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snarkity snark
Jan. 9th, 2014 10:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notvaljeanHe's nothing if not honest. Jean leans back, cracking his shoulders and neck before eyeing Armin suspiciously. "So what's your angle?"
74her father always told her that he'd explain everything when she was older, some indeterminate date in the future. he never got that chance. she was eleven when her father's body turned up in the woods. the authorities said it was a wild animal attack, a grisly business. and all thoughts of arrowheads were tossed away in the attempt to make sure that prim didn't get taken away by social services in the midst of their mother's depression. the weapons gathered dust in their attic.
five years later, and she knows the truth. more so-called animal attacks had shown up in beacon hills. the fatality rates were high. her father used to sing her songs about wolves when she was a child -- once again, warning her not to tell her mother. wolves that could turn into people. but they weren't just songs.
it's dark in the woods right now. by the height of the moon, she'd guess about one or two in the morning. dark, and impossibly quiet -- she's careful not to make any noise of her own, but with their ears, maybe it's futile.
( katniss tries to pretend that she's not bitter, but there's more than enough hatred in her to go around ).
but she hears a twig snap behind her. she noticed the sloppy trail. she doubts that the foliage is destroyed enough to be one of them. katniss whirls around, bow in hand, and calls out to the darkness. )
Who are you?
( it's dark, but she can shoot. and their movements are going to give them away sooner or later. )
74 | |
❝perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. oceans, mountains. the ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. the sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. the silence.❞ - ᴄᴏʀᴍᴀᴄ ᴍᴄᴄᴀʀᴛʜʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ | |
open post | reincarnation
Feb. 3rd, 2013 05:38 pmmusain | |
❝Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we’re bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, rebirth our future.❞ |
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