and they go, i hate to say i told you so - writing

[Legends]

ILY
MORE TO COME I THINK
I MADE SOME EDITS SO I MIGHT EDIT IT OR REPOST

[Legends]

[align=center][div style="0px; width:400px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height:13px;"]The Wolf and Little Red / i wrote this for a school asignment and i really like it. the prompt was we had to humanize a fairytale villan

There was a time many centuries ago when creatures of the dark roamed free of persecution but once the church rose to power and began its crusade of the countryside and all its inhabitants, those from the dark became hunted, as they were doomed for damnation and had no place on this Earth in the eyes of the church. The church employed a special group of men they called Apostles in order to remove those unwanted. The Apostles went village to village and sought out those of the dark. Those who changed from a man to wolf against their own actions on the full moon. Those whose song enticed people to visit them for dinner or for marital advice. Those who worshiped the elements and the goddess nature, using crystals and stones instead of Bibles and monetary church taxes. Over multiple generations, The Apostles slaughtered them mercilessly in the name of God until the collective was so thin that receding into hiding was the only alternative. Generations passed with the need for the Apostles ever lasting, as there was no way to be rid of every abomination despite how many slaughters the church sponsored.

Within the ranks of The Apostles, there grew families of esteemed stature who boasted about their ability to kill the creatures of dark, often specializing in one species. One such family were the Rubrums. The Rubrum family specialized in the destruction of those the church called nightwolves (amongst the Apostles themselves, the common slang term was werewolf). The patriarch of the family, Lothar Rubrum who one of the very first Apostles, fathered two sons: Rald and Brune. Rald, the eldest and a more gentle soul, died following his father’s path as an Apostle. Brune, the other younger brother who was darker in nature and more cunning, after serving his time as an Apostle, fathered a son just as was done before him. That son was christened Hewett Rubrum—Little Red. 
Hewett began his training in preparation to join the Apostles as young as nine Gregorian years of age. Growing up in a forest cladden mansion, Hewett, surrounded every moment of every day by the severed mounted heads of nightwolves, became numb to the idea than any of the night creatures were any more than soulless scourges that needed to be put down. Once he became an Apostle, Hewett gave no second thought to his orders and rose in the ranks, continuing to carry the Rubrum family status as the best werewolf hunters in the land. He lived and breathed the mission of the Apostles: “sustentor adflixisti ut malum in Dei lumine” or “slaying evil with God’s light”.  Once he grew to be the age of twenty Gregorian years, he was a full-fledged member and commander in the Apostles, specializing in the hunting of werewolves. He earned the nickname The Huntsman.

When the creatures of dark were forced into hiding, they were also forced to appear human; forced to destroy their culture and traditions, forced to kill their past. Similar to most nightwolves, Adolpha had grown up fearing the Apostles. She locked her family up every full moon and once she reached fourteen Gregorian moons, she locked up herself too. Every nightwolf participated in such measures to conceal their curse, doing anything in their power to stop from changing. There had been multiple experimental mutilations, many long trips to strange humans who claimed to be allied with new and unknown knowledge, all in an attempt to become as human as possible. The nightwolves had been taught to hate themselves for who they were and how they were born. Adolpha’s family had tried to protect her from hating herself but no matter the strength of their efforts, there was always lingering self-loathing behind her mask of stable self-worth. She was inducted into the ideology of the Astles being the spawn of every evil force the God Mother’s enemy Darkness ever created.  Adolpha had watched family members and friends and friends of friends get dragged away or beheaded on sight by visiting Apostoles. There was a bone-deep hatred for those men. How many daydreams she had lost herself in where she murdered the Apostles just as they had murdered her kind. It was only when she was eighteen Gregorian years did her arc of negligence and daydreaming meet reality. The day she met the Apostle.

