dreaming of sunshine [eliza]

[Maria I. Sanchez]

i see this life like a swinging vine maria others tagged (Elizaveta Héderváry) words (972) outfit (i always wondered what they wore) If Maria had realized, really realized, how little sun she would get once she had reached eighteen, she wouldn’t have wanted to leave Weeds so much. She would have enjoyed, as much as she could have, her time there. She would have spent more days in the sun, even if it was cold. She couldn’t count on her hands the number of things she missed. The sun here was different. It didn’t shine like it did back home. It didn’t warm the sun or tan her. It didn’t envelop her in fervency. It chilled her. That’s why she had avoided it. But, if she had known that she would have been like this - in a cell. Not a classroom or a dorm, but a cell where the floor was disgusting and never cleaned unless she made the effort. The bathroom was in the corner of the , nauseating, because the mutants in the cell before her didn’t care to keep it clean; the ‘bed’ was so uncomfortable. Springs stood up in the oddest places, but the floor was even worse. She’d curl up into herself and try not to sob. The streets were worse, after all. Here, she was certain, the streets would leave you frozen. The humans could be just as cruel as la policía back home, but they were to be obeyed. That’s what the Mexican had been taught. That was what had been drilled into her the past four years - that and English that was still more broken than she would have liked. She’d given up on trying to learn Russian, though she very much acted interested. That’s what the Academy had taught her - to fake it until she could make it. It was only such a shame that that philosophy was so much harder once she reached the Underground. Maria loathed violence. She had hated finding people bloodied on the streets - had hated finding men and women alike beating up on one another fighting for this little thing or that. She had been made to go to the training grounds from time to time to hone her power, but very little had come of it. She hadn’t had one of those flashy ones that most humans liked to see. She didn’t know what it was like to be paraded in front of them, either, although she had heard rumblings from some of the other mutants. When they took her to fight, for the first time, she had followed after them cluelessly. English was hard. She understood it very little and the guards spoke so fast. Sometimes, she couldn’t even be sure that they were speaking English and not something else. She couldn’t even ask them to repeat themselves because, when she tried, they’d ignore her or talk even faster. She hadn’t had the smallest idea that she was being taken to the arena. As far as she was concerned, she was just being taken out. She had the smallest hope that they were going to take her outside. She was wrong. They’d thrown her into the arena with a boy larger than her - but not the biggest. She had seen some of them, had definitely heard rumors, about the powerhouses that the Underground housed. This boy didn’t seem that big, but his eyes. They were more lifeless than the eyes of the skeletal woman who occasionally watched over her. Maria hadn’t known they were meant to fight. She hadn’t even considered the idea, not really, until the boy was on her. She’d crashed onto the floor harder than she thought possible. The fists were everywhere - her face, her arms, her neck and chest, her stomach. There wasn’t a part of her body that escaped the onslaught of his attack. Half-hazardly, she brought her hands up to protect her face from being hit and only exposed her midsection more. “Maria,” her Papá had scolded her. “Don’t leave your stomach open.” She’d tried to fight back. When her fists would connect with the skin, she’d feel small shocks and draw her hands back. The boy had hurt her, but she hadn’t wanted to know him. She hadn’t wanted to see the skeletons in his closet - to see what he had forgotten about. She’d been dragged back to her cell with her feet dragging against the floor. She could barely walk on her own. She’d crawled onto her cot and curled up in a ball. And cried. She’d cried so hard that she could have sworn she was reprimanded for it. Maria had stuffed the top of her shirt - metallic, it tasted metallic - into her mouth to silence her bawling. That’d been the first time in the Arena, but it hadn’t been the last. There wouldn’t be people lining up to watch her fight. Every once in a while, she’d win. She’d deliver a couple of quick, well-placed punches and retreat until the guards took her opponent away. If they were weaker than she, she was lucky and got to eat relatively well. If they were stronger, she’d curl up and protect the few spaces on her that were left exposed. Her clothes fit her too big - she looked like a little girl playing dress up with Papá’s clothes. Sometimes, the stronger mutants took pity on her and only hit unexposed areas. Sometimes. The end result would still be the same. Maria almost always had to be dragged back to her cell. The last time had been no different. They tossed her into the cell, and Maria had inhaled sharply. “Thank you drag me back.” She tried to smother the accent. The guards tsked loudly at her attempt. At least her headache made the room seem lighter. It was almost like there was sunshine streaming in. made by remi of isc & rilla go! inspired by abby's template

[Elizaveta Héderváry]

