CHAPTER III: DISTRICT ELEVEN


Yuly Montreal, 18;

District Eleven Male, HE/SHE/THEY

-A WEEK BEFORE-


Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea to, ah, get with one of the charity sponsors minutes before the orphanage's annual banquet, but if anyone knew the risks of what they were doing, it was Yuly. If any outsiders were to look in (which, thankfully, there were none, though Yuly was no stranger to exhibitionism), his actions might have seemed reckless, brash, impetuous. What was more reckless than having sex with a mysterious man with a white tie that you've never met before, in a dingy storage closet in an unfamiliar venue? The space was incredibly cramped, unparalleled to just about everything save for perhaps the distance between him and the taller man's legs.

But there was a calculation behind every move Yuly made, every… surface he touched. Not a single detail went past him, and attending to the aftercare of the other man wasn't going to be the exception.

"That was so good," White Tie whispered in Yuly's ear. A shiver ran up Yuly's spine, dulled only by the aftershocks still subsiding throughout his body; still, Yuly was still left yearning for more. "You're so good."

Oh, did he know it. He smiled to himself, lathering kisses up and down the other man's body, (and damn, was it a fine one). It was so nice of him to say such kind things about Yuly, even if he'd already said the same things so many times before. Minutes before, he had been affirming Yuly again and again and again, repeating his name like a mantra, as if it was his only tether to reality.

Yuly felt White Tie jerk out from underneath him, and with a tight sensation in his chest, he realized that the taller man was trying to heat it back up again. An inhale, an exhale, a shaky kiss on his jugular; he wanted more, and Yuly knew it. Yuly's lower regions throbbed in response, sending a shock of dread through his body, as if to remind Yuly that he was just a slave to his own carnal desires. But it couldn't be- Yuly was better than that. He had to be. Yuly kissed him back with rushed urgency, long enough to reciprocate but too flighty to even entertain the idea of inviting more.

"Mm… I'm going to have to go soon. The banquet's about to start," Yuly said, separating himself from White Tie. He distanced himself as far as the contained space in the storage closet would allow. "'Tis almost time; you know that I have other things to attend to." He thought about all the foster children that were going to be adopted today; it was gonna be a fantastic event, and everything was gonna go off without a hitch if the skies allowed it. Each one of the kids would be taken into a loving home, without fail. He had made sure of it, spending tireless nights to see to it that not even a single one would be left behind at the foster home by the end of the season. Registering each child with their corresponding sponsor, securing documents, checking records and finalizing information; every meticulous detail and every metaphorical loose end had been strung up, tighter than a child's belt. He and Chung-cha had been planning the event for months, and they took countless precautions to make sure it would go swimmingly. It was an arduous project that left him decommissioned from personal enjoyment for quite some time.

However, it wasn't as if Yuly was bitter about it; that was just the way that things went sometimes, and he would not object if his own pleasure was sacrificed for a cause as grand as charity. But months of stress had accumulated before he had even realized it it, and subsequently his sex life had suffered, so he figured he would allow himself some indulgences before the banquet… for good luck.

And quite a charm it was; afterward, he felt as if he were glowing. Winding down from his first bout of sexual connection in months, it truly felt as if the universe had been set back into order again, as if each planet had aligned with all of the others for a single, brief, but undeniably pivotal moment. And just in time for the banquet as well; Yuly couldn't have timed this better. It was finally time to see what the fruits of his effort would yield.

But even though Yuly was eager to move on with his life, White Tie didn't seem quite as ready to let go. The man leaned back against the wall, his arms splayed behind him. He probably intended to come off as seductively coy, but to Yuly, it read more like a low-budget theater production of submission than anything else. A twinge of annoyance flickered through Yuly's face. "Do you really have to go, though?" White Tie bit his lip and looked up at yuly with half- lidded eyes, dark with ferocity. "What do you say we, er, just head back to my place?"

Yuly chuckled, but the sound of it was rough and coarse. Now that the glow was subsiding, he felt considerably less light and less tolerant of the other man's goading. If he was being honest, he didn't even remember White Tie's name, yet he was still begging Yuly to stay like some sick dog. Did he really really think he was more important than Yuly's work? It was almost insulting, the way that he just assumed that Yuly would want to go home with him after just a quick skirmish. But of course, Yuly wouldn't lose his cool over such an insignificant thing; admittedly, his infinite patience felt taut, but regardless, it was still infinite.

