Like a true nature's child [WT]

[galexkatniss]

Like a true nature's child
We were born, born to be wild
We can climb so high
I never wanna die

Born to be wild
Born to be wild


~Anaya~

Working in the rebellion has probably been one of the amazing things Anaya has done in her entire life. It was high time someone got back at those pigs who took her sister from her. And living in District Thirteen wasn't bad at all. Sure she missed her family sometimes, but she bigger things that she needed to do. She could remember how hesitant they were to let her join, a smile spread across her face, but she'd shown them.

Anaya was kind of famous for her nasty temperament, and the fact she'd go after anyone who displeased her, or the unfortunate person who happened to be in her way on a bad day. But non of it bothered her. Let them know her as terrible, it kept them in line, didn't it? It was nice to feel in control what happened around her for once. Of course she still did have to listen to the leaders of the rebellion, but that she was ok with, despite the fact she normally hated taking direction from anyone. But this was for a cause that she strongly believed in, therefore she'd refrain from blowing off orders.

She walked down a hidden staircase in the ruins, to the underground where most of the plotting and planning took place. Anaya participated in all the meeting, offering up her two cents on things. Many of the others found her quite entertaining, always bashing the Game makers and Capitol. And she didn't care who heard her, it was the truth after all, even if the truth hurt.

It seemed more and more people were coming to join the cause lately, a welcomed sight of course. Because when trying to run a rebellion, you need people who are willing to fight for the cause. But you also had to be careful of anyone who may be a spy or something of the sort. One of Anaya's favorite jobs was interrogating new comers, to see if they could truly be trusted. Walking around with six knives hanging from your belt was pretty intimidating in itself, never mind when she opened her mouth. Today she was just supposed to be keeping a look out for anything suspicious, not much excitement in that really.




(ooc- Thread starting fail. Tis far too early for me. XD

[Wolf Tears]

This song is for the painter
Who lost both of her hands
And this song is for the wanderer
Who never came home again

There was a certain beauty in the ruins of District Thirteen that people just didn’t see.

Really, there was. People skirted through the ruins and tried to avoid looking at them, because all they saw were ugly lumps of grey ash and wrecked buildings. Even those who saw the geometric beauty inherent to the underground systems- a rare thing, because most thought of the underground as a patchwork of boring white and grey angles- didn’t look at the upper parts of the District and think, this place breathes, and it is amazing.

Toivo did, though. He had his mother to thank for that. Her unparalleled passion for art had always been hard for even the most stubborn to ignore, and for her son, who was as interested in creation as she herself had been as a youngster, Elisa had been the enlightened one come to breathe meaning into his life. She had taught him how to use ice packs to cool down his arms so it was easier to paint, and to use the remaining tremors as a stylistic advantage. Perhaps even more important than that (though it was a close call between the two), she had taught him how to look at the world and see.

So walking among the ruins of a sector that hadn’t yet been cleared out and rebuilt, he didn’t just see ashes. He saw buildings that had cried and burned, and the ghosts of families that had once lived in them. He saw tragedy and hope and defiance, things that brought both laughter and tears to his eyes. He saw his parents, and what they had fought for.

His brain just had to stitch all of those together, and he saw a painting.

That was why he was out today, at an hour when he would usually be up in his room with a book or something. Carrying a backpack was no small feat for the boy- especially a backpack with cargo such that he simply could not fall- but carry one he did. A collapsible easel, a blank canvas, and a set of paints were all tucked into various pouches and pockets, with the canvas wrapped and padded more than was probably necessary. He made his way slowly, even more so than usual, every step carefully measured so he wouldn’t trip and ruin the canvas or break open the containers that held his paint. It wasn’t an ideal method of transport, but lacking an automobile it was his only viable option, and he made decent time.

Okay, maybe decent time is an overstatement. The boy’s progress was painstakingly slow, even for him; had he any able-bodied companions, they would have long since outpaced him far enough to get to the destination and come back again. But he didn’t (come on, this was Toivo), and he anticipated his pac well enough to set out several hours early.

