exsilium | 02 | ARTICLE

[ The following article flashes across all your devices this not-so-lovely morning; anyone who frequents the streets around Rita's favourite cafe might even notice several paper copies floating around despite the relative lack of breeze.

It is titled at the top, in big, bold letters:

STATE OF OUR TRANSPORTS: DISTURBED AND DEADLY

and then there is a (smaller) subtitle saying:

Conclusive proof the Initiative has no idea what they're doing. ]

The city of Exsilium is no stranger to “Transports”, those who have been brought across time and space to fight in the so-called “Initiative”'s harebrained excuse for a war effort. Although they employ a wide variety of people in their schemes, are some of their new recruits more foe than friend? Rita Skeeter reports on some incredibly disturbing findings that must be brought to light in these troubled times. When one pictures the typical teenager, they don't imagine a cold-blooded killer. Yet several of the children who are brought here show signs of severe mental disturbance, with clear indications that they may yet soon kill again. If one has been to the training halls lately, they may find Katniss Everdeen, a girl in her late teens who spends far more than the mandated time practising with her bow and arrow. 'Lovely,' you might think to yourself, 'a young, but dedicated, future soldier!' However, don't let her cherubic face deceive you. Behind the long lashes and plump cheeks is a deranged young woman who has been known to mutter under her breath about her longing for revenge. 'I don't care who gets in my way,' Miss Everdeen has been heard saying moments before savagely piercing the heart of a training mannequin. As mentioned previously, this is hardly an isolated concern, with recent arrival Ellie Linton sharing an alarming amount of these tendencies with Miss Everdeen. Miss Linton has been known to carry a 'gun' around, and although she possess little-to-no magical abilities, she openly brags about having blown up bridges in her own world. I can relay with full confidence that it is terrifying to witness the delighted glint in Miss Linton's eye as she brazenly admits to her reckless behaviour. Perhaps this would not be so troubling if she didn't show a high likelihood of reoffending, publicly threatening to shoot her roommate for merely looking at her food. In addition to everything else, this young woman also has a preoccupation with death that borders on the unnatural, doing very little to detract from her emotionally unstable personality. Speaking of all things unnatural, there are signs of a dangerous cult starting to surface in our city. A group of magic-users who all bear the same brand, a dying phoenix, on their bodies have vandalized their surrounds with their mark during a recent mandatory mission. Yet their actions should not be overlooked as simple acts of graffiti. The ring leader of this little group, colloquially known as the 'Legendary Dragon Gunslinger' and his dashing young blonde female companion have also been spotted committing random acts of violence upon unsuspecting Muggles. No matter what manner of unhinged love story is brewing under the surface, this an action that cannot be overlooked nor condoned by the magical community. Most recently, this cult has been getting more involved in the affairs of vampires – is this a sign that our city might soon be confronted with another uprising of the undead? From these mere handful of observations, it is obvious that this current system of arrivals is plagued with more problems than can possibly be counted. There is a question that must be asked, for the good of us all: is it not for the best to put a stop to these people before these issues get out of hand? My recommendation would be that they, and anyone else who might be harbouring such delusional fantasies, be locked up safely so that they no longer pose a threat to themselves and others.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh, hello, fellow "deranged teenager." It doesn't seem like a lot of people are at their best today. Katniss, for one, certainly isn't.]

Apparently. [The tone is meant to be dry, but it doesn't quite succeed.]

Me too. They looked pretty shady.

( the joke falls flatter than a soufflé in the hands of an amateur chef. Eventually, she flicks it over to private

Most people don't understand doing what you have to.

( maybe she's miss-read this completely, but it's nice and vague. Cautious.)

[Silence falls for a few moments.... because the other girl has hit a significant chord there. Doing what you have to. Even if she managed to remember who the enemy was, did she really have a choice? Has she ever had a choice?

No. Not in her world. Her world isn't conducive to choices.

And maybe her world isn't the only one.

Finally, almost as cautious:]

Is that what you had to do?

( There's a long, slow exhale. It'd be a lie to say it wasn't a little shaky, much as she'd love to deny it. Not much point, not when the reason she's using voice is because her hands have started shaking. She grabs her wrist, clenching her fist and her jaw. )

Our country got invaded. There wasn't much choice.

