Geoff Windsor

District 9 Male, 16
First Night at the Capitol

I itch for an adventure.

The rules clearly stated by our escort included, as far as I remember, the absolute and complete prohibition of leaving the boundaries of our District's headquarters. So naturally, that's exactly the rule I set out to break.

The arrogant germaphobe handed us out pamphlets with the outline of all the rules we must abide by. Jokes on him, because I can't read. I throw the pamphlet into the garbage bin for emphasis even though no one is there to watch, whooping as it lands perfectly into the hole. It even had drawings on it, to facilitate our understanding, since we're clearly idiot peasants to him. It's as though all my preconceived stereotypes and prejudices towards Capitolites are all assembled in this one disgusting human being.

Mona already went to bed. Out of the two of us, she's a lot more distraught and confused. If I could have, I would have volunteered for her too. I mean, I'm just a street-rat who got his mom killed because of his own stupid recklessness. Or maybe it's the crappy degenerate system that did her in.

I mean, who whips a person to death for stealing an apple? My mom didn't even steal it, is the thing. I did, because we were starving and my eleven-year-old brain thought that people wouldn't overreact. Spoiler alert, they did. Big time. But that's classic District 9 for you. Killing innocent people, making toughened criminals out of little innocent boys who just thought with their empty stomachs instead of their brains, the works. I'm not really a toughened criminal. I didn't kill anyone, per say. But my mom's death definitely expediated the process of me becoming a damn good thief and an immoral bastard on all fronts.

I've always been a dicey kid, what with my dad going to war supporting the rebels and never coming back. He was a rebel Marshall and all that, too. His mates said he was kidnapped, tortured and then fed to the dog-mutts the Capitol regiment had on hand. Heard that news when I was five, so no wonder I have anger management problems and a metric ton of pent-up mental issues.

Despite that, I volunteered for that kid, didn't I? I'm not totally shitty. My mom's done a good job, and I hope that wherever she is, she's looking down at me and is somewhat proud. I hope she doesn't hate me for what I did because I didn't know the consequences. As much as I hate to admit it, I was stupid and reckless. Even now, my decision to volunteer for the snivelling little kid that was reaped wasn't exactly premeditated. I'm pretty sure every asshole in the district has thought about being in the Games, just to see how they'd do, so sure, it was at the back of my mind. But it wasn't like I planned it all out.

Acting on impulse is kind of my thing.

See, that's my big problem but also one of my biggest strengths. I don't think with my brain very much. Either way, I don't necessarily regret it. The volunteering, I mean. That little boy is safe with his family, and I'm kind of a District legend. It's incredible how quickly I shook off my reputation of dirty street rat, when I volunteered for one of the District's beloved innocent babies. No one's really going to miss me. The last person who cared got whipped by Peacekeepers for a crime she didn't commit, staring me down accusatorily even as she whispered that she loved me. I know my mother loved me, but I also know she didn't deserve or want to die disgraced like that.

I was younger than Mona when I caused that. And the little girl seems so frail and lost, even though she tries her best to act tough. So again, I'd ask the President himself, is it because us district kids are just that much stupider or maybe it's because we're all starving slaves in a country that punishes small mistakes with disproportionately cruel punishments which destroy us further?

I'm not delusional, I know my chances of winning this are low. But my blood boils knowing these sycophantic bastards control every aspect of my life. After my mother's death, something in me snapped. Every apple stolen, every trinket pocketed was a rush of adrenaline, calming the forever-present anger towards the society that enslaves us all. Every successfully stolen item was a representation of me sticking it to the man, playing the system.

It's payback but it's not even close, it'll never be close. Unless I somehow kill every Capitol-supporting asshole in a thousand-mile radius. That would be the only payback that would matter, but alas, I know my limits.

Happily enough, performing a simple unlocking maneuver is not a limit I have. Neither is the mildly complex acrobatic feat I perform to leave the room unnoticed. I could just walk out like a normal person, but then what's the fun in that? I've officially left the edges of our sleeping quarters.

