mmidnight Member
Mhm.
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Are we pairing them up at some point? I'd hate to have my girls older than your guys and the other way around, lol.
Subbed!
So, did you want to do character sheets and then build a little plot around them?
So, did you want to do character sheets and then build a little plot around them?
Bump!
A lot of my threads have slowed way down (or died) and I'm looking for some new stuff to stay busy with! c:
A lot of my threads have slowed way down (or died) and I'm looking for some new stuff to stay busy with! c:
Allison jumped, her muscles visibly stiffening when a shout came in their direction. An old man was making his way toward herself and Torsten, looking typically Amish and very disgruntled. The young doctor had never taken any pains to understand the Amish and most of what she knew about the came from TV, or people that she knew from Pennsylvania who told her stories of how backwards and simple they were. That sort of life, with no accommodations and no pleasures wasn't for her, but she didn't appreciate being yelled at when she was only trying to help poor Mary feel more comfortable in her final moments.
Backing away from the lifeless woman, Allison stood and brushed off her jeans. The grass stains were muddled by the blood on her hands and the dark-haired woman swallowed hard, feeling as though she was going to be sick. She stood by Torsten's side, listening as the men talked. It was annoying not to be acknowledged. She watched as the man walked off, intending to fetch the women in order to move Mary into a more dignified space. Her eyes were on Torsten, though, and Allison found herself frowning as he explained the Amish customs.
“They're content to let people die?” she questioned, outraged. There wasn't much time to say anything else, as Samuel was coming back with the women, who were crying. Knowing that she couldn't talk to them was difficult, not even to offer a polite word of apology when it was she who had been with Mary in her last moments, Allison who felt the woman slip away from life. Beside her, Torsten and Samuel were speaking, but Allison was too distracted with the horse-drawn cart that was now fading off into the distance. However, she did catch Samuel's words about her, and turned toward the pair with an indignant look in her eyes.
It was obvious that she wasn't respected there, or even appreciated for attempting to save one of their own. The sadness she felt for the situation could be stowed and dwelled on later, now, Allison was just angry. She found her arms crossing on their own and she couldn't help but glower in Samuel's direction as she bit her tongue. Starting an argument, causing a scene, that wouldn't go over well and Torsten was clearly a bit of a regular around the community, she didn't want to burn his bridges.
“Poor Mary that no one came out to stop them from hurting her,” Allison said flatly. “Poor Mary that this woman, a stranger, was the only one to lift a finger.” So much for trying to stay neutral. She turned Torsten, now very much intent on ignoring Samuel. “Can we go? I want to keep moving and it's obviously not safe here.”
It mattered very little that her feet were sore, or that there could be killers moving through the woods, she simply wished to leave. At that moment, striking out on her own and getting mauled by a bear or skinned alive would have been preferred to staying in the Amish community and taking whatever disrespect came her way. At the very least, there might have been a gun around from the fallen deputy, and that would have offered some protection; never mind that she didn't know how to use it.
Backing away from the lifeless woman, Allison stood and brushed off her jeans. The grass stains were muddled by the blood on her hands and the dark-haired woman swallowed hard, feeling as though she was going to be sick. She stood by Torsten's side, listening as the men talked. It was annoying not to be acknowledged. She watched as the man walked off, intending to fetch the women in order to move Mary into a more dignified space. Her eyes were on Torsten, though, and Allison found herself frowning as he explained the Amish customs.
“They're content to let people die?” she questioned, outraged. There wasn't much time to say anything else, as Samuel was coming back with the women, who were crying. Knowing that she couldn't talk to them was difficult, not even to offer a polite word of apology when it was she who had been with Mary in her last moments, Allison who felt the woman slip away from life. Beside her, Torsten and Samuel were speaking, but Allison was too distracted with the horse-drawn cart that was now fading off into the distance. However, she did catch Samuel's words about her, and turned toward the pair with an indignant look in her eyes.
It was obvious that she wasn't respected there, or even appreciated for attempting to save one of their own. The sadness she felt for the situation could be stowed and dwelled on later, now, Allison was just angry. She found her arms crossing on their own and she couldn't help but glower in Samuel's direction as she bit her tongue. Starting an argument, causing a scene, that wouldn't go over well and Torsten was clearly a bit of a regular around the community, she didn't want to burn his bridges.
“Poor Mary that no one came out to stop them from hurting her,” Allison said flatly. “Poor Mary that this woman, a stranger, was the only one to lift a finger.” So much for trying to stay neutral. She turned Torsten, now very much intent on ignoring Samuel. “Can we go? I want to keep moving and it's obviously not safe here.”
