These scenes take place between years 11 and 12 (following chapters 51-54).
Five peacekeepers, five point of views.
Sergeant Ajax, twenty-seven and torn. Year 11, March.
"You are not to modify the official charts to make your demands," the tall man said sharply.
Mags shouldn't even know those files existed. Marquise.
"People have been moving to Creneis, and the homeless had been forgotten in the count, Sir," Mags said with the polite patience she used just with him, as if her subconscious knew that her genuine deference saved her life every day. "They have houses now but the stock of clothes, blankets and imported food is too low. We need more resources, Sergeant. You know I am not greedy."
Ajax didn't doubt her honesty, just her definition of necessary.
"You're using false pretexts to keep them employed. We do not need so many houses built."
"The law states we must have three children, people will need the space. I hope the academy will grow and people will come. After the houses are done, we'll build a proper road from the dock to the treatment factory and to the station. People break their backs carting the loads around."
Ajax's dark eyes narrowed, and just like her mother, Mags held his gaze, reminding him that her eyes had seen the worst of what mankind had to offer. He wanted to hate her, it would be so much easier then.
He nodded once and left, a disgusting sense of shame invading his whole being.
He could inquire further. Why two hundred houses? Why not build more ships like promised instead of just replacing the old ones? It was there, he could feel it, the nagging certainty she was hiding something. That woman planned everything, she fully trusted no one other than her mother and that slippery Glynn woman. What kind of person handled hundreds of workers without delegating?
If you want something done well, do it yourself. A fine idiom to live by in this world of lazy parasites, but Ajax couldn't pretend to be so blind.
He saw her anger, he saw how she cared. Whenever she saw a crack, a weakness in the laws, she slipped inside, slowly changing Creneis, for productivity's sake. Always productivity. As if he didn't notice what came with that word. Mags Abalone was the single greatest danger in all of District Four. A dormant beast who was using the Capitol and would break away as soon as she dared.
Ajax slammed his fist into the wall when no one could see, a fearsome grimace of pain deforming his harsh face.
Mags was the reason he would not be moved from little town to little town anymore, lugging weights and arresting petty criminals, until his hair was white and his knees creaked.
He'd barely made it back from Eight, reduced to a whimpering husk of a being when the dye factory overheated and infected the air with its horrid fumes. And when he'd been taken hostage in Seven, he learned the Capitol would abandon them without a backwards glance. The Capitol, who had assigned him for a year to Eleven's work camps, places barely fit for animals, for ruining a shipment of prize ebony in order to save himself and his companions, abandoned by their Sergeant who had fled like a coward.
He'd done the right thing, and they'd made him feel grateful for sparing his life and treating him like a dog.
Keeping Mags safe, keeping his mouth shut, would give him a future. If she hadn't won, he'd not even be Sergeant despite deserving the rank and more.
He loathed what she made him do. Loathed himself for not having the courage to uphold his vows.
Vows he had once thought were worth dying for.
He loathed that green-eyed slip of a woman that made him doubt.
She was a soldier, never complacent, never relenting and Ajax loathed that she had included Marquise in her plans and not him.
Ranker Camilla, nineteen, first day pup. Year 11, September.
Her heart hammered with excitement when the train door opened.
Mercy, the wind cut hard.
Large white and black birds were shouting at each other and Camilla watched mesmerized as they struggled against the wind and circling above the endless body of water.
She craned her neck, taking advantage of her uncommon height to see over the barbed fence.
The ocean. Grey and white angry waters crashing violently against sand and reef.
Wow. It was so huge. Juliet would want to know every detail.
The thought of impressing her older sister made Camilla almost giddy. About time the tables were turned.
It was plain to anybody with eyes that her parents had hooked up for the other's personality and maybe here, finally, skills and personality would matter more than her socially-crippling looks.
A foreign voice had her rip her eyes from the ocean. "Wow-how what did your parents feed you, girl?"
A short but quite strong-looking ranker -with at least twelve solid years of service from the looks of him- was taking her in. Camilla's glare was stopped by one glaring realization.
That man wasn't one of the older transfers, he was their welcoming committee.
"Brick-soup, Sir," Camilla deadpanned, standing to attention. Brushing off taunts was really the only brand of wit she'd mastered. Life had made sure she'd had the occasion to practice.