Hewett, having gone to the market to get sweets for his grandmother who also lived in the Rubrum family mansion, was on his way to back through the pine forest. Draped in his family’s well known red cloak, he was suddenly brought out of his observance of the quiet forest when he almost walked into what appeared to be a girl struggling out of a tree. He, being the manner representative of his family that he was always taught to be, called to the girl, not knowing who she truly was.
“Oh miss! Miss!” he called, ignoring her body language that was a clear indication she was trying to ignore him.
“No sir I’m quite alright-” she said before turning around, her eyes immediately going to the red cloak, then to the eyes of famed Huntsmen

Adolpha, having no true reason to be in the pine woods, had no inkling of running into the thing she feared most. She had only heard stories of the famed red huntsmen. He had slain hundred of werewolves, the clan he came from had slain thousands of nightwolves. The Apostles in red were feared the most by werewolves due to their disposition to never give up a hunt. They would track a pack of nightwolves across the countryside until the pack could run no more and accepted their fate. Adolpha’s nightmares were plagued with the red Apostles and there one stood, right in front of her. She took a breath and steadied her heartbeat. She could smell the market on him but she could also smell fire kindling and old stone. She looked at his hands, imagining the blood of her oldest brother and her sister in law wedged between his nails. He didn’t deserve to have hands, she thought, hiding her balled fist in the pocket of her apron.
“Are you returning from the market?” she inquired, eyeing the small satchel he was carrying.
“Why yes, I am bringing sweets to my grandmother. She is home alone and quiet lonely” the Huntsman said. Adolpha held back a smile, a plan already forming in her mind. If the famed Huntsmen was this stupid, she could maybe get the revenge all nightwolves would want.
“Do you live close by?” she asked, using the kindest voice he could muster.
“My family's house, Mount Rubrum, is just beyond the way.” he answered her. Adolpha almost choked Rubrum. He was a red Apostle. If the coak wasn’t a clear indication, that name was.
“If you are bringing your grandmother sweets you must have gotten her Hans the baker’s famed rødgrød?” she asked, praying that the Huntsmen would take the bait.
“Oh no. I must have forgotten that. It is worth going back for?”
“Oh yes. Hans’ rødgrød is definitely worth going back for.” she said, using every ounce of persuasion she had. The Huntsman looks down as his bag, as if judging whether it was a good idea to return before saying
“I guess you must be right. I shall go get Hans’ rødgrød.” The Huntsman turned around and walked off towards the market, has red cloak swishing behind him. Adolpha said a quick prayer to the GodMother before springing in the direction the Huntsman had originally been traveling, making her want to Mount Rubrum. 

The mansion was larger than she had ever pictured. It held the aura of a wood and stone castle high up on a hill, looking down upon its peasants. Adolpha made her way to the front and proceeded to scout the side, eyeing a singular open window. Using whatever gifts being a nightwolf granted her, she took a running start and punched off the wall, abbing the very edge of the window. She hauled herself up and after adjusting her bearings, been overwhelmed with the scent of the house. Adolpha held the wall to steady herself. She smelled both the fire and stone that came off of the Huntsmen’s cloak but the by far strongest scent was that of wolves, nightwolves. It was everywhere. She made her way down the hall and found herself in a grand room with vaulted ceilings and a giant roaring fireplace. The room was covered stone wall to stone wall with the heads of nightwolves. Adolpha couldn't stop looking around the room, her entire body filled with sorrow and disgust. She saw a grey wolf with yellow eyes, immediately recognizing it as her brother Fillan. Adolpha involuntary started crying. This entire family had killed hundreds of her own. It was time she returned the favor.

Making her way upstairs, she found the bedroom that houses the grandmother. Despite being complicit in the slaughter of nightwolves, Adolpha had decided to kill her anyway, simply sparing her the pain of being grandson less. She opened the door and changed into her wolf form, a simple dark brown wolf with her matching green eyes. She softly walked in and after confirming that the grandmother was in fact sleeping in the bed, Adolpha lunged, her sharp teeth biting easily into the throat of the old woman, the blood seeping into her mouth. The grandmother died within seconds and Adolpha changed back, her plan already in motion.

Hewett, aftering taking the forest girl’s advice to get Hans’ rødgrød, made his way back to Mount Rubrum. He waltzed through the main hall and up to the room of his grandmother, who lay motionless in the dark. “Grandmother, are you alright?.” he inquired. His grandmother did not immediately reply but after a period of silence whispered,
“Come closer child, I feel the call of Christ is soon.” Hewett did as he was told and came to the bedside, a feeling of dread coming over him.
“Oma, are you alright? All of the candles in your room are out and the window has been blocked.” he said, moving toward the window.
“No child, the darkness is a comfort before I ascend to meet the Father.” said the grandmother, and Hewett moved away from the window.
“My grandson, come close so I can tell you my final wish before I ascend.” Hewett did as he was told and moved closer.
“Grandmother, your face looks smoother than before, and your eyes, they were blue.” Hewett said, peering into the green eyes of a stranger.

