A/N: Hi it's me back to bother you all again with another chapter of intros; 11 tributes down, 8 to go! We are making progress! That said, enjoy!
Wesley "Wes" Arcidiacono, 16
June 7th, Year 118 ADD
Wes is holed up in his room, hours deep in a biology textbook and actually not hating it, when his sister Dani flounces in unannounced; she may be the youngest Arcidiacono sibling by almost six minutes, but the girl sure acts like she's the head of the household. She skips over to her brother, all high heels and bouncy ponytail and strong perfume, and brandishes a handful of lipsticks, watching Wes expectantly. He quirks an eyebrow at her.
"Come on, Wes," she wheedles, waving the makeup in front of his face, "I have no idea what to wear and you have a good eye for this stuff. Please?" Wes heaves a weary sigh and pushes himself up from the desk chair, never able to refuse his little sister, and follows her across the hall to her room.
"Okay, what are we dressing you up for?" As Wes flips through her closet with half-hearted interest, he feels Dani fling her arms around him from behind in a grateful hug.
"Party, what else, nerd?"
"Ditz," he shoots back good-naturedly, neither of them meaning the insults they've been trading in affection for years now. He pulls two dresses from the collection and turns to face his sister, holding each up in turn before handing her the one in his left hand. "Wear this with that lipstick that's not too dark, it brings out your eyes." He turns to head back out of her too-girly bedroom, but Dani grabs his arm, holding him back.
"Hang on, where are you going?"
"Well, I was planning on leaving the room while you changed, weirdo."
"Yeah, but… you're staying for the party, right?" He sighs at the exaggerated pout on her face, the puppy-dog eyes she aims at him.
"I don't know, D, you know it's really not my scene."
"God, you're such a wet blanket. You should stay sometime, for all you know you'd actually have fun for once."
"I have fun!" he scoffs defensively.
"Uh-huh, sure you do. Anyway, I just… I hate that it feels like Brad and I are always kicking you out of the house, you know?" she looks up at him apologetically as she refers to their triplet, who's out at a party somewhere else and probably won't be back until morning.
"You're not, okay? Don't worry about me." He pulls his sister in for a quick hug and then escapes, feeling guilty for lying to her but knowing he said the right thing; he doesn't want her to feel bad about having friends over to the house, it's just that he doesn't really fit in well with her crowd.
He eyes the biology textbook and considers barricading himself in his room to study tonight, but with a shake of his head he's grabbing up his gym bag instead and heading out the front door, breathing in deeply as he steps into the crisp late-spring air and sets out at a light jog, well-lit suburban streets soon giving way to dusky dirt paths, trees swaying gently on all sides, silence but for crickets and his own breathing.
Less than half an hour later he's dropping into a stretch outside of the gym, the warm lights streaming through the cracked old windows gently inviting him in. As he crosses the threshold, eyes scanning the gym floor, Wes's face relaxes into an easy grin. He's home.
Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts entirely, an axe comes flying head over handle through the air, on a collision course straight for his head. He drops his duffel and his left hand shoots up into the air, catching the projectile inches from his nose. He makes eye contact with Dawson across the room, raising an eyebrow.
"Nice catch, Arcidiacono!"
"Nice almost beheading me, Parker."
"Thought it was a flashier way to get your attention than shouting, and I knew you'd catch it, kid. Anyway, you up to go a round with me?"
"Always," Wes snorts, crossing the room to join his friend and pulling an axe of his own down off the wall. He flips it in his hand a couple times, getting a feel for the weight of it, then snaps his arm back and pitches down the lane in front of him, the axe sticking in the scarred wooden target with a solid, satisfying thunk.
He's still trading off turns with Dawson, his friend getting increasingly competitive, when Kelly jogs up to them later, hopping up to ruffle Wes's hair playfully. He pushes the 24-year-old away with mock annoyance, hiding a smile at his friend's arrival.
"Hi, Kel, how's it going?"
"Peachy, you?"
"I'm good. Nice to get out of the house, you know?"
"Yeah, I get it, you're a teenager." She laughs, centering herself in the lane next to him, axe already in hand. He pretends to scowl at her, shaking his head as he turns back to his own workout.
It's another twenty minutes or so before Jarek Novak's shrill whistle sounds across the floor, stopping everyone mid-throw; everyone at the gym knows better than to play around with weapons. Jarek, his broad form and bushy beard setting an imposing figure, stalks down the center alley, offering corrections and tips as he passes the gym's patrons. When he gets to the end, reaching his three regulars, he slips on a goofy grin, pulling Wes into a one-armed hug.
"Hey, kiddo," he booms, "nice to see you again; how's that throwing arm?"
"As good as ever," Wes replies shyly, through a shrug. Jarek pats him heartily on the back and then lifts his own axe and takes a toss at the target, hitting dead center, as usual. He lets out a laugh and wanders down the lane to retrieve it.
