We The Lost Mailbox

[carnagecarnival]

 
The Initiate | 1338 Pound Cake Lane

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[carnagecarnival]

[ This wasn't an impressing quadrant they got up in. This was a quadrant of petty annoyances and fantastical piss-offs. She's doing great on the annoyance bit as she stands there doing nothing more but gawking him. It's not entirely off for black flirting, but it ain't her style, and really, it ain't his neither. Then she's thrusting her helmet at him, and he's forced to let go of the doorframe to grasp it. His brows go up. ] Your Helmet... and this is being part of your bargain? [While he suspects as much, the part of him what doubts in all is incredulous she's offering anything, and the others bit just want to make her spell out what it is for true, or at least see her squirm. He doesn't show his other hand.]

[earthborn]

[She levels a particularly unimpressed look at him. What the hell else would it be, clown?]

First time I died, that helmet was the only thing left intact. That was before Panem.

[It's not really an answer, but at the same time it's more of an answer than he asked for. The message should be clear; this is important. More than just having a helmet, that was important.]

Takes time to get the real trade. Unless you don't think that's collateral enough? Take it or leave it, it's all I got.

[carnagecarnival]

[A non-answer that reveals is more than what he usually gets from her. In that instant he learns she died before all this-- that made two of them-- and that this was that last real piece what got left of her. This is her motherfucking Beforus. He can see his own reflection in the red and silver shine of it. He looks back to her, blazing through her broken skin. His chin lifts.] ... It'll up and do. [Time. She was offering time. That was all he wanted. He shifts to let his other hand show from behind the door. In his hand, dangles a thread, and on it the single fang she held a want for, already strung upon it. He's left some indigo on it.]