fortwest

[fortwest]

Fort raised his glass to clink it against Poppy's and downed his drink. It burned on the way down, but had an instant effect in that it dulled the discomfort he had felt. He giggled. "Shit, that's strong. It's like rubbing alcohol."

Fort was just about aware enough to hear what she had meant to say in the brief silence, and began to answer - "I-" - before she made up a different excuse for keeping a journal. "Fair enough," he shrugged. "And now you won't forget what you look like, either." He smiled at her. She was sweet, but nervous, and it was heightening his own discomfort. He was never the type if socialite who could set other people at ease very well.

"I'm glad you like it. Now you have to draw me," he chuckled tipsily and posed broodingly, laughing.

fortwest​:

As he released her hand from his grip, his brain was just aware enough to clock the way she brought her hand quickly towards her, almost cradling it, and suddenly felt uncomfortable about his own strength. He shook it off uneasily and grabbed a bottle of some miscellaneous alcohol from the table to his side, splashed a little into two glasses and handed one to Poppy. That should kill the discomfort.

Fort smiled and turned his head this way and that to try and make out the writing on the page. It was quite literally incomprehensible, but he nodded sagely as though he understood. “Have you always kept a journal?”

“Can I have a go?” Fort honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d physically written something down that wasn’t his name, and sat for a moment with the pen in his hand and his tongue between his teeth thinking. In the end he decided to sketch Poppy in the corner of the page – he didn’t think it was half-bad, either. He remembered teachers used to tell him he was good at drawing people and putting their personality on the paper, though he hadn’t drawn in a long time. “Here,” he slid the book over to Poppy with a small smile.

Poppy was drinking a lot today. Probably too much, she knew. But they’d all gone through a lot today. The most that anyone could go through in Panem. Fort seemed to notice her own discomfort and, oh goodness, now he was uncomfortable and Poppy felt bad. Surely if he was half the bloodthirsty Career that he looked like, he wouldn’t be so good-natured.

“Long as I can remember, yeah. Not usually for day-to-day. I like to write. But, now, I want to leave a…“ A record. She wanted to leave a record behind of herself, in the very likely event of her death. Even though no one would likely ever read it, either. The words died on Poppy’s lips in the company of polite conversation. “A-A buncha notes for myself so I don’t forget names! That’s why I wrote yours down!“ She laughed nervously. She was so bad at this.

Fortunately, Fort seemed to be busy with something else. Poppy squinted, trying to get her vision to focus on the small lines. When she succeeded, she gasped with delight and clutched the journal to her chest. In her state, words escaped her for a moment before she finally, loudly announced: “Fort, this is lovely!”

#poppy #fort

[fortwest]

“Now that I can believe,” Fort grinned wickedly at her. “You seem like a troublemaker.” He let the water fall onto the hot stones, and let the ladle clatter back into the bucket. The water instantly hissed and steam erupted from the centre of the room – making the air in the room even thicker, and causing a bead of sweat to roll down Fort’s forehead.

He reached a hand over to Dahlia’s and shook it. “A pleasure,” he smiled before leaning back to where he sat.

“So, Dahlia. What else do you get up to back home. Besides not killing your husband?”

fortwest​:

Fort peered over at his companion as she spoke and grinned cheekily, taking in every inch of her long limbs. He arched an eyebrow and raised his hands as if to say – it’s none of my business whether you killed your husband. “A mill fire? Sounds scandalous.” He chuckled. “But I’ll let you keep the finer details between you and the lawyers. I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.” He winked, though he still wasn’t sure whether or not she was joking with him.

Fort laughed at her comment about married life. “A woman after my own heart. Settling down doesn’t sound nearly as fun.” He grinned. “What’s your name anyway? I’m Fort.”

He leant forward, picked up the ladle in the bucket of water and held it over the hot stones in the centre of the room. “More steam?”

She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a giggle at his words.

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” She purred. “I’m used to all kinds of trouble.”

She gave him a wink of her own and then threw her head back, letting out a flutter of laughter. She had missed this more than she had thought. She would have to take full advantage of it.

“Dahlia Sol.” She held her hand out for him to take. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fort.”

She raised an eyebrow at the raised ladle, her eyes flicking from him to the hot stones and back again. Perhaps this was all a trap, set by her late husband to catch her in the act. But if it was, she must admit she was past caring.

“The steamier the better.” She said with a grin.

#dahlia #fort

[fortwest]

Fort felt Ellery move in closer to him in the pitch black, and inched his hand up and across the boy’s back until he was holding Ellery’s shoulder. They stood there for a beat of silence in the pressing darkness. “But there wasn’t a crash. We’d have heard a crash if it crashed?” Fort knew what he meant – his brain had sobered up in the chaos, his body just wasn’t cooperating with it. “It just stopped.”

The emergency lighting flickered on, casting an uneasy and peculiar orange glow on the carriage, which seemed to make vision possible by deepening the shadows rather than by casting light. “I feel like I’m tripping. Badly.” In the hazy light Fort could see Ellery reaching up to where his hand rested on the boy’s shoulder, and caught his eye. "Yeah - you'll have to teach me some time."

Gunfire and shouting erupted outside the window, and Fort pulled his hand away from Ellery’s shoulder and stepped towards the window, checking for any cracks in the shutters. “What the fuck is going on out there? Tell me I didn’t just take something weird. That’s actually happening right?”

fortwest:

Fort’s head swam as he clambered uncoordinatedly to his feet, dazed and confused.  His chair had toppled over, but other than the pre-existing tipsiness and a deep sadness that his pastries were all over the floor he was unharmed. He straightened up and looked around the carriage. Ellery appeared to be communicating with the Avox, and removed his shirt to stop the wound from which she was bleeding slightly. He moved over to them cautiously through the mess on the floor, taking extra care not to slip and fall onto the glass crunching underfoot. He offered a hand to Ellery to help him stand.