I grin to myself as I lunge into a rounded hallway. The building is built like some sort of gigantic beer can, a bloated version of the ones I've stolen from weary workers in District 9. That's where the similarities end though, since the entire infrastructure is made of elegant metal and slivers of gold and white which stretch within the walls. It all looks pretty goddamn luxurious and makes my eyes gleam. I stroll around on our floor, doing a complete circle before stopping at the elevator. The inscription "D9" stares me down, making me aware of how restricted I am. Even in this huge suite, I am stopped from going where I want, and I've had enough of this crap. I volunteered for their murder game, so I have a right to explore the building where I'm essentially locked up in.

I stand there, tapping my foot exaggeratedly against the ground for a minute. Then, without any further ado, I unscrew the vent with the stolen silver fork I pocketed during supper and climb in. I'm not incinerated on the spot or thrown back by some magical forcefield, so I continue on my way.

I climb down for a long time. I'm not really sure how long, if I'm being honest, but I eventually make it to the level that I think is District 7's headquarters. If their rooms are disposed the same way as ours are, and with the Capitol's penchant for compulsive order I'm pretty sure they are, this is about where Logan should be sleeping.

I spot a vent opening a few meters ahead, and proceed to knock harder.

"Hey, Logan, it's Geoff," I whisper loudly. I only now become aware of the fact that if I get caught, I'd probably be reprimanded to hell and back. Oh well, there's no stopping now. Gotta roll with the punches, if they come.

"Loooogan," I keep whispering until I get a really confused "who are you?" back.

"It's Geoff," I answer, scooching a little closer to the grilled vent opening. "I'm going to drop from the vent outside your door, so you need to open the door for me, okay bud?"

I don't receive an answer for about five seconds and am about to turn around and return to my floor, when Logan's little gears in his brain activate.

"How are you here near my room?"

I hear something that sounds suspiciously like Logan slapping his own forehead with considerate force.

"Yeah… I mean, sure I'll open," he whispers after a moment and I can hear him stumbling out of bed, tripping over something and cursing quietly.

I count until ten before I unscrew the grid from my side and drop without a sound to the carpet in front of Logan's bewildered face. I've worked in the fields since I was a tiny child, so it's safe to say my arms slow my decent. I'm not the oldest volunteer, far from it, but even I know I'm strong. Logan is gawking at me as though I sprouted a second head.

"I went through the vents," I say, by way of explanation.

I throw myself on Logan's unmade bed, as he stutters and runs around like a chicken without a head. I laugh sincerely.

"Relax, if I didn't get shot on my way down here, that means either they know I'm here and they're letting this meeting happen, or…" I pause for dramatic purposes and lean closer, "they don't know I'm here and I'm that good."

Logan ponders about that for a second, and then nods, a genuine smile erupting on his face.

"You absolute genius, I'll be honest, I was trying to sleep but was freaking out," he admits, shuffling his feet, which are in ridiculous fluffy slippers. He looks at them, suddenly self-conscious.

I reassure him they look cool.

Then I get another idea.

"How's your climbing?" I ask him, getting up from the bed and cracking my knuckles.

"Uh… I think I'm alright? District 7 and all, would be a national disgrace if I wasn't," I replies, a little caught of guard.

"Wanna visit Jean from Eight? He's cool, I talked to him before the Chariots and I think we could ally, the three of us," I press, approaching Logan. His eyes flicker with hopeful recognition.

"Only if you want," I add, not wanting to force my shenanigans on him. I secretly really hope he'll say yes. I want to explore and I'm honestly getting good vibes from these two guys and I want to set our alliance into stone before someone else arrives and disrupts it.

"Oh, yeah, sure, I mean I don't think it's a good idea, but I can't sleep properly anyways," Logan says, taking off his robe and putting on a red T-shirt. It clashes wildly with his green pants.

He sees me grinning.

"Hey, it'll be like a ratchet skinny Santa Claus crawling down your chimney," he shrugs.

