long before leaning back and staring her straight in the eyes.

"Already doing their job for them?"

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

"Looking backwards might not be the best way forward with where we're heading." His voice cuts through my thoughts and I turn my gaze to him as he saunters in. He was dressed in nothing but some swimming trunks, his hair tangled and his skin kissed by the sun. It was an odd sight to see considering today was a day where all the youth of the district seemed to take the chance to beautify themselves. Putting on their best clothes, coating their face in a layer of make up, masking those blemishes and bruises and dark bags under their eyes from years upon years of preparing for a position in the death match.

I cant help but grin at him, at the lack of fucks he seemed to give.

Right now, instead of looking like a properly groomed career, he looked like a boy from four.

"Might be my last chance to look backwards..." I pause allowing my gaze to drift to the ocean before back to the boy, "I don't fear where we are headed." I wonder if the boy- Turner, if I remembered correctly- could hear the lie in my words. I hated that the thought of the capitol sent a shiver of dread- fear- deep into my bones. This was what I had trained for, this was what I had spent eighteen years preparing for. I had become strong, brave, and smart...

And yet the fear still slumbered beside me, its body pressed close to mine.

I would be an idiot not to be scared. The Capitol was ruthless, the heartless soul of Panem, wrapping its icy fingers around the hearts of twenty three children year after year.

In less than 13 years years 2,300 children would have been sacrificed as a platform of entertainment.

2,300 children murdered... To keep the peace, is what the Capitol liked to tell us. It was more of a leash, tighten around each of our throats as a reminder that we are merely servants, raised to bow at their feet, to clean their streets and feed their people.

And yet I would do exactly as they say. I will dress in pretty clothes, charm their citizens and then slaughter my competitors because what I feared more that the Capitol was death. So I would be their puppet, play their games because my name alone carried the constant reminder of what happened when we fought back.

I try not to think weather carry the names of twenty three other tributes would be a weight too heavy for my narrow shoulders, instead I force my lips to pullback into a smirk as the boy takes my hand in his, gliding his thumb over the streak of scarlet that stained my palm.

He only hold me for the briefest moment before he leans back in his chair, eyes meeting my own, "already doing their job for them?"

I kick one leg over the other, slouching back into my own chair as I stair down the boy, my eyes giving him a slow sweep from head to toe. "Nice outfit," I chuckle as my eyes meet with his again. "I'm sure our delightful-" I fight off a scowl "-escort has a lot to say about it." I place rest my arms on the head rest of the chair either side of me, looking like I own the place. I wanted the boy to think that I was cocky, that I was confident and that I would not think twice about what might happen down the track. Even if I wasn't so sure myself.

I lick my lips, catching the last of the blood from my laceration. "Shouldn't you be glad?" I challenge my lips still pulled back into a smirk. "Maybe my clumsiness will be your ticket home." I pause for a moment, a slight frown pulling at my brows. "You volunteered, why?" His outfit suggested that he had had no plans of traveling for the Capitol. Almost as if he planned to just pop in for a moment like he was making a general house call to some mates.

It wasn't usual for a career district to have volunteers, in fact it was almost expected for a large handful to step forward, begging for a place in the ultimate game of survival. But when I looked at Turner I saw a boy ready to spend the afternoon on the waves, a cheeky beer on the side as the sun set beneath the horizon. "For glory? For money? I hear that the lifestyle of a victor might not be all that crash hot you know. A lot of guilt or something like that eating you up. Though maybe that's something you're into. Each to their own I guess."

[Arrows]

Fear.

It's an anchor tethered to the ankle of existence. Damn, that's deep enough that even I'm impressed by it. Still though, it's true. I've spent my whole life watching others drown being pulled down deeper and deeper into misery by a weight they shackle to themselves. Sure, everyone has it in some shape or form. Fuck yeah Praying Mantises scare the shit out of me, I'm not immune. But being afraid of some religious insect isn't going to make me insecure enough to not go outside. Anyway, the point is that I've spent life witnessing countless people adjusting their lives in accordance to fear. Not me.

