Deep in the meadow, under the willow...

[etcircenses]

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 12.
Where| District 12.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

It doesn't take long to get to District 12, the closest district to the rebel district. It's one of the smallest districts, and you only know you reach it when rolling hills grow and grow until they become large, fertile green mountains. The environment looks green and lush, beautiful, really--That is, until you reach the part of the District where people actually live. The weather is chillier than the Capitol, though the wind bares the worst of it. Anyone planning on spending any time outside should definitely get a coat.

The town is smaller than any of the others, and more worn down. Everything seems to have a thin layer of cole settled over it, no matter how much cleaning is done. The center of the town isn't too shabby, and there are a few things that stand new and shining--A metal whipping post and stocks. The latter occasionally has an unfortunate person in it, though most people have learned to buckle down and accept the new rules.

In the merchant part of town, there's some signs of wildlife, knobby trees and green enough yards. The merchants used to ply their trades here, though for now, everything's locked down. As you get farther, it gets shabbier, poorer. Into the Seam, where the poorest of the poor live. Here, the houses are barely more than shacks. Trees grow wild, and what animal life exists is quick to run from any humans, no doubt having survived at least one attempt by the people of the Seam to capture them for the supper pot.

One thing in common with all the sections of the District is a feeling of hopelessness. The mood is dour, as heavy and permanent as the cole dust that seeps into everything. The only sign of anything even resembling any rebellion is a few chalk scratchings on the sides of abandoned buildings, a few zodiac symbols--Anyone who knows the trolls can recognize the symbols of Karkat, Terezi, Psiioniic, and even the Initiate. That, and the grand pictures of Sam Wilson and Joan Watson, and the bold words stating NOT ALONE and WE ALL DESERVE BETTER.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

Comments

[pimpcanes]

Finally, Tom's returned to his element.

Thirty years a terrorist, a saboteur, a mercenary, a gun for hire - he hasn't been putting the smoke and gunpowder in his veins to use like he was hoping as a Peacekeeper. He wanted the violence, the power, the sadism, and for the most part he was just reviewing security footage and jockeying a desk. Now that he's finally back in the thick of it, he doesn't bother to hide that knife-like smile tugging the corners of his mouth up into jags.

He's set up with explosives and a sniper rifle, and thus far has been picking people off as they mill around. There's no particular method to it - he doesn't aim for children, although sometimes they get in the way, but other than that he's indiscriminate in the lives he takes.

He sees a woman with red hair, not very far from him, with what appears to him to be some sort of medical kit. Smirking to himself, he turns his gun on her, not bothering to hide his position from someone he's sure will have a bullet between her eyes in moments.

[didnothing]

Luna hates the battlefield as much as she hates the Arena, for all she's aiding the fight for a cause now rather than for entertainment. Both are places where people hope to win and are expected to die, and when Luna's hope is to offer what help she can the violence hasn't really changed - just the rhetoric, and the frequency.

She struggles with the latter most in the heat of battle, dashing back and forth to fetch supplies or tend to a patient in need of attention. She felt blind in the Arena, restricted to her physical body without access to a larger system, and there most of the time had been spent watching out for threats instead of fighting them. Now, in the open areas and urgent atmosphere of the battles in District Twelve, Luna feels even blinder.

It's for this reason that she spends what time she can afford checking about for signs of danger. If she can't use multiple sets of eyes then she'll have to use her own, while running between places or in the moment for breath she occasionally allows herself after dealing with a tough case. That compensation alone is why she spots the rifle and realizes where it's pointed, and once it dawns on her what's about to happen she's darting off in a direction away from the rest of the patients while keeping the gun at the edge of her peripheral vision. She doesn't want to die, but if the sniper decides the patients are a better target than she is then there's no way she can run away from that.

[pimpcanes]

Tom plays exactly into Luna's plan - he goes after her, rather than the injured and weak. Maybe it's a sense of sport, going for the moving target, or something far more animal, which seeks to go after not the hapless prey but the exciting, healthy motion of the one that flees. He fires, not at her head, but at her feet.

