Kill them all before they kill you.

apbrīno: marvel. Who made up all the rules? We follow them like fools, Believe them to be true, Don't care to think them through ( independent hg rp blog. )

[offireandrebellion]

     The words are ice water in her veins; a jolt to the heart. Katniss was keeping that thought at bay, pushing it back with thoughts of returning home to Prim, thoughts of her smiling face. Never once, until now, did she allow herself to ponder on the path to victory. How many living, breathing people in this room would she have to kill in order to achieve her goal? At the end, twenty-three of them would be dead, she’d known that going in. Now she just had to make sure she wasn’t one of them.

     His behavior strikes her as suspicious, which serves only to send another ice storm washing over her. He was a Career— he had no business mingling with her, teaching her to wield a deadly weapon. Ever since Cinna had helped her capture the Capitol’s attention and devotion by lighting her aflame, the Careers had made it their mission to size her up and glare her down any chance they got— except the one before her. One eyebrow cocks in curiosity, a hand reaches out to grasp the spear.

     ”—— I don’t think I caught your name?” 

     It’s idle conversation, and her voice falls slightly flat, but it’s an attempt. They could never be allies, not with the group he’d chosen to surround himself with, but perhaps he could be persuaded to go after others first, giving her time to run, find shelter and figure out a plan to get her hands on a bow before they came searching for her.

     She turns again, arm with the spear poised to strike. Her eyes train on the target again, mentally noting the adjustments he had suggested. Again, a few deep breaths are brought in sharply, then brought back out again. Tension in her muscles would only cause an error in her aim. A bow was easier— more natural in her hand— but she concentrated all her mind power on making sure the spear hit the target. Her eyes drift over to the right, where just out of the corner of her eye she can spot Peeta at the camouflage station.

     Her gaze flees forward again, target locked, and she lunges her arm with all her might, releasing the spear just as instructed and it zoomed across the room with a soft whistle, the sharp point of the spear sinking into the soft plush of the dummy target, right on the mark.

[apbrino]

    This is saddening, he realizes, and urge to exhale cartoon-like and shake his head at the prospect of this all is overwhelming for the moment. He's thankful for Katniss; he doesn't think he can bear to slaughter a little girl like the one she volunteered for. 

    Every time he had cast a glance in the 11 girl's direction, dread washed over him. His face had never paled, apparently, because none of the other careers had called him out on it; that was good, at least. Pity is a vulnerability. He watches with a smile as she hits her target, and he whistles lowly at its target. 

                      Then, he regards her statement: "It doesn't matter." 

He's honestly not trying to deal the mysterious card. He doesn't want attachment; not when he's beginning to tolerate her. He knows damn well Cato's after her. It's not his responsibility to protect her, but.

But.

Maybe he feels bad for the lesser districts. And there's the weakness again. He doesn't glance back at his pack and observes her shot. Then he commends her, and takes her by the elbow because he wants her to flinch from his touch, he wants her to remember that he's dangerous, and at the same time... "And you'll teach me how to use a bow?" 

[apbrino]

    Oh, get over it. Nothing's changing. Nothing you say will ever change anything because they've justified it. And that's messed up, but they don't feel bad because years of corruption and war makes this look like exactly what it is--a game. 

[cecita-blog]

[tsuinade]

thg meme: ten characters — Marvel [8|10]

[tomdaely]

In District 12, we call them the Career Tributes, or just the Careers. And like as not, the winner will be one of them.

[vikander]

[apbrino]

bye everyone i'm gonna go catch a flight and budge myself into the friendship of dayo, jack and alexander.

[thekillercato-deactivated201312]

     He stared at the male, who had begun putting some kind of make up on his face. He still wasn’t used to seeing another male put anything close to make up on his. I guess it is a regular in the Capitol. He was hardly listening to his words, but got the point. He wanted to make an alliance with Cato. He had never really given consideration on the issue, just assuming that Clove would handle it. Knowing that, he sure as hell didn’t expect some one to be this blunt and open about it.

        He liked that about Marvel. His guts. It outweighed the annoyance he had for him.

     "I hadn’t expected some one to come up to me yet, or like this, at all." He said, looking over in his direction. "I guess I’ll talk to Clove and we can see what we can do."

[apbrino]

     So, audacity appealed to the guy. Something to note. Marvel turned in the mirror and finished rubbing in the foundation. It was better than having his idiot of a stylist apply it--after all, he was from the district that manufactured the product. He was not embarrassed to be knowledgeable in how to apply it. 

                               Besides, he had acne to cover.

     "What?" he laughed sardonically, eyes flickering from his own visage to Cato's in the mirror. "You gotta get permission? We both know you won't allow her to wear the pants between you two," he shrugged a shoulder, and then looked to the two artists. 

