CHAPTER XII: DISTRICT THREE
Shaffa Zorp, 17;
District Three Female, SHE/HER
- A WEEK BEFORE -
"Thank Panem you're here!" Shaffa's client exclaimed. The man made a call gesture with his hand, rocking it back and forth agitatedly. "It's Mr. Javasmith, from the phone ca-"
Shaffa cut him off. "Yes, we're aware."
Mr. Javasmith flushed. "O-of course. Thank you so much for arranging this appointment with me on such short notice," he blabbered. "Like, freakishly fast. Your punctuality is incredible, which I never would've expected from, uh, paranormal investigators, no offense. Please tell me your names."
Shaffa spoke up first. "I'm Ms. Zaffa Shorp," she said. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
On Shaffa's right, Fae introduced herself. "Sevae Eaf," she said, keeping it brief.
Tarley went last. "Sarley… Tiddons." He was completely stony-faced.
Fuck… not Tiddons… Shaffa fought to stifle a laugh. However, Fae was having a much more difficult time keeping her expression under control, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. Oh, my god. This girl is gonna be the death of us, Shaffa thought, pressing her lips in a small smile.
The three "paranormal investigators" stood side by side in front of Mr. Javasmith's door, surrounded by the man's well-manicured lawn. Perhaps most paranormal investigators weren't exactly known for their timeliness, but that was what made Shaffa's crew so special. They had shown up early because it was an emergency; not because they had nothing else to do, of course!
Hurriedly, Mr. Javasmith reached out to shake each of their hands, first Shaffa in the center, then Fae, then Tarley. Shaffa was the tallest out of her best-friends-slash-coworkers, a pretty girl standing at six feet. She donned a luxury trench coat, a gift from her father given to him by one of his Capitolite clients; with her magnetic appearance, naturally she was the face of the group. When he was done shaking their hands, he continued with his spiel.
"My… my problem returned an hour ago, and I decided I just couldn't take it anymore." Mr. Javasmith's lower lip trembled as he spoke. "The gh… the gho—"
"The ghosts?" Shaffa interjected, smiling at him understandingly. "It's not a bad word, sir. Your troubles are valid, and we're going to help you - that's exactly what we're here for."
He looked at the ground, rubbing his arms self-consciously. "Yeah, the ghosts. Sorry, it feels so weird to call them that, but I genuinely don't know what else I can say at this point. Like I said on the phone, the weird sounds and the moved objects have been on and off for the last two weeks. It stopped a couple days ago, and I thought it was over until it knocked over my ancient fork collection." Tears began to form in his eyes. "There were priceless relics from the old-world in there! I feel like I'm going insane - my wife is always blaming it on the wind, or the huge wicker tree behind our house, or the goddamn cat, but I'm the one who stays at home all the time, not her! And I-I swear, there's something haunting this place!"
From Shaffa's left, Tarley, er, Tiddons cleared his throat. "Why don't you invite us inside to take a look, sir?" he prompted. Mr. Javasmith nodded, leading the triad through his front door.
The interior of Mr. Javasmith's home was truly a sight to behold, furnished to imitate an old-world suburban home. It seemed to be slightly more cluttered than it had been the last time Shaffa had come, but admittedly she hadn't seen much under the cover of night. She scanned the room until her eyes landed on a familiar display cabinet face-down on the ground, its contents scattered across the polished oak floors. "You said the last incident involved the fork collection, correct?"
Mr. Javasmith followed her line of sight and nodded, leading the three over to the fallen cabinet. "Yes, yes! This happened just last night, around 2 AM."
Shaffa knelt down to examine the scene, humming exaggeratedly every couple seconds as she skirted around the cabinet. After a couple minutes, she turned back towards her client. "I don't think we've had the chance to discuss the specifics of everything that has happened in your home. Can you elaborate on other key occurrences?"
"Yes, I very much can!" Mr. Javasmith pulled out a comically long scroll of paper. It spilled down to the floor, stretching out to an impressive length of eight feet. My god, I swear we didn't do that much, Shaffa thought to herself, amused. She nodded at Fae, who blinked once before going, "oh!" and taking out a fancy, gothic looking notepad from her briefcase. "Whenever you're ready, sir," Fae chirped.
Mr. Javasmith took to the invitation hungrily. "It all began when the…"
As their client recounted his experiences, Fae scribbled onto her notepad furiously. Shaffa had no doubt that she was actually scribbling. As for Shaffa herself, she was just zoning out.
"At first, I didn't think it was…" Hm. Did she have time to go bowling later that evening?
"And then the… !" Oh, fuck. Shaffa had turned off her sewing machine before she left the house, right?