He got to the spot he wanted a little bit early, which was perfectly fine with him. His backpack was carefully set on the ground, followed by Toivo himself- he collapsed to the ground and just lay there aching for several long minutes, without even bothering to remove his crutches. When he had his breath back, he got to his knees and pulled out self-cooling ice packs- possibly the most expensive items he owned, but well worth it because once he’d had them on for a bit it became a lot easier to move his arms and fingers without the uncontrollable trembling that started up as soon as he tried to do anything involved. Assembling the easel and getting set up was a lot easier than it would have been otherwise, and by the time the sun hit the position he wanted he was completely ready.

At this time of afternoon, with light streaming in from above and setting a golden cast to everything, it was easier than ever to imagine the ruins aflame. The frame of a house still stood ahead and to the left; that house was a great deal of the reason Toivo had chosen this particular spot, because he could use it to his advantage. A subtle shift here in the grey, a shadow there that didn’t quite exist, and if you saw the painting out the corner of your eye you could just see the suggestion of a young woman sweeping at the ashes. Closer inspection would make her vanish, but she was there- and so were the two children across the street, the whole one who cried and the maimed one who laughed. Over all was the sunlight, liquid fire that comforted and terrified and stirred all at once- a reminder of the burning, but also of the rebellion’s hope and Panem’s first free sunrise in over a century.

That was the idea, anyway, and Toivo was doing everything in his power to bring it to life. The coolant packs still wrapped around his arms, despite the discomfort. His tongue was held firmly between his teeth. All thoughts of uselessness were long-forgotten in favor of thoughts of color, contour, texture. Every stroke was careful and yet unmeasured, and all the more worthwhile because of the effort it took to keep his hand steady long enough to touch color to canvas.

This was Toivo at his best.

After a time the sun moved on and the light changed, and Toivo set down his paintbrush. For a time he stood, breathing laboured, and looked over the work. Not bad- it had a long way to go, but some of it was looking pretty good. Now came the hard part: taking it home so he could bring it out again tomorrow.

He was putting away all his paintbrushes in preparation for the journey when he slipped and fell to the ground. In and of itself, that wasn’t very surprising. Toivo was used to falling. When it came to trips, stumbles, and faceplants, there was probably no one in District Thirteen better-prepared, and he put that preparation- borne of many long, harrowing years of practice- into use. He threw his weight to one side of the easel so that the past hours’ hard work wouldn’t come undone, and his hands came up to protect his face, elbows angled forward to break the fall.

What neither Toivo nor anyone else could have been prepared for, however, was the hidden staircase that happened to be in the most inconvenient place possible. How could he have known it was there? He had stepped on that place, for goodness’ sakes- but he was light enough, and his footfalls held no great pressure. The act of crashing to the ground accomplished what a simple bit of pressure from a disabled boy’s foot couldn’t manage, and what the poor teenage had perceived to be the floor screamed, then cracked open. Paintbrush still in hand and crutches still attached, Toivo fell.

Whoever first coined the term “head over heels” didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. Toivo’s head definitely went over his feet at least once, but for the most part he was way too disoriented and in far too much pain to notice exactly where various parts of his body were. Head, heels, hands - everything tumbled down the stairs in one huge mass. One of his crutches was lost near the top of the staircase; the other remained on his arm the entire way down, scrapping large portions of skin off his left arm and occasionally whacking a random part of his body. The corners of the stairs knocked the breath out of him, and several nails almost ripped when he tried to grab onto the stairs to stop himself. After that he tried to go with the flow, but he had never tumbled down a staircase.

When he finally came to a stop after what felt like years, it was all he could do to lie there and not pass out from sheer pain. The arm with the still-attached crutch was rubbed raw almost all over; several places were bleeding, and his entire body felt bruised. Miraculously, his right hand still clutched that paintbrush; somewhat less miraculously, he had whacked himself with it several times and now had green paint in a few of his various cuts.

At least I didn’t hit the painting as I fell. That the easel was still upright at the top of the stairs gave him some consolation, and was his motivation for opening his eyes. Had it just been him lying there, he probably wouldn’t have been in any hurry to move, but he wanted to check on his artwork. Sitting up was even more of a challenge then usual, though, and after a moment of struggling to lift his torso he let himself flop back onto the floor. He’d try again in a little bit.

The new vantage point, gained from his lifting and flopping, revealed something that he hadn’t noticed before: a girl.

A human being was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, but he forced his left hand to rise in a partial wave and did his best to speak without slurring his words. "S’ry. Di’nt’ean to drop in li’that."