                      "Let's be honest here, this parade, it's a waste of time--a chance for us to establish who outshines us. And I think," he nodded his head towards the 12 tributes, eyes holding Cato's gaze the whole time, "We'll both have a vendetta against them soon. So I'm gonna ask you again to make the decision now." 

[exdeliravit-blog]

    "Yes." Her head dips downwards into a brief nod. Funny how one could win the Games, and yet still find themselves, year after year, participating in what they had only just escaped, toying and hoping for a life that, this time around, wasn’t your own. "And you’re the boy from One.”

[apbrino]

     "Nice to meet you," he holds out a hand. She seems fragile. He doesn't think she should mentor. She's obviously lost it. He does not voice these morbid concerns, smiling in the most charming way he can muster.

[rexmare-blog]

                       Finnick’s inner monologue continued.

You expect to be a victor huh? I hope you don’t make friends. You’ll have to kill them. Can you do that? Can you take a life? You’re a child!

          { So were you, Finn. Younger than him. We were all children. That’s the point. }

   Annie, I have to stop this. Help me.

                  Finnick laughs. All part of the charade.

     “—Well, don’t expect me to be happy about that, kid. I’m supposed to be rooting for my own tributes am I not?”

  He gives a wink to the boy, and a slight grin.

    Finnick still has a weird feeling in his stomach. He wants to help Marvel. He wants to show him how to use that spear properly. He wants him to survive. He wants all of them to survive, so he does something stupid.

              He put his hand out asking for the spear.

                                                    “—You mind?”

    He’s going to show Marvel proper technique. Why? Shouldn’t he be doing this four the two kids from Four?

                { Finnick, only one can live. }

                                                                             I know, Annie. I know.

[apbrino]

     Marvel cannot detect any disturbance in Finnick, even with the slightly glazed-over look in his expression. He's not particularly invested in the emotions of others--otherwise, his entire motives would be completely deteriorated. 

     Still, he's not that ignorant. The guy's got something flickering in his head, but Marvel does not pry.

Instead, he holds out his weapon. "It's a ranseur, so it's kind of like a trident," he explains, voice hitching on the last syllable in a question. "If there's one, I'm planning on using it for long-distance trapping, you know?" 

      He nods to the cross hilts, and then licks his lips. He's uncomfortable with a deadly mentor--someone he's admired for so long for his ability to kill--in front of him with his weapon of choice. 

                       The guy could end him right now. Paranoia coils up his spine, but Finnick's too smart to do anything like that. "Also--as for your tributes? I was thinking about making the girl an ally." 

The other was far too small, too gentle to succeed. He wouldn't make him an ally; how would he be able to kill him if he ever became attached? Cato and Clove were different--monsters who were prepared. The little boy was just that: a boy.

( Ahh, the deep-set morals in the killer's mind. Lovely. )

[fierylittletribute-deactivated2]

;; my anchor, my pillar - au -

[fierylittletribute-deactivated2]