“Fine.” He muttered. “Where did you learn to communicate with Avoxes that way?” He looked down at the Avox, her eyes closed and breathing deeply, but seemingly more from shock than from pain.

“What happened?” He turned to look towards the window – it was darkening quickly but in the faint glow of the sunset he could make out figures moving around in the undergrowth bordering the train tracks. Before he could get a closer look, however, the shutters snapped shut, leaving the carriage in an impenetrable darkness. His hand tightened around Ellery’s forearm.

Ellery didn’t believe in any gods, but he offered a silent prayer to whomever had willed the train shutters to close. Not only had it gotten Fort to touch him– the darkness of the carriage also hid Ellery’s blushing face from view. He feigned shock, leaning into the boy for support. Despite their predicament, he was having fun.

“Uh… not sure,” stammered Ellery. He had missed the figures in the window while tending to the Avox. “I can tell you this much, though… that was my first train crash. And I ride a lot of trains.” He wondered what could’ve caused the accident– an electric malfunction, perhaps? I’ll have to tell Zephyr, thought Ellery. District 6 really fucked up with this one.

“Oh, and the Avox thing… it’s called sign language. I could teach you, if you want. You talk with your hands instead of your tongue.”

#fort #ellery

[fortwest]

“We had an apple tree in our garden, too!” Fort smiled, though chose not to say that they never ate the apples from it. They just let them fall to the ground and then the gardener would remove them – they didn’t taste as nice as the apples from the store. “And I don’t know what kind of leaves – I remember the ones for a cold were spicy, though, because my brother used to trick me and tell me they were a sweet.” He smiled at the memory.

“I’d ask you to tell my fortune,” he slurred a little, “but I feel like maybe this isn’t the best situation to hear what your future is like.” He laughed.

Fort shrugged at Savanna’s question. In truth he didn’t do much other than training, spending his parents’ money, drinking and sleeping with people, and he didn’t think those were the kinds of hobbies she was looking for. “I draw sometimes?” It wasn’t a lie, just a slight manipulation of the truth given he hadn’t drawn in a while. “And my parents got me lessons in playing a few instruments.” All of which I quit before taking any exams. “So I know my way around a violin.”

fortwest​:

“What kind of plants did you grow?” Fort grinned, remembering the healer’s garden in District One. District One had access to a lot of medicines if you could afford them - a lot more than the other districts anyway - but they took time to arrive from the Capitol and so healers were just as necessary as everywhere else in Panem. “There was a healer down in the valley back home who had the biggest garden - well, his house backed onto a field but everyone knew it was his – and he used to let kids who had a cold or pox pick their own herbs. ‘The darkest leaves are the best’, he used to tell us.” Fort surprised himself at remembering that, and even more at talking about home with this stranger – he supposed he really had drunk a lot.

He giggled at the mention of fortune-telling, but stopped as it occurred to him that she wasn’t joking, trying to turn his laugh into a polite, if inebriated, smile. “You do fortune-telling?”

“All kinds of things,” Savanna told him with a grin as she recalled the wild plants growing messily in her garden. “There is strawberries, an apple tree, pumpkins, tomatoes, peppers…. Anything I can get my hands on I try to grow.” Her father had brought her a bunch of seeds from District Two, but they hadn’t liked the climate of District Twelve. “Oh? What kinda of leaves? But I do know who to ask if I have a cold or pox.”

She looked at Fort a moment. “Okay, enough about my hobbies, what about yours?” Savanna asked.

All she could do was laugh when he put it like that. “I do. It’s a nice party trick and it does tend to be a great icebreaker for talking to people.”

#savanna #fort

[fortwest]

Fort saw the panic and unease spread across her face and suddenly felt bad about changing the subject so abruptly, though still didn’t like that she was asking so much. “It’s fine,” he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. “I just… Yeah I’m honestly trying not to think about it ‘till I have to. I’d sort of,” he gritted his teeth and breathed in through them, “just decided to stop training. Yikes.” Fort laughed awkwardly.

He strolled over to the games cabinet, choosing to end that particular conversation right there. “Let’s do it.” He opened the cabinet door and peered in. He supposed a few of them were games from the Districts, because he didn’t recognise them all.  “Any of these strike your fancy?” Fort turned to Lyra, still stood awkwardly backwards, and tried to smile in a way that announced a truce.

fortwest​:

Fort walked over to the window beside his chair and peered out of it at the landscape rushing past, before turning back to Lyra and smiling, though a little uncomfortable. She was prying in areas he had been actively trying not to think since his name was called. In truth he had no idea what it meant to him to be a career, if he could ever have really called himself that. Did he want to win? Not especially. He had little to return to. But he had been so prepared by the people around him he almost felt an obligation to at least try. Fort’s head hurt, and not just from hitting it against the doorframe.

“I don’t even know what wanting to win would feel like.” Fort hiccoughed. “When I loved training it was never really because of the games – it was just,” he shrugged and stumbled back into his chair, “something to do. It was when I clicked into what was really happening that I started to lose interest.” Fort hadn’t thought about himself and his purpose in such depth in so long that the words even seemed a surprise to him.

He consciously fought the urge to twiddle his thumbs nervously, looking around for something to change the topic. He didn’t want to leave her company – he found her pleasant enough when they weren’t talking about him too much. With a grin Fort spotted the games cabinet – “Wanna play something?”