It mattered very little that her feet were sore, or that there could be killers moving through the woods, she simply wished to leave. At that moment, striking out on her own and getting mauled by a bear or skinned alive would have been preferred to staying in the Amish community and taking whatever disrespect came her way. At the very least, there might have been a gun around from the fallen deputy, and that would have offered some protection; never mind that she didn't know how to use it.
A large part of James' early years had been devoted to helping his father impress men like Jack Cassidy. It wasn't until he was older did he realize that he didn't like any of them, and that the man raising him was exactly like the ones he very much detested. There was something garish and ugly about leading with money, about pushing people around just because a person had a bank account six figures wide. Medicine was supposed to be the equalizer, something tangible that couldn't be bought and lorded over the heads of everyone else. Jack Cassidy was disgusting, and James already loathed the man. Part of him didn't even want to do the surgery for his wife if it meant that Elizabeth Charles' family would suffer sooner rather than later.
When that harsh expression crossed Gabriel's handsome face, James immediately knew that he had lost. The surgery would be moved, Jack would have what he wanted, and Elizabeth's parents wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye to her. It was surreal, slightly sobering to already have his dreams crushed on day one, and how silly it had been for him to think that this hospital wasn't a business, or that the doctors actually cared. The blonde man was having a bit of a personal crisis as he stood there, and the smug look on that old vulture's wrinkled face made James want to quit right then and there. This wasn't what he had gone to medical school for—he wanted to help people, not hurt them in the name of a dollar.
As Jack walked away and James pulled himself from his disillusionment with life in general, Gabriel spoke. The man's tone sounded like no-nonsense, but his posture indicated differently. It was possible that the other man felt bad about his decision, but James had no sympathy for him when he was clearly in the pocket of Jack and liked being there. The automatic respect that James had for his superior was dwindling, circling the drain now that James knew what kind of doctor Gabriel really was. He didn't want anything to do with it, and was regretful that he had been personally assigned to shadow him.
“No,” he said, unflinching to the orders. He wasn't going to walk down there and go back on his word to a grieving man. If Gabriel wanted to be Jack Cassidy's lap dog, and operate on his half-dead wife a few hours early, James wasn't going to play errand boy; this hadn't been his decision. It mattered very little to him that this was his job, to make the lives of the real doctors easier, but he felt as though he had a moral obligation to the Charles'. Perhaps if he had started out in the clinic with a stethoscope, things would be different, but day one was a heart transplant facilitated by greed and James had worked so hard to get away from that. Gabriel's decision was a slap in the face.
“I'm not telling them anything. Elizabeth's parents are on their way from out of state and they won't be here for hours. If you want to move it up so bad, you tell them. You arrange it.” James didn't care if this meant he would be taken off of the surgery, or if it meant Gabriel would no longer like him—he didn't even care if this meant changing bed pans for the rest of his residency, he wasn't going to do this. A hospital had no place bending to the will of one person with a fat wallet.
When that harsh expression crossed Gabriel's handsome face, James immediately knew that he had lost. The surgery would be moved, Jack would have what he wanted, and Elizabeth's parents wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye to her. It was surreal, slightly sobering to already have his dreams crushed on day one, and how silly it had been for him to think that this hospital wasn't a business, or that the doctors actually cared. The blonde man was having a bit of a personal crisis as he stood there, and the smug look on that old vulture's wrinkled face made James want to quit right then and there. This wasn't what he had gone to medical school for—he wanted to help people, not hurt them in the name of a dollar.
As Jack walked away and James pulled himself from his disillusionment with life in general, Gabriel spoke. The man's tone sounded like no-nonsense, but his posture indicated differently. It was possible that the other man felt bad about his decision, but James had no sympathy for him when he was clearly in the pocket of Jack and liked being there. The automatic respect that James had for his superior was dwindling, circling the drain now that James knew what kind of doctor Gabriel really was. He didn't want anything to do with it, and was regretful that he had been personally assigned to shadow him.
“No,” he said, unflinching to the orders. He wasn't going to walk down there and go back on his word to a grieving man. If Gabriel wanted to be Jack Cassidy's lap dog, and operate on his half-dead wife a few hours early, James wasn't going to play errand boy; this hadn't been his decision. It mattered very little to him that this was his job, to make the lives of the real doctors easier, but he felt as though he had a moral obligation to the Charles'. Perhaps if he had started out in the clinic with a stethoscope, things would be different, but day one was a heart transplant facilitated by greed and James had worked so hard to get away from that. Gabriel's decision was a slap in the face.