INFINITY (n.) the state of being limitless Elizaveta missed Hungary. She missed the flowers and the sunshine and the grass and the smell of Hungary. She missed the horses and the fencing and the freedom. How desperately Elizaveta wished she could return. Perhaps, if she had simply allowed herself to live the life her mother had set out for her, she could have. A vacation to Hungary perhaps, maybe even act as her mother's mouthpiece. But no. No, Elizaveta could never have done that. She was too stubborn and she would not return to Hungary in that manner. So instead she was stuck here, in the damp and the cold. Elizaveta longed to return home, to sink into her tub and soak there for an hour, to forget everything. Everything, of course, including this pitiful match that was taking place before her. The girl fighting wasn't too new to the Underground, but she had never put up a good fight. Elizaveta thought back to what her power was. Something odd, she remembered, dealing with ghosts and memories. It wasn't a power that naturally yielded towards fights, but this girl could barely seem to handle herself. Her small fists were clenched tight, but her punches were weak and uncoordinated. She clearly didn't seem to want to hit the other mutant. An understandable sentiment, but self-defense was self-defense. Yet Elizaveta was certain she'd seen the girl throw a few capable punches once or twice. She seemed to shirk whenever there was someone who appeared stronger though. Why Elizaveta paid even this much attention to a mutant, she did not know. It was a little pathetic, perhaps. But Elizaveta sympathized somewhat. There weren't a lot of female mutants in the Underground and it was difficult being the only girl. Certainly Elizaveta had experience with that. To see someone refuse to fight though... That, Elizaveta had much more difficulty understanding. “What's her name?” Elizaveta murmured to the guard next to her. “Maria Sanchez.” “Right.” Elizaveta nodded as she watched the laughable fight come to an end. There were hardly any people in the audience. Just two mutants, and neither of them entertaining enough to bring a crowd. Elizaveta watched as the mutant girl was essentially dragged off of the floor while her opponent stood in the center with barely a scratch. Maria hadn't even put up a fight...how someone could simply stand there and allow themselves to be beaten, Elizaveta did not understand. She didn't believe that Maria couldn't win either. The girl was small and light, and that meant she had speed. Even if she did not have the natural advantage that certain other mutants such as Ludwig and Hamish possessed, she could win a few lower tier fights and earn herself some extra food. Judging by her small frame and hollow cheeks, she certainly looked like she needed it. The next fight would not begin for another thirty minutes as the guards reset the arena and Elizaveta mused over what she had to do. For once, she had little paperwork to take care of. Aleksander was taking care of the guard schedule for her. The man was very reliable, an unusual trait considering the rest of the men, Elizaveta thought to herself. Which left Elizaveta with rather little to manage. There was nothing special happening, thank goodness, and her mother was staying out of her hair for the most part. All was good. So Elizaveta found herself following the guards towards the mutant girl's cell, trailing a little behind. She heard the girl's broken English and accent, the snorts of the guards at her pitiful attempt. Then their footsteps echoed away and Elizaveta allowed herself to step in closer. Elizaveta recalled that Maria's power operated through touch, and as Elizaveta had no desire for the mutant to exercise her powers, she remained at a distance. The cell opposite Maria's was empty and Elizaveta leaned against the bars as she looked at the mutant. All the mutants in the underground were undernourished, but Maria especially so. Perhaps that was due to how easily she lost fights, but it may have also been simply because that was the way Maria was. From the looks of it she hadn't come into the Underground particularly well fed either. If she had been properly taken care of, perhaps she could look beautiful. “You didn't have to give up, you know,” Elizaveta remarked calmly. “You could've put up a much stronger fight than that.” She was curious, in a way. Did Maria truly wish to simply give up, or was there a fighting spirit in the girl?

words 763 tags #Maria I. Sanchez notes Sorry it's late, hope it's okay!

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[Maria I. Sanchez]

