District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
Airron won't leave me alone
Relationship Status
District 13 Military Commander
Occupation
|
Angel
Offline
Virginia time
Tag me @jasminforte
|
|
Post by Jasmin Forte on Jun 16, 2015 2:08:58 GMT
Today came a new shipment of troops, and a new obstacle. Commander Forte had grown close to her old troops, but there were few left from her original bunch of deviant, rag-tag, big-hearted men and women that she'd called her family.
She'd loved each and every one of them, and love only meant heartache and anguish in war-torn District Four.
Her people had been tossed needlessly into combat; counter attacks against the fickle Capitol soldiers that had taken a sudden interest into ambushes - hit and run style. Jasmin was sure the higher-ups were mainly pre-pubescent teenage boys, judging by the bellicose way they responded to the passive-aggression that'd been launched at them from every direction.
They'd been ordered to instigate an attack by squeezing off shots whenever they came across a wayward soldier on patrol, or setting off small smoke bombs in Capitol owned areas to drive them out in a blind frenzy of guns.
Miss Forte stood at the threshold of her troop's shelter. She looked uncharacteristically up to code. She wore her most crisply ironed harsh, khaki uniform. Her hair was combed back into a tidy four-strand braid that cascaded halfway down her back. But she held herself as she did any other day: her mouth set in a thin curve, and her sharp eyes set upon the hovercraft that was going through landing procedures.
A cigarette blazed between her scissored fingertips, but it didn't once touch the space between her lips as the air craft lazed to the sandy floor.
She broke her steel gaze and curled her mouth into a cardboard half-smile and raised her hand to the pilot in greeting. He held no sentimental value to Jasmin, but he was the first friendly, familiar face she'd seen in a long while. Ever since the threat of local attacks became a reality, she had lost all of her loved ones: Jonah had promptly been sent back to District 13, and not soon after, Kestrel followed suit, leaving her with little companionship and a helluva lot of responsibility.
Jonah had been her project. She'd been aptly trying to coax him out of his hard shell, and trying even harder to help him enjoy life, so a lot of her daily feel-good moments had been wiped out by his and Kestrel's departure.
So, besides her low number of troops that barely seemed alive anymore and Kray's occasional appearance (which she loathed. She feared every moment he was with her in camp - not just in fear of an ambush, but with a fear that he'd end up hurt because of her. She loved him so, but fear smothered the swell in her heart. She irrationally felt anxious with him around, and it hurt. It wasn't just his presence that she feared, but also Kray himself. She feared his warrior spirit and his love.)
She forced her lips to curl upward in a cardboard half-smile, and raised her hand in greeting to the pilot as they touched down on the barren land of the sad face of District Four. The pilot held no real sentimental value to her, but he was a familiar face among strangers. She lowered her hand and broke her smile, face falling as flat as the land around them, and she slid her hand behind her back, flicking a bit of ash from the tip of her cigarette.
"Come on now, file out one atta time! At ease, soldiers. Y'all will be thankin' me later for the time I'm givin' you now to relax, because seven goddamn miserable hours a day, y'all will be sleeping on the floor, four to a room. There was a time we had mattresses, but after an insect infestation, we had t' burn them, so now y'all will have to find your own crafty ways of gettin' comfortable. Welcome to the shitstorm," She spoke stiffly, her words clipped. She asserted her authority in every possible way.
Jay had given her that advice, as neither of them had a single clue as to where this batch of men had come from. She expected to see many fresh out of kiddie boot camp in some District that hadn't yet been affected by the weight of the war, or a rowdy bunch that oozed misogyny and disrespect toward her status because of her age and gender.
As they filed out, she took note of each passing face, counting the soldiers as they stepped out, many wearing looks of shock. She sighed deeply from the back of her throat. Their rations would shrink significantly, with as many soldiers that had piled into a horizontal line. She made a mental note to conserve her cigarettes to swat away the ghost of hunger.