                   —- ;;     Pride. It covered her in everything that was right and wrong; everything was wrong, in this moment in time. The arena; logged with beautiful scenery and greenery so radiant, so wintery and the faint breeze that caused her ponytail to waver left and right. Blood splattered across her face, blood on her shirt, on her jacket and trousers, even.              —- —-Blood on their hands. Reality struck her and with a lump in her throat, she rose from the body which was once a beautiful, adorable and lucky girl. The female from three. She had died at her hands. —-Shakily, the raven looked down at her, tears welling up in those big gray eyes. No, no, no!            Her mind screamed, telling her that this had been her last kill though, her hands were trembling, lesser lip quivering and she was already going there; sadistic, callous, cunning. Unforgiving. As she, small tribute from two; an honored Career and everything was in her forte, everything. She had it all; the looks, the beautiful body everyone longed for and that beautiful face splattered with freckles; now freckles of blood alike. It was horrid, the idea that she had killed tributes, killed them and shown them no remorse or respect. There was nothing, nobody telling her to stop this blasphemy; this was what the Capitol wanted her to become; a puppet of theirs and there was nothing she could do to stop it.                                          “M-Marvel,”           Tone so helpless, desperate for salvation and finding nothing, she would call out for him, would she call out for him upon her day of death? Hour of loss and misfortune? Or would he be gone, dead and lost to the hands of their President; bow and behold, Snow in all his glory. “This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all.” She whispered; eyes blown and stepping back, falling into the grass and clawing back, feeling two, massive caring hands upon her shoulders and lips at her ear. “Shh, calm down,” the voice spoke; vision of hers blurring with tears and head toppling back. Would he kill her? Now that she had shown weakness? He had vowed not to! “Shh, it’s okay Clove.” He then spoke, grabbing her at her upper arms and hoisting her into the air. “You’ll be fine.” He spoke caring, turning her around as she gazed up at the sky, still; pulled into his strong and firm touch; blooded shirt upon bloodier shirt. “Let me go,” she insisted quietly, not firmly in any way. “Let me go, Cato, please,” she begged, feeling the arms unraveling and sending her shaking frame falling to the ground once more.                                          Weak, a child.           She was a child; they all were; children killing children. Murderers from an age so young and oh, how her mind was reeling with all possible scenarios of the horrid slaughtering event which had kicked off for the seventy-forth time. "The odds are not in our favor,” she spoke as she lay there; the grass tickling her nose and sending a weak, content smile across her face before rising to her feet once more. Looking around and surveying the bloodbath grounds. The start of the Games.            "Marvel," she spoke his name again; allowing it to slowly roll off of her tongue, tasting it on her lips and not regretting that she had. Confidence, trust and friendship she had invested in this boy and would forevermore do so; even in afterlife. He had to win, he was too good for this, nobody knew and yet, nobody would have to know, either. Only them. Just them. They had to win this, they had to battle, conquer and fight all of this. — —Had he won her heart? No. Had he won her trust? More so, he had won her feelings, everything she embodied, locked up deep inside of her, that was what he had claimed from thereon and it nailed her soul to the ground, feeling the wind coming up again and slowly, she undid the silly ponytail, her long raven locks falling down her back, falling down to her behind; just not there yet.            Turning around; seeing a lake so beautiful with the afternoon Sun hanging high above, the scenery took her breath away and he oh he… He stood there, against the light of it and Clove was nearly certain of the fact that she had not ever seen something quite as remarkable nor beautiful. Fallen for his charms, his goofy and caring personality oh, she was a goner; at a loss for words and a loss for breathing, too. Nothing would suffice but him, nothing would suffice but his life; his breath; his touch. Everything about him was majestic, magnificent and she would never tell; not ever would she mention that to him. For it would be a crime.           Her eyes then continued their trail to see the blonde from one sitting on one of the crates, Cato’s hands on her upper thighs and teasing her in the utmost of horrid ways; lips at her skin and she giggled. Clove would never know that, she wouldn’t allow herself to be so exposed, so vulnerable and out in the open. That was a certain and stated fact. Only Pim, her little brother had seen her that way; crying and kicking, screaming and writhing in such a way it was humanly impossible.            Feet carried her to him; Marvel. Taking his hand and sending him a weak smile, gesturing towards the lake. “Let’s see what’s there?” She suggested weakly, her eyes fluttering shut for only a brief moment and drawing in her lesser lip, as if she had just confessed her love for someone; laid her heart upon a butchery table and it being jabbed by a million knives all at once. “I-I… I don’t know what is happening over there, with them; I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see it. Can we please… Go?” She then asked, more or less explained apprehensively, quietly and left them in the deaf; not to hear what she was saying. The canons sounded, booming continuously and eleven tributes were pronounced dead; the hovercrafts waiting for the field to be cleared, waiting for the Careers to move and set their camp elsewhere. They would be back. The Careers would be back.

[apbrino]

In a yard of corpses, two beautiful killers kiss.        Is that, like, poetry or something? Marvel’s eyes glaze over. He’s not particularly upset with what he’s done; in fact, the shreds of remorse that had sit itself in the pit of his stomach begin to fade away into a haze, where Marvel has to reach up and touch his own face with his wet fingers to make sure he was alive.

     A scream almost rises in his throat—but it doesn’t—when Clove ambles over. He flinches at the touch, and why wouldn’t he? Only a moment ago, he’d laid eyes on Thresh. Thresh, huge and menacing and fast who wanted him dead. Clove seems very small in his line of vision. He makes a resolution in his own head to keep her away from the other tributes for as long as he can. He wants to reach down and wipe the unbecoming spray of blood off of her cheek, but his own fingers are moistened with another tribute’s own gore.

He had twisted that knife in front of Clove. Ended a life, and he did not         know the name of the       girl. He wonders if he scared Clove.

    She seems uncharacteristically shaken, and he realizes that he is as well. It’s not right—he’s strong. He’s trained for this from the moment he could properly understand exactly what ‘win’ implied. There were only meager moments in which he looked at the Capitol with scorn because there had never been a doubt in his mind that he would be sent into the Games with someone he cared for—he could slaughter everyone, win, and the Capitol would praise him. And the Capitol was more important than the tributes—they had praised him for his skill, the personality he forced upon himself and onto the audience and the other tributes only wanted as dead as he did them.

         So why on Earth should he despise the Capitol?     He had never intended to become invested in a tribute. He just wanted to return—to 1, the Capitol, they didn’t differ too much. There was impending fear in the back of 1’s homes, in the eyes of the weak, but other than that, they were the ones who supplied all the products the general public of the Capitol adored: hair spray, tanning beds, soaps and oils and nail polish.

