angelbenningflint

[angelbenningflint]

"i thought maybe next summer, we could come back here for like, a couple weeks."

[angelbenningflint]

For some reason, the drills had never bothered Ángel the way they had Ander. Granted, after a long day, all the noise and people on top of each other grated on his nerves something awful, but not in the way it did for his friend. Perhaps it was because he had long ago accepted that fate was out of his hands and embraced the chaos of it all, whereas he was unsure whether Ander had been able or willing to. Regardless of the reason, regulations be damned, he wasn't about to let the man stew in his own set of complicated and unnamable emotions and notions.

"Ah, fuck 'em. They're going to be so busy counting all the new folks they might not even get to us by the time it's all over." he said with a shrug, despite the dark notion that 'all over' could mean many things.

"Plus, they'll be even more pissed to know I went back for these," Ángel said with a nudge to his friend's shoulder before covertly unfurling his palm, to reveal earplugs he had whipped up from some left over melted rubber and wax after the last set of drills.

Closed starter | @angelbenningflint | District 13 | Day 57 - Night of the bombing

The screech of the bomb sirens brought Ander back to childhood —  heart racing, hands shaking, shuffling his way out of his classroom and down to the bunker along with the rest of his class. The drills had always been anxiety-inducing, pushing him to the edge of his tolerance as he was reminded of the fact that his safety, his family’s safety, was never guaranteed. In those times, he would have sought out his mother and father and clung to them until the District officials concluded the drill and dismissed them all. Ander couldn’t help being transported back to that version of himself now, small and anxious as he sat on the cold, granite floor with his back pressed up against the bunk assigned to him. Part of him wished he could be six again, that he could go and seek comfort from his parents once more, but he was older now. He could face this on his own. The world around him trembled with each new wave of attack. Regrettably, the barrage didn’t appear to be lightening up any time soon. 

Ander did his best to cope, rotating through nearly every grounding technique his father had taught him over the years. None of it helped. He just wanted it to be over. But suddenly, he wasn’t alone, and though his eyes were closed as he desperately tried to calm his pounding heart and churning stomach, he knew exactly who had come to take a seat next to him. Ander wanted to be annoyed. Ángel was always getting himself into trouble, and ignoring the rule about remaining at your assigned station until the bombing let up would certainly result in some sort of backlash.

“I’m okay.” Ander’s voice faltered; he was clearly lying, and he knew his friend would be having none of it. “You should go back to your bunk. They’ll be pissed if they find out you broke protocol.”

[angelbenningflint]

Angel was surprised it took him a moment to realize who he was talking to, having become a bit of a fanboy of the man ever since the whispers of him had started going around after he arrived.  Before the refugees, they never spoke of the games, finding that any interest, morbid or otherwise, made them just as bad as those in the districts who watched and did nothing.  But after their halls had been flooded with victors, they couldn’t help the rumors and discussions that swept through 13.  All that being said, Angel had heard of Beetee Latier’s genius, and as someone who loved technology and inventing himself, found himself a bit star struck.

He really wasn’t sure of what else to say, wanting to make a good impression and not wanting to sound as dumb as he currently felt. 

“That too.”  

There it was.  Good job.  “Although, my suggestion is more exciting.”  he cleared his throat before holding out his hand.  “Angel Benning-Flint.  I work in technology, but I don’t think we’ve gotten a chance to meet yet.” He knew they hadn’t, often feeling like the ugly step child the parents hide away in the cupboard, having been shoo’d away on a number of times by higher ups, as not to distract the person in front of him.  Although, to be fair, that feeling had been present before the man had showed up, Angel having a long term feeling of if he wasn’t building weapons, the higher ups weren’t interested.

district thirteen was a underground labyrinth. beetee latier could handle a maze. he didn't attempt to seek them out in his free time, though those and escape rooms have become popular attractions in the capitol within the last decade. the man from three's hunger games was centered on a maze though. the nice thing about thirteen was that dead ends didn't lead to fatal traps to be set off.

