XIII. CHECKERS AND VEX
Perchance indeed by violence of palsy
Some one has been thus wholly turned awry;
But I ne'er saw it. nor believe it can be.
Checkers Chopin. 15.
District Eight Tribute.
There was only time for a few more games at the Houndstooth Pub, a somewhat underwhelming (yet familiar) joint in one of the poorer neighborhoods of District Eight, and Checkers was determined to take home some sort of a winning. They'd been there for hours, playing poker with the guys: Dean, Harold, Salazar and everybody else, yet they had nothing to show for it. All the kid had were a few crumpled up dollar bills and some coins, and while nobody ever bet more than a dollar on any given round, Checkers was determined to get the tiny feeling of gratification that they always received on the few occasions where they actually won a round of poker.
"How much you puttin' in Little C," Harold was urgent to play, his voice more high pitched than normal, "We've gots to do one last game."
"I'm just deciding for a moment," Checkers sighed, counting their coins once again before sliding twenty cents into the center of the forrest green table with tiny pieces of leather slowly peeling off, a product of too many poker games, "Yeah, this'll do."
The rest of the guys, Checkers' father's friends put in their coins on the table just as Checkers did before Dean handed everybody five cards from the beaten-up death that had been used for far too many years. The District Eight kid unfurled their cards to see what they'd been given, actually happy with their results for the first time in the evening: a three of hearts, a two of spades, and three queens in clubs, spades, and diamonds. They'd gotten pretty lucky indeed.
"I'd like to raise my bet," Their voice was soft as they slid another ten cent coin into the center of the table, pleased that they were only one card away from getting a full house, something that would surely secure them the win.
"Well then I'll do it too," Harold put twenty cents into the center of the table, and Checkers knew exactly what he was doing. Whenever they played poker, Harold would always be overconfident in luck and overplay his hand in cards, and while Checkers let him get away with it, as they loved the smile on his face when he won, this wasn't one of those occasions, "And while you're at in Dean, I'd like to draw three cards."
Just as I suspected, Checkers pondered as he exchanged the cards before they made their own swap, "Just the one for me."
Dean handed the District Eight kid a card in return for the two of spades, and they were admittedly a bit nervous before they peaked at it. As long as the card was a three, they surely would have won the game.
And for once in their life, Checkers Chopin was actually lucky; the card was a three of clubs, prompting them to smile before revealing their cards to everybody. It possibly was a bad idea for them to reveal this early, but they knew nobody could beat their hand.
"Well then you've done it kid," Salazar flipped over his cards to reveal a whole bunch of bologna, or in other words cards that wouldn't earn him any money, "Congratulations."
"I won?" They doubted it for a moment, nobody else had shown their cards after all.
"Sure did," Harold's cards were equally useless, as was the same for Dean, "Take the money, kiddo."
Checkers grinned before putting their right hand into the center of the table and bringing it towards them, using their left hand to collect the money so it didn't slide onto the ground, three dollars and ten cents, not too bad. Overall they had five dollars and twenty cents, which was ten cents more than the money they came into Houndstooth with, so Checkers considered the evening a success. Not that it wouldn't have been a success if they didn't make their money back, as gambling was something they did for fun and not money, but still ten cents was nice.
"Well then, I'd say it was a successful evening," Salazar smiled as he got out of his wobbly brown chair and stretched out his arms, "What do the rest of you say," he reached down to Checkers and gave them a high five.
"I'd say it was a successful evening," The District Eight kid mimicked the older man, jumping up to give him a high five in return.
"Agreed," Dean stretched his arms and yawned, "And Checkers here got quite the big win!"
"Sure did," They quipped, "As did the rest of you fellows."
Checkers reached around the back of the chair to put on their jacket, a bunch of mismatched fabrics that they had picked up from an old flea market and sewn together to create what they deemed a masterpiece, even if their classmates weren't too fond of the clashing patterns that the District Eight kid wore, saying that stripped fabric shouldn't go with plaid fabric and green doesn't go well with red. But Checkers didn't care, the jacket made them oh-so very happy and that was what mattered. They were sick and tired of conforming to what everybody else said was "correct" for them to wear.
"I like the jacket," Salazar would always compliment the piece and that made Checkers feel a whole lot better about it, "And I'm sure your father would have loved it even more."
