So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's land
Another day, another shower. Another attempt at taking a hot one, praying the water wouldn't be scalding this time. Another letdown, and another ten minutes standing under a freezing deluge. Then another two minutes spent at the mercifully warm washroom sinks, trying to restore some feeling into her fumbling fingers.
A typical routine on what Rust Sarabande knew should be anything but a typical day.
She leaned closer to the tap to splash some water on her face, washing away the beads of sweat newly formed across her brow. Enough—what was she, a child? Saiph didn't fear the unknown, and neither should she.
Often, for undaunted courage, fate spares the man it has not already marked.
The Capitol did not decide what happened to them. Fate did—and if she was brave enough, she could beat even that.
Her head rose again, and she was pleased to see a convincing look of determination in her narrowed eyes and set jaw. The rough, uneven layers of her short hair helped with badass warrior look she was going for; she was glad she'd opted to get as much chopped off as she could back when the guards actually cared about their prisoners' personal hygiene. Some of the girls had put up a fuss at the idea of parting with their already-grimy locks, and now their hair looked more akin to a curtain of knotted ropes. Not even the showers could help them, not when they had so little time.
It was a funny thing, how the girls here outnumbered the boys almost three to one. Rust knew there had been plenty more young males in the camp originally, but when the decision had come to separate the kids from the adults, they'd been carted off to different cellblocks. The girls had been shoved into their own respective jail, but there wasn't enough space for all of them; likewise with the boys, even though they had two whole buildings to themselves. So the extras had been forced into this old dump, where the plumbing hardly worked, and the cells were miniscule, and the yard was barely big enough for the six boys to enjoy, let alone the sixteen girls.
The guards didn't seem to care about the gender imbalance though; girls and boys alike got the same amount of time in the washrooms, which meant ten minute showers maximum for female prisoners so they could all have a turn before their half hour was up. Of course, one could take longer—at the risk of being thrown out entirely naked. Aside from the obvious humiliation, there was the constant threat of guards getting . . . handsy. Rust had seen it happen once or twice, and now she and every other girl had an internal clock programmed to tell exactly when half an hour had passed.
Twenty-five-thirty-six, twenty-five-thirty-seven . . .
Rust left the sink for another girl to use and headed towards a newly unoccupied washroom stall. The girl who had exited, with bright blue eyes and a scowl that could kill, was already leaving the washroom, even though they weren't supposed to until exactly thirty minutes had passed.
Many paused to watch as the girl, whom Rust had dubbed "She-Wolf", stormed through the door. It swung shut behind her, closing with a click, and didn't open again. They waited, but She-Wolf was not forced back through. Obviously, Rust supposed—there were no guards around to enforce the rules.
Did that mean they could stay in here as long as they wanted?
Maybe, but she'd rather not tempt fate. Sure, she'd stood on a table and shouted along with her cousin earlier, but that had been different. Saiph had been there. With him, she could stand up to anything, but without . . .
It must be believed that solitude can quickly destroy reason.
The quote, coming from one of her favourite novels, soothed Rust's nerves. After all, in that story, the characters had been stranded on an island, and had still had their happily ever after. Couldn't this cellblock count as their own sort of island? They'd all be fine, so long as they had a strong captain to guide them.
Saiph could fill that role. He was great at that sort of thing.
Thoughts of her cousin hastened Rust out of the washroom stall. If there were no guards, then could she talk with Saiph? They'd never had much opportunity before—at least, not without getting a kick to the gut for it—but now the soldiers were gone. If they didn't care about Saiph's thrown tin earlier, surely they wouldn't come barging in just because a few of them were talking.
Indeed, some of the others were already breaking that rule. A group of five girls who Saiph had jokingly labelled The Dolls because of their still-dazzling looks were already whispering amongst themselves by one of the shower stalls. None of them looked remotely alike, but they were as familiar with each other as sisters. One girl in particular seemed to be their leader; she didn't look to be the oldest, but her every feature exuded a quiet intensity that could probably whip even Saiph into following her. Her movements were controlled and graceful as she ushered the others towards the washroom doors.
Twenty-nine-oh-one, twenty-nine-oh-two—right, their time was almost up.
Rust followed The Dolls through the doors amidst a crowd of girls doing the same. Many rushed towards the yard, eager to lay in the sun and dry their damp jumpsuits, a side effect of living in a prison with no towels. Rust, however, hung back, looking instead towards the small group of boys making their way to the washroom. The familiar mop of bronze hair was impossible to miss.
"Saiph," she called, drawing his eyes to her. Immediately, his face lit up with that lopsided grin she knew so well.