     So that’s why his mouth curls up in a smile and the shock drains from his features with ease and suddenly, Cato and Glimmer seem very mundane in the mouth of the Cornucopia, lips on each other’s. He is the same person of one in a population that everyone here hates. He is the Capitol’s boy.

     Marvel takes Clove’s hand and beams down at her, his free hand wiping the gore (it’s just blood, it doesn’t matter) off on his jacket before pushing his fingers through her hair. “What, the PDA not your thing?” he asks. He is unaware of the breakdown. Of Cato’s help in calming her. He’s unaware of what Clove’s mental health might become upon watching those die at her palms. It’s good, being ignorant. He does not possess a moral compass, he isn’t particularly smart—he’s an optimist.

                                           He does not know who the enemy really is.

     He’s in a pack, and when they break up, he’ll be standing because that’s all he knows. He will not have nightmares of twisted faces of those he’s never known. Who cares if it’s at his hands? For all he knows, that’s just getting more of the Capitol to coo at him. Why does he need the district’s approval? The districts were under the Capitol’s vagary anyway. They would not like to see him as he just was—zoned out, eyes glazed over, world focusing in on Cato lifting Clove and wondering whether or not he was about to kill her. And he could not move a muscle, in a perpetual state of shock; he was seeing, but his brain wasn’t functioning enough for him to save his friend.

                                              It. Was. Silence.

    He figured that he had long rid of his anxiety attacks. He figured that the Career pack was strong. The possibility of remorse was blotted out by the desire to win, ruthlessness and mental dementia. It seemed as though only he and Clove had experienced anything regarding the emotional factors of this Game. 

     It doesn’t feel like a game. But his only saviors right now will be the Capitol—he will get all he’s wanted once he leaves this globe. So he lifts his free hand from Clove’s bloody hair and waves at the same bird, a grin skewed onto his face, knowing that the families of those he’s killed will grit their teeth, and the colorful women and men will scratch up notes for him. He’s a monster, but not more than Cato and Glimmer must be. After all, he’s not particularly enjoying it; just knows that the sound of each cannon brings him closer to returning to where he loves.

     He turns to Clove and rubs his thumb over her temple. She's the shade of bone, and he worries his bottom lip. Where was the girl who's mouth twisted in a smirk when he talked about the improbability of any of the other tributes surviving? The one who laughed when District 10 boy broke his ankle? "Hey," he says quietly, then nods his head to the northern side of the lake, away from the artificial sun. "Give 'em some time for themselves. Then we can get a plan going, yeah?"

[mccallible]

[apbrino]

why am i awake it's so late

i need to shower

goodnight friends more replies and the question thingy l888r

[tsuinade]

Glimmer — requested by anon

[finnickodaier]

[exdeliravit-blog]

|| ; apbrino ;; maysileexdonner ;; boywiththexbread ;; || ; archeressx ;; flamingarcher ;;

          ” — I think you dropped something, there.”

[apbrino]

    "Oh," he mutters, eyes falling to the forgotten spear head. It's not as though he can't get any more, an endless supply from the Capitol, but he shrugs and retrieves it either way. "You're the 4 mentor, right?" 

[thekillercato-deactivated201312]

He stared at Marvel for a minute, shocked that he would so blatantly ask a question like that. Didn’t he know of all the people who were listening and watching him at that very moment. For a minute he almost liked him. Liked that he had the guts to say it. But it was only for a moment, for soon after the positive feelings turned into bitter annoyance.

"Probably you since you’re really starting to annoy me. I know what you’re trying to do. It’s smart, but you’re going about it all wrong."

The stylists had finished what they were doing, backing away and admiring their handwork. Cato then stood up and glared over at the boy.

"You’re from District 1. Your tributes, along with the tributes from 2 and 4, are all Career tributes. It’s natural that we’d form an alliance." He said as he looked at himself in the mirror, displeased with all of the products that had been placed on his face. "Next time, cut the bullshit and just come out and say it."

[apbrino]

    His eyes narrowed, jaw slackening. Did he really just say that to him? What kind of asshole had that type of audacity? 

    Marvel hopped off the vanity and rose an eyebrow, then decided to play back the asshole card. "Did your mentor tell you to be yourself? Because I assure you, they couldn't have given you worse advice," he hissed out. Then, as an after thought, he added: "Your dick belongs in your pants, not in your personality." 

                       He regretted the words immediately. 

    This is the guy he's supposed to be an ally with--the same guy who could potentially kill him (or anyone) if he were to provoke him. At his screw up, he runs a hand over his face, smearing the carefully laid foundation and sighs. "Okay--listen, I'm your ally. I'm probably the best you're gonna get here, unless you want to team up with District 11, where he could probably crush your skull without a second thought. Now, I don't know about your little psycho," he nodded to Clove, "But Glimmer isn't particularly skilled with any weapons, and if you think we're working with the tiny things from 4, you've got another thing coming. So I'd suggest we make this work."