something beetee did have to overcome was the population placed within the labyrinth however. it's a shame the district does not have a historian. the victor is curious how the functionality within thirteen was like when the population was not closing in on maximum capacity. it's a marvel in of itself that thirteen has been thriving since the first rebellion and maintaining peace throughout. the few weeks he's resided here, he can respect the formula of it all and the expectation of striving for calculated existence. he can name several rebels who did not enjoy the monotony of it within the underground.

usually, he was confined to control rooms and his weaponry laboratory. it doesn't feel so daunting when he ends up in-between walls that only call for authorized personnel. had beetee known that his lab would somehow gain thirty soldiers too many wanting to fiddle with explosives today, the man from three would have hidden away in his sleeping quarters. he had been dismissed by a lieutenant, thankfully. wiress had company in their dormitory as well however, and thus the victor was here. his excitement at seeing someone come into his temporary solace is matched with ángel. ( neither are thrilled ! ) " no, i assume it's the growth of population versus stagnant amount of parameter available if anything. "

[angelbenningflint]

“A real friend would clean up my brain explosion.  Just saying.”  Angel answered, acting as if he was truly hurt, eyes cast down, lashes fluttering against cheek, corners of his lips pulling downwards.  But as funny as he thought his stupid act, he could never keep it for long, either out of distraction and desire to move on or the fact that feeling upset with Ander, false or not, was such a foreign feeling, so he quickly found himself chuckling and breaking the mask.  

Angel had a sneaking suspicion that the child in question was pulling everyone’s chain, in a way.  Perhaps he was distressed and didn’t want to deal with the small things such as spelling homework, and decided to take advantage of the situation, knowing everyone would give him leeway due to his circumstances.  Or maybe he was truly troubled.  Maybe Angel was conflating the boy’s situation too much with his own, and knew everyone reacted differently, but after Angel’s entire life had been upended and he lost his family…He didn’t start yelling choochoo.  Then again, the boy was younger than Angel had been.  All these things, he pondered, while ultimately knowing that if he hadn’t had the patience and understanding he was given by Doc, in the same way Ander was giving his student, he wouldn’t have made it.  So in the long run, he was sure that kid was going to turn out okay.  The Aurelius family had a way of helping with that.  Like father, like son.

“My guy, I know you have a tendency to want to lift the entire world on your shoulders—why your parents didn’t name you Atlas, I’ll never know—But you are doing every possible thing you can for those kids.  Case in point, most teachers would hear a kid yelling choochoo around the class and throw them out for disruption, hell, I’d be one of them, but instead you’re trying to take the time to figure out the why and help him through it.  You’re doing the best you can with what you’re given, and more to be honest.  So, for your shoulder’s sake, unburden the world for like, one night.  Shake it out.  Take a stretch.  Otherwise you’re gonna end up looking like Old Man Parker and his hunchback.” 

Ander never fully understood what went on down in technology or what exactly Ángel's job was. He knew in a vague sense, and that he was good at whatever they had him working on, but beyond the basics, it didn't make much sense to him. The work seemed to make his friend happy, though, something Ander felt he was so incredibly deserving of, so if Ángel wanted that salvaged metal, he believed he was far more entitled to it than anyone down in weapons.

"I'd kind of prefer it if your brain didn't explode, actually," he said in an almost thoughtful tone as he turned his head to look at his friend. Ander couldn't help but crack a smile at his companion's antics and animated nature. "I'm pretty sure you need it, and frankly, it would be just kind of gross." Growing up, his siblings often complained about his incredibly dry sense of humor, but Ander didn't care. He thought he was hilarious, and that's all that mattered, right?