"Cuz. Had a nice shower? You definitely needed it."
She rolled her eyes, but did clasp his outstretched hand by way of greeting. As soon as their fingers touched, both cousins slammed their free palms on top of their intertwined fists; Saiph, as always, got their first.
"Too slow again." He shook his head, chuckling. "Looks like you're a bit—"
"Don't you say it—"
"—rusty."
She slapped him on the shoulder, letting out a loud groan to hide her smile. Saiph had to use that one at least once a day, and, embarrassingly, it could still make her laugh. Something about him never failed to lighten the mood, no matter the circumstances. Already she felt the earlier tensions leave her, and inwardly berated herself for ever worrying in the first place.
"So, no guards, no beatings, no rules." She grinned. "Whatever shall we get up to?"
"Well, I'm going to take a shower before the door locks on me," Saiph said, glancing towards the washroom where the other boys had disappeared. "Meet up after?"
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Enjoy the sun? I hear it can be quite nice if you manage to see it between the bars."
"Ha, ha."
The sarcasm in her tone fell flat. There was a nagging concern in the back of her mind preventing her from fully relaxing.
"What did you do out there without the guards? You could talk amongst each other, right?" Already, she could hear voices in the yard of the girls chatting with each other. It made her . . . not nervous, exactly, not when her life was so full of bigger concerns, but the thought nevertheless did nothing to thrill her. "Was it awkward?"
"As all hell." Saiph winked, and when she didn't smile, clapped a hand on her back. "Ah, Rusty, you'll be fine. Make some friends! Just think how proud Aunt A would be."
Her mother had always encouraged her to talk more with other kids her age—and "encouraged" was putting it lightly. She'd never understood how her daughter could find more in common with fictional characters than living, breathing people, but those in books made sense. Books were easy to read, and the girls her age were anything but.
Still, they were all district citizens; surely being on the same side of the war meant something. And besides, heroes never took down the villains alone. If they wanted to beat the Capitol, they had to unite.
"All right," Rust said, cracking a grin. "I suppose I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing."
"That's the spirit," Saiph said, giving her another pat before he made for the washroom door. "Oh, and Moby Dick!" he called back, just as she'd begun to feel the glow of pride from scoring a point. "You'll have to do better than that to beat me, Rusty!"
"I'm already beating you!" she answered, laughing. "Fifty-four to twelve, remember?"
"That's what I want you to think!"
She shook her head, smiling at her cousin's ridiculousness as he closed the door behind her. Saiph was smart, and well-read, but he hadn't grown up around books like she had. More often than not, he missed the quotes she slipped into their conversations, and it had put him embarrassingly far behind her in their game.
What they were playing for, or even how many points constituted as "winning", they'd never discussed. The few Rust had explained the game to had never understood, which might have been why Saiph was one of her only close friends to date.
She could change that now, though. In the interest of uniting against the Capitol.
All for one and one for all, Rust thought as she stepped towards the yard. United we stand, divided we fall.
For they were divided. That was evident from one look outside. The girls were either alone or in cliques, remaining with those they knew and no one else. A group of five here, a group of three there, some alone in the corners like they wished they could melt away; no one was approaching each other, as though they all had some sort of horribly contagious disease.
Rust had been guilty of this too, once upon a time. She didn't even know anyone's name besides Saiph's. They were only She-Wolf, and The Dolls, and the Sister Twister for the two girls who were supposedly related but had been giving each other the cold shoulder since their first day in the camp. Then there were Brawns and Brains, the girls from 3. Two of them were clearly tall and strong, and the third, while the idea of "looking smart" was subjective, gave off the impression that there was a library of knowledge locked just behind her amber eyes.
Add to that Red, Jumpy, Teen Mom and the baby, and Rust was already feeling overwhelmed. Saiph had it easy; there were so few boys to deal with. She had a whole armada before her, and while the nicknames and stories she'd made up for the surrounding girls had been fun, actually getting to know them was a whole other task. Inventing wild and ridiculous histories for the prisoners was nice because it made them seem special, and by default, she could pretend she was special as well. No one would lock her up in a prison with spies, harem girls, ex-criminals, and war heroes unless she was one of their ilk.
In reality, she knew the stories these girls hid likely weren't so exciting. A dead relative here, a horror story from the war there—they were too real. Rust didn't want to face that reality.
But Saiph had managed it, or something like it, with the boys. She could do it too.
She had to do it too.
The least intimidating to approach was definitely Red, who sat alone to the left of the door. She looked to be about Rust's age, and with their hair tinted similar shades of copper, they could almost have been sisters, except Rust had eyes the colour of mud while the girl's were a dreamy green-grey currently staring right at her.