Alright, fair enough that a Game of death where twenty three of the kids that go in are brutally butchered and the one that lives is absolutely emotionally rocked, isn't really on the same level as Praying Mantises. However, the main take away is although she may say she feels no fear, I sense a disconnect in her truth. She is like most people. She feels the emotions, the sadness and the fear. Meanwhile, to me they are just white noise on the edge of my hearing. I wonder whether that's something that will last when I'm being shot in the shoulder or stabbed in the leg. Maybe, but then again I've only ever ended fights out of necessity, not anger. (Side note here, my therapist would heavily disagree).

Before I get the chance to say anything, my eyes follow her's as they dance down and up my body. I raise a slight eyebrow in anticipation of what she might say. Does the week old hickey on my neck bother her? Is my sculpted figure really that different from all the other careers? I like to play this game with myself whenever I sight a stare. I like to wonder what I would see if I gave a damn to look at myself in a mirror more than... maybe once a day? What does Turner Grey really look like? Ripred, I nearly snort at loud at the thought. I really don't care.

Her response actually curves the corners of my lips up slightly into a smirk. The escort's eyes when they watched me take to the stage is something I'll never erase from memory. Something about the way I could almost hear her screams of horror through her irises is entirely iconic. I appreciate that someone else agrees with the sentiment. My fingers pull out the front of the waistline slightly before letting it snap back against my skin.

"Maybe I should wear it all the way into the arena."

My eyes turn to the cut on her lip for a second before returning to her eyes followed by a shrug. I haven't really put much thought into the actual fighting that will be happening soon now. I'll pick up a spear and stab the shit out of someone when I need to, but for now I'm chill. That's the thing about some careers, their minds are always crossed with kills and violence. Those are usually the ones who can't ride a wave to save their life.

"I mean, I guess. If you want to put it that way."

Joining my hands together and reaching them towards the train's ceiling, I stretch as she asks the golden question. Why? That's always what they want to know when it comes to volunteers, especially since most end up dying anyway. It's a fair question, the question of why someone would seemingly go against their innate human instinct for self preservation. Truth be told, hand on the Holy book and all, I'm stilling putting that together myself. I was going to go back to the beach and surf. So why had I shoved that overly eager kid back into his spot? Not because I think I can win, I am trained so who knows. But maybe because I need something more than waves and empty emotions. Yeah, I'm sure as hell not telling her that load of...

"Mmm, I seem like the glory type to you?"

An eyebrow raises again as I slide onto my side laying across the chair. My face turns towards the ceiling. 

"What if I said I didn't have a reason? No fucked up backstory or honor kink."

I raise a hand upward to catch the draft of wind blowing in from the window around my fingers.

"I get the feeling you wouldn't like that. You like to know things, have answers. Right?"

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

My words draw out a smirk, his lips turning up at the corners as he recalls the look of horror that painted the escorts face at his appearance. I return the smirk, remembering the way she had become flustered, trying to remember that she was still on stage and had to appear professional and perfect. I had no doubt that at some point tonight she would approach the boy, her tongue lashing back and forth, as sharp as knives, as she reprimanded him for making her look the fool.

His hand tugs at the waist band of his trunks, telling me that maybe this should be his uniform in the arena, I don't hold back the chuckle that bubbles up with my chest, escaping my lips as I imagined the boy before me dressed in nothing but swimmers fighting off twenty three bloodthirsty tributes. What are the chances of the game makers repeating last games and throwing them into the frozen pits of hell? What would I give to watch him squirm and turn as blue as his trunks as the icy touch of Mother Nature caressed his exposed shivering skin.

If nothing else, it would be a sight to see, something grand before I knocked on deaths door.

Stretching he lies down on his seat, I turn my gaze to the world that whisks around us. Trees replace ocean and suddenly I am I trying to hold back the sharp burning sensation that gets caught in my throat, trying to calm the panic that races through me like fire in my veins as I watch the world I know, the people I love, become nothing but a memory. In that moment I am grateful that he is not looking at me, I am grateful he is unable to see the panic that sets my body on fire. I hated that I felt it burn so strongly, I hated that I could not push it away, that it did not shrink as our home became smaller and smaller, instead it seemed to grow like the caner eating away at my mum's body. It seemed to grow and become as deadly as the illness that would take her life.