"Alright, I'll get out of your way. You kids have fun, alright?" He sneaks the three of them a conspiratorial wink before disappearing back into his office, and the noise and activity of the gym resumes in full force.
Wes lets himself forget the passage of time, listening to his friends chat and working up a sweat and just… feeling alive in a way he never does anywhere else. He lets loose, releasing pent up, confusing emotions in a rush of strength and adrenaline, whipping his axe down the lane again and again, craving the whack of axehead into target like a junkie needs their next fix. He's alive, and he's in the moment, and he relishes the rarity of those two things, soaking up the clarity, unaware that in just under a month he'll need this feeling to cling onto like a drowning man at sea.
Indu Donati, 15
May 12th, Year 118 ADD
The flames lick greedily at her legs and face, pushing her back and back and back as they drink up the night air, rushing angrily in her ears, drowning out the agonized screams that rip into her, her mother's and sisters' voices rasping out at her, their pain wordless and primal in its intensity. She can't see her mother or Mika through the smoke that clogs her lungs but Vanya is right there sooty-faced and screaming screaming screaming something's wrong with her leg and Indu knows she has to get out of there but she doesn't remember how to move how to breathe how to scream except the screams she's hearing are coming out of her own mouth now she doesn't know how to turn away she wants to stop reliving this she wants to wake up wake up wake up-
She gasps awake to the sound of her own screams, jacknifes up in the bed, sweat-soaked, heart beating so fast she thinks it might explode she can't get any air because every desperate intake of oxygen tastes far too much like the memory of smoke and burning flesh, pushing nausea up in her throat and it's been five years but she still can't move can't think so she collapses onto shaky forearms and retches violently over the side of the bed, trembling, stomach muscles clenching convulsively with dry heaves for several long minutes after she runs out of bile to throw up. By the time she folds over into a shuddering heap, salted tears running down over her chapped lips, her aunt is there. The older woman rubs slow circles on Indu's back with one hand and cards through her soft hair with the other, murmuring reassurances that don't quite form words past the rushing of blood in the young girl's ears.
The first thing she feels after the enduring, adrenaline-fueled numbness is soft fur beneath her cheek. She rolls her head to the side, buries her face deep into the stuffed squirrel and drinks in the smell of not-smoke and curls herself tight around the animal, still heaving out muffled sobs as her breathing begins to slow, the racing fear leaching out of her body as the nightmare fades (but the nightmare never really fades because it's real and it happened and it's permanent like she wishes so many things weren't).
She relaxes slowly, muscle by muscle, breathing in and out in lengthening, practiced intervals because this is routine for her now, she falls asleep every night knowing she will wake up to the hoarse cacophony of her own screams because during the day she can plaster on a smile all she wants but the anxiety and the past are waiting just beyond the shadows to grip her once again it's a blessing she sleeps at all because half the time she can barely force herself to think straight even when she's conscious she has to fight to push away the darkness because she's broken down so many times by now that she's desperate to at least hang on to the pieces of herself that remain.
It's been five years and they say that wounds heal with time but maybe that doesn't apply when the proverbial stitches rip open every night and there isn't enough needle and thread in the world to patch back together everything Indu's lost and it's been five years of nothing feeling real because some important part of her will always be trapped back in that burning house and she's plagued with nightmares but it's the waking hours that feel like dreams because there's some trance she's never quite snapped back out of.
Layne Donati. August 9th, 75 ADD - May 12th, 113 ADD.
Fredonia Donati. February 11th, 77 ADD - May 12th, 113 ADD.
Mika Donati. May 1st, 101 ADD - May 12th, 113 ADD.
Vanya Donati. September 23rd, 105 ADD - May 13th, 113 ADD.
Indu's read the tombstones so often they're as engraved in her mind as they are in the stone slabs. Her family's own little section of graveyard, dried out grass and all. If anyone cared to look closely it would be obvious that these four are visited more often than the remainder of the cemetery; the lettering is worn where fingertips have brushed over it again and again, the dirt that cakes the grooves of every other stone has been carefully cleaned from these four, and a small garden of wildflowers stands painstakingly planted in the earth where the bodies lie still and decomposing six feet below.
The first few weeks that Indu visited her family, the cemetery's poor caretaker was sure that the little girl with the burnt old scarf and the watering can was some sort of spirit, because of the way every appearance was the same. When Indu started planting flowers in the caretaker's abandoned garden boxes, he learned that she was, in fact, very real. He leaves the lights on and the gates open for her at night now, doesn't care that he could get fired if anyone finds out. The old man stays up to watch the little girl every evening because he thinks she might remind him of his own daughter. His own daughter who's been dead for years. His own daughter whose grave is one of those four.
A/N: Thank you so much to TyQuavis for Wes and to LordShiro for Indu, these kiddos are very precious to me! I'm headed to college this week so I might get super busy but I'll try to post D8 ASAP.
- Mae out xo