#qverdia

alex shows up early.   of course,  he does.   @qverdia’s asked him to be at the airport at exactly six in the morning,  which is why he’s standing in the arrivals hall at five-twenty,  clutching a cup of black coffee.   the place still has that pre-dawn hush,  the kind that makes everything seem like it’s moving a bit slower,  in a slightly more enchanted way.   though,  maybe it’s just the christmas decorations that have everyone in awe,  or the way his heart keeps tripping over itself every time he rereads abilene’s last text.   what kind of special package requires an in-person pick up?   isn’t fedex supposed to handle all kinds of cargo,  regardless how precious it might be?   and why would she make him wait in terminal one?   when there’s a whole other section of the airport dedicated to carriers and packages?   

just as these questions keep tumbling over one another in his head,  his eyes flicker up to the board above.   the flight from dallas landed about ten minutes ago.   bags arriving.   great,  he thinks,  wondering how he’s supposed to spot the right suitcase,  assuming said special gift will be delivered in a suitcase.   he shifts his weight from one foot to the other,  scanning the slow-moving trickle of travelers.   he checks his watch.   two minutes have passed since he last looked.   time has never moved slower in the entire history of time.   he tries to act casual and fails immediately.   his foot taps.   his fingers absently pick on a loose thread at of his navy blue sweater.  a new wave of passengers spills out of the jet bridge doors.   alex straightens up,  heartbeat thudding for a reason he can’t explain.   he doesn’t know what,  who,  he’s looking for,  but he finds himself holding his breath anyway… 

Drove feels a little like he might throw up.

He can practically still hear his own name ringing in his ears, the hushed silence of the crowd as eyes had turned in his direction, the shaking of heads as he'd limped his way to the stage with a grit to his teeth. He knew what most of them were thinking, that once again district ten didn't stand a chance, not with him as a tribute, and in truth, he couldn't really say they were wrong. What chance did he have after all? With his bad leg? Sure, he could run a bit, probably more than most might give him credit for, but there was no way he could outlast a career pack. No, yet again, District Ten would have no victor.

Huddled on the train, his fingers fidget a little with the woven bracelet that Maeve had slipped on his wrist in the few moments they'd had before the peacekeepers had dragged them apart. His sweet little sister, young enough to not face the reaping, but old enough to understand the danger her brother is in. He's never going to see her again, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat that thought brings, glancing up at the voice that brings him out of his own mind.

"Are we... trying to camouflage ourselves with the world’s ugliest tablecloth?" He glanced at the gaudy, mismatched explosion of colors and patterns spread across the table behind her—truly a Capitol masterpiece of bad taste, complete with their questionable idea of gourmet finger foods.

"If you step back any further, you might just become part of the décor. "He offered his arm with a flourish, the picture of effortless charm. "Come on, let’s make the rounds. I’ll even rescue you from your tragic lack of small talk skills. Consider it my good deed for the day."

Patience was a virtue. That, Gale had come to learn over the years.

Being a hunter meant he’d grown accustomed to spending most of his time waiting around for the right shot, careful not to become too hasty in taking it in risk of scaring off what could be the only shot at a decent meal he and his family had. That required patience, and luckily for Abilene Hoover, a girl around his age that he’d met a couple years ago while hunting in the forest surrounding the outside of each District, Gale had plenty of it to go around.. especially when it came to that of teaching. That didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her plenty about the sudden interest in his bow and the awful aim in which she’d been graced with. Not even a single target hit with each arrow sent flying at some poor unfortunate creature that found itself wandering into her vision.

It was amusing to say the least.. in a secondhand embarrassment sort of way.