"Even my cat started acting like he was possessed! In the middle of the night, I would just hear him rolling down the stairs, over and over!"
Shaffa frowned. That's weird. None of us touched that cat. Mr. Javasmith should probably take it to the vet. Before he could go off on another tangent, Shaffa put a hand in front of his face, signaling him to stop speaking. "I think we've heard enough," she said.
Mr. Javasmith looked puzzled. "But that's only a third of the list. I haven't even told you about the massive diarrhe—"
"We're professionals and problem-solvers, Mr. Javasmith." Shaffa gave him a reassuring smile. "We don't even have to know the full extent of the issue before getting to work." Please don't tell us about your massive diarrhea. Please don't tell us about your massive diarrhea.
"Well… that's a relief," he said, slightly unsure.
"Indeed. We shall begin without haste." Shaffa straightened her coat, breathing in deeply. "But first… may I ask a rather personal question?"
Mr. Javasmith nodded. "If that will help you with this whole problem, then I'd be happy to disclose anything you ask."
"Fantastic," Shaffa whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Before we begin with the cleansing process, can you think of spirits that might wish malintent on you?"
Her client furrowed his eyebrows together for a second before he seemed to reach some sort of revelation. "I…" he sputtered, his eyes wide as dinner plates, "I… I think I can!
"It's… it's my ex-husband, actually," he said. "We split several years ago on amicable terms, and shortly after, he was hit by a shuttle, may he rest easy. Even though things were mostly good after the divorce, he really, really wanted my forks. When we split, he took the ones he had prior to our relationship, but I kept the ones we collected together because I paid for most of them. That was the biggest thing he was upset over, but we didn't linger on the issue.
"But… all of it makes sense now, now that you asked me that," Mr. Javasmith exclaimed. "Panem, why didn't I think about it before! I'm being haunted by the ghost of my ex-husband — that must be the reason why so many of my forks have been going missing lately!"
"Yes," Shaffa agreed, "It must be!"
Tarley cleared his throat. "Shall we get started, then?" he said. As soon as Mr. Javasmith gave him the all-clear, Tarley procured an elaborate device from his blazer with a flourish. He set it on the floor and flipped the switch on top. The device came to life, illuminating the inside of the house with a greenish glow. Fae flipped to a fresh page on her notepad and started drawing cryptic symbols. When she had enough, she ripped them up into squares and tacked them onto the haunted objects Mr. Javasmith had mentioned including the cat, who yowled with the utmost displeasure.
Without looking at Mr. Javasmith, Tarley instructed him to close all the curtains for complete darkness inside the house. Mr. Javasmith ran off without a second word, and soon enough the house was shrouded with darkness, the only source of light coming from Tarley's device. From the other side of Tarley's pocket, he took out two jars of glowing salts, one blue and one white. Shaffa swiftly took out a glass spray bottle from her trenchcoat and squirted it liberally, concentrating on the haunted hotspots of the house.
Mr. Javasmith whiffed at the air noisily. "What is this smell? It's like…"
"It's oregano," she said. "Oregano and, uh, lavender."
"...interesting combination," he said, but did not press the subject further.
Within a matter of minutes, the cleansing process was over. The trio packed their materials back into their containers and took the paper scraps off the haunted objects, leaving no traces of their session. Mr. Javasmith yanked open the curtains, gasping as the light spilled back into the house. "My wife is here!" he exclaimed. "Her car just pulled up! She can't know you guys are here!"
He frantically ushered each of them out the backdoor, Fae almost tripping at Shaffa's heels. The trio practically tumbled out, and Shaffa had only just regained her bearings when Mr. Javasmith slapped a fat wad of cash in her palm. "All right, thank you so much! I'll let you know if the ghosts come back!"
Shaffa handed over the money to Tarley, who quickly glanced over the entire stack. "This is… sir, you gave us more-"
"That's fine! It's a tip! Goodbye now!" Before Tarley could object, the door slammed and bolted shut with finality.
The three of them stared at the door for a moment before Fae spoke up. "Do you guys also feel kind of bad?" Fae asked.
Shaffa and Tarley exchanged a look. "If I felt bad after every call, I'd have stopped a long time ago. Money's money," Shaffa responded, shrugging her shoulders. "Plus, it's for Tarley."
"Big money, all for Tarley," he said with a ridiculous, deep voice. "Seriously though, this was a really good haul. I probably won't even have to dig into my paycheck this week to feed my siblings," he said, slightly in awe. "Thanks, you guys."
"No sweat," Shaffa grinned, Fae nodding bashfully beside her. "It's the least Tiddons deserves for his impressive work back there. See you guys for our next gig after the Reapings?"