Taking a moment I allow my eyes to close, three seconds, Nan. Allow yourself three seconds to feel the fear. Three seconds for it to consume you. Three seconds before you banish it, before you allow it to be your crutch, your weakness.

I take a deep breath, one. I hold it for a moment, packing away the image of mums frail and dying body.

I let it out.

Two. Another deep breath and I am saying goodbye to Callan, silently praying to Ripred that he pulls his head out of his ass and repairs the damage done between himself and mother.

I let it out.

Three, another breath and I am putting on my suit of armour, a mask to hide behind. The mask will show the world that Nanette Carter did not fear the next couple weeks. The mask showed Panem that she was a heartless warrior, ruthless and brutal and cold. The mask was my only layer of protection, it would conceal the child behind iron layers.

And just as Turner speaks, I let it out, opening my eyes to watch as he reaches his hand into the empty space before him, trying to catch something that I cannot see.

"Mmm, I seem like the glory type to you?"

No. He did not.

But I don't say this, instead I spread out onto my own seat, rolling onto my stomach I fold my arms so that my head can lean against my hands like a pillow, my eyes examining his profile carefully as he speaks,

"What if I said I didn't have a reason? No fucked up backstory or honor kink. I get the feeling you wouldn't like that. You like to know things, have answers. Right?"

I hated that he was right.

I don't let him know that he was.

"Looks like we have got ourselves a mystery man," a pout dances on my lips and I toss myself over so I am lying on my own back. "Let me tell you why I think you volunteered then, shall I?" I glance over at him, my hands folded on my stomach as I play with the hem of my shirt. Looking at the ceiling I don't wait for him to answer. "I think you were bored. Bored and looking for some sort of excitement to take you away from the dull repetitive lifestyle you were living." I had no idea whether I was right nor not, or if I was even close to the mark, but I had a feeling that I couldn't possibly be too far off. His appearance, the way he seemed eager for the publics attention as he embraced that boy, everything about him seemed to say 'I need something more; something exciting'.

"You decided in the spur of the moment that this could be that something to change the direction of the life that you were living. I don't think you are here for fame. Or glory. Instead of looking for the biggest wave to ride, you decided to dive into the belly of the beast." I pause, my eyes sliding over to him, "How far off the mark am I?"

[Arrows]

She reminds me of Harper.

Just the thought of him transforms train into cliffside watching while the gulls glide across the gulf. The ceiling becomes the sky and it's no longer her that I'm with, but him. His cackle sounding off of the nearby rocks. His hands reaching up to block out the bright beams of the sun. And I'm just here, my hands fallen onto my chest and the sun shading my skin into a shade of scarlet that sure as hell is going to hurt tomorrow. But I don't mind the burn or the wind wrecking my hair. I turn my eyes to him and look at his olive skin and dark brown hair. I listen to his voice with an unamused smirk.

"Here is what is on Turner's mind today."

His voice is low, wrapped in testosterone but layered in gentleness. He goes on to craft some story of how I need to build another board before my Dad knows I've broken another. He tells me how out of a sense of guilt I will end up making two and in the end give the other one to him. That brings my eyes to a roll. He had a way of making me do that. He had ways of doing a lot of things, but in the end they stopped. In the end, his face was bruised and I was alone on that cliffside. And honestly, I was happy. But still, this idea of her's to understand my "mystery" is a lot like him.

I continue to keep my eyes on the ceiling as she speaks. I let her paint the picture of the a boy bound to a board on a stirless sea. I think of myself out on the ocean, searching for a current to cut inward on. I can see the manifestation of the mundane, the endless desire for a sense of direction. Then I see the jolt, the boy thrown backwards and the two blonde boys kissing before the cameras of the Capitol. Fuck, her story sure as hell is convincing. So much so that I don't even notice that her eyes have turned towards me until I drop mine back towards her as well.