So I'd do anything to cry
I'd do anything to cry
Let this pain fall from my eyes
And let time heal my insides

[galexkatniss]

~Anaya~


Anaya was coming down the hall when she was almost tripped by a boy who had come undoubtedly, tumbling down the stairs. She recognized him as the disabled boy, who'd lost his parents. She didn't know much about him, but almost felt bad for the poor thing. Looking down at him reminded her of her sisters weak, and battered state before she was killed in her Games. The memory made her anger flare up, like she just wanted to tear into something, anything. Anaya's eyes targeted Toivo first, but instead she slammed her fist into the wall, drawing blood from her knuckles. "No problem. Not your fault." For some reason she was restraining herself quite nicely today, maybe the thought of hurting someone so defenseless was just wrong, even for someone like Anaya.


Her parents didn't know how right they were to name her Anaya. It meant completely free, and here she was, fighting for her namesake. She'd sacrificed a lot to come from Eleven to Thirteen, and could have been easily killed on her way, but that wasn't enough to sway her. What was the worst that could happen, she'd die? Dying wasn't scary, it happened to everyone, some just sooner than others. When your times up, it's up. She noticed the paintbrush in his hand. "Working on something, were ya?" Sure her tone, could easily be taken as amused, or actually concerned. That was one of her strengths though. You could never quite tell what she was up to, or what was really going through her head. Once again she thought, let people think I'm the worst I can possibly be, let them be afraid, they should be.


Her eyes darted to the top of the stairs where she could she an easel. That must be where Toivo was working before he somehow managed to fall down the stairs, and still hold onto that damn paint brush. How he managed to paint at all impressed her. Not that she'd ever tell him that, because this is Anaya we're talking about, and she doesn't give out compliments to anyone. Because it seemed whenever you were nice to someone, they'd take advantage later on, or get clingy. Neither of which Anaya had the time or the patience to deal with.


Still not sure what to do with the situation at hand, she glanced about the room, hoping someone else would magically appear and take care of this for her. But no such luck. Bending down a bit towards the cold floor, her eyes scanned the boy for any obvious injuries. He was pretty banged up, and had seemed to have painted himself a lovely shade of green in the process of tumbling down the staircase. Anaya liked the color green, it remember her of home back in Eleven. With all the trees, and other crops, bearing beautiful other colors, like red apples, or creamy peaches. She felt a pang of homesickness, before she briskly reminded herself why she was here, and why she was doing this.


There wasn't anything she could do for her family back home, if they were all even still alive. That's why she needed to be here. The best way to help them, would be to bring change, and get rid of the Games, once and for all. Even if she died, as long as the war was won, it wouldn't have been in-vain. But so far, so good, she was still here, still alive and well in the undergrounds of District Thirteen. And Anaya had everything intention of being around a lot longer, or at lest go out fighting all the way.


Her attention was turned back to Toivo who was still on the floor. That had indeed been a large staircase he fell down, he should probably avoid stairs and stick to ramps from now on. But that wasn't so easy when the underground was full of stairs, and didn't have quite so many ramps. Oh and some elevators too, but even Anya felt a little claustrophobic in them. Being under the laying of life and plants in the earth was a bit creepy in its own right, so confining to an even smaller space only added to the nervous feeling.


Well she decided she should probably do her good deed of the month and see if she could help out any. "Do you want me to take you to the medical center, to get patched up?" She was quite vocal compared to Toivo who spoke but one sentence so far. But that was Anaya, she said whatever came to mind, and dealt with any consequences later. Really he didn't seem hurt to bad, but with his pre existing medical conditions, it would probably be best if a professional looked him over. As Anaya wasn't a good example of home medics. Her own bang up jobs of patching herself up, left her littered with scars, not that it bothered her, but it was a reminder of previous stupidity and misfortune.


