Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2015 9:55:39 GMT
At the end of the day
A thousand little wars I have to choose between.
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So this is how the story goes.
Once upon a time, there was a boy. His hair was as indecisive as the weather in Four- sometimes shaded over with dark clouds gold, but more frequently a sun-bleached blonde- and in a constant mess of spikes. His skin was soft peach hue, splattered with an array of tanned freckles that ventured across his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, and cloaked his shoulders- but subtly so. His nose was a gentle curve, not too sharp or stout, but elegant in its entirety. His lips were lush, obscenely so- a deep rosy pink and inviting, even more so with his ever present pout. His eyes- eclipsed by long, delicate lashes and framed with the profound arches of his brows- were an ungodly shade of jade, alluring and only adding to the charm he naturally oozed. The pools of emerald were enthralling, such a vibrant tint of green that people were drawn in on instinct. His persona was intricate, much like the webs of gold captured between the arrays of greens held in his irises. He was amicable, polite as can be and a wicked flirt, but the dash of shyness that crept into his attitude made him humble- much more approachable. His body was elegantly built. Broad shoulders that accentuated the frail masculinity of his hips, and sturdy legs that arched into a mild bow- causing his knees to never graze as he trotted along, a gap forever present between his legs.
Appearance and personality aside, the boy was the son of a very important scientist in the underground District. His father’s work was hereditary, something progressed through generations and would undeniably become his life once his age peaked. The family business wasn’t typical. Not exactly in the medical field, nor did it fit all the credentials of the military unit or technology division. It was somewhere in between, taking bits and pieces of each subject and twisting them. His family mastered in the science side of war- be it advanced medicine to support the battered and broken or maybe dabbling in revolutionary weapons that would aid in several victories or even crossing the line into manufacturing human soldiers with twisted DNA strands to up their chances at being unbeatable- just as the Capitol had and still does. It was a goal to strive towards, each branch in the family tree reaching out farther than the rest in an effort to expand the issues they’ve covered already. There was always more to fix, to learn, and to do.
That being said, from a young age the boy had to hold the weight of his family’s expectations on his shoulders. ‘All work and no play’ was the motto- that he didn’t follow. At first, of course, he had. The blossoming teen desperate for the approval that every member in his long line of lineage had craved had worked at the progressive ways of his family with an incurable eagerness- and he was like that for most of his young adult life, or at least he was until he met the ever pestering son of one of the chef’s, Micah, and well. He believes it’s called ‘love at first sight’. From then on out, it was a balance of labor and love. Days spent tinkering and experimenting, and nights devoted to learning every nook and cranny of his new relationship. Things were easy, simple even. The possibilities endless in his young glory.
But his life was no fairy tale. He didn’t quite get the happy ending he was shooting for.
His father’s health was failing, something even the most futuristic of medicines they had crafted couldn’t cure. So that relayed with him wasting his days away at work, organizing and commanding- too young for the position, but forced into it due to cruel fate. His new devotion to keeping his family’s sustenance thriving led to a rift in his love life. Micah and him grew further and further apart, the years they’d tucked under their belt losing meaning as they fell from each other. Fights broke out, and tears were shed- it wasn’t pretty. During one of their disputes, it was called off- though not the first time, but different from the other times, he sought out a new form of comfort. That came in the mold of curves and big blue eyes and utterly female. Seems his taste was as singular as he thought. One night of drunken fumbling led to a pink bundle sheathing a tiny body squirming in his hold and two scornful lovers. The woman didn’t want anything to do with him, she had fled the district right after dropping the baby in his arms, and Micah wouldn’t speak to him, too upset in the way things had played out to even spare him a passing glance.
Now, four years later, stands a man. Oakley Alexander Novak. Twenty-four years old, in his prime, and at the peak of his carrier- so to speak. His father had passed away, leaving him the only living heir to the business. His daughter, Claire, was a boisterous four year old- pretty as the day was long, and he was overwhelmingly thankful that every day she ended up looking more and more like him. Micah was a shadow in his past, and the mother was forever vacant- and he didn’t see either of those changing.
Being the head of such an important industry and with the war at its apex, duty called unceremoniously. Thirteen wasn’t proving to be as successful as they needed to be, so they sent him into overdrive. It had taken a lot of dangerous snooping, but he’d finally gotten the formula to create the indestructible soldiers the Capitol had mastered years ago. He had tweaked the codes a bit to better fit his outlook on the project, and had found the perfect subject to test on. Strong as can be and the acme of muscular definition, Airron Tide fit the bill for the ‘perfect’ soldier. All Oakley had to do was head down to Four to talk with the newbie and get his consent- which he didn’t think would be much of a problem given his record.
And it would have been that easy, just a chat and then the transformation, if his train hadn’t broken down just inside of District Eleven’s fences.
It would be his luck to get stranded at such a desperate time, but he’d make do with what he had. The train wouldn’t be repaired until the following evening, so that meant he’d have to scrounge for a place to stay for the night. It wasn’t that he was low on funds- no, that was never the case- but that Eleven was close to a ghost town. Before he’d set of in search of a room to hole up in, Oakley had called back home to explain the situation to his mother, who was watching his daughter while he was out on business, and then to coo and coddle his toddler through the phone. His heart swelled as she stumbled through her words, her speech advanced, but still frail at her young age. After his wary goodbyes, he began trotting into town, keeping his pace quick and determined. The afternoon sun beat against his back, sweat dripping down the sharp angles of his face. The heat had driven him to cringe out of his flannel, which he then draped around his waist, and stained his black tee and worn jeans with splatters of sweat. He carried a simple backpack over his shoulder- nothing more than the required paperwork, an issued, mandatory pistol and a few spare clothes stuffed inside.
Swiping desperately at his forehead in an attempt to wipe off the sweat as the summer heat sweltered around him, Oakley made his way through the orchards. There were few others in the surrounding area, all passengers from his train seeking refuge for the night, but they kept their space. He was more than content with that.
With a soft sigh and quick glance around the town he gradually came upon, he sought out help. Hopefully there was another soul around to point him in the right direction, and for once luck was on his side, for in the shadows, out of the ungodly summer sun’s line of fire, stood a shaded figure. Tossing on the most charming smile he could, he slowly approached the person, calling out once he was close enough, “Hey. Uh, sorry to bother you, but do you have any idea where I can stay for the night?” Biting his tongue, he decided to hold off on the explanation as to why until further asked. He didn’t want to overwhelm them with his endless chatter, or bother them at any cost. So keeping a few paces away, though in the blessed shade, Oakley clutched his pack and dabbed at his sweaty brow, glancing hopefully at the other citizen and waiting for some form of response.
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TAG: OPEN
WORDS: 1502
NOTES: plz be my friend
WORDS: 1502
NOTES: plz be my friend