Not only were her current soldiers exhausted and in low spirits, but now they wouldn't know the comfort of a full belly. She passed her tongue over her lips. "Once everyone is outside with their things, I'll take a few more minutes of y'alls time to introduce myself." She lifted her chin as the last few stepped out, eyeing them as a whole with her deeply steely gaze.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
There's a party in my pants
Relationship Status
Superman
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @airrontide
|
|
Post by Airron Tide on Jun 17, 2015 0:39:08 GMT
All of the light that I shut out
All of the perfect things that I doubt
He wasn’t happy about it. Not about losing Alice, not about letting the dread of his actions take reign over both his mental and physical state, not about finding out he had a half-brother and being deigned to care for him, not about being cast into the midst of war due to the downfall of most of Thirteen’s soldiers, and he was most certainly not happy about his current residence in Commander Forte’s troop. Needless to say, Airron wasn’t all that pleased with the way these last few months had been going. One meant-to-be-innocent night at a friend’s party had hastily turned into the biggest mistake of his life. All his nameless girlfriends before the outbreak in Four? He didn’t even blink an eye when he turned them away after he’d had his fun. Splitting up with Breeze not even a week after rolling into Thirteen? The only upset was the way his friends had turned him the cold shoulder. Ditching Marina after they screwed around just outside his home District? He barely remembers what she even looks like. Watching Lydia send a bullet reeling through the back of her skull? Okay, well, yeah- obviously witnessing a suicide head on would mess someone up, but the effects weren’t long lasting. He didn’t hesitate in his chase after two other girls; not even bothering to pause for thought. Any and all playmates of his could easily be dismissed, but one. A single, stubbornly shy blonde girl would be Airron’s downfall. One little kiss and he’d been a changed man. A fairy tale of sorts- only this one hadn’t ended with the prince and princess riding off in a carriage. No, see, he had indeed changed. The beast had grown a heart, spent more time with the only family he had and was gentler with those he considered friends. His problematic past and untamable temper sat on the back burner. Things like that didn’t matter. If it didn’t make Alice smile, he simply didn’t care for it. So when he’d gotten wasted and slept with a girl out of sheer habit rather than actual want, he knew he had screwed up big time. There was no brushing this off and pretending this didn’t happen. He couldn’t just move on and act innocent like he could with any other girl, no. It’d eat at him every time he’d lean in for a kiss or spoke of the night. Airron couldn’t lie to Alice. There was no denying his actions. So manning up, he faced the fire and spilled the truth- and exactly what he expected to happen, did. He was dismissed from her life and sent back to his room with his tail tucked between his legs. The two weeks following prior consisted of him moping around his room- refusing to eat, or even move for that matter, until it was absolutely necessary- which eventually led him into a stir-crazy state. Viscous nightmares and haunted looks. It took an old friend to knock him back onto his feet and convince him to get out of Thirteen and away from Alice so he could get his head on straight. So he booked a trip to Four, hopped off the train, made the trek to the safest portion of the District and promptly ran into an old family friend who was walking around with a kid that looked a lot like him. Out of curiosity (and sheer terror) he sat the man down and found out his father had cheated on his mom when he was little (apparently infidelities fun in the family?) and that he actually did have a little brother. Well, half-brother, but that’s more family than he thought he had a day before. Colton Tide, just turned sixteen before the war reared its ugly head and a virgin to the core- which seemed to be the only difference. He was ill-tempered, but had enough charm to knock the panties of a girl with just a smirk, if he’d ever try to that is. The boy showed shocking resemblance to Airron and soon became his shadow. They bonded easily, sharing Airron’s room without any hassle and swiftly fell into the brotherly roles- as if it’d always been that way. Little Colt was an easy distraction from his broken heart, made things simple and fun- well, he did until the military called unto Airron as demanded he play his part in the war.
Which brings him to now, crowded onto a hovercraft, heading back to Four to play soldier under Jasmin’s reign- and won’t that just be joyous. Even before the whole ordeal with Lydia they had bumped heads, but now? God, karma was sure coming back to get revenge on all the bad he’d done.
For the length of the trip, his thoughts mainly drifted back to Maze, and how she was dealing with the loss of her husband and the pregnancy, along with watching over Colton for him- and they just took to each other like magnets. So he wasn’t too concerned on how they’d get on without him there. Between his brother and cousin, Alice popped into his mind, and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if she was relieved or worried with his departure into this battle- but he quickly put all of those thoughts to rest. He could die out here, and he wasn’t going to be dragged down by his overwhelming amount of emotions. That left him a cocky, flirty mess in an attempt to cover how much he actually dreaded being here- and that version of himself was never a good thing.
Shoving all of his thoughts and questions aside, Airron let his instincts take over and turned up the charm. He had an array of victims in mere moments.
