Lotus Blossom

"Chest pains. Much of them. Far too much to bear." She coughed. "And bleeding. I cough blood. I cannot breathe." She looked pained. "I can rarely ever breathe. My heart- and head- hurts so." She turned her head back, searching for some servant or maid. "Someone, get me my over clothes! A dress, or even simply a corset and petticoat. Something to make me-" She gasped for air. "-decent." She lost consciousness and fell limp in Cedric's arms.

A knock comes from the door.

She struggles slightly but thens tills, holding her handkerchief to her mouth. A handmaiden approaches Cedric tentatively, and bows slightly with an air of panic. "Please, sir, if I may..." She gestures to Mae.

"Unlock the door," she said calmly through a pain-stricken face and gritted teeth. "Cedric. I need you to unlock the door, and call a doctor." She gasped again and held her chest. "A doctor." She looked up at him, coughing up blood. "Please."

Tears streamed from her face as she tried to tear off her corset. She ripped off her gown, dressed in only an underdress as she clutched her chest, clawing at her lungs. The pain only grew, sharper and tighter than ever. She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped down to her knees again, banging at the door and clinging onto the doorknob, begging for a miracle to open the damn door. She struggled to draw enough breath to keep her headache at bay. Any less air and she'd faint. She heard Cedric on the other side of the door, so she shook it urgently. "I..." She began with a weak voice. She drew in another staggered breath. "Help," she gasped, no air in her lungs. She gripped her hands into fists on the lap of her underdress. "I need help."

All of a sudden, the tight feeling of the corset grew to become a sharp pain in her chest. She sat up in her bed, clutching her fist to her heart as she took in staggered, heavy breaths. Her eyes grew wider and her face tightened with pain. She could barely speak. Stumbling over to her dresser, she looked up in her mirror, eyes locking with the reflection. She should've told them. She should've told him. She should've told someone. Anyone. Crumpling down to her knees, she struggled to pull out a handkerchief. Ruffling through the folds of her dress, she grasped a satin white cloth with an embroidered rose vine looping into the initials M, L, and A. She closed her eyes shut as the pain in her chest grew into a burning fire as if a dagger had been twisted into the wound. Coughing into her handkerchief, she saw the white cloth turn into red with blood. Her head pounding and her eyesight blurring with red rims, she banged on her door, trying her best to call for help even while she couldn't breathe. Her door was locked, and her fingers were too weak to attempt to unlock it. All she could do was shake it and attempt, somehow, to get someone's attention. Would they ever hear her? Would she ever scream? @SmilingPanda19

Mae paused for a moment of silence, feeling the gaze of Lord John. "I apologize, sir, but the meal appears to have not sat well with me. I have lost my appetite, and must excuse myself with utmost politeness. I am so glad you've joined us this evening. Your presence is always welcome in our pleasant, modest home. With warmest grace, I bid you farewell. Please, stay as long as you'd like, and enjoy yourself here. The servants will tend to your every wish. And they will fetch your carriage when you must leave. I thank you again for your presence for tonight's feast, and I wish it will not be long until we meet again. Goodnight, sir." She bowed her head slightly and politely walked up the stairs, holding up her gown as she stepped. She opened the door of her room, and entered gracefully, before closing and locking it securely. Then, she fell onto her bed, mascara smudging and corset suddenly feeling all too tight. @The Wandering Wizard @SmilingPanda19

"No, no, Cedric darling. We have the ship. And we have a personal captain. I have been in message accordance with him. You see, he had been shot by southern pirates on the voyage over. His second had to step into place, and immediately sent a telegraph. My letters are dated perfectly, and organized in correct order. You may check them. It appears my parents and dear sisters are sailing along the coast of Japan's islands. The second, unfortunately, had drowned rescuing my mother's pearls from the ocean. So he, alas, was replaced again by a crewmate. The crewmate had been discovered to steal fuel from our ships, so my parents had hired a more trusted friend of the family to be captain of our ship. But still, my parents and sisters must wait, docked in Japan's bays, until the new captain can arrive. I have been in message accordance with him. He has just left England, and is bound towards the horn of Africa and will sail around to Japan. This will take four months. Once he arrives, he will sail them back to England for a considerable amount of gold pieces and dock our ship there, allowing my parents and dear sisters to arrive safely in London and attend the wedding. Now, because our ship is larger than his, it will require more fuel and therefore more stops. It also is slower, as it is a larger sea vessel, so can only go at a maximum 20 knots. Unfortunately, the trip back to England will take six months. So therefore, my parents and sisters will make it to England in ten months from now. It is frankly impossible to bring them here faster than that. No, Cedric, darling, we cannot move the wedding date earlier." Mae sat down again, her mouth pressed in a thin line. She had been almost out of breath after speaking so quickly.