"Ha. Some of you other pups could have used that," he said, his lips curling as he observed the newcomers. They'd probably picked the broadest guy they had just to make them feel self-conscious.
Camilla straightened, trying to shake off the sudden shrinking feeling. She'd thrown herself into training body and soul, but what if it wasn't enough?
The eight men and two women stood stiff, barely daring to breathe as the Creneis peacekeeper scrutinized them pitilessly. They'd had their share of loud officers bellowing orders left and right back during training, but they hadn't actually been on the job. And the man hadn't shouted yet, which couldn't be good. They wouldn't actually have them welcomed by someone nice, would they?
Cold sweat pearled on Camilla's brow. She had heard wild stories on how pups were 'toughed up'. Beefy like she was, she'd never manage to keep a low profile.
"Lieutenant Falx is waiting for the transfers in the barracks. Go," the man ordered, gesturing towards an unmistakable reinforced building not far from the station. "As for you pups," he said, his lips breaking into a disquieting smile, "my name is Legend, and I shall be your guide."
Legend? Her lips twitched. No parent in Two would name their kid that.
Camilla's eyes widened in fright. Had he seen her reaction? She'd be buried before she'd even written her sister if that man ever learned how they'd talked of District One.
"Five pups from Tough Two this year... Let me guess, you," he triumphantly pointed at her former classmate Nicias, causing his ears to turn pink, "you, you, and little dove over here," Legend said, jabbing his finger straight at her. Camilla winced. Great, already a stupid nickname. At least it wasn't too awful. "You just gave yourselves away." All hints of smile vanished from his face. "Careful, my mother chose that noble name, and insulting mothers is out of bounds," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Who's the wise fifth?"
"Sir," Dario said, so stiff he might turn to stone.
A ghost of a smile flitted over Camilla's lips. Of course. That rule-lover would plunge a knife into his own heart before disrespecting a senior peacekeeper, no matter where he came from. Good for him.
"House rules," Legend bellowed, causing them all to wince.
Camilla almost cracked up when she found herself saluting along with the others. Weren't they well-trained pups? Hearing Legend shout made her feel more at ease: that was more like home.
"My word is law, question it and lose your tongue, look like you disapprove and you'll go home blind," he said, looking deathly serious. "Others are to treat you by the book. You so much put a toe out of line and we'll love you, because there are always those jobs we'd otherwise feel guilty to give to innocent fresh-faced pups," he threatened with a predatory smile. He then relaxed. "Someone from the old guard messes with you, I'll set them straight, but you'd better be sure it's worth others knowing you told me."
Worth being the sissy of the barracks… Camilla shivered just at the thought.
"Look sharp," Legend snapped, his change of tone startling them again. "Right over there."
Cliffs hugged the Southern border of town, a handful of large houses gazed upon the town. That had to be a victor's village. Camilla's eyes widened, she'd thought the capital Lycorias would have housed -
"Mags Abalone won the ninth Hunger Games. She and her mother Angelites rank Sergeant."
Camilla gaped. What? They had been many to admire the volunteer with golden-brown hair. Because, how many thought they were a match for the arenas and then wept like kicked puppies on TV? Mags had avoided every pitfall, killed a freaking rebel leader and not once had she lost face. But a Sergeant?
"Shut your gaping mouths. Mags can chuck in a cell if you think peacekeeping is play time with the locals. If she does, I'll be the first to laugh at you and I'll make sure your whole hometown gets a high quality record of it. Am I clear?"
Cristal. "Sir, yes, Sir!"
This was going to be different.
The barracks were clean and not too chilly. She'd get used to them quick.
The five of them were loosely sticking together at the entry of the mess hall. They'd been ordered mingle with the old guard but they had to pick right because somebody would have to provide the entertainment. Camilla really didn't want to be that person.
"Afraid of something, pups? We don't bite," a bald man said with a toothy smile. It wasn't an evil smile, but it clearly said fresh meat. "Me and wifey love pups."
'Wifey' was just as bald, with striking eyes and a lined face. Those were definitely veterans, which if the rankings were accurate, wasn't an achievement to boast of, not in Creneis Town. Camilla would've taken Lycorias if she'd ranked high enough in training to apply, but it seemed everyone wanted District Four.
Next to her, Laxis gave a low whistle. "Now look at that."
Camilla followed his gaze, and her jaw almost dropped.
