(Untitled)

[wasblindbefore]

Bruises fade. It's a simple fact, of course, just the way of the world, nature doing its job or some shit like that, but in this case, it's proven to be a fascination, too. Elvis has watched carefully as they've faded, the marks at his throat, the places where his knuckles went raw from pulling at coarse, unyielding rope. Now, it would be

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[wizard_errant]

Dairine had been looking at the sky. She jumps back with a start, not wanting to step all over the guy's papers--but there are pages blowing away and he looks like he's having a little trouble grabbing them all now the wind has them.

"No problem--want a hand?" she asks, but it's a kind of moot question, because she's already grabbing for the pages fluttering past her feet.

[wasblindbefore]

"Thanks," Elvis says, a little reluctant for the fact that he'd have said he could get them on his own, but not about to tell her to stop now that she's already helping, even if she shouldn't have to go out of her way. He doesn't know her, but that's no surprise. Even after weeks here, he could probably count on one hand the people he's had more than a passing few words with. Clutching at pages, not caring where ones get wrinkled, he adds with a wry huff of a laugh, "Teach me to work outside, right?"

[wizard_errant]

She shrugs, flashing a grin as she hands him the papers. "I guess, but who wants to be stuck inside all the time? Guess it's just a risk you have to take, huh?"

[wasblindbefore]

"Guess so," Elvis says, an agreement more for the sake of it than because he actually does. The smile he returns with, though, is small but genuine as he reaches out to take the papers she's collected. "This should be all of them."

[makeafairfight]

Cameron reaches instinctively to grab at the loose pages, but he misses all but two, staring stunned. The accent is wrong, all wrong, he knows that, but he can't help hoping for a familiar face and a friend attached to it. It's been far too long since he was home, since he last saw Divya, but still, he knows this can't be him. That doesn't keep him from saying, "Div?" He shakes his head, straightening up and taking a step back. "Don't - it's fine, there's no need to apologize."

[wasblindbefore]

It's a weird sort of response, one that Elvis can't quite make sense of, something like recognition but not absolutely so, making his brow furrow even as he grabs at some more of the scattered sheets. "'Scuse me?" he asks, the best he can do. He just can't think of a single reason why anyone would seem so stunned looking at him, especially now that there's not visible bruising to draw attention. Coupled with that first question, a word that could be just about anything, he's at a loss. "Here, I'll take those."

[makeafairfight]

"Right, sorry, here," Cameron says, holding them out. He's not always this awkward. In fact, he nearly always isn't, much better at being politely held together, but it's like meeting the twin of someone long dead or something like that, unexpected and bewildering and cutting sharp. Divya was always more Tyler's friend than his, but that doesn't mean they weren't close. "I didn't mean to - you just... remind me a lot of a friend of mine."

[wasblindbefore]

It isn't such an uncommon sentiment around here, at least from what Elvis has gathered. He's never actually witnessed it, though, and certainly would never have expected that he would be on the receiving end of it. (It could be worse, there are far worse things he could be recognized as, but that doesn't make it less unsettling now.) "Uh, sorry," he says, less because he means the apology and more because he doesn't have anything else to say. "Pretty sure I'm not him, though."

[behindtheskin]

The sky above seems suddenly heavy with the threat of rain, and the clouds that whirl around draw Effy's eyes to the stretch of blue above, shadowed. For an island with whims more numerous than stars in the sky, the idea that the weather might cater to emotions that float on the current doesn't seem far-fetched at all, and instead gives her the sensation of arms welcoming her back, albeit cold, albeit distant. Her eyes close, brows knitting together in gratitude, for the sun hiding away, for the rays not exposing her to the bone today. It's been two weeks since she's spent that night in the caves, two weeks since she's been home, and yet everywhere still feels foreign and familiar at once. (Never quite home

[wasblindbefore]

It's Elvis' instinct - an old one, probably, older than most of the shit that's gone on in his life more recently - to just let the pages go once they stray too far in the breeze that's picked up. They wouldn't have been any good anyway, he's increasingly certain of that the farther from his grasp they get, and it isn't as if he doesn't remember what happened in them, even if he'd be losing a couple turns of phrase it would be hard to recreate. Hell, for all he knows, with the way this place is, it's some kind of sign or something that he ought to just give it up. Anabelle would almost certainly disagree, but who's to say this sort of magic doesn't work both ways

[behindtheskin]

"Don't like words getting away from me," she answers first, her eyes narrowed as she watches the boy approach, something about his posture seeming to hide parts of him, a hint of insecurity that keeps his shoulders from standing as tall as they probably ought. Effy knows plenty of people like that. Used to surround herself with them, resting her hand carefully on each one, never relinquishing her hold. It isn't precisely that she enjoys taking advantage of people whose steps always fall unsure. But there are people who need a leader, who need a hand to guide them, and having been that person for so long, it's hard for Effy to fight the impulse to take the other role, especially when a person appears so stranded.