Of course he misses. He'll say later that he was intending just that, that there was no part of him expecting her to pitch forward with her heel spurting blood, that he was in no way disappointed when she kept going and he had to reload the gun.

He takes aim again, this time trying for between her shoulder blades. She's the far more difficult shot now, but he wants the challenge of it.

[didnothing]

Luna cries out when she feels the bullet graze her foot and nearly falls down from shock, and it's all a little too reminiscent of her last death in the Arena. Luna's died thrice now, but that one was by far her most unpleasant even if the gun wasn't the actual cause of death. This time her demise won't achieve anything but the loss of someone to care for the injured, though, and she'll do all she can to prevent that. And more importantly, this time she can still walk - even if it makes her want to scream.

She tries to continue on in the direction she was originally headed in, aiming to cut a zig-zag path to make herself a tougher target to hit and still keeping an eye on the rifle's direction when she can. Within the first turn, though, she steps on her injured foot the wrong way and staggers forward again, bending over as she cringes from the pain. She'd almost forgotten how much being shot hurt, and the skittish part of her mind screams that she's about to die again. She really does shriek when she feels something whiz over her: she's alive, she realizes in a rush of adrenaline, but can she outlast the sniper?

[pimpcanes]

If she hadn't staggered, the bullet might have gone through her head.

Instead there's the pop of gunpowder and it zips past her, slamming into a doorframe several yards beyond her. She'll reach the buildings soon and have something to duck behind, and Tom snarls as the exhilaration of the chase turns to thwarted frustration. He has one more shot.

He hunkers down for one last attempt, sucks a breath through his teeth, and hopes she's too stupid to zig-zag behind the nearest home.

[didnothing]

Luna's running as quickly as she can with her bad foot, but she starts to slow once she nears the houses. Are people still in there, or have they been evacuated by now? Could bullets penetrate through the walls if she ducked behind the buildings? Making sure nobody else is endangered still takes priority over her own safety in Luna's mind, so it would be very bad if her attempts to escape fire were to get others killed.

She starts to slow as a results, and erring on the side of the caution stays a respectable distance from the houses. She'll look for something sturdier instead, or more certainly abandoned - if, of course, she survives to keep looking. It's becoming increasingly harder to watch out for any further shots that could be fired, but she tries to divide her attention between the sniper behind her and the surroundings in front of her.

And then she sees it: a cluster of trees, bare from the late autumn but aged with spread-out branches and thick trunks. It's not ideal shelter from bullets, but it's better than a potentially occupied house at least. Luna tries to make her way towards the trees then, still half-limping from the pain in her foot and further slowed by her continued attempts at zig-zagging to muddle her path.

[pimpcanes]

He takes his time with this one, treasuring the uncertainty of it, the idea of two possible futures - one in which, a second from now, she's still breathing and running, and one in which she isn't. He's in absolute control, he thinks. The stands in judgment over which of this futures will prevail.

But he isn't, because he hesitates a second too long and by the time he fires the bullet, it's a matter of chance if it hits rather than skill. There's that familiar pop, and the kick of the gun-

-and she keeps staggering away.

Tom scowls and pulls the barrel of his gun up, breathing heavily through his nose like a bull in a pen. He bristles with injustice and rage, and then he decides to go take it out on someone else, and starts his descent from the roof to attack some people in person.

[didnothing]

It takes a long period without the sounds of any further gunshots before Luna realizes she's out of danger - from the sniper, at least. She only gives a cursory once-over of her surroundings to verify that there are no obvious threats within sight before sinking down and curling up on the ground, giving herself a few moments to try and let the pain and fear bleed away.

She's alive. Luna's alive, and she hasn't expected that to last since the first bullet grazed her foot. She's alive, and now she has to make it back to the hospital to get herself seen to and - if she's lucky - get back to work.

The pain never lets up and it frays at her nerves, and prolonged pain is even worse than what she remembers of her death in the Arena. Eventually, though, Luna gets up again and starts limping her way back towards the meadow. Brushes with death or not, there's so much more to do.