The object of their attention barely glanced at them, her long blonde hair flowing in a brazen display of vanity and a half smile on her lips as her swaying hips left tangibly raised the levels of testosterone in the room. That uniform was definitely a half-size too snug.
Camilla raised her eyebrows. She bet that woman's parents hadn't needed great personalities at all. How'd she get away with the hair? It wasn't forbidden, but -
The bald man was scowling fiercely. "Putting on a bloody show every damn morning."
"What's her name?" Nicias asked, eagerness almost making him bounce.
"Marquise, strutting about thinking she's the victor's favorite and too good to do anything menial."
Was she? Camilla's eyes now narrowed in interest. Whatever it was, it was just loud whispers following Marquise around. No whistles, no shoves, no thrown food, and the officers weren't even there yet. If that woman was all lipstick and tits, why were they so afraid to show their feelings about it?
"Dream on, Big ears. Princess is too good for anything, always bitching about the salt or the smell and –"
"She had the gall to say she didn't want to be one of us," his wife said, hate etched in her features. "Started training at bloody sixteen. The Lieutenant should've kicked her out, can't believe how he lets her run her foul mouth of District Two."
That got the male pups' attention. "What does that slut say?" Hilliard snarled. Hot tempered hypocrite. He said the worst about One.
Bile rose in Camilla's throat as the group started plotting. Twenty seconds, it had taken twenty seconds for that couple to destroy Marquise's chance to start off good with them. Anger brought of old but still raw wounds began bubbling in her veins. How many times had that happened to her? Judged by appearance and then accused of arrogance when being defensive was the only way to react to the taunts with dignity.
That's it. She'd found her table. Camilla kept her head high and her face set as she went to sit next to Marquise.
Astonishment painted itself on the shapely woman's face when she noticed her "What's your name and what wonderful spirit of defiance brought you to my table?" She said, a small smile gracing her lips.
"I'm Camilla and I don't like how they were talking."
Marquise was sitting with her legs crossed next to the table rather than under it, the upper one swinging slightly. "I assure you that I am very vain by barrack standards. I refuse to be a man, or should I say a poor imitation of one, and that's unforgivable."
"You'd think the women would be happy to see you both feminine and successful," Camilla said quietly. She'd always thought female peacekeepers should help each other, they were outnumbered six to one after all and girl had never stopped being an insult. Of course, life didn't work out like that.
Marquise gave her an honest, broad grin. "Sit down, pup. Why would they be happy about me getting all the attention? They'd have me bald and wrapped up in ridiculous baggy clothes."
"They're not baggy, they just don't stick to your body when you sweat. And short hair is practical." Camilla felt stupid after the words had tumbled out of her mouth. That's why she kept quiet most of the time. Nothing smart or witty to say.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "I shower when I sweat, that's what we do in District One."
Camilla stiffened at the jibe. "They implied you didn't sweat that much. Using the victor's name to shirk off duties."
Marquise grinned again, without any malice. Camilla wasn't used to people smiling at her like that. Actually, she was pretty sure what she'd carelessly said could have been taken as an insult.
"Absolutely."
Camilla stared, then a small smile broke her lips. Fair enough. She'd probably do the same if she could get away with it. They were peacekeepers, not angels.
"You seem like a very tolerant person," Marquise finally said.
Tolerant? Maybe. Most people called her boring and obvious.
Marquise stood up. "It's never too early to start. Come with me, we can grab a bite at the market. I discovered this man who sells cats as pet control, and he breeds them."
Excitement surged through Camilla at the thought of making her first arrest and seeing the town so early.
"Is that illegal?" She said. She'd seen nothing on cats or other domestic animals in the rule book or the memo she had been given before her arrival in Creneis. "Is there a health issue?"
All those stray cats… maybe the fleas were plague carriers. She should probably put on her gloves.
Marquise giggled. "No, I just want a kitten and bred cats will be less wild than those dreadful strays. I've tried twice to adopt one during my first year but it didn't turn out well."
Camilla's jaw dropped. That woman wanted a – . Was that some local hazing thing?
"You're adopting a kitten?" She breathed. This had to be a joke. They were peacekeepers!
"I'm a guard and a pilot already. I don't see why I have to be in soldier mode 24/7"
Camilla almost could hear her brain whimper. "Because it's in the job description."
What did they teach them in One? Hold it, a pilot? That was tough, only Dario had passed transmissions among the five of them. Camilla stared, trying to see beyond those too carefree blue eyes. An honest pilot. Damn, that woman had to be smart.
