we all have a hunger

At seventeen I started to starve myself I thought that love was a kind of emptiness And at least then I understood the hunger I felt And I didn't have to call it loneliness

[abel-evans]

Abel had collapsed the day before. An avox had found him, and an ambulance had been called. He was fine, or so he believed anyway, but they didn’t like his sats, so they insisted he wear a monitor for a day to check. Abel, the brat that he was, insisted he had to be around for training, so they compromised, released him out on the basis that he wear the monitor anyway, an on call nurse following his every move.

“Don’t mind the beeping, it’s actually quite soothing after a while” he smiled. 

[olive-blackwell]

There was a sour taste in her mouth being down in the training center for the first time since her surgery. She watched with envious eyes as the trainers went through the rounds with the tributes. She could help with the less physical stations, stretch some of those neglected survival skills, but it wouldn’t ease the itch. She’d thought finding Abel in the mess would help soothe some of that restlessness, but she clocked the beeping right away. She’d been in too many doctor’s offices the past four months not to. 

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked. 

[olive-blackwell]

chip-foster​:

Chip rolled his eyes at the offer. “I-I’ll stick with what I got,” he muttered, and hoped that Evie hadn’t somehow overheard. It might give her ideas for future presents that he would feel too guilty to leave stuck in a closet or drawer. “Y-Your tr-tributes here yet?”

“Sure,” she said, shooting another look at Evie. She knew one mention of buying a matching pair of bags and the idea would never be settled. At that age she’d insisted on wearing matching shirts with her eldest brother no matter his embarrassment. “Yeah, they’re here. With the stylists right now and then I’m sure our new escort will usher them around. They’re - quiet.” That never boded well in her experience.

[saph-wolf]

Sapphire hated day one. Fresh tributes with tears in their eyes, people everywhere, small talk that went on late into the night. Her worst nightmare. She was twenty now, not a teen anymore, so she decided to take advantage of her old age and get through the worst day of the cycle by stealing all the tiny little bottles of vodka they had on the welcome carts of each floor.

“You didn’t see that” she warned when she noticed someone watching her.

[olive-blackwell]

“Yeah I did and you can put those back.” Within the next hour or so, she’d be entertaining district nine’s regular sponsors. While she healed, she was back to mentoring, and that meant having to deal with these asinine meetings. She held out her hand for the miniatures. “I’m not listening to a bunch of rich fucks complain this early.”

[chip-foster]

Chip found he actually did not mind the Tower during the off-season. It was quieter, and it made it easier to appreciate the layout, the decoration, the space. But as soon as people started to infiltrate that space, he remembered why he hated it. The train ride back from Three was spent in a separate car, working on a puzzle with Evie and playing video games to pass the time. It was Evie who insisted on wanting to see the Tower that day, so Chip was now holding a small unicorn backpack as his niece went up to order a peppermint hot chocolate all by herself at the cafe. “I-It’s not mine,” he declared when he saw someone looking at the backpack that was barely big enough to fit a phone and keys. “Th-Though it does complete the outfit.”

[olive-blackwell]

She passed a wave and a smile to Evie as she came to stand next to Chip. In her jeans and boots she didn’t look, to anyone in the crowd, any different than last year. But she was still getting used to the new rhythm of her steps. Standing with Chip, she adjusted her weight off the prosthetic. “Say the word,” she said, poking at one of the unicorn’s eyes, “and I’ll make sure you two have a matching set.” 

[olive-blackwell]

georgia-plains​:

Georgia looked up when someone joined her, and was pleased to see that it was none other than Olive. She got the impression that Olive had perhaps been avoiding her, which was frustrating. Did neither Olive nor Abel want to actually form a working relationship with her? She smiled up at her. “Hey,” she said, forcing her tone to be casual, quiet as they were in the library, “how’s it going?”

She took a sip from her coffee before answering. “Oh you know, wishing the Eagles had blown this shithole to bits.” It was blunt and short and even a little risky to bring the rebellion up in public, but she was testing the waters with the girl. She smiled. “Yourself?”

[olive-blackwell]

chip-foster​:

Chip’s amused smile was quickly covered by a handful of chips that he began to rapidly chew on, focused on his laptop as he logged into the VPN and found the website. “H-Have you heard anyth-thing more about who will be there?” he asked then. “I-I, uh, tr-tried to talk to some b-bio people, but I th-think Gamemakers are more inter-rested in making bones.”

“The usual freaks. You know the ones that trade sponsor money for a very handsy dance?” Maybe he didn’t though, not completely. It’d been years now since he’d become a gamemaker. Victors had the eye of the crowd, but the gamemakers had the respect. She broke her chips into smaller pieces, her nerves bouncing too much to eat just then. It was getting worse the closer the auction came. “Are you sure none of this is going to get you in trouble?”

[olive-blackwell]

maverickmontana​:

“Well let me know when you’re opening, I’d love to come down and check it out, I’m sure it’ll be awesome,” he said. “10 grand?” He whistled, impressed. “Wow, yeah, maybe I should take you on as a business partner. That’s impressive.”

“Partner means I’m in on the revenue, I don’t need that.” She wouldn’t say it but she also found the reality of them working a shop together fucking adorable. “Just give me a call whenever someone tries to stiff you on price. I’ll be your dog.”

[alder-reid]

“I’m buying– they did what?” Alder hissed, mortified. They were in the back of Olive’s gym, he’d stopped by the day after the grand opening before heading home to Seven. He’d known her injured leg had finally been replaced by a prosthetic, hopefully finally curbing the constant pain and issues, but they were doing– He couldn’t even think about it. He felt lightheaded. “Who in the fuck does this?!”