Fort’s colours soured in greys and Lyra felt the sting in the back of her head. She’d done something wrong again. She was making him uncomfortable and she didn’t mean to. 

“Why do you want to spend time with me, I’m making you uncomfortable?” the question left her mouth before she’d fully thought about it, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

She winced a little, stepping back slightly. She wasn’t very good at spending extended periods around people like this.

“I mean, I’d love to play, if you still want to?”

#lyra #fort

[fortwest]

Fort laughed – the girl drank like a professional. He couldn’t help but wonder why; he’d never met a seasoned drinker without a reason to drink, though he wondered how well the reasons people drank in District One, where even the more impoverished had a decent home and food on the table three times a day, translated to somewhere like Nine.

He accepted the bottle from her and swigged it again, drinking it like it was water. “Gin,” he grinned. A seasoned drinker who can’t tell the difference between gin and whiskey. Jesus it must be really bad. “Or at least I think it’s gin – even in One we don’t get drinks that are quite this sparkly and colourful.”

He looked Ceres up and down appreciatively as he drank. She blew a strand of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes at the board, and he grinned cheekily at her. “So, what else did you get up to back home? Work?”

fortwest​:

Fort shifted uncomfortably as she spoke about the poverty of District Nine, biting back the comment he was about to make about renting out a whole bar for ‘bar room olympics’ tournaments of darts, snooker and drinking games.

He walked over to where she was perching against the table and sat back close to her, indicating with a wave of his arm that it was her turn.

“District One is right,” he explained. “And yep – all day.” He raised the bottle and took a swig of the gin inside it. “If there’s one thing this train has got a lot of it’s booze. Do you want some?” He offered her the bottle with a gentle smile.

Ceres stood up smoothly and crossed the room to retrieve her darts before taking position at the occy. At the offer of booze Ceres didn’t hesitate, she knew her limits and wouldn’t cross them ever again, not here, not in front of these people that would potentially kill her soon. She placed her darts in the pocket of her flares for a moment to take the bottle and wipe the lip on the edge of her sleeve before taking a long drink.

If there was one thing that she’d known how to do back in District 9 it was drink, when she had a rare night to escape from The Brewer Family and their shackles she would head to a bar, sit with the people that worked hard and drank harder still. Ceres would join them in their stories from the fields and listen to their woes before heading back to the palace in which she lives compares to the shacks that they would call home.

“That’s good stuff.” She commented, barely flinching at the heat that the liquor provided as she handed the bottle back to Fort. “Whiskey?” She questioned, not quite able to put her finger on the taste.

#ceres #fort

[fortwest]

“What kind of plants did you grow?” Fort grinned, remembering the healer’s garden in District One. District One had access to a lot of medicines if you could afford them - a lot more than the other districts anyway - but they took time to arrive from the Capitol and so healers were just as necessary as everywhere else in Panem. “There was a healer down in the valley back home who had the biggest garden - well, his house backed onto a field but everyone knew it was his – and he used to let kids who had a cold or pox pick their own herbs. ‘The darkest leaves are the best’, he used to tell us.” Fort surprised himself at remembering that, and even more at talking about home with this stranger – he supposed he really had drunk a lot.

He giggled at the mention of fortune-telling, but stopped as it occurred to him that she wasn’t joking, trying to turn his laugh into a polite, if inebriated, smile. “You do fortune-telling?”

fortwest​:

“Take one,” he reassured her with a grin. “They aren’t poisoned, I promise.” He went to make a pinky promise with the outstretched hand, but was again foiled by the plate of pastries. He set it down between them and reached his little finger towards her, though he was suddenly struck by the thought that he didn’t know if this was a customary procedure where she came from, and went to retract it hesitantly.

He was relieved that she had answered his question, though he blushed slightly. He leapt gratefully on her response. “Your garden sounds like a great hobby! What do you do in your garden?” His words slurred together slightly. “And tell me about the other things you do, even if they aren’t hobbies.”

“Maybe later,” Savanna promised Fort with a grin. Right now, she wasn’t sure she could stomach anymore food. Then again, what if they decide tomorrow to take the food away from them? Back in District Twelve they had to work for every bit of food they got and what you couldn’t earn, it was up to the kids to find in the forest. In that one aspect, Savanna supposed she was just like her father and namesake.

She nodded. “It started as a way to keep everyone fed, but it’s relaxing to just sit out there and watch the plants go.” Unlike when her parents were her age, she could have a garden without fear of reprimand. “You mean like stargaze, or go hiking, or music, or fortunetelling?”

#savanna #fort

[fortwest]

Fort shifted uncomfortably as she spoke about the poverty of District Nine, biting back the comment he was about to make about renting out a whole bar for ‘bar room olympics’ tournaments of darts, snooker and drinking games.

He walked over to where she was perching against the table and sat back close to her, indicating with a wave of his arm that it was her turn.

“District One is right,” he explained. “And yep – all day.” He raised the bottle and took a swig of the gin inside it. “If there’s one thing this train has got a lot of it’s booze. Do you want some?” He offered her the bottle with a gentle smile.

fortwest​:

Fort just about managed to follow the rules. Something about a clock. Something about the bullseye. Capiche? Capiche. He set down the bottle and took one final drag from his cigarette before strolling to the window of the compartment, where the darkening sky was rushing past, and flung it out. He paused for a moment to feel the breeze on his face, shutting his eyes, and then turned back to Ceres with a wild look in his eye.

He accepted the darts from her and watched her play, admiring the strength in her throws, if not the accuracy. This girl had style, though he didn’t recognise her as a career. He hadn’t paid much attention to the interviews or reapings though – it never had appealed much to him.