Adolpha knew she had been found out, or at least was on the brink of it. She was within inches of the Huntsmen, closer than any nightwolf had ever willing been to any Apostle. “Oh child, you have no clue do you?” she said in her normal voice and when the Huntsmen stepped back in shock, Adolpha changed into her wolf form and lunged, going for the chest of the Huntsman. Naturally, he fought back but without his armour or gear, his flesh was fair game. Adolpha sank her teeth into his skin and held on, despite his protest and fists beating at her spin. At one point he pulled her off but within seconds she latched back on to his arm, tearing it off. The more blood entered her mouth the more content she was and the closer her goal become. The Huntsman made one final attempt and threw Adolpha towards a wall. She screamed when her back hit the stones as she fell to the floor. The Huntsman stood in the corner, breathing heavily and holding the limb where his arm used to be. Adolpha had changed back into her human form, slowly standing. “You murdered my brother. You killed my kind. Now it’s your turn, Apostle.” The Huntsmen looked up at her as she made her pouch in his direction, changing mid-action back into the brown wolf with the green eyes. Adolpha went for the throat. When she clamped down on his neck, she looked up to see the undeniable terror in his blue eyes, as there should have been. The Huntsman went limp and Adolpha let go, changing back. She stood, heaving, the body of the person she feared most at her feet, content with her revenge. She walked back down the main hall where the heads of her fellow nightwolves sat on display. She eyed the fireplace and immediately knew what had to be done. After dragging the body of the Huntsmen outside of the house, Adolpha went back up to the room of the grandmother and found the candlestick that had been lit before the unfortunate death of the room’s inhabitant. She lit the candle in the fireplace and returned upstairs, going room to room and setting the curtains and bedsheets on fire. She made her way back to the grand hall, leaving a tail of flames in her wake. She went from wolf head to wolf head with her candle, illumination each one so they could finally have their freedom. Adolpha stood in the middle of the grand hall, watching the entire house ablaze around her, relishing her in revenge against the red Apostle.

The rest of the Rubrums, Lothor, Brune, and Brune’s wife Roswita, returned to the manor days later to find their home burnt to ashes, with the body of their only son and heir Hewett mulated, rotting, and covered in wolf marks, where the threshold had once been. Roswita dropped to the ground and cradled the body of her son, losing all sense of the world around her. A single tear fell from the eye of Brune as he placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, looking at his father, both men knew exactly what had killed the boy. In this moment of sadness, the family was too overcome with emotion to know what surrounded them. There in the pine woods, the woods that had once been their protection, waited for an entire clan of nightwolves. One brown wolf with green eyes emerged from the trees, and rushed towards them, her entire pack behind her.

[crows]

Art????? Art?????????

[Legends]

a

[div style="0px; width:400px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height:13px;"]A Most Certain, Strange, and true Discovery bya VVITCH - damn puritans p.l

father had died. the cough had taken him.
she hadn't been enough.
everything he had taught her had not been enough
he was the last one to die in a series of silent aching ends
and the township, usually docile in their God-fearing manner, was a beast humming with unrest, looking for someone to blame
who could have put their children to death but the vvitch in the southwood

[align=center]-/-

unmarried at her age was not uncommon but not looked fondly upon. it was the role of woman to be a helpmate to her husband, obedient and quiet. it was simply the way. hadley stuck out for the very reason that she was hardly seen. living alone with her father on their land some distance south from the town and had not attended church regularly placed her in a formidable position as an outcast. not unwelcomed but unfamiliar. this only made the case in favor of her accusation worse.

once her father had passed she was left alone in her own in the south wood. she picked up the pieces of his departure by continuing in what he had taught her: herb gathering and drying, checking traps, watching for wolves. the routine was comforting but it was not enough. everything around her was cold. she could not save him: "the healer's daughter who could not heal" the town whispered unbeknownst to her once the knowledge of theodor's end has punctured their bubble. his practices had bordered on strange but hadley had no mind to question the methods he taught her: they worked when he did them. but how long until a simple acknowledgment of her failure turned into stories calling her the harbinger of death? as it happened, not long.

the weeks past and autumn formally arrived, bringing the harvest. she had avoided going into town until then but she had things worth trading and was in desperate need to more supplies. no one could brand her a fool for her apprehension, perhaps if she hadn't gone into town that day her reputation may have faded into obscurity and she forgotten. it was not so. 