Rust paused at Red's wide-eyed stare, then mentally slapped herself. Of course—this was the girl who'd begged Saiph not to get them into trouble right before he'd thrown the oatmeal at the camera. The way Rust was being watched now, it was clearly expected she'd do something equally rash.
Her course didn't change; in fact, the girl's expression only strengthened Rust's desire to speak with her. She told herself it was because she had to change Red's mind about her, Saiph, and standing up to the Capitol. Deeper down, however, it was just nice to see someone looking more worried than she felt. Bravery was easier to achieve when you were standing next to someone so scared.
"Hi," she said, stepping in front of Red and squatting so she was just a bit taller than her level. Rust extended her hand, trying to give the girl the same easy smile that came so naturally to Saiph. "Rust Sarabande."
Red flinched, but politely took Rust's hand nonetheless. "Calla Ayers," she murmured, shaking once before dropping her hand immediately, as though something disgusting had been smeared across Rust's palm.
"Calla," Rust repeated, trying out the new name. So much for Red . "I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot."
Calla frowned, puzzled. "Just now?"
"Earlier. With my cousin throwing the food."
"Oh."
Rust had guessed right; a flash of fear crossed Calla's face. But something more appeared in her eyes—they narrowed and hardened, as if she was upset.
Of course—the girl was thin as a wheat stalk, more affected by malnourishment than could have ever been caused by the prison camp. Rust had seen this same look on the boy who had scolded Saiph for wasting food. Now that she thought about it, she understood; being the daughter of a bookshop owner in a district largely made up of illiterate tillers and croppers, she was no stranger to hungry nights.
"I'm sorry about Saiph's behaviour. He is a great guy, really." Rust smiled. "Just a bit, er, passionate."
Someone snorted. Not Calla, but the girl sitting not too far away from her: Brains, from 3. At least she had the decency to turn red when she realised her reaction had been heard.
"Apologies," she said smoothly as Rust turned her way. "But there is passion, and then there is lunacy. Openly challenging the Capitol, I believe, falls into the latter category."
Rust narrowed her eyes. For all she knew, Brains wasn't openly trying to sound arrogant; Rust had met a few Threes in her lifetime, and she found they all spoke in the same eloquent, slightly patronising tone. Still, that didn't make it any less irritating.
Her temper calmed when a smart response came to her, replacing the scathing retort she'd had in mind. "Perhaps a lunatic is simply a minority of one," she said nonchalantly, inwardly smiling to herself at the quote no one would get.
Brains paused, one eyebrow rising. "Comparing your cousin's little spat to Nineteen Eighty-Four? Bit presumptuous, don't you think?"
Rust was so startled, she could hardly fumble for a response. "Um . . . you, you know the book?"
"Obviously—it's a classic. Although I'm surprised you do too," Brains said, tilting her head as if to re-evaluate Rust. "I didn't imagine Nine as being a particularly literate district."
There was something not unlike respect creeping into her tone, but it did little to lessen the condescension of her words. Ignoring the thought of finding another book-looking kindred spirit, Rust resumed her glare. "Well, we are. My father happened to run Nine's most profitable bookshop."
And only bookshop, but Brains didn't have to know that.
"In fact," she continued, just because the other girl looked so surprised, it was annoying, "We had more than just normal books. I've read the original versions, before the Capitol rewriters got to them. You think you know Nineteen Eighty-Four? I bet you'd be surprised to find out the book's not actually about falling in love with the Capitol."
This time, it was Brains who got her feathers ruffled. "Of course it's not. I've read the original too."
"Are you sure?"
"O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast!" Brains recited flawlessly."Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."
Well, that was the ending of the original, all right. In the Capitol's version, Big Brother had been rechristened "The President", a not-so-subtle nod to Panem's leader. Disappointment popped the balloon of pride in Rust's chest, until she realised she was sitting opposite a girl who actually shared her interests.
All previous irritation was forgotten. Rust left Calla behind to scoot closer to Brains, an eager smile on her face that only Saiph could usually draw from her.
"Wow. Where did you get a copy of the original?" She paused, wracking her brain for any prior memory of this blonde, amber-eyed girl. "Did you get one from the rebels?"
"What? No. We had one in our library."
"Libraries in Three are allowed to carry originals? Ugh, I'm so jealous. They must be huge. What are they like? How many books do they have? Are they always originals?"