“Not bad, Ceres,” he grinned as her third dart hit the board. “I’m Fort.” He walked over to where she stood, and bumped her softly out of the way with his hips. “Nice to meet you.”

He lined up his first shot and took it. It hit near to the one, though missed its mark just slightly. Like Ceres, however, the dart hit with a hard thud. He had spent countless nights playing darts in the bars downtown until closing, but had never had the passion of his friends to really pay attention to his technique. The second dart hit the double, but the third landed perfectly.

“I guess we both needed a chance to warm up,” he smiled playfully. “Where’d you learn to play?”

“It was pretty poor back in District 9.” Ceres explained as the boy introduced himself. “You had to make your own entertainment and in the small community gathering places boards were always the choice.”

She watched as he missed slightly, but paid attention to the power of his throw. Sometimes brute force was more than enough to hit a target and Ceres knew that would come in handy in the games.

“Sometimes the board was just painted on the wall. Depends where you played.” She explained. Of course once she’d married she wasn’t allowed to play something so masculine as darts, James and his family wanted her to be the symbol of feminine grace and standing in a room with a group of people that had worked the crops all day wasn’t in the fantasy that the Brewer family had created for her.

“It’s nice to meet you Fort, District One right?” She asked, “You been drinking the whole day through?” She added, without judgement.

#ceres #fort

[fortwest]

Fort walked over to the window beside his chair and peered out of it at the landscape rushing past, before turning back to Lyra and smiling, though a little uncomfortable. She was prying in areas he had been actively trying not to think since his name was called. In truth he had no idea what it meant to him to be a career, if he could ever have really called himself that. Did he want to win? Not especially. He had little to return to. But he had been so prepared by the people around him he almost felt an obligation to at least try. Fort’s head hurt, and not just from hitting it against the doorframe.

“I don’t even know what wanting to win would feel like.” Fort hiccoughed. “When I loved training it was never really because of the games – it was just,” he shrugged and stumbled back into his chair, “something to do. It was when I clicked into what was really happening that I started to lose interest.” Fort hadn’t thought about himself and his purpose in such depth in so long that the words even seemed a surprise to him.

He consciously fought the urge to twiddle his thumbs nervously, looking around for something to change the topic. He didn’t want to leave her company – he found her pleasant enough when they weren’t talking about him too much. With a grin Fort spotted the games cabinet – “Wanna play something?”

fortwest​:

“Sounds like an interesting job. I didn’t even know that kind of work existed.” Hiccough. Fort was entranced as she spoke. She really did carry something of the forest about her – a dense forest where sounds were dampened and the shade of the trees was cool. Or so he imagined. He’d never ventured far from the metropolitan hub of his district, and even the forests in the outlying ‘countryside’ weren’t the dense wooded swathes of land he imagined in Seven. “So you like…” he thought of stories he’d read as a child, “keep balance between the forest and people?” He was fascinated by a life so different to his own.

Fort reached down to his plate and realised, sadly, that he had finished his pastries. He stood and moved over to the food table again, trying hard not to bump into anything, and picked up fruit tart. He leaned back against the table as he thought her question over, processing slowly.

“There isn’t much to know,” he shrugged. “I train during the week when I wake up in time to get to my coaching session. Most nights I go downtown or to a friends’ house. This time of year there are a lot of pool parties. Sometimes we go down to the river and swim, or smoke in the park.” His voice was flat as he spoke – he thought he must be boring her immensely. He raised the fruit tart to his lips and almost took a bite, but paused. “I used to love training, but I think I just realised we were still just a district even if we were rich.” He popped the tart into his mouth.

“Something like that,” Lyra shrugged, figuring the matter was too intricate to fully explain in this conversation, “You don’t seem to care much for the life you led.”

His colours were running navy and beige, slowly blotting out the green he’d acquired. His attitude to his own life was confusing- it didn’t make sense to Lyra. If you didn’t feel some sort of driving purpose, how did you keep moving forward? He spoke  as if he was describing another person, as if he’d been watching himself from a distance all these years.

“What does it mean to you to be a career in the games now, if the training lost its meaning to you?” her eyes watched his, “Does being here re-ignite that desire to win?”

#lyra #ford

[fortwest]

Fort peered over at his companion as she spoke and grinned cheekily, taking in every inch of her long limbs. He arched an eyebrow and raised his hands as if to say – it’s none of my business whether you killed your husband. “A mill fire? Sounds scandalous.” He chuckled. “But I’ll let you keep the finer details between you and the lawyers. I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.” He winked, though he still wasn’t sure whether or not she was joking with him.

Fort laughed at her comment about married life. “A woman after my own heart. Settling down doesn’t sound nearly as fun.” He grinned. “What’s your name anyway? I’m Fort.”

He leant forward, picked up the ladle in the bucket of water and held it over the hot stones in the centre of the room. “More steam?”

fortwest​:

Fort had been sweating out the alcohol in his system, something he’d usually do in training, when the girl walked in. He raised his eyebrows as she dropped her clothing beside her, instantly awake, and leaned back, breathing in the heady steam.

“Divine,” he agreed with a grin. His smile faltered as she spoke, but came back twice as strong as he realised she wasn’t joking. He was too drunk to be uncomfortable, and something to distract him was exactly what he needed right now.

“So how did he die? Any other dead husbands I should know about?” He closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall, smiling to himself. “Personally, I’ve never believed in marriage.”

She looked towards the boy with avid interest. Now that her husband was gone, it was perfect fine for her to have a healthy interest in others - and this one in particular she was most interested in.

She settled back on the bench, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh of contentment. 