"No, it's written that we are to obey 24/7, not that we're on duty," Marquise said, pulling her hair in a tight ponytail. "Big difference, pup."
"You just made that difference up," Camilla said. She was a pup, not a fool.
Marquise crossed her arms, a sly smile gracing her lips "I'm not in jail. Would you say the Lieutenant doesn't know the rules?"
" The…" Camilla sighed ruefully. Rather than annoyed, she found that she felt at ease. A woman like that, being openly friendly to her? The nineteen year old grinned. "Let's get you a kitten. You have balls of brass, Marquise."
Camilla liked to think she had stopped caring, but the teasing that'd follow adopting a kitten… Glancing backwards, she was pleased to see Dario had left the others too. He'd always been polite to her.
She frowned in alarm when she saw a muscled man barring their way out.
"Adopted a troll to shine more, Marquise?" He sneered. "Can you stoop any lower?"
Camilla balled her fists, not sure how to respond to that. She fought the urge to punch the bastard, it'd just get her in trouble.
"You've always been so despicably shallow, Webster," Marquise replied, her bored tone belied by her frosty gaze. "Her name's Camilla."
Camilla's eyebrows shot up when she saw Marquise step around the nasty man and walk on, as if he was just a fly to be swatted away. That woman had to be incredible at self-defense to have people afraid to touch her. That or she really had some real strong support from people with power.
Camilla scrambled after her.
Marquise soon turned back towards the younger woman, her hair swishing and her expression defiant. "Obey direct orders, Camilla-pup, but aside from that don't let people tell you what you can or can't do."
A small smile broke Camilla's lips. She so wanted to live like that.
Ranker Webster, twenty-four and bored. Year 11, December.
"Dude, I'm bored."
He threw a pebble at a passing teenager. The boy just stiffened and hurried past without so much as a glance.
Webster's lips curled in disgust. Coward. When he and his brother had left district Eight to join, enduring years of jeers and shoves from all those high-District snotty bastards who treated them like second-rate, it wasn't to put up with this crap.
His searching eyes finally zeroed in on a pair of fishies.
Boy with girl, perky little thing who wouldn't shut up while he drooled by her side.
He looked so pathetic Webster couldn't leave him like that.
"Look at him, bro. He's almost making me cry," Saran said, echoing his exact thoughts.
That's what twins were for. The two men shared a smirk and leisurely strode towards the runts.
Webster almost burst out laughing when the two looked like they would piss themselves upon seeing him and Saran heading for them. He couldn't help feeling a bit of pride too.
He tutted, a sneer painted across his face. "A tease at your age, your mother must hide her face in shame."
"Treating the poor boy like that, don't you have morals?" Saran exclaimed. He'd even managed to look honestly outraged.
"What'd you think, fishies never do," Webster replied, crossing his arms. "She'll squeeze the best out of him and then cast him away, a husk without hope."
They were getting all red and trembling now, the silly fishies. Webster ached for one of them to lash out. Then the fun would begin.
"And look at her," he added, taking in the skinny girl's sallow skin and long chin.
"Good point, she should be lucky to take what she gets."
"You leave her alone," boyfriend threatened, his voice cracking hilariously. "She's better than all of you put together.
How cute, and carrying her bag too. Webster would have to do fifty one armed pushups while shaving himself with a knife to get the slimy feel of pussy off his skin. Blah.
"Usually carrying bags before the girl agrees to kiss you is the sign of a small dick, kiddo. I really feel for you," Saran shot back, compassion incarnate.
What an asshole. Webster was almost jealous of the man.
And look at those glorious tears of humiliation on boyfriend's stupid red face. Ha.
Fishies had lost their tongues though. This was turning into a waste of time.
Webster was annoyed they hadn't put up a greater fight. And Princess, just standing there waiting for him to defend her. Losers.
"See ya, loser," he said, giving him a shove.
They sniggered as the two scampered off. Then his brother grinned.
"Dude, I'm bored," he said.
Webster nodded. Boy, days dragged on.
"Those three look like they're plotting."
"Bingo, Hawk-Eye. Let's see what they're up to."
They paused to assess their targets. Girl-fishies.
"Seven, four, ten," his brother evaluated.
Sounded right. Seven was a touch too nice. Hair and ass were alright but her lips were all cracked and swollen and her nose crusty, it was vile.