Squished between a petite blonde who had already slapped him once for making a move on her and a brunette who couldn’t keep her hands to himself, well, his ride wasn’t completely unpleasant. Bijou whispered familiar filth into his ear, letting his mind drift to a more pleasant place as she palmed at his muscles. When she took a break, he found himself indulging in a conversation with Piper, the violent ‘I’m a lesbian, you douche’ girl on his left- and she was a pretty interesting chick, and they clicked easily. All in all, his trip wasn’t too bad. He’d made two allies and was pretty much promised some action before he died.
Things could be worse.
Once they landed, things moved with slick ease. They un-boarded, and being one of the last to get off, Jasmin hadn’t caught eye of him yet. Which he was glad for. The fresh meat was flooded into the barracks and urged into the rooms in groups of four- simply split off from the line as they marched in. Airron was herded into a room with blankets littering one corner and a shabby table in the other with Bijou and Piper flanking him on either side of him, and a skimpy male lurking just behind them. He didn’t bother catching his name as he threw his sparse belongings down and shuffled back out of his new living space and into the small eating area where the rest of the troop was being ushered.
Jasmin lurked in the entrance of the kitchen, greeting all the new members as well as old as they filed into room and took their seats- so their little reunion was inevitable. With a sigh, he leaned back and brushed his lips over Bijou’s ear as he whispered, “You’re in for a show. Trust me.” Turning his attention back ahead of himself, he rose to his full height of six feet and four inches, causing him to tower dominatingly over the rest of the troop. It was an intimidation tactic, one that was already beginning to work on some of the shorter males in their rag-tag group. Smirking devilishly as he approached his new ‘boss’, he gave her a lazy once over before purring mockingly, “Lovely to see you again, Jas. What an honor.” He oozed with sarcasm, laying it a bit too strong to make to make up for the ache in his chest. Not bothering with catching her reaction, he skirted to the edge of the room, scoring a table that allowed Piper to scoot in on his right, and Bijou to curl into his left side- her arms draped around his waist, as if she belonged there, and nothing had ever felt more wrong.
The cocky look never fleeting of his chiseled features, Airron kept a level glare on Jasmin, refusing to let his possible last weeks on Earth be a living Hell under her control.
|
|
The Capitol
Straight
Sexuality
Kidnapping Zoe
Relationship Status
Clock Work
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @blainewest
|
|
Post by Sylar Grey on Jun 18, 2015 20:06:41 GMT
Shhh, pretend I'm Jasmin.
Airron, Airron. It just had to be the little mongrel she'd loathed once upon a time. Although the Commander wasn't pleased to see him, his presence never sent an ache dripping from her barely-beating heart. She felt little to no nostalgia, and even less of a need for retribution.
He was one of hers now. She'd treat him with dignity and respect as she did the others.
At least, that was the plan until he decided to show his bad side; behind his gleaming hazel doe eyes and wicked smile. Airron Tide was a walking, talking contradiction.
She merely blinked and jerked her chin slightly toward him, her greeting polite. "Commander is fine. Nice to see you too, maggot," She called to him as he settled down in a tidy little corner of the main room, voice as low and as hard as ever, but it carried - oh, it carried with enough poise and confidence; it was the same sort of tone she'd used to be filed into this position in the first place.
Jasmin Forte: Commander, babysitter, caretaker, doorman, and lastly, almost-widow. She had a drab title for such a dandy, colorful list of day-to-day things she faced.
And now, she could rightly tack on 'forgiver' onto that ever-growing list (although she had her doubts that 'forgiver' was even a real word).
But he was a familiar face. Granted, they had an itchy past, but she'd take what was given to her. She had no room to question the way the stars were aligned. She had no real way to change fate. It lurked so close that she felt it breathing down her neck.
She moved on from them. The bumpy hovercraft rides always left her a bundle of fatigue in her weary, old bones. She'd go over a few guidelines she'd thought of later, including, but not limited to: conserve toilet paper, hide any valuables (cigarettes and any, erm.. hard-to-come-by herbs included), do not skirt off the designated trails if you value your pretty faces, and do not make a fool of yourself here. Things will not unfold in your favor, yadayada...
She'd compiled a brief list in her brain to go over with the new bunch. The old bunch were reeling, in a stupor from this shock.
They all lingered in a group, like cattle on a rainy District Seven day, their asses sat on various parts of the mostly unused kitchen table.