Yuly fought the overwhelming urge to frown, and instead slipped on a brilliant smile. The corner of his lips felt strained, but it wasn't anything an outsider would've been able to pick up on. "You're so important to me," Yuly said, and within the innermost crevice of his heart, this statement felt true and complete. Perhaps he might not have remembered White Tie's actual name, but that wasn't important. Spirituality had no need for irrelevant concepts like names- intimate, transcendent connection was all that mattered. "But I'm needed elsewhere."

Oh, needed elsewhere he was. Yuly rebuckled his dress pants and planted a farewell kiss on White Tie's cheek. That made yet another beautiful body to add to his cosmic collection of spirits he had connected with. After the event, he could really aim to touch more souls, more than he'd ever touched before-

White Tie grabbed Yuly's wrist and held it against his jaw. He kissed it, slowly and passionately, and it lit Yuly's pulse aflame… but not with lust. This, this man was seriously asking for more? Anyone who couldn't register Yuly's signals to cease, both the subtle and the verbal cues, wasn't fit to be having sex. Yuly was starting to feel like this whole exchange was a mistake. What did I do to be deserving of such bullshit right now?

"Really, I got to go," Yuly urged, his voice freezing over with slick steel. He wrenched his wrist out from the other man's grasp, the ghost of his fingertips still present in the form of white, aching indentations. This must've been what made the switches align in the other man's hand, because with this swift movement, White Tie abruptly let go of him and snuffed haughtily. He popped his collar and muttered something unpleasant under his breath. No, more than unpleasant- the phrase made Yuly feel a visceral dread, white-hot and seering. He shouldered less than gracefully around Yuly, jostling him aside, and stumbled out the closet and into the bright, linoleum hallway.

A hot hand clutched around Yuly's heart; he had to stifle his breathing to prevent himself from having an outburst. He could barely stand the fact that it wasn't as enjoyable for the other man as it was for him; did that mean the connection hadn't been established? It was supposed to be good for the both of them. What had gone wrong?

Now is not the time, he bargained with himself. He left the closet and ran towards the end of the dingy, poorly lit hallway. He reached the bathroom and turned on the lights, which flickered on, casting an intense, musty, yellow glow. To his right, a cheap mirror rested on the wall, peppered with steam stains and chips where the glass had faltered. Yuly stared into his reflection, his brown eyes boring into his own as he re-situated his attire.

Shirt buttons, check. Collar, check. Tie, Check. Belt, check. He smoothed down his blazer and tried for a smile. Pristine, white, show-ready as ever, and the euphoria of post-sex only amplified it (even if it ended on shaky terms).

Gameplan: he'd leave the bathroom, then take a couple detours before entering the banquet hall. Yuly would individually greet all the chaperones, the staff, and the sponsors; at this point, he pretty much knew everyone by name and had a benevolent relationship with them all. He had countless connections, and it was somewhat of a source of pride for Yuly; the more good energy he passed around, the more souls he touched. It was only natural that it would eventually come back around to bless him at some point in the future. Hopefully the near future.

He got to the hall and checked in; upon lifting his pen from the staffbook, he was almost immediately intercepted by Chung-cha. "You're late," she snapped, no-nonsense and business per usual. "The ceremony's already started."

Per usual? No, that wasn't exactly right. Yuly felt that Chung-cha was acting slightly differently, perhaps more standoffish and bitter; a dispute with Mi-cha? He knew that Chung-cha's jab at her was friendly- she had a peculiar manner of teasing- yet, still, he couldn't help but feel chills run down his back.

"I was, uh, working something out." He tried for a cocky smile, masking the unease he felt underneath, and was almost instantaneously shot down by the searing look he received in return from his friend. Chung-cha, unlike her twin sister, had never been easily swayed, never been as susceptible to his charm as Mi-cha. The two sisters had many uniting traits where looks were concerned, but that was where all the similarities ended.

"Well, you sure took your sweet time with it. There's nothing left to do; we're about to start." She grabbed the inner crook of Yuly's elbow and shimmied the two of them closer to the wall, nudging him to stay stationed besides her. The lights began to dim, and Yuly's attention was directed towards the center of the stage, where the owner of the orphanage was launching off into a spiel chock full of pleasantries. Following his brief speech, he allowed a moment for all the potential foster parents and sponsors to clap their hands before bringing out all the foster kids onto the stage.