Mae ignores him, and tilts her head with a pitiful grimace. "No, I must say I cannot be joking on a matter as important as this. We cannot move the wedding, of course. You see, my parents would be traveling from afar. They are currently visiting the spice bazaars in India and east Asia. They would need to sail over to England, which would take weeks, most likely months. It would be a terrible inconvenience to them. Cedric, dear, are you suggesting that we must hold the wedding without the bride's parents? You need my father's blessing, after all. And the marriage is a joyous celebration of two houses combining. It cannot be half as joyous if my house isn't present. So, you see, we cannot move the wedding to an earlier date." She had spoken in a soft, yet steadfast tone. Almost daring. @The Wandering Wizard @SmilingPanda19

Mae, who had been silent for a while, stood up at last. "No, no, I'm afraid this cannot do." @The Wandering Wizard @SmilingPanda19

Mae dared not speak. She held in her breath, glancing between Cedric and Lord John. @The Wandering Wizard @SmilingPanda19

Mae sat down, with wide eyes, imitating surprise. 'Oh, Cedric," she put a hand over her mouth, "Please, tell me this isn't bad news. I really was enjoying myself this evening." She across the table to Lord John, almost looking helpless. "A telegraph was sent for us the other day," she explained. Then she looked back to Cedric, and put her hand in his. "What is it, dear?"

An alarm blared. The gravitational capacitors, which had been malfunctioning since the beginning of the games, had broken down. All he could do to fix the poco wasn't enough. He had made a mistake. Of course he had. And now he was falling. Crashing. Again. Like when he had lost his hand. "No. This can't be happening. My mom's watching me. Razor's watching me. I can't die. I can't lose. I must win." Junior muttered as he fumbled with the controllers. At flight school, his name and location had appeared on the roster. His brother had found his whereabouts at last, and was making his way to pester Junior again for money. For a hideout. To escape the law. To escape jail. Last time his brother had found him, Junior was beat up. When his name was chosen, he couldn't have been more happy. Either he died in the sky-- really died this time... Or he won. Or eternal fame. Eternal glory. There were no alternatives. Death. or Freedom. Either was welcome. He couldn't tell which was the better choice. Junior's ship rolled over as it fell. He was looking at the ground, upside down. Everything was approaching too quickly. But still, he felt suspended. In the air. For a moment. He closed his eyes. He remembered, of course, the day that still haunted him. He murdered his mother, an enigmatic free-verse poet. "An accident," they had said. No. The skies knew it wasn't an accident. He would do it again. Having been abandoned by his father, and with a criminal for an older brother, he had no where to turn. But Razor. The "congratulations" for staying alive never came. The compensation for crashing his ship? He was practically kidnapped. Forced to be apprenticed to Razor, he was working for the man for free. In exchange, Razor kept him alive. He fed him, gave him shelter in his hangar, and taught him everything he knew. Razor trained him. He couldn't be falling now. He had only crashed one ship before. Junior used his arm strength to pull his ship around. Those bullets had really hurt the wings. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of his engines blow into flames. He grew up with Razor. But the failed DDF pilot would hurt him. With words. With his hands. He had burns from piloting his scout. He had carved his own scars. He had earned this. He couldn't fail now. Not now, when everyone had told him he would fail. No, this was the time to rise. This, above others, was when Junior had to win. Junior was fed up with constantly being less than. Being worse. Being inferior to Razor. To his mother's scudding poetry. To the world. No. Now was when he would be powerful. As the crash approached, Junior got more and more frantic. He wouldn't die here, but if he did, he had to speak with Razor. He had to say something. He had to write something down- he was good at writing, wasn't he? He hadn't spoken to Razor since the argument. But Junior was right in the argument. He had been trained well by Razor. And he had trained for many years. His debt surely was paid off in his labor. As he grew older, he began to realize this. He told Razor that he would fly his entire life. He told Razor that his future was to become a DDF pilot. Razor told him he would fail. Junior disagreed. He could throw the man in jail. Razor was kicked out and banned from being a DDF pilot. To make a living, he would take old aircrafts or ships that were broken that people dropped off in his hangar and repair them. He sold some of the parts of the aircrafts on the black market, yet lie about it and receive money in exchange for the repairs. This is what Junior helped him with in the hangar. It was illegal. Junior signed up for flight school, without any protection from Razor or otherwise. He has no means to pay for it, but he was there. He couldn't die now. He wouldn't die now. He had to live. He opened his eyes. Maybe it wasn't about winning the hunger games. Maybe it wasn't death or glory. Maybe it was simply freedom. Junior would let no one manipulate his life. Maybe he didn't have to crash. Maybe he didn't have to win. Maybe he could just live. Junior smiled and pulled on his helmet. "Aria?" he said over the communication headset, "I don't know where you are or if you're still alive, but I wanted to let you know that I'm doing wonderfully on this fine morning!" He grinned as he gained back the controls and lifted his ship upwards, tilting the poco. He could almost feel the rush of cold air as he flew the ship and landed it. It was rough, and the impact of the land had banged up the aircraft. It was already falling apart, so the ship was pretty much destroyed. But that didn't bother him. Junior stepped down and looked around himself. He took a breath of the fresh air. He gazed upon the arena, filled with confusion. Among the few remaining tributes, who were alive yet weak and not holding up well, there were scatterings of rebels, with arm bands that branded them as such. One rebel greeted him in front of the ship. Junior stood still. "Olviere," The man smiled, holding out his arms. The name stung. "Olviere Torsun. I love you." It was his father. His father, who hadn't known about him killing his mother. His father, who hadn't know about his callsign. His father, who hadn't known about his childhood. His father, who hadn't known about the villanelles he had written or his brother or the leatherbound notebook or how hard it had been. How hard life had been. His father, who hadn't know about Razor. His father, who was a rebel. Who had come to save him. Slowly, Junior walked towards him. He grinned brighter than he ever had before, and hugged his father, tears streaming down his face. There was so much to say. But there were only two words that he could say now. Two words that Junior had never said before. Two words that he had thought he would never hear himself say. "I'm sorry." It was then that he realized something. No matter how dark the world could be. How cold. How lonely. How damp. How tragic. Despite all this, still: The world could be so, so beautiful. And that was what would be written on the next clean page of Junior's notebook.