I correct him. "First of all, you clearly have no idea who the hell Santa Claus is or how he dresses, second, we're not going through the chimney, we're going through vents."

"First off, how the hell is knowing what Santa Claus looks like a prerequisite in a country where all religious freedom is choked out and holidays are like, not a thing. Second, you clearly went through a chimney at some point if you look like that."

He points at me for emphasis.

I look down and fair enough, there's a soot-like grey substance all over my clothes and hands. From Logan's unimpressed facial expression, I probably have it all over my face too.

"I know what Santa Claus looks like," I mutter, shoving him out the door.

"Good for you," Logan replies laughing, tapping me on the head.

We quietly open the vent outside his door. He goes first, struggling a little to pull himself up, but gets through the hole. I follow suite, and soon we're both crawling through the vents. I lead the way, and soon we're at Jean's floor.

"I hope Jean's escort won't raise the alarm," Logan whispers, even as I start unscrewing the vent. I can feel a breeze rolling through the grid. "I hope my escort doesn't freak out, too."

"Don't worry about it, you'll be back in no time. And I wanna remind you that we've made it this far," I say, sticking out my tongue in concentration.

We finally drop out of the vent, and Logan just about freaks out.

I think I might have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, because we're on the eighth floor, but we somehow ended up on the other side of the building. We're not in front of Jean's room. We're on large terrace overlooking the Capitol.

We both marvel at the sight.

"I'll be right back," I say, even as Logan grabs my elbow, "I promise I'll be back, with Jean in tow."

He lets go, and wraps his arms around himself even as he gazes up at the city sprawled out lazily in front of him. I glance around the terrace quickly... once again, I'm baffled by the fact that I can't spot a single camera. Either this is a major oversight by the assholes in charge, or they're way ahead of me and somehow letting us get away with this.

Either way, I don't waste any time. I sprint down through the corridors, knowing that Jean's room must be on the other side of the beer can. I unlock the door to his lobby with ease. I brace myself for a screaming escort, but when that never comes, I enter quietly. I mean… it is 3AM. Then I see a frozen figure on the couch.

It's Jean, stuck in a stupor, looking at me wide-eyed and terrified. His mouth is hanging open, and he's clutching the TV remote as though that'll provide any protection.

I put my finger to my lips, motioning him to come to me.

It only takes a moment for him to shake himself out of it, and he gets up, looks around, still with that wide-eyed look. I grin at him, motioning that everyone is asleep.

"Come outside," I mouth, and he smiles back brightly, creeping towards the door.

We get back to Logan, who sat down and is staring at us, his eyes shining.

I close the door behind us. There's a distinct click followed by a beep.

"Jean, Logan... Logan, Jean," I articulate out loud, showing them both to each other. Jean clutches at his chest dramatically.

"Holy crap dude, I thought someone was breaking in to murder me," he says laughing and extending his hand simultaneously towards Logan.

"Yeah, I thought I had some evil spirit haunting my walls, almost shit myself," Logan says, still whispering. "He was literally in my goddamn wall, can you imagine? I just hear knocking and think 'that's how I die'. Smothered in my sleep by a ghost. It was some real horror movie shit."

I clap them both on the back.

"Look at that view," I say, pulling my beanie closer to my ears.

"I didn't know there were balconies in this building!"

"Yeah me neither, I think only District 8's floor does," I muse, looking down and not seeing another balcony in sight. I might be wrong though. So many unexplored corners in this building.

I take out a little bottle of whiskey I snagged off our escort, as I pretended to barrel into him during supper. I'm pretty sure he literally doused himself in sanitizing alcohol afterwards.

Logan's eyes widen at the sight.

Jean hasn't noticed the bottle yet, still mesmerized by the lights assaulting his senses.

"District 8's got the balcony because we're clearly the best district," he says jokingly, and Logan interrupts him.

"Or it's because you guys still haven't gotten a victor and everyone feels bad."

I snort, "Oh, you are savage!"

And the three of us start laughing. It doesn't even make sense, but we're all tired, stressed out and it feels great to unwind.

