#fishooks

the lowly glow of city lights hold ghosts she doesn't even know yet —— it doesn't matter if the sun begs to be noticed or not in the distance, because all maysilee sees is what it illuminates. THE ENEMY, in all of their glory. glory claimed through blood. through suffering and agony and death. so much death. it permeates right through the glass and into her nose. she clutches the bars in a white-knuckled grasp as if she could rip them straight from the drywall with her fury. SHE'S ALWAYS CARRIED HER TEMPER WITH A HEATED TONGUE, but here, she feels it moving inside of her like an unwelcome house guest; tip-toeing, peering around the corners in her mind, peeling through the crawl spaces of her rib cage. READY TO ATTACK AT A MOMENTS NOTICE. it doesn't matter how many sky scrapers you build to overlook the 'precious little animals' you think you've made of us, or how much glitter and gold you wake up and put on yourself [it looks HIDEOUS!], she thinks; I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER WHO THE REAL ENEMY IS.

if she hated the capitol from at home in district twelve, she certainly loathes it even more now that she's neck deep in the belly of the beast. in just a few more days she'll be head under. swallowing each breath she can with no attempt at veiled resentment until she's choking on her own blood. but they won't see her sweat. they will not get her tears. EVEN NOW, her jaw sets as she stares through the barred windows of their tribute apartment. teeth tight & ground together. chin high. her eyes an icier shade of blue than when she met her own reflection in the river off the meadow back home when she was a little girl. SHE RECALLS: it was the first time she learned what hatred was, and how it felt in her body, for being trapped (and not just behind a candy counter). she'll go out with that same hatred. IT'S WORTH KEEPING, so they can't take it away from her.

'in theory.' she nods, adding rather bluntly, as if it should be obvious: 'in reality, it's how they watch us prepare to die.' she doesn't remember when death stopped being something she was afraid of. maybe in the weeks leading up to her twelfth birthday. don't worry merrilee, she glances up to the stars as thoughts of her twin swirl, i still feared it FOR YOU. merrilee had told her she needed to be more hopeful. maysilee had told her it wasn't about hope at all. what she didn't say was their hope depended on the town side of twelve and a candy shop and every year she pretended like it meant something but she worried one day their time would run out. and as it would appear now, the quarter quell had proven her worries right. 'it's okay, mags. i'm not afraid. that's what they would want. and i'm not in the art of giving them ANYTHING they want.' but with every beat of her tongue maysilee feels bad. she cannot bring mags to suffer the other end of her spitted disdain so she holds back what else dares to crawl up her throat. A SMALL VICTORY, and perhaps her only one as a tribute ... 'but i will remember your advice.'

yawning, lean arms stretch out and over top the boy's head, the beginnings of shadows marking just under his eyes as the approaching reaping day, was making sleep fitful for any child his age. especially tidus, though... at least when his name was in the bowl as many times as it was for infractions; thieving & general misbehavior; as well as affording food for some of the lesser fortunate kids.

CLOSED STARTER ( BRAN GALLOWS ) FOR @fishooks' mags . like for your own starter here.

brandon must look as numb as he feels, his bandaged hand still recovering from the 67th games the least of anyones worries, while his other injuries were obscured or healed by the capitol's finest doctors & plastic surgeons. swimming across his vision, he looks ... lost. the other victors collect with their friend they have made amongst one another over the years at the celebratory dinner in bran's honor, while the boy ... sits quietly at the head of the table, staring down at his steak knife as if it were the same knife that noel had used, to slit his own throat so as to not force bran to choose between his friend's life, and his own.