Ángel turns the conversation to Ander's student and he can't help but sigh. It was hard to imagine the past lives of the children he had been welcoming into his classroom as of late. The undeniable horrors they'd witnessed and the fear they'd harbored in their short lives. It broke his heart to think about, but understanding their history was so important in helping them integrate into 13 and providing them with the support they needed to adjust to their new lives. The boy in question had come from District 6 just a few months before and the transition had been difficult for him. Ander had tried to help, truly and genuinely had done all he could to adapt class materials to fit his needs and capabilities, but every now and then they appeared to hit a wall. Such was the case with the train incident, where instead of working on his spelling, the boy decided to run laps around the room loudly proclaiming he was not a student, but a train, while occasionally pausing his sprint to scream CHOO! CHOO!

It wasn't funny. Or it shouldn't have been, really, but when you become so exasperated what else is there to do but laugh and embrace the chaos?

"He...got there eventually," he said, words punctuation with an airy, exasperated chuckle. "We may have all needed to take a break and run some laps, get some energy out, but we took it as an opportunity to learn how to spell freight, so I think it was a success." Honestly, being a teacher was exhausting, especially at the level he taught, but he never once regretted it. "As long as these kids are settling in and learning, that's all that matters, right?" He sighed and his laughter died out. Something heavy replaced it. "I just wish there was something more I could do sometimes, you know? I feel bad for these kids. They deserve more."

[angelbenningflint]

Her smile was beautiful, he realized.  Which was odd.  He very often found women beautiful, in an aesthetic sense, rather than one of attraction.  But he usually noticed the whole picture, rather than the small details, like a smile.  “Esme.  Loved, or esteemed.” he commented, offhand, name etymology having always been an odd interest of his.  Perhaps it was because of 13’s isolation, that many of their names didn’t come from any sort of tradition or culture, so he liked to find it.  “That's, uh–What it means.  But you probably knew that.”  

“But I imagine it’s harder for all of you.” rationally, he knew that was true, but it didn’t stop his frustration from getting the better of him sometimes. “Not only did you all lose everything, but you’re being shoved into a highly regimented district where things are expected to be done exactly right.  All the rules and regulations and schedules must be overwhelming.” he started, before motioning to where she had been sitting, “Mind if I—?” he asked before going to take a seat, no longer as concerned about sharing his hiding space. 

“It must be weird,” he mused, “But we’re all just so used to it.  I can’t ever remember a time when it wasn’t like this, you know?  I remember my parents having told me once that it used to be different, but I never really got a chance to press them on how.  Sorta just feels like we sprung out of the ground fully regimented like some immaculate conception robot.” he chuckled.

Selfish wasn't a word that she tended to associate with herself when she tended to always care a little too much about everything and everyone to focus too much on herself. But there was no denying that in recent weeks she'd been a little more self absorbed than normal, her mind occupied by her own battle with grief and loneliness rather than pausing to think about the struggles that those around her might be going through. Of course, she was aware that she wasn't alone in such feelings and others had lost their home in a far more violent way than her but thinking about the problems of others just wasn't something she felt capable of when she barely had the capacity to process her own.

Instead she'd been doing her best to cling to normality and clutch at any kind of distraction offered her way. For the most part it worked, keeping her mind busy with the mundane kept her thoughts from slipping too far toward the hopeless. But there were still moments the distraction didn't manage to drown out and while she had remained friendly with her new roommate, she hadn't wanted to make their living space awkward with her tears. She figured that was probably why he'd ended up there too, or something similar at least , searching for some kind of solace within the crowded halls.

There's a no of understanding giving to his explanation and she relaxes quickly upon realising that his tone hadn't been caused by her specifically. "I can imagine." Is all she can think of to say in reply, murmuring the words simply because she thought it was what she was supposed to say. But then she thinks about it, reflecting on how she can't imagine what it must feel like to have your whole world flipped on its head and everything familiar suddenly becoming strange. "Actually, no, I'm not really sure why I said that. Everything must have changed for you all? Your home just turned upside down and there's people you don't know everywhere and you don't have a single space that's just yours to get away from it all. I think you're all handling it pretty amazingly."

Lips shift into a sheepish smile, wondering if she'd said far too much. But he's extending a hand out towards her and she reaches out for it eagerly, quick to grasp on to any show of potential friendship she's shown. "Esme. It's nice to meet you, Ángel."