Looking back at her childhood, out of all her siblings, it had been Anaya who was always questioning authority, fighting back in her passive aggressive ways. Right from the beginning she never followed orders well. It was much more interesting to do things her own way. Her parents always had trouble controlling her, she was the wild one. Her parents had feared, one day she'd get herself into serious trouble. Oh if they could only see her now. Sure they'd be panicked and worried sick, but Anaya would like to think that they'd also have a sense of pride, that their not-so little-anymore girl, was trying to make a difference. Really this whole ordeal with Toivo had caused a strange amount of reflection on herself, and she didn't think she liked it. It was hard enough to deal with, never mind having to analyze everything she's done over the past fifteen years. It was a lot to swallow, but so far she'd manage to mask the inner conflict well. With her combative personality, and lack of ability to take 'no' for an answer. Anaya had never, and would never be, quite like everyone else.

[Wolf Tears]

"Mm. I s’pose."

Generic responses were nice things, and Toivo had to hand it off to whoever had first come up with that little conversational idea. Merely replying, without actually saying much at all, went a long way toward hiding his poor skills in social interaction, but generally didn’t insult or hurt whoever he was talking to, which was an absolute necessity for anything he said. More importantly, Toivo was a much more visual than auditory person, and keeping conversation to a minimum gave him extra time to do what he did best: look.

Artistically, this girl was beautiful- even sideways (he hadn’t bothered to get up yet, so the angle was a little odd). She obviously took good care of herself, which he had to thank her for, because it’d be a real shame to waste those looks. Pale skin and dark hair contrasted sharply against each other in a manner not entirely unlike his own. Her facial features were a bit on the angular side, but well-proportioned; particularly catching were the sharp blue eyes, which stared down at him in a manner that indicated that his usual trepidation toward people was, in this case, completely justified.

So caught up was he in studying her that it surprised him a little to remember that she had a voice. For a moment, it was all he could do to stare uncomprehendingly for a few moments as the words sunk in. Working on something? What was she-

Oh! The paintbrush, of course. "Sor’ov," he managed. The paintbrush slipped out of his hand as he spoke, and he eyed it with a feeling of vague disappointment. That was the first time he’d ever held onto something for so long... "I pai’t. No’ really work, per se..." And it wasn’t, at least not in the way Toivo thought of work. His pictures did nothing to further the success of his family (such that his family was, anymore) or community or Panem itself. His mothers’ had- she’d sold them frequently, and gotten good prices. Not a surprise- the woman had been a genius when it came to art. She could work magic with just a pencil and a piece of paper; the things she could do with colour... If they’d lived in any district but Thirteen, her work would undoubtedly have made the family rich.

But for all that he aspired toward her skill, Toivo wasn’t his mother. He wasn’t as good an artist as her, and probably never would be- and more than that, he couldn’t bring himself to vend his works. The few that resided in the others’ abodes had gotten there because he gave them away; they were far too personal for him to ever put a price on them. He wouldn’t sell his paintings any more than he’d sell pieces of his heart. As an ideal, that was well and lovely- but in practice, it was totally useless. This like paint and canvas and even the water he used to wash the brushes all cost money, and that money had to come from somewhere. He didn’t mind slaving away at something and getting nothing for it, because he loved the toiling part, but the economic deficit was a definite problem. No, his compositions weren’t work.

Important, though? Yes, definitely. And it occurred to him suddenly that this very moment he had a painting sitting outside unattended, where any drop of rain could randomly fall from the sky and make the paint run, or any brief zephyr could knock the canvas into the dirt. Not good, not good at all! Toivo’s limbs began working hysterically, trying to get him up, but one leg slipped as he tried to lift himself. The motion shouldn’t have been anything major (Toivo was, after all, used to minor physical setbacks), but pain shot up and down the entire length of his leg; the fall had something to his knee. The boy fell back to the ground and stared directly upward, gritting his teeth quietly in agitation. This was inconvenient.

Between the daydreaming and the pain, Toivo had completely forgotten about the girl by the time she spoke again. Her voice made him start, and he had to twist his head around, grey eyes huge with surprise, to see her and fully recognize her. Once his brain had processed her existence, the words hit him, and those eyes opened even wider. "No!" The mix of terror and repulsion that flooded through him was enough to finally facilitate him grabbing onto the wall and hauling himself the rest of the way upright. He instantly fell to the side again, barely managing to lean on the remaining crutch in time. "No," he gasped again, fighting to get the word out through panting induced by effort and panic alike. It would be best if he went to a doctor, he knew; his condition wasn’t supposed to have any affect on everyday or even serious injuries, but one never knew and it was better to be safe than sorry. But that meant not just voluntarily submitting himself to human-filled surroundings, but also actually talking to the doctors, and the nurses, and whatever other waiting-room attendees wanted to try and make polite small talk, and who knew who else? Besides, on the frontier (and even if most of Panem was basically frontier land right now, District Thirteen had to take the prize), any kind of medical center was usually full, and if he was in there getting treated for something that probably wasn’t that major, he could easily end up taking time away from someone else whose needs actually needed repletion.