“I'm not telling them anything. Elizabeth's parents are on their way from out of state and they won't be here for hours. If you want to move it up so bad, you tell them. You arrange it.” James didn't care if this meant he would be taken off of the surgery, or if it meant Gabriel would no longer like him—he didn't even care if this meant changing bed pans for the rest of his residency, he wasn't going to do this. A hospital had no place bending to the will of one person with a fat wallet.
I am, actually :3 Those pills give me a nasty headache when they wear off, so I switched to Motrin and my teeth don't hurt as bad anymore. I've got the muse for our thread right now, so I hope I can make up for my last post!
No problem. I haven't been very active this week due to my wisdom teeth coming in.
Just letting you know that the universe hates me right now and is sending me wisdom teeth at age twenty-three. I've been in pain since last Friday and have a dentist appointment tomorrow, which is Thursday. I'm on Tylenol 3 for the pain and they make me pretty messed up for some reason. I'm going to try my best to get you a post tonight or tomorrow, but I can't guarantee it will be any good. I wanted to let you know I didn't forget about you and I'm sorry for the wait D:
Can do :3 Good luck with everything.
Beyond the fences that held District 12 hostage, out in the wilds, Haymitch finally felt free. He carried with him a new sense of terrifying clarity from being sober, and it wasn't something that he was going to get used to anytime soon. Knowing that he would have to participate in another Quarter Quell, that he wouldn't be coming back this time, made him crave a drink, just as a way to escape. Although he hadn't yet accepted his fate, facing the coming storm with Katniss made things a little easier. Her company was hard to enjoy from time to time, but it was her strong personality that reminded Haymitch that he needed to be strong too. After all, he was a man, and he needed to keep things in check and set the stage for the upcoming Reaping.
It was obvious what kind of arena Katniss would have preferred, but he doubted that the Capitol would want something else with a forest after the year before. The Quarter Quell was extravagant, meant to draw in viewers and was always more grotesque and shocking than the games preceding it. Haymitch remembered his games like it was yesterday, the vivid images still haunted his dreams and the trauma slipped into his waking life every now and then. Becoming a Victor was bittersweet—even though he had survived, he had become a killer and that fact alone made him wish that the winner would have been anyone else. Years later, survivor's guilt still lingered heavily on his head.
“Probably not,” he agreed and let the conversation trail off as Katniss started the fire. The heat was welcomed, as the rocks had only absorbed so much warmth from the sun that day. Winter was still hanging in the air, and Haymitch found himself wishing for spring as he rubbed his hands together, and warmed his cold fingers by the growing fire. The air was starting to warm around them, making the hard rocks seem somewhat cozy and Haymitch found himself relaxing. He accept the bread from Katniss when she passed it to him. The roll was from Peeta, and the older man found himself wishing the younger could have toughed it out and kept up with them.
He tore a chunk off of the bread and took a bite, savoring the perfectly baked texture. Haymitch took another bite and raised an eyebrow as Katniss spoke. He didn't understand what she was getting at when she began, not thinking himself to be anything like a fox. His body was shot, ruined from years of alcohol and his mind, although still sharp, was nothing compared to that of his youth. However, he had to smile when she mentioned taking down the careers together, a hidden optimism in her voice almost made him think that he would be coming home too.
“They're not as bad as you think,” he mentioned, “well, not the older ones.” The new careers grew more dangerous each year, but some of the past Victors had become friends of his. He didn't want to see them in the arena, though. “All this, making us all go back—I say we refuse.” he was joking, kind of, but he didn't think the Capitol could force all of them to compete when they had already done their duty and offered their sacrifice.
Although she was very different from her sister, much more warm and inviting, Prim didn't have that many friends. She had a hard time keeping people close to her, and her main concern had always been her family, Katniss and their mother, who needed so much help. Normally, the blonde chose to keep her mother company rather than hang around with the other girls in the Seam, and soon, people stopped inviting her places. After Katniss had volunteered for her the year before, Prim could feel others judging her, pitying her, and she hated it. The comfort and isolation of home was better than the outskirts of the district. The only saving grace from the loneliness that sometimes cropped up had been Gale and their sudden friendship, but after their disagreement, she wasn't sure about him anymore.
Losing out on a friendship that had barely had a chance to begin was difficult to think about, and for Prim, there was more to it. She knew that Gale and Katniss were magnetic, and when her older sister had been away in the Capitol, Prim had the chance to find out just how wonderful Gale actually was. The silly crush she had on him made her feel guilty, and stupid for thinking that she wouldn't be easy to walk away from after a disagreement. The only constant in her life was Katniss, and Prim knew to be grateful for that.