[angelbenningflint]

“Wow, okay, rude.  I thought we were friends, so sue me for asking for an extra toothbrush once in a while.” Angel held his hands up defensively, but still chuckled despite his response.  Granted, the reason why he needed an extra toothbrush probably wasn’t one 13 would approve the extra dispensing of one, so he kept that to himself.  “They just haven’t learned of all the ways to rock the jumpsuit, example A,” he pushed himself off the wall which he had been leaning against and modeled his own adjustments of rolled cuffs and cut fabric, only getting away with the former as he claimed the rips had been acquired through work and only then he modified them.  “But I’m sure under your understanding and gentle leadership,” he couldn’t help but laugh at that “They’ll learn."

“They’ve tried sending a few of them down to me, but a lot of them haven’t seen anything more high tech than a peacekeeper’s gun.  So they end up doing more menial tasks, like cleaning up.  But my guess is if we get any folks from the districts closer to the capitol then we’ll be cooking with fire.” he shrugged, “But right now the problem is if I ain’t designing some weapon, they don’t wanna spare any supplies, so it’s a bit tight down there.”

"Here I thought you could be obnoxious with your requests but now I am spending most of my days explaining to refugees why there are standard uniforms and no personalized outfits. Or the efficiency of a cafeteria against everyone making their own meals." Satin didn't really see the issue with those kind of regulation. It meant equality. It meant that your achievements were more important than your looks. It was exactly what went wrong in the Capitol after all. It all seemed to be so media-orientated. So fake. So terribly unnecessary.

He snorted and shook his head. It was stupid, really. Something he tried not to get too annoyed by. These people had their own reality after all. Their own normal. Satin tried to remind himself of that.

"So how have you been? I imagine your department doesn't have issues like this."

a starter for @angelbenningflint

[angelbenningflint]

“those who escape hell, however, never talk about it & nothing much bothers them after that.”

— Charles Bukowski, from “Lost” (via theclassicsreader)

[angelbenningflint]

"He's tougher than he looks."

RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE (2023)

[angelbenningflint]

Angel: [Character Building] District Thirteen is a small, tight-knit community, but word travels. What's the most ridiculous rumor he's heard about himself?

Ángel likes to keep the...company of many people. As long as he's safe and respectful, he sees nothing wrong with that fact. So he knows every once in awhile, rumors go around about him, both to his benefit and not, but his favorite had to be that he got someone pregnant. Considering the last time he had seen a vagina was when he was being pushed out of one, it had given him a good chuckle at the incredulity of it all.

[angelbenningflint]

He regretted the words as soon as they came out, knowing how hostile they must have sounded.  At that point he might as well havel pissed on the corner and called it his, for fuck’s sake.  He was just so incredibly overstimulated, feeling as if every word out of people’s mouths were so stupid that it pained him, every stray noise made him want to bury his head in the sand, and for all that is holy if the seam of his sock didn’t stop rubbing against his toes, he was going to cut his foot off.  So it was when he finally saw an end to all of that in the form of a quiet space, only to have his hopes dashed…Well, he was trying very hard not to explode.  

But he had to realize the woman in front of him not only knew none of that, but also wasn’t at fault for any of it.  It wasn’t her fault he had gotten stuck with a random roommate, despite asking to be placed with Ander and let two newbies have his rooms, only to be shot down with the insistence that all new folks get paired with a resident of 13.  It wasn’t her fault that his day had been spent introducing technology to folks who had never seen anything like it and made him realize that there were, in fact, stupid questions.  

“It’s okay,” he breathed out, more exhausted than anything.  “Just a little cramped down here, all the sudden,” he responded lightly, knowing how ridiculous it was for him to be complaining about loss of a hiding spot, when the cramped confines were caused by thousands losing their entire homes and districts.  

“Angel,” he said abruptly, sticking his hand out, realizing it was the least he could do to make a newcomer feel welcome, after his previous attitude had clearly done the opposite.