“That’s the question they’re all asking.” She said, opening her eyes slightly to glance over at him. “I’ll have you know that I wasn’t the one to burn down the mill - though I do have my suspicions about who the real culprit is. I’ve been told by my lawyers that I’m not allowed to say anymore than that.”

She let out a giggle, turning her head so she could look at the boy properly.

“I’ve found marriage is rather taxing. I much prefer the thrill of windowed life.”

#dahlia #fort

[fortwest]

Fort’s head swam as he clambered uncoordinatedly to his feet, dazed and confused.  His chair had toppled over, but other than the pre-existing tipsiness and a deep sadness that his pastries were all over the floor he was unharmed. He straightened up and looked around the carriage. Ellery appeared to be communicating with the Avox, and removed his shirt to stop the wound from which she was bleeding slightly. He moved over to them cautiously through the mess on the floor, taking extra care not to slip and fall onto the glass crunching underfoot. He offered a hand to Ellery to help him stand.

“Fine.” He muttered. “Where did you learn to communicate with Avoxes that way?” He looked down at the Avox, her eyes closed and breathing deeply, but seemingly more from shock than from pain.

“What happened?” He turned to look towards the window – it was darkening quickly but in the faint glow of the sunset he could make out figures moving around in the undergrowth bordering the train tracks. Before he could get a closer look, however, the shutters snapped shut, leaving the carriage in an impenetrable darkness. His hand tightened around Ellery’s forearm.

fortwest:

Fort’s brow creased as Ellery spoke. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected, and he hadn’t thought of Ellery as a party animal particularly. He struck Fort as the kind of rich kid who filled their time by being better than rich kids like him, though he’d never been especially good at reading people.

He shrugged and held his ground as Ellery leaned into him, their noses almost touching. Fort could feel his breath on his face as he whispered, tickling his nose, and Ellery’s gaze was actively boring into Fort. He gave a small smile and laughed lightly.

“I don’t know, Ellery, what do you think motivated me? You seem like a pretty astute guy.” He paused for a beat of silence right in Ellery’s face, breathed out and then leaned back into his chair, crossing his leg in front of him as a barrier to Ellery. If he wanted more he’d have to come and get it.

“I guess I was pretty excited by the idea of glory at the start,” he began. “But then…” He paused and raised the bottle of water to his lips, shrugging dispassionately. “I guess it lost its lustre. The last couple years I’ve just been doing it because it was something to do.”

“How about you? Is violence not your thing?” He put down the bottle of water and signalled to the avox in the carriage for something stronger. He’d sobered up enough for his liking.

Before Ellery could respond, the entire train jolted to a crashing halt. Plates of food were flung in every direction, and the Avox who was bringing Fort a drink had been bludgeoned by a collapsed ceiling rail. Regaining his footing, Ellery rushed to the Avox’s side as the lights sputtered in and out of life.

He offered the girl his hand, pulling her up from the floor and helping her to a nearby seat. Her uniform had been punctured by the rail– a small trickle of blood spreading out from below her ribs. It’ll be okay, signed Ellery. He needed something to stop the bleeding… but the tablecloth was covered in glass, and the napkins were all too small. With no other options, he tore off his shirt and tied it around the Avox’s waist. There, he signed. Just apply some pressure.

Looking down at the girl, Ellery felt a tinge of regret. The shirt was corduroy– straight from the Capitol, and one of his most expensive. Oh well, he thought. Lives are more important than fashion. The Avox signed her gratitude to Ellery, and he turned around to check on Fort. The boy was strong, and Ellery hadn’t seen him get hit by anything. Still, it was important to check.

“Fort, are you alright? That was intense.”

#fort #ellery

[fortwest]

Fort’s reaping | Part One

Fort was grateful he was stood in the shade of the Justice Building for the annual ritual of pretending to watch the film shown on screen – his head was pounding and the remnants of whatever he’d taken the previous night were making the floor look wobbly, like jelly, especially in the light. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died, and when he surreptitiously sniffed under his shirt he could smell stale sweat clinging to his chest in spite of the freshly laundered shirt he’d thrown on.

As the voices on the stage droned on, Fort yawned and looked around him. Having watched reapings from other districts, it seemed that in the majority of them the crowd was bound in place by stupor or fear, but here the excitement and longing for glory practically crackled, connecting all of the people in the crowd like a giant nervous system. A synapse must have been missing somewhere around him. Once upon a time he had been a part of that electricity, but now he was a third-party to it, and had no longing to join it again.

In the crowd he spotted Marcellus and, at some distance over the plaza, Aelia, both as dispassionate as he was. He caught Aelia’s eye, smiled and then winced at the pain in his head. She stifled a laugh and looked back towards the front, leaving Fort gazing after her.

~

The previous day, Fort woke to the sound of his mother calling him. He let her shout his name a few times before finally rolling out of bed and stretching. “Coming,” he shouted to her, before opening his curtains. 

It was late afternoon on the day before the reaping, and a golden glow was settling across the slope stretching down from his house, near the peak, towards the river. Other large houses studded the hillside, getting progressively smaller until they met the valley and finally merging into the buzz of the town below where metalworkers, illuminators and weavers of luxury fabrics worked alongside one another and bars spilled into the streets. He moved to the long mirror and pulled on a jumper, before wiping the sleep from his eyes and tousling his dark fringe back to life. He heard a gentle knock at his door and his mother pushed it open slightly.

“Fort, darling. I heard you didn’t show for training today? Your trainer dropped this card at my work for you. It’s to say good luck.”

Fort accepted the card with a small thanks, gave it a cursory glance and placed it on his bedside cabinet. He moved towards the en-suite and started to make himself presentable. “Why would I go to training? It’s the day before the reaping, and I’m not going to get reaped.” 

