Post by Jasmin Forte on Sept 8, 2015 2:31:59 GMT
Jasmin had very little time to be Jasmin nowadays. Today marked a well-awaited turning point in the war. The odds had shifted; Thirteen had taken on a new ally - a militant squad gone rogue in the most prestigious, stringent heart of the Capitol.
It turned heads - how could this have not been nipped in the bud earlier? It raised question - if the militia was rethinking their loyalties, what did that say about the Capitol?
And more importantly to the worn out house full of soldiers and medics, it meant for celebration. At one point, that would call for copious amounts of alcohol that the Commander would politely overlook, but leisure came in short supply. Scarcity had reared its ugly head.
But tonight? Tonight, they would feast on the pre-packaged foods delivered from their Capitol allies, alongside the bruised fruits and vegetables the Districts donated. Their stew would not be watery and tasteless, but would reflect their rediscovered hope. It would be hearty - not made with the discarded fat and day-old grease from the small game delivered.
So Jasmin took the opportunity to prance off to the empty bedroom, where she'd been seated cross-legged on the dusty floor, hidden snugly among her old blankets behind a messy stack of luggage, along with three dressers with numerous drawers, stacked with varying amounts of neatness.
She reclined against the wall, her hair out of its ever-present, uniform bun for the first time in weeks, hanging like a curtain over her shoulders, with as much curl and disarray as the ocean's waves. She was dressed down in a faded gray tank top that wore like a warm second skin. A blanket was wrapped over her shoulders in case someone were to step in, as she wasn't all that keen on flashing any old (or new) bruises and scars.
There was no cigarette grazing the space between her index and middle finger, or a bottle tipped against the wall to her right.
All she had was a letter folded into her shirt, smudged and crumpled from man-handling time and time again.
Her sister was pregnant. Pregnant! That was the last thing she'd anticipated.
She kept the letter close to her heart and her dreamy gaze a universe away, trying to piece together what would come of the baby and her family.
All she knew for sure was that the child would be loved so strongly, and that was enough to soothe her. For now.
A heavy yawn escaped her as she scanned the room. All the hubub was taking place in every room but this one. Its compact size was a turn-away for the buzzing crew.
She just sat back and marveled at the quiet, listening to the waves lap against the shore less than a mile off. She wanted dearly to escape into it, but she couldn't leave. Not even for a moment.
(Temporary hiatus on the AU for now if you'd like, to make replying easier? Let me know xx)
It turned heads - how could this have not been nipped in the bud earlier? It raised question - if the militia was rethinking their loyalties, what did that say about the Capitol?
And more importantly to the worn out house full of soldiers and medics, it meant for celebration. At one point, that would call for copious amounts of alcohol that the Commander would politely overlook, but leisure came in short supply. Scarcity had reared its ugly head.
But tonight? Tonight, they would feast on the pre-packaged foods delivered from their Capitol allies, alongside the bruised fruits and vegetables the Districts donated. Their stew would not be watery and tasteless, but would reflect their rediscovered hope. It would be hearty - not made with the discarded fat and day-old grease from the small game delivered.
So Jasmin took the opportunity to prance off to the empty bedroom, where she'd been seated cross-legged on the dusty floor, hidden snugly among her old blankets behind a messy stack of luggage, along with three dressers with numerous drawers, stacked with varying amounts of neatness.
She reclined against the wall, her hair out of its ever-present, uniform bun for the first time in weeks, hanging like a curtain over her shoulders, with as much curl and disarray as the ocean's waves. She was dressed down in a faded gray tank top that wore like a warm second skin. A blanket was wrapped over her shoulders in case someone were to step in, as she wasn't all that keen on flashing any old (or new) bruises and scars.
There was no cigarette grazing the space between her index and middle finger, or a bottle tipped against the wall to her right.
All she had was a letter folded into her shirt, smudged and crumpled from man-handling time and time again.
Her sister was pregnant. Pregnant! That was the last thing she'd anticipated.
She kept the letter close to her heart and her dreamy gaze a universe away, trying to piece together what would come of the baby and her family.
All she knew for sure was that the child would be loved so strongly, and that was enough to soothe her. For now.
A heavy yawn escaped her as she scanned the room. All the hubub was taking place in every room but this one. Its compact size was a turn-away for the buzzing crew.
She just sat back and marveled at the quiet, listening to the waves lap against the shore less than a mile off. She wanted dearly to escape into it, but she couldn't leave. Not even for a moment.
(Temporary hiatus on the AU for now if you'd like, to make replying easier? Let me know xx)