As her situation had changed through the years Esme had been forced to come to terms with the fact that her upbringing had prepared her for very little in her life. While her childhood had been blissfully challenge free, she now realised that it had left her with no opportunity to develop any kind of coping mechanisms. It only added to the way she'd felt out of her depth ever since arriving in Thirteen. Constantly feeling like she was only moments away from drowning under the weight of all her emotions and frantically treading water to avoid it.

Being alone had never been a tactic she'd turned to, not when she got so much more comfort from being around others, but feeling at a loss Esme had aimlessly padded through the halls until she'd found what she thought was a secluded enough area. She didn't really know what she was hoping to achieve in her solitude - maybe just a place to cry with no one's eyes on her - but she allowed herself to drift away in silent reflection. Finally giving the thoughts that she had been shoving down for weeks a chance to be centre stage.

Wide brown eyes blinked in surprise as a voice cuts through them and she did her best to process his words, glancing behind herself to help bring some clarity. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise that this was someone's nook. Or cranny. Or that it was yours, your spot." She knew that she most likely sounded ridiculous, the surprise of being broken out of her reverie leaving her almost nonsensical, but she couldn't summon anything more coherent.

Maybe that was why she stood up so quickly and prepared to leave, more out of embarrassment than anything he had done. "I can go, it's not a problem and you can have your hiding place back. I've probably reached my limit on silent reflection anyway." There's an attempt made at a self-deprecating smile, a joke at her own expense when it was probably true that anymore time in her own company would only trigger a maudlin mood.

[angelbenningflint]

taylor zakhar perez for numéro netherlands, 2020

[angelbenningflint]

It had taken years of work with Dr. Aurelius for Angel to appreciate the ability to be alone.  Before, the mere idea would send him into a spiral.  He would spin and spin and spin until he felt like a young child again, trapped in a room where he wasn’t the only body but most definitely alone.  Utterly and achingly, alone.  To this day, while he can tolerate it, he prefers the company of others. 

 Especially any of the Aurelius family.  Perhaps it was overstepping the lines of the patient-doctor relationship, but Angel felt comfort in the family of 4.  A sense of peace settled over the war drum beating in his chest whenever he had been invited to dinner or over to play with the triplets. Somewhat surprisingly, the quietest of the three had become the peace to Angel’s chaos, and even now as they lay sprawled in Ander’s bed, Angel wonders exactly what he did to be so lucky getting accepted into this family. 

“Dead ass!” he exclaimed, hands gesturing wildly, Angel’s hands were a thing of energy, never at rest.  “He’s going on and on about all the things he tried to make it work, but I know for a fact he didn’t, because you can’t if it’s not on.”  It had been exasperating, but as he lay pressed up next to Ander, he couldn’t help but laugh about the entire thing, proud of  the fact that his stupid work antics were able to bring a smile to the face of his best friend. “The only thing keeping me from having a brain aneurysm right in front of him was that I want that metal they scavenged above ground real bad.  If they give it to weapons testing again, then you can witness my brain explosion.” he sighed.  It was frustrating, he worked on weapons sometimes, but when he had ideas for inventions who’s purpose wasn’t to maim or kill, he found little support or materials.  

“What about that kid–” he changed the topic, suddenly remembering that Ander had told him in passing of a new child from one of the districts that had been…Interesting to say the least. “Did he ever stop pretending he was a train who didn’t have to do schoolwork?” he questioned.  He tried not to laugh about the story too much, because he knew many of these new children had gone through something horrible, and they were all coping in different ways.  But honestly, that one was genius. 

Closed starter | @angelbenningflint

The dim light of the lamp cast a warm glow across Ander's cluttered quarters in District 13. Stacks of pre-war books piled high on the floor, a few pens and spare sheets of paper with hastily scribbled notes strewn across his standard-issued desk. He knew if the district leaders were to conduct a surprise inspection he would fail, but Ander couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The cobwebs collecting in the corner whispered of neglect, but the recent influx of refugees to 13 had tied up his schedule as he prepared his already crowded classroom to accommodate even more students. His supply closet was starting to look a little sparse and they were starting to run out of desks, but he was doing his best with what he had. Tonight, though, he had managed to secure a much-needed night off, and all thoughts of the work he had piling up were left behind.