Fort was the middle child of one of the largest and richest families in the district, and although he was at one time considered talented, he had never taken training quite so seriously as his trainers and teachers had hoped he would. He frequently felt he was just a background character in the story everyone had expected him to play – that of a natural-born career. But after years of training his heart hadn’t really been in it – there were always going to be older siblings stronger than him to volunteer, and younger siblings smarter than him to take on the family business. It was just the way it was, and he was happy spending his parents’ money until it bored him enough to settle down and do something with his life.

His mother didn’t answer, but sat on his bed, her brow furrowed. “But suppose you are, Fort. What then?”

He ignored this comment and continued to get ready, placing the golden stud in his ear, spraying his wrists with perfume, and pulling on a pair of high-waisted emerald green trousers. He moved into the bedroom and started to slide things into his pocket from his bedside table, careful for his mother not to see the pills.

“You’re not going out are you? The reaping is tomorrow Fort. Tomorrow. Please come and have dinner with us.”

“Sorry, mum. I’ve got plans. I’ll eat whatever’s left in the oven.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“Fort. You need to grow up. This is embarrassing for us.” She went to return his kiss but he pulled away, shocked and sad. It was usually his father doing the lecturing – he relied on his mother to let him get off lightly.

~

“Five male and five female. Volunteering for tributes that are reaped is not allowed during this time.” At that, the crackling energy around Fort suddenly shifted, and a handful of low mutterings broke out briefly in the crowd. Fort frowned, and saw Marcellus frown a little distance away too. He hadn’t been paying much attention but he thought he had heard that volunteering wouldn’t be allowed. He felt uncomfortably like his safety net had been remove, and the falling sensation in his stomach confirmed that. He tried hard to focus on what was said next, in spite of the throbbing in his skull and the way the walls of the shops around the plaza seemed to dance mockingly at him.

“Capitol citizens… choose their tributes… a second public ceremony.” He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it sounded like the Capitol would be voting for the final two tributes. At least I’m not particularly charismatic, he laughed hollowly to himself. But the pit in his stomach didn’t go away.

~

Fort’s stomach was still tied in a knot when he got to Aelia’s house. The streets on the way had been strangely quiet for a Friday night in the hills of District One, with the shutters on many of the large houses drawn and, he supposed, careers sitting down for what they hoped would be their final meal at home before eternal glory came their way. Aelia’s parents, though, were in the Capitol on business, and any non-career or dispassionate career from the hills was to be found in her garden, drinking, smoking and chatting loudly.

“Fort!” Aelia screamed drunkenly when she opened the door. She grabbed his arm and led him through the hallway into the garden, forced a tab of whatever drug she had managed to score that day into one hand and a bottle of some sparkling orange alcohol into the other. “I hoped you would show up! We’re celebrating – Marcellus finally dumped Titus.”

Fort rolled his eyes and laughed, though the unease of his mother’s comment stayed with him, prickling. He remembered the last time he’d seen one of his old teachers – it had been at a bar downtown and when walking away from her she’d whispered, a little too loudly, what a shame it was that Fort turned out as he had. He’d had such potential. But once he’d realised he wasn’t interested in the glory of killing people, that all he really was interested in doing was spending money, he’d lost all his value. Marcellus slapped a hand on Fort’s shoulder, making him startle.

Marcellus laughed. “I’m free, baby! Did Aelia tell you?” Fort nodded and smiled at him, raising his glass for a toast. They’d all had such potential as kids – the thing uniting the people at this party was that they had no interest in the potential to be killing machines.

But then Fort caught the eye of a pretty girl across the room, and Marcellus, sniggering, whispered in his ear. “Go on – I hear she wanted an invite to this party just because you were here. We’ll talk about Titus later.” And moving over to the girl on the other end of the garden, snatching a drink for her from a table on the way, all thoughts of his potential disappeared. It was just him and her, in a sea of beautiful people.

~

The sea of people turned to look at Ford. It took them calling his name three times before he registered what was going on and stopped staring into space, trying to avoid eye contact with the windows on the shop buildings, which kept turning into eyes and blinking if he looked at them too long. “What?” Fort hissed at the boy next to him who was staring intently at him, and then it clicked. He looked over to Aelia and Marcellus, but both of them were as open-mouthed as he was. Ah fuck.

He slowly put one foot in front of the other and made his way through the crowd towards the stage at the front. He was the last person up there, and he could see the resentment painted on the faces of the other careers, those who actually took it seriously, when they watched him pass. He wanted to hold up his hands and say – listen, I’d love if you could volunteer for me, I really would. But this isn’t on me.

Swallowing hard, he climbed up to the stage and joined the line-up. His head hurt so much he couldn’t even look through the crowd to find familiar faces – he would just have to talk to them later. He hadn’t yet realised he was going to be locked up in the Justice Building for the next week, without booze. It was to be a miserable week, though he didn’t know it.

~

Fort jammed his key into the door several times before it opened, and was greeted by a cold and empty house – his parents and siblings always took a walk in the park early in the morning before the reaping ceremony, and he appeared to have been too late to make it this time round. I’ll just meet them there, he thought, as he grabbed an apple from the counter and made his way upstairs, eventually resorting to crawling on his hands and knees because the room was spinning.

On his bed lay a small pile of neatly folded clothes and a note in his mother’s hand:

I’m sorry for upsetting you – I know you don’t like training. I’ll talk to your father about finding something else for you to do. See you later, Mum xx

Fort read the note several times before folding it up and popping it in his pocket. He would apologise to her later, too, he thought. And he’d try and find something else he’d like to do – stumbling home with the sunrise had lost its lustre, as had everything.