"Commander-" One murmured with a quirked brow, and stood immediately, chins tucked, hands at her sides, back straight.
"At ease, Bennet," Jasmin replied, folding her arms over her chest.
"What's this mean for meals? We don't got shit for food now, and I was worried-"
"I put in an order. That's not for you to worry about - any of y'all, for that matter. We'll get by," She cut in gently, dropping her voice nearing the end of her soliloquey sincerely.
While she had no real say in how rations were handed out, she would kick and scratch and hiss until there was a change. And - of course - with Jay's diminished numbers, he'd eagerly offered part of their unused rations as consolation for the government's latest scheme.
Forte wasn't meant to act as more than an authoritative figure to this bunch, but like any Commander with a shred of sanity left, she'd ended up more than that. While she was not a friend, she was always open to coach someone through a breakdown, always open to stroke the younger soldier's hair to calm them down, always open to talk someone through a nightmare..
While some leaders fell short, she thrived under stress.
Helping was her strong suit. Surviving was her strong suit.
Commander Forte assessed the cleanliness of their little war-torn shack. It was sprayed down, mopped, polished, and vacuumed daily, but it never really looked any friendlier. There were too many dark tales that'd happened in the rooms of the creaky little shell of a house.
The sofa had been patched up, and then re-patched, and re-repatched, but it was mostly comfy and completely taken over by two lovey little doves that'd been with her from the start, their lean forms meshed together in a swirl of blanket and lanky limbs.
An arm chair sat in the corner, mostly unused when it came to sleep because it had a habit of squawking and bucking people off in the middle of the night. Maybe it'd been a fine rocking chair back in the day, but now, more than anything, it was a headache.
"Aye, newb, avoid the fuckin' arm chair. It's empty for a reason-" A shrill, familiar voice clouded her ears, muffling all background noise.
Delainey.
She'd been sent off to wreak havoc elsewhere; to keep tabs on yet another person close to Mr. Rider, whom she saw very little of these days. She hadn't been told who that someone is, but that made her all the more suspicious.
Jasmin snapped her fingers in Delainey's direction, and a dozen heads swiveled in response. She never snapped without good reason; without some sort of set-off. "Del, you're not to speak to the new recruits. I suggest you hightail it out of here before I call you in as an arrest." Forte responded, deeply humbled by the fact that Del had stopped by to greet her, and deeply miffed that she'd already taken to verbally assaulting the sad-eyed newbies. She spoke quietly, but some ears were keener than her own, so she knew a few had picked up on the dialogue.
Delainey lifted her hands in an 'I surrender' gesture, saluted her with no mocking, murmured an apology, and headed out, not wanting to give the troops a bad impression on what was the safest place for miles.
Jasmin made her rounds, peering into bedroom after bedroom, but halting abruptly at the threshold of the room Pike and his significant other had slept in.
"Settlin' in well, eh, newbies?" She asked, though her throat felt raw. Her voice was steady and cool as ever, and her posture eerily perfect, but her eyes were squinty, like the sight of the room troubled her.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
There's a party in my pants
Relationship Status
Superman
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @airrontide
|
|
Post by Airron Tide on Jul 6, 2015 5:35:50 GMT
All of the light that I shut out
All of the perfect things that I doubt
This was the last place he wanted to be, with the last person he’d want to be here with droning on about the same rules and precautions that had been read to them through an old stereo system on the hovercraft ride over. He got it, okay. Low food, sucky conditions, and death was pretty much a promise- no need to repeat and remind every chance they got.
Things were mildly bearable. With a hand constantly pawing and palming at his upper thigh, he found an easy distraction from the skittishly spoken questions and edgy glares pointed across the room. The setting was uneasy, and Airron definitely felt as far from home as he possibly could, but could he complain? Didn’t he deserve this? With all the wrong he’d done to an endless amount of women, he was worthy for nothing more than the barrel of a gun pressed to his skull- and yet, while sitting at death’s doorstep, he still managed to provoke another female into falling on his lap. It was just natural, an instinct to have his greedy fingers teasing at the hemming of her uniform shirt, yearning for the warmth of her lower back pressed against his palm. Put him in the midst of war, in the worst of conditions, and somehow he’d still always end up with a pretty girl at his side. No matter the circumstances, no matter the positions- Airron would always fall back into the embedded ways. It was his defense, his way to ward off his past by making his own present since the future has always been out of his hands.