The cold air of his bedroom was mildly uncomfortable as it hung around them. This far underground, cold was a perpetual state of being, but it was fine. Having grown up in 13, Ander was used to it. 

The two boys were sprawled across Ander's bed, the worn blankets and mismatched pillows providing a semblance of comfort and their bodies close together. The lack of personal space was never weird. He and Ángel had been friends for so long that, if anything, he found their closeness to be natural — comforting, even. 

Their laughter echoed off the wall, melting together with the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed through the corridor, the only reminder of the world that existed on the other side of his door. It was nice. They hadn’t had the chance to catch up like this in a while, and despite the work Ander had waiting for him in the morning, he was thankful for the moment. 

“You can’t be serious,” the man managed to finally choke out as the noise died down and they caught their breath. His shoulders shook with residual laughter. Ángel had been filling him in on the latest news down in Tech. Apparently, one of the district higher-ups had spent at least 20 minutes ranting about a ‘broken’ communicuff that — surprise —  turned out to not be broken, just turned off. “I’m surprised you let him go on about it for that long. I would have paid to see that.”

[angelbenningflint]

Ángel had been excited when those in charge of the newbies and their transition into 13 had told him he'd have someone placed with him. He was even more excited when he had been told it was a victor. He knew better than to ask the man anything about his times in the games, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't want to. They had told him the man had some form of experience with tech, but as Ángel blabbered on (bad habit), he could see that blank look he had seen on the looks of other so many times, the look that to him read as 'please shut up and talk about something else'.

"Sorry," he grimaced, itching the back of his neck, "You shoulda told me to shut up ages ago." he chuckled, trying to get any reaction out of the man. "But, uh, I'm a technology supervisor, which for the most part means I just check out what people in my sector are working on, help them troubleshoot, give them ideas, all that fun shit. I don't get time to work on my own stuff anymore, at least not during working hours. --- So do you actually know anything about tech or were they just being lazy by chucking you down here with me?"

a starter for @angelbenningflint

Technology wasn't something Juneau was unfamiliar with. Transportation needed some form of technology after all; especially considering the complexity of Capitol vehicles and aircrafts. As a victor, however, you were not really exposed to that sorta thing, so it had been years ago he had been submitted to any of the sort. Coin or his doctor or whoever was in charge thought it would be a good idea for him to have something to do during the daytime. Something about a daily schedule due to a disturbed day and night routine. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Juneau had lived like this for so many years that to him it was normal. Apparently it wasn't, though.

So due to the generalization of his heritage they imagined he would enjoy the technical department and perhaps even be useful. Their theory also was that if Juneau felt useful, he would feel like there was more meaning to his existence. He doubted that.

"So what is it you do again?" He asked as he rubbed at his eyes, finding it hard to follow the younger male.

[angelbenningflint]

Angel: [Propo] What was growing up in Thirteen like?

Growing up, for the majority, was shit. But that wasn't 13's fault, that was a shitty strain of the flu that thought it was fair to rip the entirety of his family from the world. It wasn't 13's fault, and in fact, 13 took care of him after that. There was that small blip of time, between the moments his family took their last breaths to when the doctors came in and got him, and he was stuck in that horrible room with those horrible sights, in a state of limbo. But that wasn't their fault, not really. There was no reason to focus on that, not in front of a camera. He had focused enough on that with Dr. Aurelius.

"Growing up in 13 was...Safe. Supportive. After my family died, I got placed with a great family that I didn't deserve, because man was I a little shit. They helped me, the doctors helped me, and even though I didn't appreciate it at the time, after meeting all these folks from 12 and 8, I know if I had been out there, in one of those districts...Man, I don't think I would have made it." Ángel was never more sure of that fact than he was now, having met the refugees from the other districts. If he had been out there, without someone like Dr. Aurelius, with the temptation of numbing everything away with morphling, and the hardships they had to face, Ángel was sure he wouldn't be alive today.