"Thank you?" They didn't know what they were supposed to say whenever their dad was mentioned, even though it was nearly three years since he passed away. Googles Chopin was a great man, and even though Checkers didn't know it when he was alive, their dad was the greatest man in the whole world. So naturally, the District Eight kid was miserable when they saw the man they loved more than anything in the world, the man that always told them that they were enough and they would never have to change for anybody, dead on the floor in his room of their small house. They had known it would be coming soon, since he suffered a major injury at the factory in which he worked, leading him to be sent home as the injury lead to illness which lead to death, which lead to Checkers never forgetting the joyless expression on his cold and clammy body. He was just, so sad, and without any light. I just hope that I'm never like that.
So it was hard for Checkers to recover after losing their favorite person, but they tried their best to make due, whether it was walking their eight-year-old brother Slinky to school or helping their disheveled and distressed mother Lavender with cooking and groceries, and they tried to find the best in everything they came across whether it was clothing or food or poker.
Poker was the game that Checkers would constantly watch their father play back when he was still alive, following him to Houndstooth and being bewildered by the movements of the cards and the coins, slowly learning the rules as they grew up. They always asked their father if they could play a round or two, but the answer was always no, and that upset them quite a bit. Perhaps the only good thing about Googles dying was the fact that Checkers now occupied his seat at the poker table, spending time with his old friends every night and smiling over the fact their beloved father was compensated for in the poker guys.
That night in particular, Dean walked Checkers home since his house was only a few blocks down, even though they insisted that they could get home themselves and didn't need his help. This conversation was quite frequent, but Checkers was too stubborn and maybe even a bit too eager to grow up to give into him so easily, but the results were always the same.
"I'll see you tomorrow then Little C," Dean waved at them as he dropped the District Eight kid off on their doorstep, "Nice going tonight."
"Thank you, thank you," Checkers bowed theatrically at their elder before digging out their key from the pockets of their jacket and using it to unlock the door, calling in at their family, "I'm home!"
"Oh thank goodness," They could hardly take their mismatched shoes off before Slinky approached them with a crying baby in his hands, "Can you hold Crouton for a second?"
"Who?" Checkers was startled yet they grabbed a hold of the child, "What did you do now Slinky?"
Checkers had leaned to expect the unexpected with their brother, and this incident was no deviation from that norm. As they tried to quiet the baby, Slinky told them the story about how he was taking his daily walk around the neighborhood when they saw a homeless woman screaming that he needed somebody to take his child, which intrigued Slinky, who was also worried that a Peacekeeper would come and arrest the lady, "So I took the baby and now we have Crouton!"
"And mother knows about this?" They panicked, afraid that such a sudden change would lead their mother to enter another period of depression, "What does she think?"
"Oh she doesn't mind at all," Slinky stared at the baby who still wasn't silenced, "She's actually glad that she has something to take care of now that we're both sort of grown."
"It's true," Checkers heard their mother call out from her bedroom.
Checkers could already tell that Crouton was going to be an issue though. She seemed bitter and her screaming was very loud and they were afraid they would end up being the one who had to take care of her, "So is this our sister then?"
"She sure looks like it," Slinky laughed, Checkers unsure if he knew the irony there was in refereeing to the pale baby as similar to his deep complexion, "And I think that having another sibling will be fun!"
Checkers certainly hoped so. Their existence revolved around being a dependent variable of those around them, and they didn't know what they would do in order to be the perfect counterpart to the screaming infant. Maybe they could play some music on one of their handmade instruments or something, but Checkers just was so determined to be there for the child.
Checkers knew that they had to be there for their still-healing family before they could even attempt to be good for themselves.
Vex Alamo. 16.
District Eight Male.
When the days at school got tough, Vex would always repeat what his mother told him, that he was the "most precious gift in the world," even if he didn't believe it for half a second. It was just a matter of the District Eight boy mentally tricking himself for long enough that he could get through the day without feeling frustrated or belittled by all the kids around him, an increasingly daunting task as the insults piled up to the point where he couldn't stand being called "witch boy" again.
And it's not even a good insult? My mom's basically just a therapist…
It frustrated him to the furthest extents of the universe, the way people judged him for believing in the spirits that his mother had told him all about and the way he just wanted to take care of and heal the world. He saw no flaw in his beliefs, and his mother didn't consider herself a witch either. They were just people who enjoyed helping people, and it was maddening for Vex to think that there was even the slightest bit of an issue with him leading his life in the way he best saw fit, and that meant making the world a better place, which is hard as hell when everybody treats you like shit. He tried not to curse or anything out loud, since that was counterintuitive to the peaceful being he had mentally prepared himself to exist within, but he recognized that his mind was a free domain for him to say whatever he wanted.