#fort #cgtaskonepartone #sorryitslong #imterribleforrambling

[fortwest]

“Take one,” he reassured her with a grin. “They aren’t poisoned, I promise.” He went to make a pinky promise with the outstretched hand, but was again foiled by the plate of pastries. He set it down between them and reached his little finger towards her, though he was suddenly struck by the thought that he didn’t know if this was a customary procedure where she came from, and went to retract it hesitantly.

He was relieved that she had answered his question, though he blushed slightly. He leapt gratefully on her response. “Your garden sounds like a great hobby! What do you do in your garden?” His words slurred together slightly. “And tell me about the other things you do, even if they aren’t hobbies.”

fortwest​:

Fort didn’t know what he’d done right, but he was glad it was something, so he smiled broadly at Savanna. “Nice to meet you Savanna,” he extended a hand to shake hers, but, realising it was the hand holding the plate of pastries, decided to offer her a pastry instead. “Have you tried the apple ones? They’re my favourites.”

There was a beat of silence as Fort figured out what to say. He had never been much of a conversationalist. “So, Savanna,” he settled on a standard question, “do you have any hobbies?” As a look of bemusement spread across her face it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he was a little more drunk than he’d thought.

She shook her head. “Not yet,” she admitted with a sheepish grin. Pastries weren’t something she had a chance to eat often and it felt wrong in a way now to indulge in them. Part of her said mine as well, because chances were her life wouldn’t last much longer than the games, but still…

Savanna could not help but laugh. “Out of all the things you could ask, you ask me about my hobbies?” Okay, maybe she was being a little silly about his choice of question. “Well, you didn’t ask me my favorite color, so…. I have a lot of things I like to do. I am not sure if they qualify as hobbies.” Somethings she had learned in order to survive in the woods of District Twelve. “I like to spend time outside. My garden counts as a hobby, right?”

#savanna #fort

[fortwest]

“Sounds like an interesting job. I didn’t even know that kind of work existed.” Hiccough. Fort was entranced as she spoke. She really did carry something of the forest about her – a dense forest where sounds were dampened and the shade of the trees was cool. Or so he imagined. He’d never ventured far from the metropolitan hub of his district, and even the forests in the outlying ‘countryside’ weren’t the dense wooded swathes of land he imagined in Seven. “So you like…” he thought of stories he’d read as a child, “keep balance between the forest and people?” He was fascinated by a life so different to his own.

Fort reached down to his plate and realised, sadly, that he had finished his pastries. He stood and moved over to the food table again, trying hard not to bump into anything, and picked up fruit tart. He leaned back against the table as he thought her question over, processing slowly.

“There isn’t much to know,” he shrugged. “I train during the week when I wake up in time to get to my coaching session. Most nights I go downtown or to a friends’ house. This time of year there are a lot of pool parties. Sometimes we go down to the river and swim, or smoke in the park.” His voice was flat as he spoke – he thought he must be boring her immensely. He raised the fruit tart to his lips and almost took a bite, but paused. “I used to love training, but I think I just realised we were still just a district even if we were rich.” He popped the tart into his mouth.

fortwest​:

Fort took another pastry and closed his eyes as Lyra spoke, already trying to picture the dappled light of a forest before she’d even started. There wasn’t much in the way of nature in District One, unless you counted the city parks; they closed at sundown usually, and though Fort was rarely found out of the house before sundown unless he had training, he had frequently jumped the fences to smoke until sunrise with his mates, looking up at the night through the trees. He liked the way he felt like the king of the park.

As she continued to speak, though, Fort cracked his eyes open and peeked at Lyra, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He slowly sat upright and stared at her, fighting laughter by taking a sip of water. He wasn’t laughing at her by any means, he was just struck again by how out of place they were in one another’s company. He couldn’t think of anything he’d really ever been passionate about and here she was monologuing about trees. Whatever was happening, he loved it.

Fort shrugged and smiled as she wrapped up. “I didn’t know there was so much to say about trees. I just thought they were kind of big and green, but I guess I’ve always got the sense that if trees could talk they’d be pretty smart.”

“You seem to know a lot about them. Is that standard for a district seven girl or are you just like really into trees? No judgement here,” he grinned.

Lyra carefully checked his colours, but they were.. calm. Greener even, with undertones of burgundy.

“Everyone knows about trees, but there’s a difference between knowing how grow them to cut them down, and knowing how to exist amongst them,” Lyra explained, “It’s my family’s job to be very good at the latter where others might fail.”

She looked over the district one boy. He was from a place of luxury, of manmade value- someone who shouldn’t care about what she had to say about trees. Lyra couldn’t help but be curious as to how a someone as kind as him could come from a place of metals and careers.

“There must be things that you know a lot about,” she offered, “What is it like to be you?”

She knew he’d struggled with judging what kind of person he was, but perhaps the alternate approach would help to shed some light on who Fort was.

#lyra #fort

[fortwest]

Fort just about managed to follow the rules. Something about a clock. Something about the bullseye. Capiche? Capiche. He set down the bottle and took one final drag from his cigarette before strolling to the window of the compartment, where the darkening sky was rushing past, and flung it out. He paused for a moment to feel the breeze on his face, shutting his eyes, and then turned back to Ceres with a wild look in his eye.

He accepted the darts from her and watched her play, admiring the strength in her throws, if not the accuracy. This girl had style, though he didn’t recognise her as a career. He hadn’t paid much attention to the interviews or reapings though – it never had appealed much to him.