@olive-blackwell​

[olive-blackwell]

She took a breath, sitting down on a pile of yoga mats tucked into the corner. “The same people who throw kids into the arena, or try and kidnap girls.” They were property and the capitol would ring every last penny out of them without remorse. She rubbed at her left thigh, right where the prosthetic was attached. “The point is that everyone there is going to be insanely rich. I’d buy them all on my own if I could, but any sick ass sponsor in that showroom can outbid me.”

[hollandwestbrook]

The only two times Holland ever saw anyone but the guards were rec hour, when she was allowed out into the yard with the other prisoners, and visiting days. Just about anyone who wanted to visit her was allowed, and a lot of time when she stepped into the visiting room, she was greeted with her lawyers, her mother, or reporters.

This time, though, she brightened just to see that it was none of those, and she took a seat at the table, waiting for the other person to speak first.

@auri-cartwright​ @viola-zephyr​ @leanderwinter​ @plutodosimetre​ @alder-reid​

[olive-blackwell]

A few days before Holland’s trial, she paid the girl a visit. She was new on her prosthetic and still limping but she knew the girl would soon be out. If ever she was to stop by it would have to be now. She knew the guards well enough, knew the inmates, even knew the smell of concrete and sweat. Most of the people in her were serving life sentences for far lesser crimes than hers, and it stoked a little of that old anger in her to be reminded of that. 

She grinned at Holland when the girl took a seat. “I think they repainted since I was last here and threw in some extra barbed wire. Figures you’d get the upgrade.”

[dvoyd]

Tell me, father, which to ask forgiveness for: what I am, or what I’m not? Tell me, mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I didn’t?

thoughts of a stray iii | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[olive-blackwell]

@georgia-plains​

With very little time before classes broke for the games, students were often cramming onto tables in the library or the cafeteria to study. Olive had arrived early in the hopes of commandeering a window seat, only to find the only available spot was with the one student she’d been most avoiding. “Fucking great,” she muttered, before sliding in across from the escort. She gave her a nod almost hoping she’d be too engrossed in her study material to bother with conversation.  

[olive-blackwell]

maverickmontana​:

“Just for a day,” Maverick said. “Trying to get some stuff going for the store, negotiating better deals, but I’m really not a businessman, so… not sure I’m actually succeeding.” He pushed his hair out of his face. “How are you? How’s the gym coming along?” He didn’t want to lead with the auction, sure she didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s mostly waiting on me now. I think I’m settled on mid-December though.” She hadn’t been up for much company or the effort, and just as importantly was waiting to get some semblance of strength back. Normalcy, even, though that word didn’t fit well in the capitol. “You want me to come with you? I’ve heard the word hardass tossed out about me. Negotiated my car down nearly 10 grand when I bought her.”

[chip-foster]

@olive-blackwell​

Chip dropped a bag of chips and a six pack of soda on the card table he’d brought to set up in the gym. “I’ll use a VPN so th-the IP address isn’t tr-traced back to the gym,” he explained to Olive as he opened his laptop with one hand and cracked open a soda with the other. “Wh-What’s th-the website again?”

[olive-blackwell]

“Yes, the VPS to cover the IPN. Exactly what I’ve been saying all week.” She leaned back in her seat massaging what remained of her left thigh. Phantom pains had begun plaguing her last month and they seemed to come and go with the winter weather. With the place locked down for the night, she’d toed off one of her shoes and blackened the windows so no one could look in. “It’s, uh, heritageauctions.com slash one eleven.”

[viola-zephyr]

The day she’d actually collected and packaged the bones was a weird one for Viola, to be sure. In total, she’d managed to get eleven of the thirty that were for sale. Seeing them spread out on her dining room table had been enough to make her sick, but they were all tucked away now in the large box she carried in her arms. She pressed the doorbell with her elbow and waited, nervously. Olive didn’t like her much, but this wasn’t about like or friendship. This was about doing the right thing. Viola just hoped Olive would see it that way.

@olive-blackwell​

[olive-blackwell]

Bandit clocked the visitor before she did. He jumped down from lap warming duties just seconds before the doorbell rang. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, had taken off her prosthetic off, and was preparing to cram for exams before the break. She came to the door on one crutch and settled Bandit before opening. “Viola?” She knew the other victor only in bits and spurts, and was certain she’d insulted her at least once. “Aren’t you supposed to be filming one of those propaganda pieces in eight or ten?”

[maverickmontana]

Mav was in the Capitol to meet with a supplier; the trip would just be one night, as he was eager to get back to Seven and not spend too much time in the city. But when he recognized a familiar face next to him in line for coffee, he smiled. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

[olive-blackwell]

“Yes, I only live here,” she joked. There was a sense while wearing her prosthetic under winter layers, that things hadn’t changed all that much. She could fake a proper gait, throw her sneakers on and grab coffee from the nearest shop. “I didn’t know you were cityside, Mav.”

[olive-blackwell]

November 121 - Olive’s prosthetic leg

[olive-blackwell]

jeaninetwill​:

“Because of icy streets?” Jeannie grimaced. “I’ll go slow again, promise. Hand over heart. I’ll have to learn someday, right? I can’t turn eighteen without knowing how to drive at least a little bit. How fucking embarrassing,” she snorted. 

She nodded, rolling her lips inward. “Black ice is killer, especially on a bike. It’s why I stop driving the Pig between December and March. But we’ll work it out.” Maybe there was an empty parking lot, somewhere Jeannie could test out her turns and her speed without dogs or kids. “Are you going with eighteen? Over what?” She tried to remember and calculate how old Jeannie was and would be today. “Twenty-five?”