"What do you want?" One of them challenged.
Rude of course, and it was the uglier one to boot.
"Now look here, Ten, I don't listen to any fishie that doesn't rate at least a five." Webster said with a close-your-mouth hand motion.
She stiffened as if struck. Webster smirked. It was hysterical how that always got to the school girls. Vain hussies, all of them.
They had two of the three crying without even having had to threaten them before a voice rang out.
"The toilets are filthy, some people just can't aim. I told Lieutenant Falx you volunteered to clean them."
Marquise.
That bitch. Why? What had they ever done to her? They only gave what she deserved.
"Don't you have legs to wax or something?" Webster winced afterwards. Not his best comeback.
At least the three fishies had run away quick enough not to hear it.
"Listen, you piss the kids off, Mags gets angry. Now she's busy, but if she gets angry enough, you're going to regret having ever transferred here."
Oh lady, he already did. No one had nagged at him so much since his Ma. He hadn't had to deal with this shit in District Nine.
"We didn't touch the runts, don't get your knickers in a twist," he grunted. What was a bit of harmless fun?
"Keep her talking," his brother whispered. "I'm not listening, but my eyes are feasting right now."
Webster bit back a smirk. "So what'd you want us to do? It's not like we've been given precise instructions," he said, being the loyal brother he was.
Saran knew how to live. Webster didn't even know why he'd been looking at Marquise in the eyes before. At least 30 good seconds wasted.
He heard her snort. "You almost fooled me there. Pigs."
Webster was pretty disappointed when those delicious breasts were replaced by the back of her uniform.
Frigging double-standards. She didn't dress like that for the seagulls, did she?
"Damn it, bro, could you have been more obvious?"
Webster scowled. "Why should you get all the fun?"
"You idiot," Saran cursed, "now none of us are having any fun and we're stuck freezing our balls off or blondie will report us."
Webster blew his cheeks out. "Dude, I'm bored."
His twin punched him.
Webster winced. Asshole had a mean right hook.
Ranker Legend, thirty-one and in love. Year 12, February.
Seeing her full mouth bite the golden apple was the most sensual sight Legend had ever witnessed. She made him feel like she was making him a favor when he brought her food.
"Sorry," she said, licking the juice off her lips, the mischievous glint in her eyes never waning. "Want to share an apple, love? I even have a table ready."
A vivid blue cotton shift covered one of the crates, decorated with the tiniest candles. Had she made those just for the two of them? Where had she found the wax?
A smile broke Legend's lips. Only his Edlen could make a room full of additives and food preservatives romantic.
He straightened his uniform, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. "You are not allowed to use the food dyes to paint clothes, Edlen Albatross."
"Oh dear, but you caught me," the raven-haired woman said, horror widening her adorable eyes as her hands flew to her mouth, "please tell you are corrupt and there is something I can do, anything," she breathed huskily, falling against him gracefully as if she was feeling faint.
Eleven years, and man was he still crazy about that girl.
And now he was late.
"You're late." Old Falx predictably said.
"Mags kept me, Dyplon, you know how she is."
The Lieutenant harrumphed good-naturedly and Legend felt a pang of guilt. They'd both been in Creneis over a decade, and it felt like lying to a friend.
But he had to protect Edlen. Even for him Dyplon would not look beyond that damned List of Rebels that branded Edlen as an enemy of Panem.
"Have you found replacements for Indra and Alaric yet?"
Legend furrowed his brow, pretending to think about it. He knew exactly who he wanted in the guard.
"Dario's discipline is outstanding, his academic knowledge impressive, and his skills quite adequate. He is a rigid boy with a great love of rules, working with us will do him good." Legend went on when Dyplon acquiesced. "I believe Camilla would be a suitable fifth."
"That huge female? Some older guards may disapprove," Dyplon said with furrowed brow. "She has not disappointed, but she hasn't distinguished herself either. There are more capable elements."
"She gets along with Marquise is very level-headed. She also trained with Dario in District Two. I believe she is the best suited for the task. I prefer to have a well-functioning team than one with skilled people who dream of stabbing each other."
Which with Marquise's larger-than-life personality wasn't a metaphor.