eyes followed her as she went door to door, packed horse in tow, offering herbs and other products. six buyers out of all of them. she left at dusk with little more than what she arrived with and began home, unaware of the whispers: healer's daughter who could not heal

-/-

the noise.        THE NOISE.
                                                  it was        EVERYWHERE.
it was blindly bright like a full moon but the same color as fire.
it flew, no, it fell through the trees ripping them apart, screaming
it barely missed her house, landing, no, crashing beyond a hill
she went to it, unafraid, curious
who else had seen it? they would come soon if she did nothing
and then she would never know what it was

-/-

she ran towards the hill and stood, looking down at the largest watch she had ever seen. well, that wasn't exactly what it was but that was all she could think of. dark gears and springs littered the hillside below her and more spilling from the watch-shaped thing like blood. was there blood? the grass all around it was dark, soaked with---something. she passed her hand over it, her skin covered with something dark. it smelled like death. that was all she could think of. she got closer, running her hand over a portion of whatever it was, passing bolts and some kind of nail. the metal was warm to the touch but did not burn her but when she went touch one of these exposed pinions, it cut her, creating a small gash in her hand, then she noticed him

he was slumped towards, the front? she was unsure because in truth whatever the thing was it was circular. it was dark now that the sun had gone down but she was close enough see that he was bleeding on the side of his face and his clothes were soaked with blood. a healer never forsakes someone in need of their help she could hear her father say. the decision had been made: she would need her horse.

-/-

who was he
he was bleeding and he needed help
who was he
he had come from the sky
who was he
no one could know he was here
who was he
she did not know what they would do to him
who was he
she started stitching but there were cuts everywhere
who was he
he was bleeding and he needed Her help

-/-

blue morning light began to show through her windows and she was still stitching and cleaning and covering and stitching and cleaning and covering. he had woken once and looked at her, dark brown eyes masked with fear. she looked down at what she was doing and then looked back at him, noticing the blood around his eye. she thought it was blood. she immediately turned to the counter on the other side of the room to get something to clean it with, hoping it wasn't coming from his eyes, her father hadn't taught her what to do about that. when she returned to the beside the blood was gone, just a redness tint to his pale skin where it used to be. and he had passed out again. she continued working.

there was blood all over her hands. it was under her fingernails and it had stained her dress sleeves. but he had stopped bleeding. his brown hair was still matted with blood on the sides there was nothing she should do about that.  hadley had tried to ignore the pressure building in her stomach. how long till he stopped breathing? how long until the wounds she worked to close with whiskey watched needles opened and he bled again? how long until she needed to dig a grave behind her barn where he'd rest until his bones become apart of the earth? she needed to stop. he would be fine. hadley needed to start today's work but she was so tired. so so tired. she went to the barn and as predicted, climbed to the hay loft and fell asleep.

-/-

vvitch
          vvitch
                    vvitch who ends life
no i'm a healer
                      no i'm a healer
                                                no i'm a healer like my father
but what is a healer who cannot heal? who is not married? who fosters death?

a vvitch.

-/-

she had slept until midday. for a brief moment, the irrefutable fact that there was a man in she did not know was in her house had escaped her but it came back with a roaring in her ears. what if he had left? that would not be ideal, especially if he wandered into town or onto the property of someone else, both would likely end up with him in harm.

tossing a bale of hay to the stall of her horse larkspur which, before falling asleep she had taken the tack off of, hadley ran back towards the house, making a serious attempt to not trip on the skirt of her frock in the process.

he was still there.
thank God.

she turned and tasked herself with pulling down some of her dried herbs from the ceiling, knowing that next, she begin making stew from saved vegetables and the rabbit she had caught from the traps the morning prior. it would be almost worse if he were to starve after all the work she'd done on his wounds.

"Where am I?"

he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the floor. she wasn't sure what to tell him. "you are in the colony of connecticut. in my father's-" she stopped, "my house." he looked at her, the sun through the windows backlighting him into nothing but a silhouette. she still held the knife she had been using. "who are you?"

