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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
A beat, as Albert thinks. He doesn't know Nitou, and therefore doesn't know if he could have been coerced into helping, or had his ideology changed either through convincing or force. He wants to assume that a friend of Haruto's would be a 'good guy,' insofar as that describes them, but he also knows that Haruto is the type to believe well of people even if they don't deserve it.
But if Haruto says there's something wrong, then that's the only fact he has to go on, and he'll believe him.
"The Capitol has a lot of ways to make someone do what they want," he offers quietly, knowing that whatever is going on, it's not going to be something Haruto wants to hear.
no subject
"...we need to get out of here. We need to pull back." He is not going to let himself get sucked into those sorts of thoughts out here. Not ever, not anywhere, not if he can help it. His hands press back against the wall that he's been leaning against and he tenses, ready to rise and go. Just tell him where, Albert. Take the hard decisions out of his hands for just a little while. Please.
no subject
"Alright. I'll get you back to camp." He has more to do here, but the time for quietly convincing people out of their homes has passed. Most have fled and the ones who haven't he doesn't have to be quiet about getting moving on the way.
He raises from sitting into a crouch, leaning awkwardly backwards to peer over the windowsill and see if anyone is around. There's no sign save for the ratta-tat of machine gun fire near enough to make him wary but far enough to know they're not the targets. He slips back fully into the room and looks to Haruto.
"Follow me closely and watch our si- rather, watch behind us." He has no idea if Haruto knows any common military parlance. He's not going to take the time to explain if not so best not to use it.
no subject
"...right." It doesn't at all occur to him that there was something there that he hadn't understood, because Albert had done the good job of bringing the language down to his level. Military parlance is definitely not his thing. He nods quickly, eyes on the way out, waiting for Albert's say so.
It's easier to focus on this than on the problem of Nitou.