Yuly knew each of them by name. Constance. Brant. Hestia. Jeremy. Clyde. Olive. He felt a fluttering surge of pride, seeing all of them dolled up in their little outfits and holding up their little engraved nameplates. He had been looking after and caring for these kids for so long, and they were finally going to get a home, every single one of them, if it all went to plan.

But that was exactly what he was afraid of. If it all went to plan. There was the smallest room for doubt and it made him feel slightly unhinged. Yuly wanted so badly to let himself feel victorious and uplifted, but he couldn't help but feel a little on-edge and paranoid despite all of his preparations. What if the bad karma from earlier decided to make itself known now? What if, even after all of his and Chung-cha's precautionary steps, something went wrong?

Yuly was rational. There was no way that he would allow himself to not prepare for the possibility of a kid being left behind, but now that it was becoming more and more of a pressing concern, he realized just how unsteady of a grasp he truly had on his bearings. He was beginning to realize that having a straggler would be more than he could handle, especially after he had worked so long and so hard for this shit. His fists started to clench and unclench rapidly, his jaw felt tense, and the edges of his vision were beginning to become starched in black-

"What's the matter?" asked Chung-cha, peering up at him and raising her eyebrows. "Don't lose your nerve on me. We got this."

That's right. Yuly never lost his cool, and right now wouldn't be an exception. Hastily, he regained composure; he didn't realize that he had been visibly anxious. It must've looked scary as fuck, and Yuly was unnerved by the way he let himself go for a moment there. Never meant for it to go that far, he thought shakily to himself.

Of course all of the foster kids would find a home; what had he been thinking? One bad exchange that evening wouldn't be enough to disrupt all the good karma he'd obtained over the years. Plus, even if the night didn't go perfectly to plan, it wouldn't be the end of the world. He would take accountability for his failure, absorb the universe's divine retribution, and walk out the banquet hall a better man.

While the kids meant a lot to Yuly, in the grand scheme of things, he was not defined by them. His spirituality would continue to permeate through every surface he touched, and it would stop for not even a single soul.


Jillion Morgan, 13;

District Eleven Female, SHE/HER

-A WEEK BEFORE-


"Look, I don't care what way you spin it- that was definitely cheating, plain and simple!" Jillion's sister spilled the stone chips in her hands all over the floor, her frustration practically simmering off her body. The pieces went sprawling, rattling miserably against the rotting wood. In the corner of her eye, Jillion could see a couple chips lodge themselves within the crooks and crannies of the uneven floor. It's gonna to be a pain to fetch those out…

"Mm, you're only seeing what you want to see." Ma narrowed her eyes at Janna, disdain coloring every pore on her face. With each syllable, her voice hiked up higher and higher as if in an attempt to intimidate her daughter. "You always get like this. It's not a good look on you."

Oh, my God. Not again, Jillion thought to herself. Her upper lip hiked up into a snarl, and her eyebrows began twitching. It's always like this. We really can't have shit in this household.

Playing board games that night had been her idea; it had been a long while since the last time they played because of work, school, and plain busywork, but Jillion still wanted to revive the tradition again. Just because her father- just because something happened didn't mean that her family couldn't have premium bonding time.

But obviously it wasn't going as she had planned, and she was just as aggravated at Ma and Jenna as they were at each other. What did she expect? The women of the Morgan family had... well, short fuses and volatility just ran amok in the family line, so to speak. She was hoping, though, that they could abandon their temper for the night, but somewhere along she must've forgotten that it was virtually impossible to expect such a thing. Frustration and aggravation were like staple foods for Ma and Janna, just as common as the tesserae that were abundant in their storage shelves. The worst part of it all was that she could hardly deny that she was the same exact way.

She attempted to assume the role of a mediator, even though it came just about as naturally as to her as a cat to water. "Hey, can't we just play a little game without slinging accusations at each other? You guys calm down!"

Ma and Janna whipped their heads towards Jillion, and it slowly began to dawn on her that she might've accelerated the conflict. Oh, shit. Up until that last word, she could've sworn she sounded good. It took everything she had to sound even relatively unhostile- subtlety had never been her strong suit- but she had been doing well, no? Jillion had been doing well and then she ruined it as soon as she screamed that final word. Let it be known that Jillion was the absolute worst at playing mediator. She let her frustration show tenfold, and now she was mad at herself for sounding mad. For once, she wanted to act like Pa- he was always the best at breaking up arguments between her and Janna- but shit, mitigating didn't come easy to her in the slightest. She couldn't have a single good thing in her life, and it was something she realized time and time again when Pa-

"Whatever- I don't give a fuck, anyway." her sister quipped. She abruptly got up from her hunched position. "I'm quitting. I need some quiet."

