Enjorlas and Courfeyrac
Enjorlas had never been out of the confides of District 2. In his short life he had lived blissfully unaware of the poverty and hardship endured by those living in the outlying districts, and until his visit with his parents, had barely known of their existence.
Enjorlas was a 5 year old from an extremely wealthy family from the wealthiest district, as close to the Capitol as you can get. In fact, his father was the ambassador for District 2, and so Enjorlas' childhood had been filled with visits to the Capitol, its wealth, extravagance and general prosperity.
Even as a child, Enjorlas was highly intelligent, and he remembered these visits as clearly as his young mind experienced them. However, his first visit to District 12 was the one he would never forget.
Part of his father's job was visiting other districts, and reporting back to the District 2 council. Being a well-known public figure, Enjorlas' father had gained the reputation of a family man, and while this could not be further from the truth, his wife and son often accompanied him on his trips, to keep up the façade. Nothing was as repulsive to Enjorlas Sr, than the people and way of life in District 12. He was a very proud man, and had been raised in District 2, taking over the role of ambassador from his father. He was cold and distant, and saw his son as a loyal subject, with which he could extend his influence, rather than his loving child. Thank the Lord; thought Enjorlas Sr, he was not burdened with a daughter, from which absolutely nothing good could come. But Enjorlas could sing his praises in the Justice Building, make friends with the future of District 2's government, and eventually join through marriage two powerful households of District 2. Only then, thought Enjorlas Sr, his son would be worth the hassle.
Such was the burden bestowed on Enjorlas at such a young age. Although not yet old enough to fully comprehend these 'responsibilities', he knew his father had very high expectations of him, and still seeing his father as a hero, as many children do, he wanted nothing more than to please him. Enjorlas had been desperate to do this his entire life, but as yet he had never had an affectionate word or proud glance in his life.
The relationship between Enjorlas and his father was difficult to describe but in short it was a son desperate for his father's approval, and a father refusing affection. His relationship with his mother on the other hand, was much simpler. Mrs. Enjorlas loved her son more than anything in the world and they often found comfort in each other when Enjorlas Sr was away on one of his trips or had come home after a bad day at the Justice Building, himself finding comfort in a bottle of wine. Mrs. Enjorlas knew exactly what her husband got up to out of the house, and always tried to shield Enjorlas from his activities and his bad tempers. However, she was as disrespected in her own household as a beggar would be on the streets of District 2, and she was denied the motherly relationship with Enjorlas she would have liked, as his father raised him as a gentleman from an early age, and servants carried out the majority of his raising. However, Mrs. Enjorlas knew she would put her life on the line for her son's safety, and Enjorlas looked at her with enormous amounts of respect and adoration.
As Enjorlas tailed his parents out of the train station of District 12, he immediately noticed something different. Almost everywhere else, his father was surrounded by reporters begging for a story, the whole reason his family was with him, but in District 12, the station was eerily silent, and this silence continued through the streets of the district.
As they walked, Enjorlas saw women outside their homes washing clothes in buckets of cold water, and hanging them on washing lines, but in this weather, Enjorlas wondered how they would ever get dry. There were few children about, helping their mothers and sitting on the porches playing with sticks. Worse still were those with no homes at all, who sat disconsolately at the side of the streets and came up to the Enjorlas' begging for money or scraps of food. One grabbed Enjorlas by the arm, sending him into such a panic, his mother took his hand, and his father aggressively shoved the homeless man to the ground. Enjorlas turned to look at the man with sympathy, but it was returned with a look of distaste. Enjorlas nervously tugged at the hem of his jacket, which he was coming to realize was probably worth more than a house in this town.
Enjorlas Sr, took his son's hand from his mother and pushed him behind them saying only,
'Remember the hierarchy boy.'
Enjorlas slumped along behind them, the streets upsetting him more than he could understand. Finally they reached a row of stunning houses which could fit a family of 12, but looked deserted.
'Victors Village.' Enjorlas thought grimly, where Victors from the Hunger Games would live. The Hunger Games were compulsory viewings for everyone. Enjorlas had watched them since he was 3 years old. He still did not fully understand them but he got the basics. Every district would contribute a boy and girl, between the ages of 12 and 18, to an arena where they would fight to the death.
'That could be me.' Enjorlas shuddered at the thought. He imagined himself at the reaping, surrounded by all his friends, two of whom, would face death and destruction, based on the names in that big glass bowl. District 2, being rich and prosperous had a huge number of Victors, many of whom were volunteers, trained to fight and kill. Enjorlas swore he would never be one of those people, not even if his father wanted him to be. Murder was where Enjorlas drew the line. That he could understand. Therefore, in District 2, Victor's Village was always bustling, but not here, the houses looked pristine but empty, beautiful but pointless.
A plump, middle-aged man walked, well, stumbled over to the party and introduced himself as Haymitch, District 12's only Victor. As this year was the 65th annual Hunger Games, Enjorlas was pained at the thought of how many District 12 tributes never made it home. As Haymitch and his father spoke, Enjorlas silently slipped away in an attempt to escape the sadness of the world he had walked in to. But wherever he went, the scene was the same, people struggling through a life of poverty.
Eventually he slumped down in an alleyway, putting his head in his hands, avoiding the concern that he was now lost in a District he knew nothing about. There was a noise from the darkness but Enjorlas ignored it. When he looked up, he saw three faces looking down at him, covered in dirt and living in squalor. They couldn't have been much older than him, but despite their malnutrition, Enjorlas had a feeling they were much stronger than him.