It was then that it hit Junior. He had killed two people. Two living, breathing people. Perhaps he was the monster? No. No, he wasn't the monster. His mother was. Yes. His mother was the monster. She always had been. And that dreadful friend of hers. Emma. Junior could still remember the hiss of his mother's forked tongue... the scales and the slit yellow eyes, gleaming with mischievous joy. And the look of betrayal. Pure betrayal. As he pulled the trigger. And killed her. Treason. Family protects family. There was no true protection. There was only him. And the two people he had killed. Boys just his age. And the lives they never would live. And then there was his mother. Still alive. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Junior finished fixing what he could of his poco. It was difficult, and especially harder when Razor wasn't providing him with the illegal plane parts that Razor had bought on the black market to fix what was broken. Junior found himself missing the junkyard... Razor's hangar... The ships... But then he stopped missing it all. Not when he remembered Razor. The countless times he had hit him. "You'll never be a DDF pilot," Razor had spat. Junior still remembered the man's crooked smile looking down at him, the first time he had met him. Junior was only a boy of nine years at the time. He had been kicked out of his house, of course, after he had murdered his mother. His father had left them far before that, and his older brother... well, at the time, his older brother was in jail after being convicted of his thirteenth crime. His brother would soon escape, but that was a year later. No, by the time Junior was nine, he had killed his mother, and he had no where to go. So he ran. And he ran until he found a ship. So he got into the ship, and flew. Oh, the skies know how he flew that day. It was freedom. It was an escape. And moments later, it was a crash. Junior, the child he was, didn't know what he was doing at the time. His ship malfunctioned and spun out of control, crashing terribly. There was a large fire, and many aircraft parts shattered. The ship was destroyed, and almost took Junior out with it. But he survived. He blew up his hand, but survived the crash. Why did he live? Why couldn't he have just died in that crash? In that fire? Of course, he had stolen the ship. And guess who was the owner? Razor. A former DDF pilot who was kicked out and made a living by repairing aircrafts but charging extremely high prices and ripping off his clients by selling certain parts (too unnoticeable to know they were missing) on the black market. The first word he said to Junior once the child woke up: Debt. He was in far too much debt after having stolen and crashed an aircraft. It was Razor who had given Junior his callsign. It was he who had trained him to fly. There was far too much at stake for Junior. He had to win. He had to kill.

"Cedric!" Mae smiled and clapped her hands together, "How kind of you to join us! Are you alright? Your father and I were almost getting worried!" @The Wandering Wizard