"I think I took for granted what well rounded lives we got to live down here. We've got medical care, we're well fed, we have technology, we've learned how to fight but we're not forced to. Sure, we might not get four seasons and have to take nutrients because we don't get enough sun, but I wouldn't trade my life in 13 for life in any other district."

That oughta earn him some points.

[angelbenningflint]

[Coin] Thank you for allowing me to come witness what we have currently in motion with tech. The District Eight mission is going well. But between the two of us, how has the integration between the refugee Districts and 13 been in terms of the technological side?

"Gotta be honest, boss--I mean, uh, President, Madame President--" Ángel cursed internally. It wasn't often Coin made it down to where he worked in the tech sector, understandably she tended to focus on defense systems and weapons, and of course the one time she came down here, Ángel was blowing his shot. "12 and 8...Well, that was some dark age sh--stuff. To be honest, it's ridiculous how in the dark the capitol was keeping them. The highest tech they had were the peacekeeper's weapons, which a couple of them managed to snag on their way out." They had studied the oppressive regime of the capitol in classes growing up, but hearing about it and seeing it in action, seeing how the capitol kept the lower districts dispossessed was insane to witness in reality. "So I think for the folks from the districts were pretty taken back by everything, and it's been a bit of an adjustment. But I think they're gettin' there."

[angelbenningflint]

who: open starter ( @eventidestarters ) where: district 13

The first weeks after the arrival of the folks from 8 and 12 had been hard. Most of them had lost everything. And Ángel who took pride in being able to cheer people up, was unable to do so. Not only because the loss they had suffered was so immense, but because he could barely get himself to leave his rooms. Their loss had reminded him of his own. His matching wound may have not been as fresh, may have protected itself with scar tissue, but it was there all the same. He found himself feeling much like the young boy he once was, trapped in a room for a much different reason. But eventually, after remembering all he had learned from the good doctor, he found himself able to face them, embarrassed at how long it took him to welcome the new members of 13 into the fold.

But as the weeks passed and that dark feeling seemed to no longer haunt the halls, Ángel began to love all the new life that had been injected right into the heart of 13. He could feel the fresh energy pumping through the veins of their concrete home. He loved talking to them, getting to know what it was like in the other districts, hear what their food tasted like, what traditions they held. He also loved showing them how they did things in 13. Their food might not be impressive, but their tech was, and as a tech supervisor, it was something else to watch them interact with it.

All that being said, for the most part, Ángel loved the new circumstances of 13. But, as someone who had lived alone for the past 7 years, suddenly having a roommate was...Something that made him want to stick a fork into an electrical socket.

"Oh for fucks sake," he cursed as he walked into the last hideout spot he had on his mental list, only to find it occupied. "Did everyone suddenly develop a rat like sense of being able to sniff out all the hidden nooks and crannies of this place?"

[angelbenningflint]

BASICS

Faceclaim: Taylor Zakhar-Perez

Name: Ángel Benning-Flint

Age: 25

Gender: Cis Man

Home: District 13

Role: Technology Supervisor

Personality: Warm-hearted, stubborn, resilient, playful, outspoken, mischievous, inventive, idealistic, hyperactive

Song: Laura Palmer by Bastille

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: illness, death, passive self harm

Ángel was a great choice of name for the Flint's first born. He was a babbling, bright, bouncing baby boy almost from his first breath. Curious too, which often got him into sticky situations as he began to toddle around. With big brown eyes rimmed by dark lashes and a shock of black hair, he looked much more like his father than his mother, but he loved both his parents equally and greatly. His mother was...Cool. At least that's how he described her as a young boy. She worked in weapons testing and was the soldier who got to play with all the newest toys, giving feedback to it's inventors. She would always ruffle his hair and tease him, making her feel more like a friend than a mother at times, but always knew when her baby boy just needed a patented Mom Hug. And his father was warm; big smiles, rough hands, booming laughter. He worked in the agro sector and always came home smelling of dirt, but had taught Ángel how to nurture things and let them grow, plants or otherwise.