( But that was a lie, wasn't it? They didn't have to blow up the bridge, attack Turner Street, blow up Cobbler's Bay. They chose to do those things, surely. )

We wanted our lives back. Or even-- we just wanted our families.

( Not that it has worked. Not yet, and they've tallied up losses along the way. )

[There's a story she knows, one she'll never tell, that maybe isn't so far off to prevent an understanding of what she's just heard. One in which a central power invades its districts every year and carts two tributes off to the slaughter, having no qualms about destroying lives and ripping families apart. In which that power will do anything to stay, including resorting to threats directed at one who dares to break its rules. In which an entire district can be leveled to ash when a performance doesn't meet standards and things don't proceed according to script.

Sometimes (many times), she finds herself wishing things could go back to the way they were before she volunteered at the reaping, before everything became so complicated. Not that life had ever been particularly rosy, but there had been a home, a personal mission, and solace in the woods. There are things, though, she'll never get back.

There are things a lot of people will never get back.

She swallows.]

I'm sorry. [She's otherwise at a complete loss for words; not that she ever had much of an advantage there in the first place. But she means it.]

( The war gets treated like such an everyday thing, now. They'd known it was bad when they were only the third or fourth headline on Corrie's radio picking up news from the US. When basketball injuries and movie taking on the first weekend started slipping in front of them, they'd known Australia was in trouble. When the invasion stopped being clean and children watching their parents get shot wasn't horrifying but sports injuries were called tragedies.)

Thanks. ( Often she's scathing of such comments, but in this instance it feels like its not coming from someone who is trying to make her stop talking, drown reality. It's uncomfortable being around people who don't, can't, won't understand.)

What about you?

[Even if she wanted to, if talking wouldn't bring pain to the forefront of her mind and pour salt into still open-wounds, she'd never have the skills to provide as much as a decent start toward an answer to that question. The storyteller, gifted with natural verbosity and eloquence, has never been her. That'd take someone else, someone who has those gifts.

In the end, she can only simply borrow.]

Like you said. [Beat.] I did what I had to. [... That's what it all comes down to anyway, right?]

Mm.

( There really isn't much more she has to say. Ellie assumes war - she couldn't begin to construct the nightmare that is the Capitol and their games - but whatever it was, it was enough to bring out what seems like a familiar desperation.

Silence lurks from Ellie's side, until she clears her throat. ) I'm more of a gun person, than bows an arrows.

( But they were thrown into this together, exposed to the same fire, and that means something. Or maybe it could but it doesn't yet, she's not sure. At any rate, they're both far from home. ) Reckon you could show me a thing or two?

[There's a definite part of her that's grateful Ellie didn't press further before proceeding to move the conversation toward easier directions. Relieved. Maybe some form of eased, even if it's just to the smallest extent.

An ease, though, that's relatively short-lived. Because truly, it isn't an easier direction. It isn't long before she's reminded of Madge. Madge, her friend, who she hadn't really known was her friend until she gave her that pin. Who helped combat the loneliness that ensued with too much free time upon returning from the Games, with trips to the woods for shooting lessons and time spent at her house.

Madge, who never made it out of 12.

It's a reminder that comes with a sudden jab of pain.]

Sure. [And a moment to keep her voice from catching.] If you want.

As good a reason as any to get outside. Being stuck in these units drive me up the bleeding wall.

( Part of why she roams so much, abandons the units to Leonard and settles herself into buildings close to falling to pieces. She's hardly one to discard comfort and ease without thought, but it feels too claustrophobic. Crammed into units and surrounded by people, none of whom are the right ones. Some of them are right ones, decent people, but they aren't Fi or Homer or Lee or Kevin. And they definitely aren't Corrie or Robyn, whose arrival she dreams of and dreads, so that the dreams that grant her the relief of their presence twist into nightmares.

She exhales, slowly, fingers digging into her wrist. Corrie could come here, someday. She mustn't count on it. And what do you say? )

I, um. ( She needs to go. ) I'll see you out there, sometime.

02 | ARTICLE

voice;

Re: voice;

voice; private forever

voice; forever and ever also well done Rita for uniting them

haha, right? go Rita

She'll probs call them a terrorist group if she ever finds out

enough tabloid fodder to last her for a year

full of rich, delicious bitterness and despair

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