i see this life like a swinging vine maria others tagged (Elizaveta Héderváry) words (964) People rarely bothered to speak to her after any of her matches. On the big days when they were supposed to put on a show about getting contracted out, there were only a handful or so that bothered to stop by. Most of them didn’t particularly like her power - didn’t like the idea that a mutant would be able to know something intimate about them, or could tell what their strongest memory was. Their figurative skeleton in the closet they didn’t particularly feel like sharing. When they stopped by, when they looked at her, it was to marvel at the fact that she was a girl. Or, if one of the other female mutants were around, it was to stare at her out-of-place complexion. She was very aware of the fact that she didn’t look like any of the others. She might have been just as small as some girls, but her tanned skin gave her away. In this cell without much to go by, it was difficult to pull her wild, curly hair into anything except back. She only managed that because she’d ripped part of her pant leg to turn it into a ribbon. It didn’t manage to hold everything, so Maria still had a couple of hairs springing in different directions. It was better than nothing, and it opened up her face for others to look at. Her dark, almost-black eyes that looked like chocolate, and her too-long eyelashes that blinked in confusion every time they spoke quickly. No one ever wanted to shake her hand or anything of the sort, but they’d walk around her in a circle as if she were some animal to be appraised. She supposed that was the case, now that she was here. She brought her knees to her and hugged them, trying to keep warm. She was human. She’d argue with anyone who tried to tell her otherwise, but less so. So, perhaps God had given her something extra. It wasn’t exactly a curse, not anymore. It was her way of having something of an advantage - of being able to hold the smallest thing over someone so they couldn’t hurt her. She abhorred violence - abhorred having to resort to blackmail, but it was better to take the smallest tidbit of information than to let it spiral into something bigger. She wasn’t the happy little girl she once was. It was a rude reminder when something made her smile, and her face hurt afterwards from the effort. It wasn’t right, and no one should ever have to feel such a thing. She wasn’t often left alone to her own devices, but came to hate the times that she was the most. Even if it was harder on her, she preferred being able to speak to other people. To reminisce if her companion wasn’t to bitter about his or her past, or to make small idle talk. Did they mind if she tried to make the cell not look so dark and gloomy? Did they feel that small breeze go by? Were they recently contracted out. If they were, was there any fun news to talk about? Sometimes, she got tidbits about Mexico. There was a hurricane recently. It rained for a long time without stop, so this river and that flooded. Students went missing, and the government was torn between blaming a group of rogue mutants or drug cartels. These things would make her worry, but then she’d get happier news. Oh, the economy was doing better. The national team managed to beat this team. Their independence day celebration was lively and without any big incidents. To say that she was homesick was beyond the normal understatement. She’d been homesick before she had even left the country. Still, it was nice to get news here and there. It was nice to think about those times - or to imagine that she was still there out on the streets discussing this and that. It distracted her from thinking about how hungry she was, or how thirsty. She didn’t often get any extra provisions. She knew a lot of the stronger mutants tried to give them away, too. She preferred not having to beat anyone to get anything. They gave her enough to get by - enough to make sure they didn’t come down to drag her to the Arena one day only to find she had whittled away. She was being dramatic, too. Perhaps she was not the most popular mutant, she certainly wasn’t the most expensive. She was economic, really, and an easy “pet” for some. She felt guilty, but Maria would generally try to eat as much as she could when she was out. She flinched at the sudden noise, having not paid much mind once the guards had left. They never stayed around to chat with her, after all. She blinked slowly, eye narrowing in on the woman who spoke. The woman who was in charge. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, wincing as her body protested such fast movement. She could feel herself swaying and knew she’d probably fall over if she relied only on her legs to keep her up. The woman - who, actually, she never quite remembered what her name was and only knew her by what the others called her - was standing against the opposite bars, so she didn't have a problem grabbing onto the bars of her own cell and using them to steady herself. “Si, but why?” She tsked, half tempted to salute the woman and half tempted to fall onto her ‘bed’ and pass out. “What the point? I still lose and hurt more. My way, it fast and done. I come here.” made by remi of isc & rilla go! inspired by abby's template

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[Elizaveta Héderváry]

INFINITY (n.) the state of being limitless Elizaveta observed the mutant quietly as she scrambled to her feet. Weak, fatigued... The girl clutched the bars of her cell as if they were her lifeline. Elizaveta wondered how long she would last here in the Underground before she wasted away. She could never afford to be truly sympathetic of course, and Elizaveta felt naturally disinclined towards pitying those who did not fight, but it was sad. There were others like this girl, mutants who did not survive, who simply could not stay together for long enough. This girl was a foreigner, that was for certain. That was hardly a surprise though—many mutants were. Some countries had their own “Undergrounds” but those were generally smaller in size. Most nations were much happier shipping their useless cargo off to Russia. Of course there were places where they'd tried training mutants, but those tended to go wrong, leading to often disastrous conclusions. So Archadia it was. The land of the broken, the beaten, and the damned. Maria's skin was darker than most mutants, even without the sunshine. She looked malnourished, underfed, but it was clear that she wasn't native. Perhaps if she had been properly taken care of, she could look pretty. Her hair, dark and curled, would be attractive to many men Elizaveta knew. But down here, it was stringy, unwashed and unkept. At best, it was a nuisance. At worst, it could be a disadvantage in a fight. The girl spoke in broken, accented English. Was she Spanish? Mexican? Elizaveta wasn't sure. Not that the difference mattered that much down here. She looked so fragile, so weak. An easy target. “What's the point?” Elizaveta echoed. The point? Was pride not enough? Perhaps Elizaveta was simply a prideful individual, but the ability to defend oneself seemed like plenty of reason to fight back. “You don't have to get that hurt or lose. You're small, light...fast on your feet. It may not seem like much of a natural advantage, considering that many of the mutants here are larger and have had more experience, but it's still something and you have to use what you have. You can put up a much better fight than what I saw out there today, earn yourself a little more food perhaps.” Elizaveta could not imagine herself not fighting back, keeping on her feet. She could play the part, perhaps, but there was always an ulterior motive, something else she wanted. That was simply how the world worked. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Archadia presented itself as a civilized society, but really it was raw and wild right underneath the surface. To survive, one had to fight. Fight until there was nothing left to fight. Perhaps Maria thought the fight was pointless. That was untrue. She could fight for her pride, fight to prove that she could hold her own. Then perhaps someone would take her out of the Underground, give her a better life. Any mutant that could hold their own, that had that mixture of spirit and obedience, could make their way into that life. Of course, Elizaveta could never encourage a rebellious behavior. Elizaveta could hold a degree of sympathy for mutants, even some pity, but she could never encourage rebellion. Mutants, as close to human as they might be, were dangerous. That was undeniable. The mutation that had overtaken their world with unbelievable speed forced governments across the world to reconsider security, to reevaluate how the world would be managed. It had forced governments to cooperate (at least to some extent) to resolve this crisis and to protect the ordinary people. So even if the solution was not perfect, it was as good as the world could get right now. Elizaveta crossed her arms as she leaned casually against the bars. “It's your choice, I suppose. I just believe you could do better than simply giving up.”