"Daniel."
"you were in something that fell from the sky. are you a kind angel of God?"
"No, I crashed. I should have died. You saved me?"
"yes.
"Why?"
"i'm a healer."
he turned from her and she let go of the knife, putting the rest of the vegetables into her pot, taking it to hang over the fire. "my name is hadley."
"Thank you, Hadley."
she nodded, the heat of the fire keeping her near the hearth. the air around him was cold. he wasn't, daniel himself had not been cold the entire time she had worked. his skin had actually radiated heat and it wasn't a fever, she had checked, he was just, warm. but the air on that side of her house was cold. cold with her dread of failure. how long until he dies?

she poured two bowls of the stew and placed them at the table. "for you." she said, and nodded towards the bowl closest to him. he slowly stood, gripping the bed frame to stand. his skin stayed smooth despite the cold air he was forced to walk through. "let me get you a jacket" she said and went to the trunk that held her father's old clothes past the bed. she had yet to get rid of it but that apprehension had come in handy. she came back and he stood, hand outstretched to take it from her but she did not hand it to him, " be careful or you'll rip your sutures." he agreed with a nod and only then did the shirt pass from her to him. hadley sat back down, debating whether she should’ve helped him or not.

-/-

did you see that last evening ?
the fire from the sky ?
was i the only one ?
it was out near the southwood
near theodor’s daughter the vvitch
she could not have brought it here ?
could she ?
no
could she ?
vvitch

[Legends]

[align=center]

a

[div style="0px; width:400px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height:13px;"]the 45th hunger games - violence for violence: the reaping

TRIBUTES:
  District 1 - Quinton De Loutherbergh, Ambrose De Loutherbergh
  District 2 - Lizbet Von-Elster, Wolf Kafka
  District 3 - Isadora Maloré, Cato Marconi
  District 4 - Stevie Sealock, River Kore
  District 5 - Rizzo Fenton, Aiden Murphy
  District 6 - Augusta O'Riley, Daniel Summers
  District 7 - Birdie Pierce, Casper Bates
  District 8 - Morra Whitney, Dan Brown
  District 9 - Hadley Morton, Thorne Harkness
  District 10 - Scout Mcalester, Cameron Stevens
  District 11 - Crane Ballarat,  Ollie Oxenfield
  District 12 - Greta Walsh, Franklin Pax

citizens of Panem! a special announcement regarding this year's Hunger Games: Due to the recent outbreak of the Hatchet Plague and the tragic deaths it left in its wake, we have decided to expand the age of those eligible for the Reaping! we honor those who succumbed to the disease and have decided the reaping age for this year is now 13 through 26! this ensures we will have enough tributes for this year's games. may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"Quinton De Loutherbergh." the name rings out into the crowd, as many of the kids turn to look at the boy with curly hair standing with his family of six. Quinton looks down at his feet before his father taps his shoulder, a signal to raise his head proudly, Quinton does so, only in obedience, he is not proud of this. He flashes a smile and walks away from his family. "Ambrose De Loutherbergh". Ambrose, Quinton's older sister, tries to hold back a small smirk. Quinton's oldest sister Eliza barely has time to raise her hand to volunteer before her older brother Caspian grabs it and holds it to her side, digging his nails into her wrist. Ambrose lightly touches her shoulder to her twin Alexander's, a signal they've been using since they were little. she does not need to be told to hold her head up, she has everything to be proud of. Quinton can't hear the crowd celebrate, his eyes keep meeting Eliza's and her's are fighting tears.

Lizbet marched to the stage and smiled when Wolf Kafka was called. many kids did not want to train with them, and for good reason. Wolf was decisive, quick, merciless. Lizbet was clever, calculating, and loved games. she could not have been given a better partner. it was too bad that he was going to die. Lizbet had already begun calculating her victory.

"Isadora Maloré." for a second too long no one moved, then a girl in a blood-red dress calmly walked forward. her glide was smooth enough to convince viewers she was floating. her face was expressionless: she had seen a lot of people die, what was 23 more? the name that followed belonged to a scrawny looking fifteen-year-old, who, upon being called, almost burst into tears in his father's arms. his father held him but was eventually forced to let go as Cato Marconi was ushered away. People tried not to focus on Cato, most children don't cry when chosen for the games. Isadora is cheered for but her expression doesn't shift.