I didn't really have friends back at home. I wasn't kidding when I said no one would give a shit if I suddenly popped off the face of the Earth. You can't really afford to have friends when you're constantly changing your identity in order to avoid one horde of Peacekeepers or another. You can't really connect with anyone since you know you'll rob them blind if they ever start trusting you. People don't take kindly to being stolen from, after all.

That's probably why I crawled out of my bedroom here. I wanted to finally cement something, anything, that resembles the kind of teenage boy friendships normal people have.

I uncork the bottle, and Jean grimaces at the strong scent.

"Can't believe adults drink this crap," Logan mutters under his breath.

"Wait, you're telling me you never drank booze? First Santa Claus, now this?" I reel on him incredulously.

Jean takes the first sip. It's more of a full-on swig, and he downs a third of the 300mL bottle in one shot. He almost retches, but keeps it together.

"Wait, Logan believes in Santa Claus?" he squeals, breaking out in full-on loud laughter.

"No, no, I don't, I just…nevermind!" Logan scrambles to explains before taking the bottle and drinking. "I have drunk before," he adds, pointing finger guns at me.

"Sure you did buddy," I grin, and down the bottle.

"I did! It's a tradition in my family to pour out a bit of alcohol for a baby, when they're nine days old, or something. I don't know, my sister told me about it," he says. Seeing that I'm clearly not satisfied, he hiccups and adds, "I've also drank with my sister's almost-fiancé, Damon, who's an adult."

His face suddenly drops, and he looks around again, for cameras. As though the Capitol would waste their time spoiling Damon's proposal to Logan's sister. Maybe it's the alcohol talking, but on second thought, that's exactly the kind of evil shit they'd be up for.

"That baby-drinking totally cost you brain cells, admit it," I tease him.

"That explains why you believe in Santa Claus," Jean chimes in, and Logan hits him playfully in the arm, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Sitting like this, with the wind blowing in our faces, I feel like we're invincible. I know that feeling is dangerous, but I can't help but relish it. Logan and Jean, they're both good kids. I think we'll make a really decent gang, going in.

I tilt back the bottle, letting the last drops run into my mouth. I look back at the two guys.

"So, what else did you get for us, or are we supposed to believe you snagged one lousy bottle of whiskers," Logan says, getting braver with the alcohol inhibiting his brain a little. "Whiskey," Jean corrects him pragmatically, flopping on the floor and extending his toes towards the railing.

"Well, now that you mention it," I pull out another bottle halfway through.

I get a collective and excited ah from my crowd of two loyal buddies sitting in front of me.

"So that's why you were clinking like a madman when we were going down those vents," Logan breathes, snapping his fingers together as though he came up with the most brilliant solution to some mathematical problem.

"It's straight-up…vodka," I conclude, pulling out the clear bottle completely. Jean and Logan cheer.

We all drink, and not once do we mention the Games that are coming up.

I get pretty tipsy, but the other two guys are clearly less used to this than I am, and they're soon rolling around on the ground.

No matter what happens tomorrow, a week from now, I'll have given them this moment. And they have given me this feeling of belonging, of finally doing something right. I know we'll take care of each other out there, and that's what matters.

I'm resolved to have as much fun as I can, and to protect these guys. And if need be, we'll go out with a bang.

Notes: Here's Geoff from District 9. A famous thief or the softie who just needs good bros to keep him on the right track? You decide.

Let me know what you think of this kiddo. While these guys are getting drunk on a terrace while the Capitol turns a blind eye to all these shenanigans, we'll see what Mona's up to in the next chapter!

Also, wonderful thing that I finally stopped procrastinating on: THE BLOG!
It is completed, thanks to twistedservice. It's got Victors and tributes galore, it's a lot of fun, so go check it out of you're so inclined! Once again, any feedback, comments, complaints about how I didn't photoshop Mara's white strand of hair, etc. is appreciated. The complete link is on my profile. / / absolutionhg . blogspot . com. Check it out!

Peace and Love.