"I'm sorry all that happened, Vex," His best friend Mauve always was there to comfort him as they both left school together and walked to his aunt and uncle's pharmacy where they typically helped out.
He had just recounted the terrors of that day in particular, another boy maybe a year or so older shoving him into one of the large metal trashcans before yelling at him and pointing, calling him a "witch" and then throwing some green paint at him before laughing. And it upset Vex, not only because he was quite fond of the shirt that he chose to wear that day and it was now ruined but also because it meant having to somehow work his way out of the receptacle and clean himself alone in the bathroom. He was numb to the insults at this point, but that didn't mean he tolerated the physical aspects of his abuse, "It wasn't like you could do much about it though."
Vex always felt guilty about the amount of time he spent complaining to Mauve about everything that happened to him during the days at school, especially since he felt that she had it much worse, considering the fact that he had never been to her house because she said her parents were horrible people who berated her for everything that she did or said, claiming that she would never amount to anything in her life, and she had the physical marks to prove it too. And it upset the District Eight boy quite deeply since he loved his best friend quite a bit, and he didn't want her to suffer the way she did. She was the only one who thought Vex was cool when they were growing up, much less the only person who he had ever met that wasn't scared of him because of his mother (who is once again, quite lovely if you ask me). Mauve wanted to change the world, always eager to be apart of something, and while Vex too wanted to make changed with her, he knew that she would be the person in charge and he sure as heck didn't mind it either.
"I just wish that people could see you for who you are," Mauve sighed walking a bit closer to Vex so that other people on the semi-crowded streets could pass by them, "And not who your mother is."
"But the thing is Mauve," Vex began, "She really isn't even a problem."
Ester Alamo was the furthest thing form a problem. She was absolutely brilliant, to the very definition of the word, so strong and so benevolent both for herself and for her son. She had Vex when she was only nineteen years old after a one-night stand with some photographer, but instead of getting rid of him or seeing him as a mistake, Ester delivered Vex in the company of her sister and her husband, and raised the boy to be her equal almost. She didn't believe in a scary dynamic between a mother and a child or anything of that nature, and it sure showed when she interacted with her son and the two of them were able to talk about anything and everything together.
And then came the reasons that people hated her. When Vex was around three years old, his mother was hit by a Peacekeeper's coach, and shattered her vertabra and while she made a full recovery, it wasn't without consequences. Because the Peacekeeper who accidentally hit her was drunk, the government paid for her recovery in exchange for her not saying anything regarding the incident to anybody outside of her immediate family. It was a pretty good deal but in order to make the recovery as swift as possible, Ester was injected with morphling, and that wasn't too good for her brain.
"It was like an awakening, Vex," She would always tell her son that the drug allowed her to see things she was meant to see, spirits of nature that she was entrusted to with the promise that she would use their power to make the world a better place. People just seemed to take issue with that, and Vex couldn't understand why.
We're just good people. And good people are supposed to like good people, right?
Vex was beginning to lose faith in everything that surrounded his life. He knew he was good but he questioned the morality of everybody around him, since I guess we're all a bit twisted, some people just more so. His mother helped everybody that she came across, no matter how young or how old, how rich or how poor. Ester just wanted to help people with her connections to the spirits she believed in and with her herbs. Even though Vex didn't see the spirits that his mother did, he respected her beliefs and her love for the world she inhabited, even if they through verbal sticks and stones at her, as she never let them hurt her.
"You look messy today," Jute, Vex's uncle greeted him with honesty when he arrived at their pharmacy, "Is everything all right?"
Well I guess the green paint didn't completely come off.
Vex always felt bad talking to his family about all the bullying that he endured since he didn't want them to change for him. He would never change for them, but they wanted him to be happy so badly, and he was afraid they would sacrifice their individuality for said happiness.
"It's fine," Vex scratched the back of his neck, something he usually did when he was nervous, "I just had an accident in cooking class."
"You don't even take cooking," Mauve whispered before getting a bit louder, "What Vex meant to say was–"
"Art class." The District Eight Boy cut her off, "I got some paint on me during art class."
"Well alright then," Jute chuckled, widening the door to the pharmacy, "Come right in kids. Your mom is here by the way, Vex."
Not as many people had been coming to talk to Ester about the spirits lately, and that upset Vex because it meant a more upset mother, less money, and an overall more unpleasant situation for the family to commiserate in.