She wanted quiet, in this shack of creaky, hollow wooden floors and doors on broken hinges? Ironic. Janna stomped away towards the walk-in closet that functioned as her personal room. At witnessing Janna's outburst, Ma let out an exasperated tch. She let all her jacks spill out onto the ground as well.

"'M goin' to bed," she grunted and stalked off into the den. It could barely be called a den; that room was measly and grey, lacking in both comfort and warmth with not a semblance of coziness to be found. Her sister and her mom had both gone their respective ways, leaving Jillion in the crossfire and forced to deal with the aftermath. The game had disbanded and now she was alone in the living room, the embers in the fireplace rapidly losing their glow.

Her own frustration was starting to dissipate just as fast, replaced with a rather somber feeling. Jillion began to pick up the fallen jacks, their spokes digging into her palm as she gripped onto them tightly, in an effort to keep all of them in place. Still, even several individual jacks were too much for her slender hands to contain all by themselves. One by one, each of them fell to the ground. The force behind her words before… she shouldn't have said it like that. Is it my fault? She bit her lip, trembling slightly.

A stronger, more bitter, more desperate voice took over. No. It's their fault for starting an argument, and their fault for giving up so easily! This made a lot more sense in Jillion's mind, but the explanation still wasn't in the slightest satisfactory. None of this should've happened. It would've been fine if Pa were… awake.

But alas, he was not, and Jillion was forced to pick up the pieces by herself and resign herself to another night of fitful sleep.

And like the little soldier she was, she did exactly that. Each jack, one by one. Each step to the sleeping cot in the kitchen, one by one. One swift motion to get into bed, and another to pull the covers over her frail body. Damn, she was hungry as fuck, but she couldn't risk even snatching a bite of bread to eat without being berated by her mother and instigating a turf war with her sister. Panem forbid she let herself feel anything more, anything less than empty.

She tried to sleep. Each blink, one by one.

Each minute, one by one.

Each… hour, one by one?

That's it. Jillion couldn't slip into the beckoning arms of slumber; either that, or the entity had their arms intentionally crossed, unwelcoming and unyielding. Regardless, she was slowly starting to realize that it would be impossible for her to achieve rest that night, and she wouldn't try to trick herself into thinking she could. Many a night plagued her with restlessness, and it looked as if the moon would claim yet another date. And so, instead of lying awake, she got up and sought the source of her insomnia.

Nights like these, she only went to one place. The reason she couldn't sleep, the only thing that could convince her to- it was conflicting. Jillion dug out a jar of kerosene and a well-loved stick of wax from underneath her cot. With a steady hand, she lit the wick with her rapidly deteriorating box of matches, and headed off to the most undisturbed room in the house, taking care to step on only the wood plates that croaked the softest.

The only bedroom in the house was dedicated to her father, and his… equipment. She hovered outside his room for nothing more, nothing less than a beat, mentally preparing herself for the stale air that she was about to subject herself to. After a moment, Jillion opened the door, and the smell of mildew and physical lethargy embraced her like a possessive lover.

The blinds were closed, leaving the room shrouded in dust and dusk. It threatened to snuff out the sparse, little flame from the candle she held. The firelight illuminated the dust that crowded the corners of the empty, bare room, and it skewed away from the candle as if it had a collective mind of its own. She cut through the room and towards her father with ease, not once hesitating nor faltering, the way an ex-pianist's hands slipped back into technique even after years of lack of contact with the ivory keys. Her eyes fell onto the medical equipment that framed his de- his bed, its white and silver poles poised hauntingly over her father's frail body like the uncloaked body of the Grim Reaper.

Just like every other night, her father was a pitiful sight to behold. He was completely still and splayed out across the hospital cot, face ghastly grey and limbs rigid as if they were bound by chains of sickness. Still breathing, thankfully, but they were rattling, turbulent breaths. Every hasty inhale and weak exhale- he continued to breathe the same air he had been recycling these past few months. The sight made her sick in the deepest, most guttural part of her stomach; the man that was once so full of life, so radiant, now so grey and… dead-looking. Out of all of the members of the Morgan household, it would be known that Euron was likely the most fed, but looks were deceiving. Even the constant drip of the IV wouldn't make him look anything close to healthy.