[galexkatniss]

~Anaya~

Anaya could not stand watching poor Toivo struggle. Honestly they were both fifteen, but she felt so much older than him, like he was only eight or something. There wasn't much he could do with his disability to help the cause, but his paintings were indeed beautiful. Anaya sometimes wished she could make beautiful things like that, but all she seemed to be good at was destroying things, or tearing someone apart. When had she turned so fearsome? She couldn't recall, perhaps she was always like this, but it never surfaced until after what had happened to her sister. It sounded terrible but Anaya loved it when people were afraid of her, it brought a sense of being in control, that she desperately craved. For once in her life being able to feel like she was the one with the reins, she was the one who's actions would determine the outcome of things. And that was why it was best that she was here and not with her family, she'd only be a risk for them, here she could do more good to everyone. Even if she died, it didn't bother here. Death wasn't something she feared, when it was her time, she'd embrace it with open arms, and run to her sister.

"I pai’t. No’ really work, per se..."

A small smile made it's way to Anaya's face. "I guess what they say is right, do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life. See it's a gift you've got there, whenever I try to paint it just looks like a parrot threw up on the paper." It made her laugh lightly, really a barfing parrot was probably a compliment to anything she tried to paint. Her talent lied in being able to drop a full sized man and finish him off within fifteen seconds flat, yes she'd once time it... No beauty in that, unless of course red all over was your idea of pretty. Tovio was a more beautiful person than her all together. He seemed so innocent, she'd fought and killed. He loved to paint, she loved sparring. She was orphaned, she ran away from home. Really they had nothing in common other than being here in District Thirteen.

"No....No!"

When Toivo started to flail around trying to get up, Anaya in her rough mannerisms, was at his side and heaved him up, letting him use her for a kind of support. "I can't force you to see a doctor, but it would probably be smart to just have a check up..." Her eyes looked from Toivo to his painting at the top of the stairs, that must be what he was so worried about. "Your painting is it right? I can help you get it, we should probably move it away from the stairs." Carefully she positioned herself with one arm around Toivo, baring most of his weight on her shoulder. Why she was being so helpful was a mystery, normally she was the one to point and laugh at people who were struggling, but this boy had a found a soft spot in her seemingly black heart. Maybe she wasn't as heartless as she lead people to believe, but that was something she'd never admit to anyone, not even herself. It was just like helping one of her younger siblings, that is what she'd convinced herself, this is no charity act, it's just her helping someone who reminds her of someone important to her. Nope, nothing overly caring or fluffy here. Right?

"I've seen you around but I'm not sure I've introduced myself... I'm Anaya." Anaya loved her name even is it wasn't as pretty as some of her sister's names. At least her name wasn't a flower or something stupid like that, she'd change her name in a second if it was something like Lily, or Pansy... The thought made her nose wrinkle for a moment, really she didn't enjoy flowers, or their smells. Fruits and veggies were more her style, at least they were useful. Really what could flowers do? Not much, if anything. A name like Toivo interested her though, she'd never heard anything quite like it before. The boys in Eleven had names lie Feld, Rye, Thresh... Stuff like that. Toivo was unique alright, she couldn't seem to match it to names she'd heard from any District. Maybe someday she'd ask him about it, but not now, now there were other things to focus on.

Anaya gently guided Tovio toward the stairs so they could get his painting, until a better idea came to her mind. "Do you want me to bring the painting down here, or carry you up there?" She was afraid she was going to break him, as if he was a porcelain doll, and god knows she'd never done well with dolls. Hopefully Toivo was just a little sturdier than the dolls her and her sisters had has as little girls. Her older sister would probably be more use to Toivo, but as far as fighting in the rebellion, Anaya was just the girl for that. Honestly when she was around Toivo Anaya felt like a wolf with a lamb.

(ooc- Tis so inadequate! XD)