So yeah, he’d probably die out here, be it the mold festering on the walls or a bullet fleeing its chamber, but he’d do it with a woman clinging to his side, kissing at his neck.
It felt wrong. Not the punishment he was dished, but the fingers teasing his zipper, the lips pushing puffs of air against his neck- he didn’t want it, but yet he didn’t shove Bijou off. He needed the touch, the promise of something more or he’d go insane (again). He didn’t have his little Alice anywhere in sight, no hint that things could be okay, so he fell back to old ways. This was the only way he knew how to make things okay. If he pretended to be normal, well, maybe he’d grow to believe it.
Nuzzling his nose against the side of the brunette’s face while her hands roamed, Airron spent the rest of Jasmin’s rambling blocking out the present and living in the sensations reverberating through his body- letting his mind roam, his imagination take hold.
But then it was over far too quickly.
They were being ushered back into their formerly assigned rooms to cool down and section out their quarters. Make their poor excuses for beds, organize their items, and settle in until supper rolled around. It was easy enough. Pat down a few blankets, shove his bag under his pillow to add support, and then just breathe. Inhale, exhale- and like that, Bijou was curled up against his chest as he leaned back against the wall, Piper at his side as they exchanged theories and tips mindlessly. The other male in the room kept to himself, skittish and silent- which was fine by him.
It wasn’t too long after they’d all seemingly calmed themselves into the fact that they were now soldiers, and comfortable in their living situation when Jasmin came back around to check on the new recruits. With a forced smirk- he had an image to keep up, you know- he just nodded, and cockily replied, “Oh, yeah,” he set his paw of a hand against Bijou’s upper thigh, bringing her in closer as he purred, “We’re settled in just fine.” Keeping up his douchebag mask, he waited until his new Commander parted ways to slip back into the conversation with the blonde while loosening his hold on the slut on his lap.
Hours slipped past like grains of sand. Dinner had been served, further acquaintances had been made, and Bijou’s lush lips had been put to good use. Now it was nearing midnight, a bottle of hard liquor he’d ‘found’ was held in a loose grip and he had broken one of Jasmin’s precious guidelines by sneaking out of his bed (which was a chore in itself because God, Bijou is even more clingy in her sleep) and roaming off the designated paths to drink away the pain. Tears tainted his cheeks, but he was mindless to them, he thoughts lost in a sea of blonde hair and shy smiles.
Airron regretted it. Every single thing he did that led up to Alice slamming the door in his face. He didn’t mean what he did, didn’t even remember it- yet, it’d be his downfall. He stopped caring. Without her, what was he? A dick with a gun? Walking around ‘protecting’ the citizens of his home district while a girl shoved her hand down the front of his pants? Why did he even bother sticking around?
Moping, he let himself sulk and soak in those thoughts, brittle and sour as he sipped at the alcohol. Drunk as the day is long and silently sobbing, Airron didn’t hear anyone approaching, and if he had? Well, he wouldn’t have cared. The sooner he was done in, the better.
The world didn’t need men like him walking around with so much power in his grubby paws.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
Airron won't leave me alone
Relationship Status
District 13 Military Commander
Occupation
|
Angel
Offline
Virginia time
Tag me @jasminforte
|
|
Post by Jasmin Forte on Jul 6, 2015 6:13:22 GMT
Darkness had fallen, and so had her professional barriers. That was a fault of hers, sleepiness. It made her voice lower and her conversational skills nonexistant: little eye contact, hands smoothed back in her limp, perishing bun..
Nobody really seemed to take note of that. It was a normal occurence. With so little resources and even slimmer amounts of strength left in the dilipidated, original band of soldiers, it was not uncommon to let the little things slide.
" 'xuse me, Rollins," Jasmin said, clearing her parched throat to imply her apologies, "I've gotta head to bed. Anyone can finish the game for me." Checkers was a favorite pasttime of theirs at their sandy little hole of a base.
She left her red pieces stacked in a dumpy pile. "None of y'all let Simmons play. She'll break my winnin' streak." The Commander winked her clumsy, doting little wink and saw herself out.
Her room was occupied solely by her original soldiers. She was roomed with five others, and they were snug as bugs in a rug -- a real rug too, as bugs had invaded their old beds and they'd been tossed since then.
She hoped no actual buga were comfy cozy in the worn rug.