Loved, though, she thinks to herself. He's probably loved.

She holds them out with a slow sweep of her arm, brow raising as her lips curve in the smallest of smiles, tentative and lacking strength, though she tries. "Should be more careful."

[wasblindbefore]

It speaks for itself, of course. Maybe he's had to learn the hard way in this instance, but Elvis is well aware now that he should be more careful, to not take any chances with his writing, no matter how pointless it may be. He nearly rolls his eyes for it, given just how very obvious it is, but it's the first comment that he gets stuck on instead, trying to work out what she means no matter how self-explanatory the words themselves are. It's like they should make sense but they don't, like there's something she knows that he doesn't, something he's missing. In a way, it's unsettling, but hypnotically so, instead of just making him not want to bother.

"I plan to be," he says after a moment, carefully shuffling some of the papers, not caring so much what order they're in so long as they're all straight. He can figure all that out later; he's lost his train of thought, anyway. "Do you, uh - write, or?"

[pylean_cow]

Fred's headed down that same patch of boardwalk when the breeze blows through, blowing some of the papers she's carrying onto the ground too. It's mostly doodles, diagrams and theories, but some of the best ideas can come from idle thought, she thinks.

"No, no, it's okay," Fred says, as she leans over to try and grab her own pages, "I think some of those are mine, sorry."

[wasblindbefore]

It's suddenly more confusing than it really ought to be, pages being carried from a separate source and mingling with his own. Elvis sighs - it is an interference, he can't deny that, probably couldn't even if he were the sort to want to - but shakes his head, easy, dismissive. It isn't her fault any more than it's his, and nothing to really get upset over.

"I'm guessin' yours are the ones with more than just words on them?" he asks wryly, fingers closing around a page with some drawings on it that he couldn't identify, definitely not belonging to him. At least it isn't likely that they'll get any of their papers confused.

[pylean_cow]

"Yeah, some of them," She picks up one that's not in her familiar loopy handwriting and holding it out to him. And maybe it's not the most polite thing to do, reading what he's written on his, but it's not the easiest thing to keep from doing, considering the circumstances.

"Is this a story?" she asks.

[wasblindbefore]

"Goin' to be," Elvis says, ignoring the sudden spark of what he supposes has to be self-consciousness at the idea of someone else reading any of his writing, a stranger or otherwise. He's only ever shared them with his father and Anabelle, and never meant to change that. At least she doesn't seem to be judging him too hard for it, though; he'll take what he can get.

Simultaneously trying to reach for the page and sift through the ones he's holding for any not his own, a move that nearly ends with the rest of them on the boardwalk again, he manages to hold out what he thinks belongs to her. "S'just a hobby. And yours are, um-?"

[notapiece]

"Oh man, no trouble." With only a moment of hesistation that came from the occasional stiffness of his knee, Peeta bent down to help pick up the papers. Gathering a few in his hand, he didn't look at what was on them. It wasn't for lack of curiosity, but rather the fact that he didn't want to invade this guy's privacy.

"The wind can be kind of awful sometimes," he said as he offered the small pile back to him.

[wasblindbefore]

"Yeah, tell me about it," Elvis says, half on an exhale and mostly to himself as he grabs at a few more stray papers, though the expression of gratitude that crosses his face would be difficult to miss. There are worse possible reactions, he's sure, than someone helping and not seeming too intrusive, even if he'd have turned down any offers of assistance that would have preceded the action itself. He isn't complaining now, though. "Should've thought about that before I tried gettin' anything done outside."

[notapiece]

Snatching a stray paper just as it started to drift away out of the air, Peeta leaned back on his haunches as he nodded. "Yeah. I usually have to have a couple rocks handy myself, but you know it happens." He shrugged his shoulders easily, handing the paper back to the guy. "It sneaks up on you or something."

Back in District 12 the wind had been noticeable, always faintly grey even as it moved. This wind was clean and did as it pleased.

[wasblindbefore]

"What, you do any writing?" Elvis asks, a little surprised, though he'd have no reason to. It isn't like he cares, or even if he knows it's true, but this guy has to do something to be saying the things he is, and that's maybe kind of nice. Not the sort of thing that fosters any sort of kinship or whatever - he's never been the type of person to look for that - but at least making him feel a little less dumb for the scattered papers. "Or just have that much experience battlin' the wind?"