“Not bad, Ceres,” he grinned as her third dart hit the board. “I’m Fort.” He walked over to where she stood, and bumped her softly out of the way with his hips. “Nice to meet you.”

He lined up his first shot and took it. It hit near to the one, though missed its mark just slightly. Like Ceres, however, the dart hit with a hard thud. He had spent countless nights playing darts in the bars downtown until closing, but had never had the passion of his friends to really pay attention to his technique. The second dart hit the double, but the third landed perfectly.

“I guess we both needed a chance to warm up,” he smiled playfully. “Where’d you learn to play?”

fortwest​:

Feeling restless, Fort strolled through the corridors of the train with a bottle in his hand and a cigarette between his teeth. The other tributes had been nice enough so far, but he could feel his skin crawling with the need to do something. He’d been cooped up on the train for a day, most of it drunk, and already he was so desperate to just do something that he couldn’t think straight. At the door to the entertainment carriage, he heard movement, like someone rummaging around in there for something. He cracked the door open just in time to see her throw the dart. She missed completely, but the look in her eyes as she threw it was something to behold.

He grinned at her. “Let’s fucking go.”

Originally posted by neverlandborn

As drunk as the boy was, he had a determination in the grin that flashed at her that she was instantly enamoured with.

“How forward.” Ceres replied, her grin mirroring the boys as she held out the 3 darts with the black tips. “The game is around the clock first to get from 1-20 wins by hitting the bullseye last. You hit a double or a tripple then you don’t score that number. Capiche?”

Ceres didn’t wait for an answer, instead taking her place at the occy and throwing a second dart hitting the 18 rather than the 1 she was aiming for, she might not have the best aim but the dart hit hard. If there was one thing that a controlling husband that would constantly criticise her fitness was good for, it was making sure she was strong physically as well as mentally.

Her third dart found it’s mark, hitting the 1 just under the cage for the triple with a hard thunk.

“One nil.” Ceres teased over her shoulder at the boy, “I’m Ceres by the way.”

#fort #ceres

[fortwest]

Fort’s brow creased as Ellery spoke. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected, and he hadn’t thought of Ellery as a party animal particularly. He struck Fort as the kind of rich kid who filled their time by being better than rich kids like him, though he’d never been especially good at reading people.

He shrugged and held his ground as Ellery leaned into him, their noses almost touching. Fort could feel his breath on his face as he whispered, tickling his nose, and Ellery’s gaze was actively boring into Fort. He gave a small smile and laughed lightly.

“I don’t know, Ellery, what do you think motivated me? You seem like a pretty astute guy.” He paused for a beat of silence right in Ellery’s face, breathed out and then leaned back into his chair, crossing his leg in front of him as a barrier to Ellery. If he wanted more he’d have to come and get it.

“I guess I was pretty excited by the idea of glory at the start,” he began. “But then…” He paused and raised the bottle of water to his lips, shrugging dispassionately. “I guess it lost its lustre. The last couple years I’ve just been doing it because it was something to do.”

“How about you? Is violence not your thing?” He put down the bottle of water and signalled to the avox in the carriage for something stronger. He’d sobered up enough for his liking.

fortwest:

Ellery brushed his finger against Fort’s earlobe as he assessed the golden stud, and Fort paused in confusion as Ellery commented on them. Is he flirting? The corners of Fort’s mouth turned up and he almost giggled – if this was flirting, it was clunky.

“Thanks?” Fort smiled. “So you’re pretty unsure of yourself, then?” His words were slurred, but he thought he’d made his point.

Fort looked at the book Ellery was holding out to him, the veiled insults not even registering in his fuzzy brain – it was a strange thing to bring to the Capitol, but then Ellery was a strange guy. “Thanks.” He reached out to accept the book, making sure his hand made contact with Ellery’s and lingered there just long enough to confuse him. “I’ll have it back to you by the end of the week,” he smiled.

“So what else does a rich boy like yourself do? I imagine we’ve got quite different schedules.”

Ellery was no stranger to flirtation– he knew why Fort was touching him. Instead of getting flustered, he simply smiled as the boy drew his hand away. The plan appeared to be working, and Fort’s drunken state was only helping matters.

“Working… partying… drugs…” replied Ellery with a roll of his eyes. “What else is there to do in the Districts? I mean, I suppose I could’ve signed up to be a Career. That kind of life isn’t for me– training everyday, seeking glory… but I get the appeal.” 

He leaned in close until his face was only inches away from Fort’s. “So, why did you do it?” he whispered. “What made you want to be a Career? Does violence excite you? Or was it… something else?”

#fort #ellery

[fortwest]

Fort was headed back to his room, having been left alone in the bar. He would never say no to staying up, but drinking alone was just sad. Not a good look for a kid of his status, and he’d never been able to get into the habit. He wheeled around tentatively at the sound of the voice behind him, frowning, unsure whether he was being made of for being visibly drunk.

“Sure,” he shrugged, expressionless. “This way.” He turned and strode past the other tribute, back down the corridor. “Are you coming or not?” Fort turned and grinned at the other tribute.

Merrit sat on the edge of his bed, his hands brushed over the fine silk coverings as he smiled. He was finally here, all of his training leading up to this moment. He stood up and took a quick look around the room, everything was far more ornate than he was used too. He glanced across at himself, catching his own eye in the mirror. He was slim, slimmer than some of the other contestants, but he was fast, very, very fast. Merrit had always been known for his lightning reflexes and surprising strength. Unassuming at first glance? Maybe. But deadly? definitely. 

Fuck i’m thirsty. he thought as he realised just how dry his mouth was. He exited his room and spotted someone in the corridor.  “Hey! Do you know where the bar is?” he called out. 

#fort #merrit