She headed down the dimly lit hallway, straight ahead toward the bathroom, but at the last minute, she had to make a mad dash to toe the wall so the man in front of her wouldn't barrel right into her.
'What is that sm -- whiskey. Fuckin' aye,' She echoed her last thoughts aloud "fucking aye, Airron," She cursed and mumbled, her hand grasping at the untouched portion lf the bottle's neck to try and coax it away from him.
It had been difficult enough to wean herself off the stomach warming drink for a good while, and she would not see one of her own fall to addiction.
"You can't have that," She whispered with urgency, "hand it or I will write you up." As much as she was disgusted with writing shots, she was disgusted more so by being ignored. Her word was law.
She didn't quite like that idea, but it was part of her job requirements she'd read in the fine print: discipline referrals must be written with any case of disobedience, and any unreported incidents we become aware of will result in a shock quota.
Her eyes gazed up at him, amber and touched with the threat of pale spring leaves after the dead winter months. Worry gleamed in them, and anyone could say this outright: Miss Forte was no liar, and her eyes never betrayed her when it came to projecting her thoughts, emotions, and reactions.
He reeked of booze, and she hoped silently that he wouldn't collapse if she tugged at the bottle and squashed her like a flea.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
There's a party in my pants
Relationship Status
Superman
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @airrontide
|
|
Post by Airron Tide on Jul 6, 2015 8:51:29 GMT
All of the light that I shut out
All of the perfect things that I doubt “No,” it was a blatant, stern denial. A refusal to obey her command. Even in the most inebriated of states, Airron still managed to be as stubborn as a mule, and kept a firm grasp on the neck of the draining bottle. With a snarky smirk, he raised the glass to his lips and took a long drag of the whiskey, using his free hand to swipe at his damp cheeks as he swallowed. It didn’t even register that he was crying, just that his face was wet and he really didn’t like the feel of the rivers flowing over his chiseled cheekbones. With a low grunt, he stumbled back a step, wanting distance between himself and the pest from his past who consequently now ruled his future.
He glared at her through clouded hazel eyes, emotions burning through the swirled array of colors, but sorrow the most predominant one. His vision churned along with the liquid at the base of the bottle, his balance thrown off by his unsteady paces back. With a burning heart, another low sob caught in his throat as a flash of the blonde he had wronged crossed his sight. Airron missed her, he missed Alice more than he cared to admit and he was so lovesick that it’d driven him to this: drunkenly roaming the halls of his new residence and weeping as he drank his wits away.
As she made a grab for his bottle and threatened to ‘write him up’, whatever that meant, Airron growled lowly and shook his head- sending his lengthy hair flying, strands gluing themselves to his face as they caught on his moist cheeks. While one hand cuddled the container to his chest, the other tore the hair off his face, frustrated that he couldn’t concentrate at all in his current state. Huffing out a low groan, his chest puffed out, his next words harsh as he scowled down the point of his nose at his commander, “Go ahead. Do it. Write me up, it’s not like I want to be here. I’d rather be anywhere than here,” and then childishly, due to the immense amount of alcohol, he jeered, “I don’t like you.” He had enough brain power left to understand that he needed to keep his voice down, so his words were hissed silently, a spiteful whisper in the summer crisp air.
With a squint of the eyes and a sharp inhale, he let his lips hug the tip of the bottle once again as he drowned himself in the liquor, a harsh wail flinging itself off his tongue the moment he parted with the glass. It hurt like a physical pain, the ache of her absence was far too much for the man to handle. Casting a palm over his lips, he tried to keep in his pained moans and low howls as he continued to back step from Jasmin- drunk enough to not care about her seeing him like this, but still there enough to know that he didn’t want to be in her presence like this for long. It made him look weak.
And surprise, surprise- that’s all the big, bad Airron really was with that chunk of his heart missing.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
Airron won't leave me alone
Relationship Status
District 13 Military Commander
Occupation
|
Angel
Offline
Virginia time
Tag me @jasminforte
|
|
Post by Jasmin Forte on Jul 6, 2015 15:37:13 GMT
"No, you don't care for me," Jasmin agreed, watching him stagger and moan in pain woefully, "but you gotta deal with the fact that I won't let you hurt while you're here. We can't win a war with bumblin' drunks with guns and a whole lotta sadness--"
She spoke more for his benefit than her own. If she could draw his attention toward her, she could snatch the bottle away, lead him outside, dump a bucket of frigid ocean water over his head to sober him up and be done with it.
