i f o u g h t the law `` darkfire sibs`` kou Dec 20, 2017 15:52:44 GMT -5
Post by d12f stella blakesley [alex] on Dec 20, 2017 15:52:44 GMT -5
In hindsight, she probably should have planned things out a bit better. Stealing from Peacekeepers wasn’t the smartest move she had ever made, but damn it if this whiskey did not taste fantastic. The burnt notes of amber and wood, the harsh feeling of it down her throat burned, but she lived for the pleasant warmth drifting down towards her stomach.
Paired with a cigarette, Daena was doing her best to chase away the cold that had descended upon the District. She was sitting behind a row of homes in an abandoned alley – the stolen liquor beside her and the moon just a mere crescent, providing adequate cover. She could be beaten for this. Or worse. There was always something worse than beatings from the Peacekeepers. She would know. She had seen it.
Assholes, she thought, swearing against the man who had murdered her parents. Sadly, her contraband was not courtesy of him, but rather a new recruit. Fresh out of the Academy and poorly trained for the likes of Daena Darkfire. The thought of her escape from his small cabin, prized liquor in hand brought a smile to her face. They deserved hell – every single one of them. Cockroaches of the Capitol. Loyal foot soldiers.
She was dressed in all black, a scarf around her neck, keeping her throat warm. Her blonde hair shone brightly in the lamplight from a few rows down, dim as it was. There was nothing she could do to hide her heritage – her hair color and her dark, wild eyes were a gift from her parents and she was never one to want to hide who she was. She wore it proudly, a bit too proudly. The ember of her cigarette burned brightly - a contained spark - as she inhaled, the smoke curling around her and drifting into the air.
There was jack all to do tonight – the Games had ended and District Seven had finally bred a worthy winner. A butcher, just as they were all training to be. But she did it with a shitload of style. Her friends – if she could call them that – were nowhere to be found. Not that she minded. They were good to pass the time and dull the rage that burned inside of her. But the fire never died.
Daena took a longer swig this time, watching the dark wall across from her. Her knife lay laced along the calf of her right leg. Another crime for which she could be whipped. Jailed. Strike number whatever against her. Dae didn't care. Where could they throw her that was worse than the prison of her mind?
In seconds she could unholster it and throw. Strike true to any target, alcohol be damned. The blood would dirty her steel, though. And she had only just cleaned it.
Eyes darting around the alleyway, she traced her finger along the edge of the blade her right leg bent at an angle and her back hurting against the cold stone. The silence around her was broken by an owl hooting in the forest as she took another drag of her cigarette.