'What do we have here eh?' said one. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days, but there was a determination in his eyes Enjorlas couldn't quite place.
'Looks like we have a primo!' said another with glee. He looked similar to the first one, and Enjorlas thought they must be brothers. Primo was the name given by the outlying districts to 1 and 2, showing their lack of education as one wasn't even a prime number, but Enjorlas didn't think this was the correct time to point this out.
'That jacket you're wearing', the last one piped up, 'Looks a bit thick to me, take it off, it's warm out!' Enjorlas thought he was joking, but he looked deadly serious.
'That's a good idea,' replied the first, obviously the leader of this little gang, 'Come on boys, let's give this primo a little District 12 hospitality.' They bent down to his level, Enjorlas, defenseless, was petrified of what was to come. He closed his eyes and braced himself, then…
'Oi!' The voice sounded close, but looking around, Enjorlas couldn't find its owner, but the boys seemed to know exactly who it was.
'Stay out of this Courfeyrac! This is none of your business!' yelled out the first.
Suddenly a boy appeared from the darkness. He had curly dark hair and dark brown eyes. He wasn't muscly or particularly tall but he had a presence that struck fear into Enjorlas and his...new friends.
'If you don't walk away right now, you'll have a lot to answer for.' The gang shrank back, but Enjorlas didn't understand why. 'Setting aside the fact this boy has done you no harm..'
'He's a primo!' 'He's no business here!' 'Too rich for his own good!' the gang rebuked in unison, but Courfeyrac didn't seem to hear them.
'You take his jacket, then what? No one in the Hob would pay for it! It would take less than a minute for it to tear in the mines! And a peacekeeper would bound to want to know where it came from, and a small visiting boy battered and bruised with a missing jacket is bound to attract their attention.'
The boys looked at each other, as if this hadn't occurred to them before. Enjorlas was too astounded at this new boy's bravery and intelligence to make a sound. The gang looked to their leader.
'Alright. You make a good point. We'll leave. But don't think this is over!' That last part was pointed directly at Courfeyrac, but he didn't bat an eyelid, rather he waited until they were out of sight. He then walked over to Enjorlas, offering a hand to help him up. Enjorlas took it and once standing realised that, this boy wasn't 12 or 13 as Enjorlas expected him to be, but was the same height as Enjorlas and couldn't be more than a year older than himself, about 6 years old. At 6 he waned of 3 boys older than himself with just his words. Enjorlas wondered if he could ever possess that power.
'Courfeyrac.' The boy looked at him expectantly. Enjorlas blankly stared back. He looked amused, 'That is my name, what is yours?'
He snapped back to reality, fixed his posture and held out his hand.
'Enjorlas.' He paused. 'Thanks for…you know'
'Ahh don't worry about it. Those boys barely have a brain cell between them, anything I can do to get on the wrong side of them, in my book, can't be bad thing. Keep things interesting.'
In spite of everything, Enjorlas laughed. Courfeyrac retained his amused expression.
'I guess that sort of thing doesn't happen in district 2?' He smiled.
'Well people in District 2 are so worried about losing their brain cells that they avoid any type of confrontation or head-bashing that could compromise them. Yet they volunteer for the Hunger Games. I never really understood that.'
Courfeyrac laughed. Enjorlas had the feeling he hadn't done that in a while.
'You're alright, you are,' he concluded, 'If you happen to find yourself in District 12 again..' he paused, 'Then again, we're not really known as a holiday destination.'
There was loneliness in his eyes, and Enjorlas saw he needed a friend as badly as he did.
He glanced uncomfortably down at an old newspaper. Courfeyrac also looked at it longingly.
'I wish I could do that.' He said wistfully.
'What?'
'Read.'
Enjorlas had an idea. 'I could teach you if you'd like!'
Courfeyrac smirked, 'Why, you sticking around!?'
Enjorlas wanted to rebuke that statement, but he knew it was true. This meeting would never be repeated. He wasn't quite sure why, he'd known this boy for two minutes, but the thought made him sad.
'Oh Enjorlas, thank God!' His mother's voice. He turned and saw her at the end of the alley. Courfeyrac began to back away.
'Oh no, don't go!' Enjorlas pleaded.
'Antonin Enjorlas! Back away from that street rat!' None other than his father so sensitively put.
Enjorlas glanced back at Courfeyrac in horror, but he didn't seem to have taken offence. All he said was,
'You mum seems nice,' gave him a quick smile and disappeared into the darkness as quickly as he appeared.
Enjorlas miserably walked back to his father.
'We have much to discuss.' His father barked, Enjorlas thought he was in trouble but his mother was smiling.
'I have recently received orders from the Capitol,' he grumbled, 'to keep an eye on things here in 12, or appoint someone trustworthy who can.' His mother's smile grew wider.
'Under Haymitch's guidance, you and your mother will stay and do this duty for me. I feel this is the best place for you.'
There was a secondary meaning to that, but Enjorlas didn't care. He had a smile as wide as his mother's. He had always felt trapped in District 2, but that was one thing he didn't feel here.
Maybe he could even be friends with Courfeyrac. He already had great admiration for the boy, and thought; maybe, just maybe, they could both learn a few things.