Her hand reached out, straying from the direction of the bottle, and rested on the flat of his mid-back. It rubbed small, consistent, soothing circles against his skin.
"Calm down. Things'll get easier. I'm sayin' this as a person, and not your Commander," She whispered like this was between them, and them only, but nobody was within earshot that was nosey (or ballsy) enough to eavesdrop. It just made the statement more genuine, even though she'd said it a dozen times in a dozen different ways.
It was true. She was living proof.
She looked up at him with eyes so naturally intense they could make the ground shake, but now, they were watery and hooded and infinitely warmer, but still losing no trace of the icy coolness.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
There's a party in my pants
Relationship Status
Superman
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @airrontide
|
|
Post by Airron Tide on Jul 17, 2015 8:49:10 GMT
All of the light that I shut out
All of the perfect things that I doubt Words upon words tumbled from her lips, and they were just sounds to him. No meaning, no feeling. He didn't hear them, didn't care. He just droned on, sniffling back as many tears as he could while cradling the bottle to his chest, thinking that if he pressed hard enough that he'd lock the sobs within. So far, it wasn't even close to working. He hiccuped through her promises, whined as she reached for him, but when her hand finally clasped onto his back? When she made that contact? Airron broke.
Without ceremony, he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug- not too tight, he was just coherent enough to know that he shouldn't crush her, though he wanted to. Just a little bit. He ditched the bottle, letting it clatter, but surprisingly not shatter, against the floor beneath them as he clasped onto her. One hand clutched at the fabric on her waist, fingers searching for purchase while the other slid into her hair, holding her close and comfortingly as his face tucked into the crook of her neck. The hold was similar to the last one Alice and him had been in, and he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He babbled, words slurred and muffled as his lips whispered across her flesh. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Airron knew she wouldn't make sense of most of what he was saying, but he couldn't stop, "I'm sorry for being bad, and for being mean, and for- for what I did before. I didn't mean it. I-I," he stuttered, wanting to apologize for Lydia, but the words fell from his mind, "I hurt Allie, I hurt all of them, but I messed up bad- and I can't fix it. Please help me fix it."
If he didn't get shot, surely Airron would prove that you could really die from a broken heart.
|
|
The Capitol
Straight
Sexuality
Birthing Raiden's child
Relationship Status
doesn't' bag weed, nope
Occupation
|
Angel
Offline
Virginia time
Tag me @applecollins
|
|
Post by Apple Collins on Jul 18, 2015 0:14:41 GMT
Jasmin's jaw clicked audibly as it set. This was all a tricky little façade to butter her up. It had happened before, but the scheme had never fallen through as planned for a single soul.
...but, as she felt an arm slide around her and a large hand gather her closer, she began to rethink that whole theory.
"Tide, calm down. Ai --" She flared her nostrils. There was no keeping a professional tone at this point in the game. He needed comfort. He needed his apology validated, even if she didn't know who this Alice character was.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched so firmly. This was bringing up too many familiarities for her to be comfortable with, but she kept her hand on his back. That's what seemed to be comforting him more than anything.
"Airron, you need t' calm down. If you pull this shit--" She looked up and firmly grabbed his chin with her free hand.
"You damn well better be listenin' to me," She growled, "you can't be doing this in front of the other soldiers. They'll think you're weak. They'll sacrifice you to save themselves. You will be a lesser man here if you don't calm down." She chose her words carefully. She wanted to shake the information into him, but whisper-shouting with a firm, almost painful grip on his face would suffice. Besides, he wasn't all that steady and she didn't want to be crushed under the massive baby giant's weight.
His apology only made her more keen on helping him survive this. He could redeem himself. He'd already taken the vital first step, and she would not forget that.
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
There's a party in my pants
Relationship Status
Superman
Occupation
|
Megan
Offline
florida time
Tag me @airrontide
|
|
Post by Airron Tide on Jul 19, 2015 10:10:21 GMT
All of the light that I shut out
All of the perfect things that I doubt
Words, words, words. She just kept talking, and each and every syllable- ever influx in her tone hinting at her irritation and strain went right over his head. He didn't care- he didn't. Nothing she could say would fix what he'd done, nothing ever could. Yeah, he'd asked for help, but it wasn't like he was exactly coherent enough to understand that she was offering it back, that her words actually made sense and weren't garbled noise snaking into his ears.