She shuddered as she looked back on that day. Peacekeepers. Her body's limp, broken body. A scream (her scream?) and the empty words of a man clad in a sterile, white uniform. A work accident, the doctors said. Your father is in a coma.

It was strange to Jillion for her to imagine that it had already been a year since the incident. but it made sense because she never let herself think about it. To acknowledge such a fact would make it seem like he'd never wake up; the doctors had told her that the longer a person was in a coma, the less likely they'd be to ever rise from it. But her father had to be the exception. She couldn't stand not being in the same place as him; the weeks following his accident, she wouldn't even leave his bedside. To have him disappear entirely from her plane of existence would be unbearable.

She lowered herself into the worn stool next to his cot, but upon resting her full weight onto it, one of the three legs severed itself from the body, causing Jillion to tumble to the ground. Thankfully, her abrupt fall didn't make much noise- Jillion was a slight girl- but the chair, in its broken state, was unusable.. She resolved herself to repair it as a way to keep herself busy as she conversed with her father. Fix a chair and converse with the comatose; all in a night's work, I guess. From the front pocket of her blouse, Jillion pulled out a busted precision screwdriver. She located the faulty screw that flew out from the chair leg and began to fasten the pieces back together. In a low, hoarse voice, so that only her father could hear (if he could hear her at all,) she began to speak.

"Here's what I did in school today. Here's what Janna did in school today. This is what we ate, and…

"And, we played a board game today. Zips and Jacks, your favorite."

A pause.

Jillion wanted to complain. She wanted to rant. She wanted to let it all out, let someone know the truth. It would be so satisfying to speak her feelings into existence, immortalizing it for even a single soul to hear, to be perceived for once.

She thought her previous anger had subsided, but a little spark caused it to flame up anew. It bubbled within her ribcage and refueled her joints with a strange sort of iron. It was just at the tip of her tongue- she could say that the night didn't go as planned. She could say that Ma and Janna had started arguing, that it propelled itself into a bitter exchange as they continued to go back and forth.

She could say, I tried so hard to keep the peace. I tried so hard but I just couldn't, and I ended up screaming at the both of them. No matter how much I want to be like you, I will never manage to pull it off.

And yet, somehow, the words that actually exited her mouth were a lot more different than what she really wanted to say (and what she would've said, if it were any other circumstance).

(If it wasn't her father.)

"We had so much fun, Pa. Janna ended up winning the first round, and then we did another one. And another one after that." Her hands stilled themselves as she closed her eyes and pasted on a bittersweet smile. "Ma and Janna and I are getting along so well these days. You would be so happy to see it." A sniffle.

Despite Jillion's blunt nature, for some reason, this time she couldn't find it in herself to echo a single word of how she truly felt. She couldn't imagine hesitating, she couldn't imagine not speaking her mind, but in the pallid face of her comatose father, Jillion somehow couldn't bring herself to risk making this sleeping man upset. She thought about how people in comas could sometimes hear things while they were asleep, and she didn't want him to be miserable when he woke up. Because he would wake up.

"We're really getting ourselves together, to the point where you won't even have to mediate anymore. But, still, you should really wake up soon."

A fat, hot tear slipped out her eye and onto her cheek, gravity carving a path with the floor as its destination. Jillion feverishly wiped at her eyes and sniffed loudly. No weakness. No emotion. Morgan women do not cry. Besides, there was no reason for her to cry over Pa- he wasn't even dead yet, no matter how bad it looked.

She pulled her knees to her chest, got up and climbed into the cot with her father's frail body. She pretended that his body was warmer, that his heartbeat was louder, and that one day he would eventually get back up.

(Even if she knew, deep down, that it would never happen.)


DISTRICT ELEVEN REAPINGS

July 4th, 11:45 AM

Female Slot: Jillion Morgan - 10 slips

Male Slot: Yuly Montreal - 7 slips


a/n: m'pologies, didn't mean for this chapter to take as long as it did! but a bussy stay poppin' cos i just finished this bad boy up for mass consumption. contrary to popular belief, i did enjoy writing both of these kids, albeit the experience was… interesting, to say the least.

thoughts on yuly and jillion?

what color is math? any answer besides red is wrong btw

i hope you enjoyed your stay; have a blessed morning/noon/evening/night, wherever you are.

$wag im out this bitch,

brooky wooky