Stevie Sealock and River Kore walk up to the stage, both looking out into the square and past out to the ocean, both trying not to think that it will be their last time. Stevie and River had little familiarity with each other but had heard of the other in passing. River was often the talk of the market or the docks because of his voice, while Stevie was known as the girl who wanted to sword fight. Stevie tried not to think about possibly having to watch River die, his voice was so lovely. She looked at her mother and grandmother in the crowd. Her mother had a small smile knowing all her daughter's sword fighting was going to be of use but her grandmother had tear marks down her cheeks—she was one of the only people left who still remembered a time without the Games. The crowd cheered for them but their sentiment were empty.

Rizzo Fenton left the side of her mother and stepfather without saying a word. she held her wrist to make sure the cameras didn't see the bruise her stepfather had left there. Aiden Murphy followed shortly after, and behind him was resolute silence. 

Augusta O'Riley and Daniel Summers stood next to each other and nodded in the other's direction. Daniel was the last person anyone would've thought to ger reaped yet there he was. bright blue hair not at all helping his case. Augusta had hair like fire and a temper to match, the people knew this much: she had a chance.

her worst nightmare had come true. "Birdie Pierce." someone audibly gasped on the boy's side of the crowd. she had seen this in her dreams and now it was happening. she couldn't move for a second, she couldn't breathe. "Birdie Pierce." it was called again. people were looking at her now, eyes full of pity. Birdie Pierce was the cute girl with the short curly hair who lived in the north side of the woods and now she was being sent to die. Someone—a peacekeeper—grabbed her arm and moved her forward. Birdie followed suddenly very aware of her fate. she looked desperately for Casper, for anyone but suddenly she didn't recognize anyone around her. she couldn't see anyone—every face was empty. "Oak Barrow—" "I volunteer!" a poor barley thirteen Oak turned around to look at his savior but instead of meeting some idiot's face he only saw a worn twenty-five-year-old Casper, looking at Birdie.

Morra Whitney was being held around the shoulders in the mere moments before being dragged on stage by a peacekeeper. "Josh, Josh please don't let them take me, please Josh, please" she kept whispering as she was pulled away from her surrogate father. Josh tried to keep hold of her, tried desperately looking at other people, begging for someone to do something but he couldn't. Dan Brown was called after and trudged to his spot, sleep-deprived and tired. The older woman who owned the shop he worked in looked suddenly very annoyed that she would now have to find a replacement, his mother stood still.

Hadley Morton had to be pulled away from her father. she tried not to think about the truth of the matter but it was useless. Her mind worked too fast for her not to consider every single thing that was about to happen and how she was likely never going to see him again. She looked at her father when she was on stage and could hear his voice in her head when he mouthed "I love you, moon" from the crowd. She nodded and kept trying to smile. her father racked his brian for how this could've happened. her name was in there once, just once. Thorne was called after. For a moment no one moved but all eyes went to the boy of 6'2 wearing black, his fate had been sealed.

Scout Mcalester finally confessed her feelings to the boy she liked. She did it the day before her reaping. She regretted not telling him sooner. Cameron Stevens was pushed forward by his older and younger brother, his mother trying to cry but unable to: better the middle child than Jacob or Marcus.

the young girl Ollie fainted as soon she got on stage and was still clutching the side of her coat like it was a lifeline even while unconscious. the next name called created a quiet stir in the crowd. no one knew he even had a last name until it rang out across the square. "Crane Ballarat." there were no other Ballarats other than Crane. he had limbs like a willow tree and almost black eyes. there weren't supposed to be any Ballarats left.

Greta Walsh was almost nineteen and had finally bought her typewriter on the black market. she had been writing on any surface she could since she was little. she covered old pieces of wood and paper and parcels with observations and stories. she filled the world around her with words, and now she had none. after Greta came Frankie. Frankie and his sisters were the last of the Paxes. there was no one to be sad when his name was called. his sisters had managed to escape the district's outskirts and work in the city—if you could call it that. they watched the twenty-five-year-old walk up to the man with the blue-dyed hair holding the paper with his name on it. his name was in the large glass bowl 30 times, mostly to make up for his sisters' absence. you could sometimes pull off things like that if you knew the right peacekeeper. his sisters hadn't spoken to him in years, they said nothing now either. 

happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor!

[crows]

the drama, the intrigue, the absolute agony of casper and birdie

[Legends]

[align=center]

a

[div style="0px; width:400px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height:13px;"]you've lived in this area a while, you ever seen a UFO? - its soft and nice

"it was towards the tail end of route 66"
"oh How CLICHE, of course"

(i never finished this but it was going to be danley)