Airron was far away, head swimming with Alice and Maze and Colton, wondering how their holding up. If they miss if. If they care. If the baby is boy or girl. If his little brother is causing a problem back in Thirteen. If Alice has moved on yet.
But it was all quickly erased, shaken from his focus as a hand tore his chin back from where it'd found shelter in the crook of her neck and his face was tilted down. His vision swam, counting one, two, three Jasmins before they tied together at the middle. He paid attention, or at least he really tried to, but only a word here or there made it through. But even with the sparse hints at what she was saying, Airron got the gist.
His gaze batted between hers before falling to the quivering form of her lips, watching as they mold around the words and he fell into old habits. It's not that he was drawn to her, or even out of spite- just a mixture of self-hatred and way too much liquor, and it just happened.
The hand that had been gripping the base of her neck slithered down to cup her jaw, the other holding her waist in tight to his. He leaned in ever so slightly, eyelids drooping as he mumbled, " 'M not weak," and then his lips fell to hers. A gentle kiss, haste with his drunkenness, and a tad too far to the left, but it wasn't sloppy, and it wasn't regretful. He held his mouth firm to hers, tongue tracing the seam of her lips while his finger danced across her cheek.
He needed comfort, so he sought it out in the most natural way he knew. Airron's a slut, what else do you expect?
|
|
District Thirteen
bisexual
Sexuality
Airron won't leave me alone
Relationship Status
District 13 Military Commander
Occupation
|
Angel
Offline
Virginia time
Tag me @jasminforte
|
|
Post by Jasmin Forte on Jul 19, 2015 19:17:41 GMT
Jasmin raised her brows, not at all expectant, but hoping, praying she'd shoved the ghost of his self-loathing out through his physical body with her words alone. She had a way of calming people down, but not in the warm, pleasant way most expected.
But it seemed that words were not enough.
She felt his hand to slip to her jaw, and before she could question or snap at him to mind his personal space, she felt a body press taut to hers. And then a pair of lips upon hers.
She wanted to slam her knee into his groin more because he had the nerve to further invade her space rather than because of disgust. She'd had worse moments in her life.
He was warm and as helpless as a puppy, but much too firm with the placement of his hands, so she had to end it before he did something he'd truly regret. If his hand wandered south of her waist, she would have no mercy on his testicles.
But she didn't freeze like she'd expected herself to. She had the plan all laid out.
The kiss was less invasive than she expected, coming from him. If this was how he sought out comfort, boy was he a lucky lad. There were plenty of people seeking the same comfort.
But not the Commander. She felt like the life was being squeezed out of her. His grip was not rough or forceful, but it felt like she couldn't breathe.
Jasmin slowly pulled away, her mental plan abandoned as she slammed a palm into his shoulder to force a few inches of space between them.
Her lips were numb. She opened her mouth to speak, but her air was cut off by a short, quiet cough. 'You don't have time to catch your breath,' She thought warningly, and the girl straightened in response, sizing the boy up.
"I suggest you learn the concept of personal space. I may not be so friendly next time," Her voice remained steady, but her throat was fighting to force in enough air. It was as uphill of a battle as any she'd been in during her time in the military.
Her tone made it transparent that she hadn't taken his kiss as an assault or threat. It made it transparent that while she was not angry, she was not going to forget this.
"I suggest you get yourself a glass of water an' head on to sleep before you dig yourself any deeper into your self-loathin' pit." She said, like they were her parting words, but she held up her finger in a very blank, stoney 'wait here' gesture. She couldn't really step back without him giving up his grip on her. The power was in her hands to wiggle out of his arms, but she wanted him to take this step to make sure they were seeing eye-to-eye now.
She couldn't have him staggering around and ensnaring unsuspecting soldiers in his arms out of drunken depression.
And she definitely needed that trip to the bathroom herself, but not for a cup of water. For something far less refreshing.
She would dry heave for a few minutes, soak her hands under the cool stream of water until she couldn't feel them, and avoid taking up her old habit of pounding holes into the wall behind a large, crooked picture frame with her fist.
You could only force your fist through a wall so often without being discovered, and with it being so late at night, she didn't want to risk the noise. Or the cleanly state of her knuckles.
Or the balance between anguished and cut off she'd found.
Definitely not that.
|
|