words 650 tags #Maria I. Sanchez notes has anyone ever been far as decided to use even go want to do look more like?

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[Maria I. Sanchez]

i see this life like a swinging vine maria others tagged (Elizaveta Héderváry) words (723) notes (i am so sorry this is so late.) She didn’t expect the pretty woman to understand. The woman was an alcaide, though this certainly was no castle. She commended the other brunette for commanding the respect and her words heeded, but she begrudged her for her position and her freedom. Besides their coloring and their accents, Maria didn’t see what was so different between her and the comandante. Until she started actively looking - in that case, she could spot many differences. The only keys that she was “inferior” were their clothing and that the empresa in front of her was at least 20 pounds. Her skin didn’t seem dry, and she didn’t need to cling to the bars to make sure that she could stand up straight. But, it could be worse. She knew that it could be. She had seen people with bloated stomachs and scaly skin. She’d cried and prayed over adults shorter than she was at 12 with rotten teeth and scattering conversationalists. However terrible she looked with oily, crazy hair, bags under her eyes, and a narrow frame, there were people out there who had it worse. She wished she could find the words to convey it to the patróna. She didn’t look like the type who would pity her, but she didn’t look empathetic. It wasn’t much, but it was one of the better emotions she had gotten directed at her since she had arrived here. “No, no. You no understand.” She leaned back with slightly wrinkled nose. Fighting never helped. If she won, like la patróna wanted, all that would happen is someone else would starve. She’d barely have more pieces of food. Maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry as she was now, but someone else would be. Someone who’s memories would be attached to her - someone who’s favorite or the most loathed one. Those would stay with her; they would be right there with her. It made hitting them difficult. It was always worse because the prolonged contact just made the figures stay there longer. So, there was no point. There was no reason. She defended herself the best she could and covered her most important parts. Even if it left something exposed, she’d do anything to have them avoid her exposed skin. “I no want to see. Mamás screaming ‘cause their babies taken here. Papás hitting ‘cause they no understanding powers. They stay. I hear them. All the time.” She knew she could put up a fight. She watched the others fight - she’d survived on the streets of one of the biggest cities in the world. Her father had taught her where to throw a punch. The problem was that all the better places to do so often made the contact with skin. The comandante had that look in her eye. It was the same one all of her cousins got whenever someone insulted El Tri. There was so much orgullo in her eyes - so much pride that it almost made her want to flinch back and crawl back to her cot. She wanted to be like that, too, but that had been snuffed out of her. “I win, and what happen? I get bread? I get water? I get them. I no expect you to know. I get them and someone no has food. I eat and they don’t.” She didn’t understand. She would never understand. Even among the other mutants, there were few that Maria managed to identify with. They had peculiar ones - like the Italian who could be a cat. They were still allowed to touch, to love. They still had people who wanted them. The short Hispanic didn’t have any of that. There was no one here with power like hers, not even kind of similar. It was off putting and heart breaking and something she had learned to live with. It was terrible, but manageable. She didn’t need the comandante telling her she needed to fight. She wasn’t just “giving up.” She was finding peace within herself. It was all this place would let her have. She gestured to herself, to her outward appearance before tapping on her heart. “I survive out here, comandante, but not in here.” made by remi of isc & rilla go! inspired by abby's template