"Well that's great," Vex held the door open so that Mauve could follow him inside, "I look forwards to seeing her."
And he did, even in her biggest fits of weakness, Vex would always be adamantly fond of his mother, and he was never embarrassed to be hers.
On this specific incident, she was dressed even more eccentrically than usual, laces flowing out of her dress as she sat down on a sofa behind the counter of the pharmacy. If people saw her, chances are they wouldn't want to buy from the pharmacy and nobody wanted to endanger the business.
Just as it often was, when Vex saw his mother, tears began to well in his eyes. The woman was so happy to see him, and she looked so proud of him, and Vex was just thrilled that there was one person who loved him unconditionally, and didn't ever butt heads with him the way Mauve did (though she was still great).
"How was school my sweet boy," Vex considered the voice of his mother to be his favorite symphony, "Did you get food on your face again?" She wiped off crumbs of the green paint form his cheeks as he embraced her.
"It was great mom," He was seeming enchanted by her, so much to the extent that Mauve had to laugh at him. He could tell that she was jealous since she didn't have the same relationship with her mother. And she was valid for that, as Vex knew that what he had with his mother was special and one of a kind.
"I'm glad to hear it," She pinched his cheeks before sending him off to extract berries for the pharmacy.
It was a funny thing, the way Vex felt like he needed his mother all of the time, and the more he spent time with her, the more he would worry for a moment where he'd have time without her. He just hoped that moment would never be soon.
Checkers Chopin. 15.
District Eight Tribute.
Checkers was frustrated. Of all the horrible things that could have possibly happened to them on the day of the Reaping, such as getting hit by a coach or a bike or being mugged on the street by a robber, the actual worst thing just had to happen. That was of course, actually getting Reaped, something the District Eight kid had hoped and prayed that they were immune to.
"What about mother and Crouton?" Their distress was eminent when they had to say farewell to Slinky in the Justice Building. Lavender already left, holding the still crying Crouton in her arms. It was like the kid hadn't learned to be quiet since it was born, though just as Checkers suspected, she was great for their mother, "I know you can take care of yourself."
Slinky was the toughest member of the Chopin family besides Checkers, and they knew their brother would eventually be able to thrive, it was just the others that worried the District Eight kid.
"We'll take care of them," They turned around to see Dean standing tall, "Me and the rest of the guys will do whatever it takes to keep them safe."
"Oh…" Checkers sighed, not wanting to think about the prospect of dying when they were so terribly fond of living. It was truthfully their favorite thing.
Do they all think I'll die? I don't want to do that.
"But I expect to see you come back home Little C," Dean patted them on the head, "You're a tough cookie and I know you're going to do it."
That's not a very popular opinion I reckon. Hopefully I can do it, though I'm not sure.
Vex Alamo. 16.
District Eight Male.
Every year on the night before the Reaping, Vex's mother would say a special prayer to the spirits that she believed in and then she would light a bushel of sage and carry it around the house, letting the steam hit the walls and whatnot. All of this was because she firmly believed that if she did this, her son wouldn't get Reaped for the Hunger Games.
And clearly she was so, so wrong.
Vex couldn't help but feel a bit bitter in the Justice Building when he was parting with his family. Obviously he was very upset that he was being sent to his doom, but in addition to that, he was beginning to ponder whether or not his mother's teachings were true or not when the thing she believed would save her son turned out to not be anything more than a fantasy.
"I tried my hardest to ensure this wouldn't happen," She was apologetic towards Vex, hugging him tighter than ever before, "All the spirits told me that this wouldn't happen."
"I believe you mom," The District Eight boy was ridden with guilt over the fact his mother somehow thought that this was her fault and not the fault of Panem's terribleness (the type that Vex pretended didn't exist).
He was at a loss for words and so was the rest of the family as they tried to wrap their heads around the fact that their was no way they would be seeing their dearest Vex again. He wanted to believe that he had a chance, citing his skills with a knife as a benefit to his chances, the experience being from cutting herbs and not flesh but still being experience.
"Can you just ask the spirts to make sure I come home safe?" He begged his mother thinking that maybe if they really did listen to his mother, they sent him to the arena because they knew he could win and they knew that would benefit the family.
I'll just hold onto that thought for a bit, then.
Well, this update came way faster than I anticipated but yes yes, say hello to District Eight! I hope you all loved Checkers from Ripple237 and Vex from FabulousAbby. I actually don't have much to say, but I hope everybody has a good day!
-Linds