Rust was aware she was starting to babble, but she couldn't help it. Books were a passion her father had passed on to her, and all her life she'd waited for someone her own age to discuss them with. Her cousin had been wonderful, of course, but after he'd lost his mother, Saiph's interest in stories had dwindled. He hadn't read a new book in years, and his score in their quote game showed it.
Brains raised a hand to halt Rust's barrage of questions, looking more than a bit overwhelmed. "Look, I don't know what Three's libraries actually are like," she said hurriedly, as though worried Rust would interrupt with another stream of inquiries. "I was closer to Nine's border, on a big ranch house out of the cities."
She lived close to 9? Even better! But . . . "What library did you go to, then?"
"Our own."
Rust stared at her. "You had your own library? In your house?"
"Yes," Brains replied, hesitant this time. Their conversation was beginning to attract more than a few eavesdroppers, including the two girls that formed the Sister Twister.
"Wow," said the younger of the pair, drawing out the single syllable. She sounded less impressed and more suspicious than anything. "Fancy. We didn't even have anything like that back in One."
"It was a small library," Brains added quickly. When no one looked any less curious, she continued, "And my mother was a literature historian. It was her job, rescuing old books from before the Great Devastation. The library was her work, it was hardly for pleasure."
"But you got to read the books anyways." Rust was leaning forward on her knees, fingers tapping excitedly across her thigh. She hardly cared if having a personal library made Brains rich or a snob or whatever else the girl from 1 was thinking—if there were stories to tell, it didn't matter.
"Well, yes," Brains said with a furtive glance at those still looking skeptical. "Only a couple, though. Really, it was more of a bookshelf than a library."
"That's still brilliant! What have you read? I personally love The Mysterious Island, but anything fantastical will do. Or science fiction. Or books about the times before the Great Devastation. Or—"
"Anything that takes you away from Panem?"
Rust stopped short. Brains was, well, as intelligent as her nickname suggested.
"Yeah." She sighed, deflating just a bit. Stories were always a great escape until you remembered why you were escaping.
But then, what is life but one great story? Why read others when you could pick up the pen yourself?
That was a quote from one of the few enjoyable Post-GD works written by Capitol authors. The whimsical Found and Lost and Found Again had been published with the hidden intention of pushing those in the districts who read to stop wasting their time and go make something of their lives, preferably by working for the Capitol. Yet Rust had loved it anyways. And, despite the nature of the propaganda, was there not a grain of truth to it?
Maybe it was time for her to stop pining for the stories she'd once had.
Maybe it was time to make her own.
She smiled at Brains again, not the same enthusiastic one as before, but a smaller one that meant something deeper. "You know, I haven't actually introduced myself," she said, extending a hand. "Rust Sarabande."
The girl didn't jump to be polite and shake, as Calla had. Instead, she took in every inch of Rust's form, evaluating her up and down. It was intimidating, but Rust kept her eyes up and her hand in place, waiting for Brains to make a decision. When she finally did, it felt like a much greater victory than winning over anyone else would have been.
"Thalia Silverlake," Brains-now-Thalia said, taking Rust's hands. "Good to meet a fellow book lover."
"Likewise. So, favourite book?"
Rust smiled as Thalia began to describe books even she had never read. From the sounds of it, the rebels could really have used someone with her mind and resources. So many Pre-GD works and history books held themes of revolution that could have spurred the rebels on had they gotten the chance to read them. Rust had done her best with Saiph to spread their stories, but with Thalia's help, they could have done so much more.
But they still could. Rust, warm from the glow of making her first non-related friend, was already thinking up plans for the future. With she and Saiph and Thalia working together, she was certain there was nothing they couldn't do. This time, it wouldn't be characters, but they who would be the heroes. They who would defeat the villainous Capitol and earn everyone their happily ever afters.
Fate had placed them in this prison, but courage would carry them through. Their ends were not yet written.
And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again
Note: Thank you for reading. Don't be alarmed if you character hasn't been mentioned much as of yet, especially if they're female. There are plenty more girls than boys, and they're all appearing once rather than through individual reapings, so I am trying to break the introductions up by only focusing on a few characters at a time to hopefully help with the early confusion. Some characters, particularly the outgoing ones, will also happen to pop up more often than others. I'll do my best to give everyone's characters the time and development they deserve, but I will also try to write an engaging story, which means sometimes characters who aren't as active won't be focused on as much. Thank you all for understanding.
One additional note, there was an error in the last chapter in which Chia called the baby Chia. The baby's name is Camila (or Cammie as it is now in the chapter), and the older girl is Chia. Please forgive the error, the last chapter was written in a rush and wasn't edited before it was posted.