Additionally, Camilla was a woman. Five men squads were the most trouble, that's why he'd insisted so forcefully about having Marquise on the guard two years ago, even before he'd been convinced she'd fit in. He treasured that breath of femininity, that calm force that kept the monsters at bay and reminded him of the home he'd once had. He'd been part of that madness once, never again.
"Well then, if she can stand Marquise," the grey-haired man said with a small grin. "Defend your choice when they'll complain," he said after a pause. "I'll support you,"
Legend stiffened when Dyplon abruptly stood up. That glare meant business.
"Legend, this has gone on long enough," the officer began, "you are working at a fraction of your capacities. You keep the pups in line as a ranker when Sergeants fail to get half the results. It pains me to promote fools when you should have been Sergeant six years ago. What are you doing with yourself, in Creneis at thirty-three? Didn't you come here with a bit of ambition?"
Legend stiffened.
His first year of service had been the last of the rebellion. He'd been a kid full of grand notions on good, evil and justice, dreaming of great heroes and of vanquishing evil.
They had all been.
Legend, Chalice and Sheen, inseparable, bold and fearless, brothers in all but blood, born to be heroes.
"I enjoy working with the lads, making them learn. It's enough power for me. Mags keeps me busy."
Legend and Sheen, wary, mourning, afraid. Chalice had been their cheer, their courage, their innocence.
Legend, wrath and vengeance. In a world of ashes and chaos, the teenager's whirling blade dripped with stolen life. They'd taken his brothers, there was nothing left.
"Legend, the war has been over for more than a decade. I remember, and some of my demons are still loud and well-fed, but you must give yourself a chance."
They'd culled them out, one by one, the rebels fleeing into the wilderness. He remembered the wolves howling, the fires rising high above the treetops where the trapped fugitives were turned to ash.
He remembered her.
"I am happy as I am, I don't want to lose it chasing fake dreams, Dyplon. Please believe me," Legend said, his blue eyes pained.
He'd been scouting off the roads, a tortured veteran of barely nineteen. He'd heard a rustle, and her. A woman with tangled auburn locks and her cowering children, boys of twelve and nine, shivering from hunger and fear.
"Just foxes, nothing to signal," he'd lied, the words escaping his lips before he had time to think.
He'd never felt such relief. He'd had it with vengeance.
"But what do you have here, Legend?" The man exclaimed in frustration.
He'd come back home, desperate to cast that mantle away. A pillaged home, an empty home. No explanation, not even the certainty his parents were dead. It wasn't the District One he'd left behind.
He'd signed for Creneis, not caring where life would lead him anymore.
Life had led him to Edlen, and now he knew better than to ever leave again the place he called home.
"What do you have?" Dyplon repeated, worry creasing his lined face.
"A man who wishes for me to succeed as if I was his son," Legend said with an affectionate smile, for it was true, and Legend would forever be in the man's debt. "I did terrible things in the name of ambition when I was still a boy. Let me be an outstanding ranker rather than a poor officer, Sir."
Dyplon swallowed, anger and something else, something softer, warring on his face. "You're a fool, boy. Get out of my office," he said gruffly.
Legend stepped out, but his smile slowly died when he realized Dyplon had unknowingly rubbed salt in a raw wound.
What did he have that was solid?
His feet began dragging him uphill, giving him the answer his mind feared to acknowledge.
Legend gathered his courage, hoping he wasn't making a terrible mistake. His palms were sweaty and cold, irrational fear gripped his guts.
He knocked.
Mags opened the door, her alarm morphing into surprise when she saw his expression.
He swallowed, desperation warring with fierce hope. "Mags, I need a name off the former rebels list," he quickly said.
Mags blinked. "Why?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if she suspected a trick.
"I'd have married Edlen Albatross eight years ago if not for that accursed list," Legend blurted, aware he'd never be brave enough to ask again. He risked a whipping at worst, but Edlen… That woman was braver than he deserved.
Mags stared. Then her lips twitched. "Give me a week."
"I'm asking you to commit a crime," Legend said, his voice hoarse.
Edlen, she'd given up her best decade for him, a man she couldn't be seen with, a man whose children she couldn't raise, not unless she became that woman. Twenty-seven and childless, the family law hanging like a blade right above her head. If she couldn't be his, he'd have to set her free and leave in the hope a good man would see beyond the fact she held the Capitol's disfavor.
The thought made him want to die.
A small patronizing smile drew itself on the victor's lips. "A week and a day?" She said, her lips quirking further.