Their family expanded soon after Ángel turned 9 when his baby sister, Fernanda, came into the picture, but he was already busy in both school and the required military training. What was he going to do with a slobbery baby, anyways? --- She grew on him, though, and he really began to love being an older brother. Now it was his turn to ruffle hair and tease, just like his mother had done to him. He still left the Mom Hugs to her though. He couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed with her when she began to follow him and his friends around as she got older, because he knew if he had an older sibling, he definitely would have done the same.

But then she was gone. They were all gone. Ángel was only 14 and his entire family were gone. A small wave of sickness had swept though 13, some sort of flu. Nearly every one survived, but the Benning-Flints were apart of a very exclusive, very unlucky group. Everyone else dealt with a very intense week of symptoms, but bounced back just as quickly as they had been struck down, Ángel included. But his mom, sister, and dad never bounced back, and within a week and a half, they were being taken out of their quarters in body bags by faceless medical workers in masks and breathing apparatuses. For a few hours, Ángel was left to sit in that room, his eyes looking over all the belongings of his family, wondering what would happen to them. Would they be redistributed? Would he see someone wearing his mother's jumpsuit that had a grease stain in the shape of a star that she couldn't get out no how many times she laundered it? Or maybe he'd meet someone with his father's shoes, with an odd wear on the sole from his awkward gait. Or perhaps, even worse, would he see the bear (one of the few toys the district could provide for it's youngest citizens) his sister used to hug when she had a bad dream in the arms of another child?

Eventually, someone came and got him, and when he asked them the question, they told him he didn't need to worry about that. But he continued to, always searching the clothing and items of others, waiting to recognize something. He wasn't sure why he had fixated on it, but he had. After being cleared by medical, he was eventually placed with another family, only able to take the very few items that were considered 'his' rather than property of 13. --- 14 is a hard age to parent even without any added difficulties, but when you take all the hormones and growing pains of a teen and mix it with such a traumatic event, troubled is the volatile result.

He had become an angry young man, filled with guilt and questions. Why them? Why not him? Why hadn't the medical team tried harder to save them? As expected, he lashed out, and began to use his training times as way to get out his aggression. The only issue is he wasn't ever very good at the physical training the district put it's kids through, and he ended up getting hurt more often than not. But for awhile, the pain of a bad punch or misplaced roundhouse on the bag was the only way to break him from the overwhelming numbness that he had slowly slipped into. Finally, after one too many trips to the medical unit, someone took notice. Ángel had taken to calling him 'the good doctor' when he had first started seeing him, trying his hand at condescension and bratty remarks, but eventually the nickname was no longer said accompanied by an eye roll. Eventually it was shortened just to 'doc' and it was said with affection. He saw the doc for two years, their last session right before he turned 17. And while he was no miracle worker, he had helped tremendously; Ángel saw a future again, even if it was one without his family. To this day, he and the doc are close.

In the years since, he dove deep into his interest for tech, not quite agile enough to follow into his mother's line of work, and too impatient for his father's, but finding a niche he excelled in all his own. His hyperactive mind had a way of solving problems in a somewhat chaotic, but overall effective way, making him great at trying to figure out complicated issues that tended to pop up when dealing with advanced technology. He also loved to invent, to let his brain get ahead of his hands, thinking of a 'cool idea' and letting the how's follow and fall into place later. --- His passion, and sometimes lack of a personal life, led him to rise through the ranks of the technology sector quickly, landing him the title of tech supervisor only weeks after turning 25.

As much as he loves the life he has worked so hard to be appreciative of, as he hears of more and more missions going topside, a small part of him craves the adventure and the changes that are being brought to 13 as the rebellion grows, and he's already trying to find a way to be apart of it all.