One more failed attempt and Gale just couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore, watching the arrow fly, only to whiz by the head of a young deer who’d been startled by the suddenness and rightfully bolted away into the bushes never to be seen again. “Almost had that one.. if you’d been aiming to miss.” Dry humour in tact, which had undoubtedly rubbed off on him from all that time spent around Katniss, Gale folded his arms across his broad chest and sent her a playfully pointed look. “Keep this up and you’ll be scaring the entire forest away in no time.” Funny as it was to watch her trials and errors.. the last thing he wanted was to return home and explain to his little brothers and sister that they’d be going hungry for the night. He couldn’t fail them.

Sighing, Gale finally straightened himself up from the tree he’d been leaning on. Time for an intervention.

“Your posture is all off. It’s too tense.” His first observation as he neared her, taking his place behind her and settling coarse palms on her shoulders to carefully straighten her stance. “Elbow down a little bit, straighten the other arm.” That was it. “And control your breathing. Slow and steady, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Trust me, it’ll help when you’re aiming.” Trailing off upon hearing a twig snap! in the near distance, Gale shifted his gaze over to the small squirrel scampering through the leaves. Tiny in comparison to the game he usually hunted for, but.. it would have to do and it was better than going home empty handed, wasn’t it? The perfect opportunity for Abilene to finally make her mark.

“Hey, look over there..” Muttered in the barest of whispers to not scare it away, Gale gestured over to the animal with a nod of his head. “It’s all yours.” In all of their weekly meetings over the years of sneaking out to meet each other, would Gale finally be able to claim that he’d actually bore witness to Abilene Hoover bagging herself her first ever catch?

❀ (cyrene :)) @qverdia

The woman's hands were soft, not nimble due to an injury to one of her hands that left a scar, but sure and gentle. Braiding flowers from the gardens into chestnut brown locks.

Gentleness Cyrene Snow was starting to understand she probably didn't deserve.

Her grandfather had been a monster to the people of Panem, especially to the people of the districts.

The woman braiding her hair was a former victor of the Hunger Games. And it made Cyrene sick to think of what might have been done to her.

This woman should want her dead, after everything she'd endured. Yet here she was, decorating her hair with flowers!

The last surviving Snow caught the woman's eye in the mirror she sat in front of, swallowing back the lump in her throat that nearly choked her.

@qverdia liked for a Nim!

Two's victor was just... staring. It was intent, focused, like a stare into one's soul. And it was aimed directly at Abilene. What was the woman thinking? Given her history in the Games, perhaps it was something violent, horrid. It lasted an uncomfortably long time before Nimue, seemingly, remembered to speak.

“abilene,”   alex breathes as he barges into the room,  heart sinking into the very pit of his stomach at the mere sight before him.   his gut twisting and turning.   hazy gaze lingers on the smaller figure for a moment,  as if some part of him was still in disbelief —   it can’t be his best friend.   it can’t be the same woman with whom he’d stayed up almost every night,  sharing secrets and talking about life,  for the past couple of weeks.   there’s been a mistake.   meeting abilene’s eyes always brings him back to the first time he saw her,  feels as if new hope has entered his lungs…   but her gaze seems empty now.   hollow.    so,  it can’t be @qverdia.   

but it is.   it’s still abilene,  even if president snow has finally managed to sink his claws in and rip her to shreds from within,  break her body and traumatize her tortured mind even more.     

alex’s chest heaves from the amount of adrenaline that’s coursing through his veins,  his feet carrying him across the room and straight to the edge of her bed.   “i’m fine.   i’m alright.”   he dismisses her concerns with a shake of his head,  ignoring the trickle of blood seeping through the crude bandages on his left arm.   “i lost sight of you out there and thought you were —   thought they’d gotten to you.   what’d they done to you?”   in that moment his senses had been seized by this terrible,  terrible feeling of doom,  some premonition of danger.   “hey,  shh…   you’re safe now.   you’re safe.   i’ll keep you safe.”   it’s an empty promise,  but he’s desperately trying to offer her some sort of comfort.   there’s a slight tremor in his hands as they reach for her,  palms cupping her warm cheeks with utmost gentleness,  hoping to draw her attention to himself so that it stops replaying these horrible images.