Legends words failed him, so he just saluted, wondering if maybe, this was life's way of apologizing for him, or of forgiving him for his crimes.
"You'll have the occasion to save my life a fair few times if you're planning to die in Creneis, Legend."
She was grinning, a comely flush on her chilled cheeks.
Legend found himself grinning too.
Ranker Dario, nineteen and shaken. Year Twelve, February.
Uncivilized, violent, they respond only to force. You have to hit first, show you're meaner or they'll walk all over you. Look at the numbers, those beasts need to be contained. Peacekeepers are the shield, without us, the Districts would be depravation and chaos.
Bloody morons hadn't understood a thing about life.
Dario couldn't believe he'd wasted five years listening to such swivel. He'd have been better off been shipped straight to Creneis at fourteen. He'd for sure made a kid's mistake when Mags had ended up having to knife that man.
His blood still boiled at the thought. How close had he come to becoming the worst failure in Panem?
He couldn't care less when she stared at him crossly for invading her personal space. He was a guard and, with all due respect, Mags didn't seem to be aware she could be in danger. He wasn't there for show.
His eyes swept over the workers and passers-by. They were much too exposed.
To be a guard, he needed to see danger. Training had molded him into seeing violent little bastards waiting for the right occasion to pounce even in wizened old ladies chatting away on the market place. Bloody useless.
"Still PMSing?"
Dario stiffened. "Thank you, Marquise, for daily giving me the occasion to practice my self-control," he said, his voice quite level.
"Alaric was more fun. Although, I did have to train him," Marquise said, reminiscing with a smile. "You may have promise yet."
"They said you slept with him." Dario said coolly, aware almost every male in the barracks tried to convince the others she'd slept with them.
"I did, had fun too."
Dario's eyebrows shot up. Somehow it seemed too, human a thing to do. Marquise wasn't -
Marquise laughed. "You seriously thought I was a virgin? I'm twenty-four, don't be absurd."
Dario found himself struggling not to picture her naked. "Can we pretend we're on duty?" He said, sarcasm seeping in his tone.
The joke would be on him if Mags got attacked while he was distracted.
Marquise let out a low whistle. "You need a hobby." She eyed him shrewdly. "Do you like cats?"
What the hell? "Cats?" Had her kitten already bred or something? He couldn't care less if she drowned the surplus.
"Call me Genie," Marquise said with a ghost of a smile, "and tell me your childhood ambition."
Two, there were just two of them close enough to Mags to intervene if there was trouble. Legend and Camilla were an absurd hundred yards away, and he had to be stuck with someone who couldn't take life seriously.
"Dario," Marquise snapped, and this time she looked serious enough for him to pay attention. "Do you think the older rankers are role models?"
Dario glared at her. He had no intention to remain a ranker. He respected the rules and the officers, he wasn't careless, he didn't slack on the job. They had to see that. Now the shock had faded, he was glad Mags had forced Sergeant Pike and the others to be accountable for their crimes. About time pettiness was punished, peacekeepers had a name to uphold. They had to be worthy.
"Whatever you want, you need to find what it is and go get it," Marquise said, "Life won't give it to you. I know District Two is all 'obey and don't think', but if you want to move up, it won't be by convincing yourself to plow on and stay miserable. You won't get anywhere if you don't dare try."
District Two, wasn't – Dario swallowed back the sharp retort. Marquise was his senior, he wouldn't stoop to her level.
"I'm not miserable," he hissed, blood pulsing in his temple.
That hadn't come out the way he wanted… Was he?
What did he want?
His annoyance dissolved into confusion, and slowly fear. Why had he let that infuriating woman steer his thought there? What he wanted wasn't important. He served Panem, that was who he was, who he ever wanted to be. The rules were clear, they'd been made by competent people, wiser than him. He didn't need to go make a fool of himself thinking he knew better.
Marquise's blue eyes had an odd hooded quality to them. "Rules are comfortable, but they don't tell you who you are. I've seen tough men broken because they had nowhere to draw strength on when life shattered their shaky foundations."
Dario swallowed. Marquise seemed intent of shaking him every day. The worst was that she looked like she cared. Why couldn't she leave him alone?
Why didn't he dare try?
Author's Note:
I hope they were different enough to be interesting. They're mainly focused on Mags' guard because those are the characters that deserve the most fleshing out. Marquise will have her own outtake.
Please review^^.