As I look at her from across the way, I wonder whether she's right. Certainly she isn't entirely there, but there are moments. Something about what she said about diving right into the belly of the beast strikes a chord. Is that what made me move? Was the board I was riding not big enough for the wave I wanted most to catch? It's interesting enough to solicit a slight sigh from me before I turn my face back towards the ceiling and let my lips trill the tiniest bit upward.

"Something like that, but I wouldn't call you a sharpshooter."

Give her just enough, but not enough to know what is right. The chair beneath me squeaks as I stretch again only this time arching my back. I feel the ease rush down and through my legs before settling back towards the chair. Now I rest by head on my hand and turn back towards her with a raised eyebrow.

"Call me a mystery all you want, but you're hiding too."

My free hand runs through my mop of blonde stirring sand free from the roots. Maybe it's just the impending death game of who stabs who, but her anchor is obviously heavy. I've seen people like this, the ones who tend to sink themselves sooner than others can. Her confidence is real, but what is lurking beneath it is as well. Why the hell not ask? It's not like we have anywhere to go other than the grave.

"You didn't lay down until the ocean was out of sight and not because you are daydreaming about that summer tan. Family? Lover? Dead body you forgot to bury?"

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

I finish speaking and our world is enveloped in silence. A gentle exhale of breath and his eyes finally meet my own, in them I see something that I cannot quite place, and had it of been another time, another place, under different circumstances I might have tried harder to read the story which was buried within them. Pushed harder, asked more questions.

Instead I lay silently, watching a small smile play at the corner of his lips as he gives me a teasingly small confirmation that I was on the right track. It frustrates me a little, my brows pulling together into a frown. It was like he was a fisherman, dangling this juicy piece of bait right in front of my wide hungry eyes, and like a fool I had latched on enough to desire to want to know more. It was almost as if he knew just how hard to pull, just enough to keep me on the edge of my toes, not enough to satiate me.

And once again, I fucking hated it.

He stretches, as though he had just laid the world at my feet, as though that sentence alone had answered my god damn question, when he knew very clearly that he hadn't answered a god damn thing. I am ready to snap when he pushes the conversation back onto me. I can see him from the corner of my eye, eyebrows raised as he accuses me of doing the very same as him. You're hiding too, he accuses as though he could see right past the armour that I wore, concealing the girl beneath.

It infuriated me that he could so easily sweep past the guards that I had put in place, to see past the editor that I was trying to build, to protect me. I would have to try harder, I would have to be firmer, once I reached the capitol. Maybe it was simply because I had not put them up fast enough when I first encountered him that he could smash them down without so much as a second thought. Or maybe I was letting him, because despite the fact he was my competitor, he was also the manifestation of my home.

"You didn't lay down until the ocean was out of sight and not because you are daydreaming about that summer tan. Family? Lover?"

Suddenly feeling too relaxed I shoot upright in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest as I toss one leg over the other and stare down at him with cold indifference.

"Dead body you forgot to bury?"

I smirk at him, my lips peeling back to reveal almost perfect teeth. "Aren't you very curious." I tilt my head to the side, "So many questions, and yet you still have failed to answer my own." Uncrossing my legs I stalk towards him, allowing my smirk to grow as I stalked closer to him.

"Wouldn't you want to know all my little secrets." I stop when I am before him, looking down at his outstretched body. "Maybe I really was just trying to work on my summer tan, I'm a girl who knows her priorities after all." I didn't know how much to give him. I didn't know how much would be too much, or if I allowed him some sort of personal detail about myself that down the track he wouldn't use it as a weapon against me, a way to shatter appearance that I am trying to create.

Unconsciously my teeth snag my lower lip once again- a habit that my mother hated, always rewarded with a scowl and a swift whack over the back of the head. I taste blood once again, but I ignore it, casually wiping the back of my hands against my lip, hoping it wouldn't smear it onto my face.

"I'll make a deal with you," I take a seat just past his head, not looking at him but out of the windows that spread wide and far beyond them. "You tell me why you volunteered..." I was gnawing at my lips again. Damn it. "And I'll tell you where I buried the bodies."

Maybe I wasn't ready to bring down the shields.