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thearena2015-11-30 05:03 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2015-11-30 05:03 pm
Entry tags:
Deep in the meadow, under the willow...
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.
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.
no subject
But she does pause for the figure that stands beneath the symbols, reaching out with his hand to touch them like they might not be real. She pauses for Karkat, if only because there's another feeling that churns underneath that determination. A desperate want to fix everything the Capitol has ruined--including him.
There's a lot of tension between them that she wishes wasn't there. She knows it's not his fault, but that doesn't mean she can sweep everything under the rug, either. At least for now, the reason for their tension is nowhere around. Maybe she could do a little patching up in the meantime.
"Hey," she calls to him, hoping she's not amiss in trying to make small talk. "I didn't realize that sightseeing was part of this trip. I feel left out."
no subject
"It's our signs," he says, turning reluctantly. The image of her holding his arm comes to mind, the memory of how tight her grip was, the harshness of her voice. "They wrote them up on the buildings--in fucking chalk, can you believe it--but there they are. I didn't... I didn't realize they would do that. That we reached this far."
It hurts to look at her. What gladness he felt sits sour in his stomach.
no subject
"We're standing up for them. They appreciate that." It reminds her of Hemlock in a way. Different district, but similar sentiment. These are people who had run out of hope. Change was just a word, an idea, not something tangible that could be achieved. But they had given them that hope back. That feeling that they were people and that they were worth something more than the things that they could produce.
"They didn't have anyone to believe in. No one to care about them. And now they have us. Now they have the strength to believe in themselves." She had a similar feeling herself once. It's something that she feels like she can understand.