She found herself surprised when Gale agreed to stay, and went to close the door behind him as he followed her mother into the kitchen, making mention that it had been a while. It hurt to know that he knew how long it had been, and Prim had a paranoid passing thought that he had been avoiding her on purpose, and had only agreed to stay because he was polite. She shook her head at herself and closed off her emotions, trying her best to prepared for an awkward and stiff evening.
When Gale reappeared, obviously having nothing to do in the kitchen, Prim forced a smile at his question. “I've been studying healing. There are a lot of herbs that will start to come out in the spring. I wanted to know what to do with them beforehand,” she answered. Healing was something that was all her own, and Prim was proud of herself and her knowledge. “What have you been doing?” She assumed he was hunting, trading like normal and taking care of his family, but she wanted to hear anyway. If he wanted to talk, maybe they could still be friends.
It was obvious what kind of arena Katniss would have preferred, but he doubted that the Capitol would want something else with a forest after the year before. The Quarter Quell was extravagant, meant to draw in viewers and was always more grotesque and shocking than the games preceding it. Haymitch remembered his games like it was yesterday, the vivid images still haunted his dreams and the trauma slipped into his waking life every now and then. Becoming a Victor was bittersweet—even though he had survived, he had become a killer and that fact alone made him wish that the winner would have been anyone else. Years later, survivor's guilt still lingered heavily on his head.
“Probably not,” he agreed and let the conversation trail off as Katniss started the fire. The heat was welcomed, as the rocks had only absorbed so much warmth from the sun that day. Winter was still hanging in the air, and Haymitch found himself wishing for spring as he rubbed his hands together, and warmed his cold fingers by the growing fire. The air was starting to warm around them, making the hard rocks seem somewhat cozy and Haymitch found himself relaxing. He accept the bread from Katniss when she passed it to him. The roll was from Peeta, and the older man found himself wishing the younger could have toughed it out and kept up with them.
He tore a chunk off of the bread and took a bite, savoring the perfectly baked texture. Haymitch took another bite and raised an eyebrow as Katniss spoke. He didn't understand what she was getting at when she began, not thinking himself to be anything like a fox. His body was shot, ruined from years of alcohol and his mind, although still sharp, was nothing compared to that of his youth. However, he had to smile when she mentioned taking down the careers together, a hidden optimism in her voice almost made him think that he would be coming home too.
“They're not as bad as you think,” he mentioned, “well, not the older ones.” The new careers grew more dangerous each year, but some of the past Victors had become friends of his. He didn't want to see them in the arena, though. “All this, making us all go back—I say we refuse.” he was joking, kind of, but he didn't think the Capitol could force all of them to compete when they had already done their duty and offered their sacrifice.
Although she was very different from her sister, much more warm and inviting, Prim didn't have that many friends. She had a hard time keeping people close to her, and her main concern had always been her family, Katniss and their mother, who needed so much help. Normally, the blonde chose to keep her mother company rather than hang around with the other girls in the Seam, and soon, people stopped inviting her places. After Katniss had volunteered for her the year before, Prim could feel others judging her, pitying her, and she hated it. The comfort and isolation of home was better than the outskirts of the district. The only saving grace from the loneliness that sometimes cropped up had been Gale and their sudden friendship, but after their disagreement, she wasn't sure about him anymore.
Losing out on a friendship that had barely had a chance to begin was difficult to think about, and for Prim, there was more to it. She knew that Gale and Katniss were magnetic, and when her older sister had been away in the Capitol, Prim had the chance to find out just how wonderful Gale actually was. The silly crush she had on him made her feel guilty, and stupid for thinking that she wouldn't be easy to walk away from after a disagreement. The only constant in her life was Katniss, and Prim knew to be grateful for that.
She found herself surprised when Gale agreed to stay, and went to close the door behind him as he followed her mother into the kitchen, making mention that it had been a while. It hurt to know that he knew how long it had been, and Prim had a paranoid passing thought that he had been avoiding her on purpose, and had only agreed to stay because he was polite. She shook her head at herself and closed off her emotions, trying her best to prepared for an awkward and stiff evening.
When Gale reappeared, obviously having nothing to do in the kitchen, Prim forced a smile at his question. “I've been studying healing. There are a lot of herbs that will start to come out in the spring. I wanted to know what to do with them beforehand,” she answered. Healing was something that was all her own, and Prim was proud of herself and her knowledge. “What have you been doing?” She assumed he was hunting, trading like normal and taking care of his family, but she wanted to hear anyway. If he wanted to talk, maybe they could still be friends.
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