The three teenagers laughed and bid their farewells to one another. Fae and Tarley headed off in the opposite direction together, leaving Shaffa to head back to her comfy mansion alone.
"Get me a bowl of fruit!"
Shaffa heard Akasha's voice from all the way outside the automatic gates surrounding her house. She walked down the polished pathway and tentatively approached the front steps, nodding her head silently in thanks at the house staff who opened it for her. Shaffa braced herself and strolled into the living room, her eyes landing on two figures on the couch.
She saw Neffilus Zorp first, Capitol-renowned plastic surgeon and her father. Attached to his arm was Akasha Peavey, his darling Capitolite client but also a major bitch. Akasha must've been back to weasel some quick cash from her father after spending a little too freely at the casino. The times she'd disappeared and reappeared in the Zorp household when she needed money should've been a major tipoff to Neffilus about her intentions, but he'd always been a serial optimis.. Even in his greedy clients with personalities as fake as their breasts.
Shaffa suppressed a sigh, careful not to show her disdain . "Hey, Dad," she nodded towards him. He smiled at her, eyes twinkling. She turned her head towards Akasha slowly. "Akasha."
The woman said nothing. The only indication that she even registered Shaffa's presence was the way her eyes rolled back into her skull. Akasha's puffy lips screwed tightly into a grimace, her displeasure made obvious. Shaffa fought the urge to groan; Akasha always made common courtesy seem so difficult.
"Come here, come here," Neffilus said eagerly, gesturing for Shaffa to sit by his side. As soon as she sat down, he smothered Shaffa into a tight hug. She laughed, embarrassed but happy, even if she wouldn't admit the latter. "Dad!"
"What, I can't hug my daughter?" he teased. After another squeeze he let her go, sinking back into the plush leather couch. "What have you been up to today?"
"With Fae and Tarley," Shaffa said. It technically wasn't a lie.
In the living room, Shaffa and her father slipped into idle conversation, the fireplace crackling quietly. The light from the flames painted warm streaks on the walls and the furniture, Neffilus's and Shaffa's voices bringing just as much vitality into the room. The excitement from earlier that day ambled into a comfortable calm.
After a few minutes, her father exclaimed. "Oh! I needed to tell you!"
"You needed to tell me?" Shaffa said, shifting herself upright. She already had a suspicion she knew what her father was going to say.
By the way her father was anxiously rubbing his hands together, Shaffa knew with a sinking feeling that she was right. "Akasha and I are going to take an impromptu vacation to the Capitol," he said, almost guiltily.
Shaffa fixed her eyes on an indistinct point on the couch. "Oh. When?"
"Tonight."
"Tonight?" Shaffa repeated, baffled. "So soon!"
Her father chuckled. "Yeah, when I said impromptu, I wasn't kidding." He took a sip of his drink. "Is that alright?"
Well, no, it's not alright, not even a little bit. Shaffa thought, biting the inside of her cheek. But she knew better than to shut him down when he was just going to leave, like he always did.
"I…" Shaffa started. "Can't I go with you, Dad? I don't like being here alone."
"You won't be alone," he assured her. "You have all the housestaff!"
"You know it's not the same," she said pleadingly. Still, she knew from experience any begging would be in vain. Shaffa technically wasn't allowed to visit the Capitol with her father until she turned eighteen, and even his celebrity doctor status couldn't do anything to waive the punishment he'd receive from breaking that rule.
Neffilus went on these trips often. Most of the time it was for work, but despite that Shaffa would always plead with him to not leave her behind. Maybe it was spoiled behavior, but Shaffa's separation anxiety was too great for her to care much.
For as long as she'd known, she'd had a complex about being alone. It was frustrating, because Shaffa knew she was fortunate to have such a comfy life and a doting father. She appreciated him so much, but she could never shake the feeling that she was still an afterthought in his eyes even if it wasn't true at all. And even though she knew it was selfish, she was jealous of the attention he would give his clients who wanted nothing to do with him apart from his money and reputation. They took him for granted and Shaffa never did, but still, she was always the one cast aside and lonely.
Neffilus reached out to stroke Shaffa's cheek, casting an apologetic look at her. "It won't be for long," he said, as if it was any consolation. "I'll be back before Monday."
Akasha scoffed at the display. "Why are you babying her? She's almost eighteen," she spat. "We should get going. I've missed the Capitol bars." She yanked at Shaffa's father's arm, dragging him to his feet.
Even though she knew there was no way she'd be able to get her father to stay, Shaffa let a few tears slip out. "Dad, please don't go," she whispered.
He looked back over his shoulder at her helplessly. "I'm sorry, darling," he mouthed, before Akasha pulled him out of sight through the entrance. The automatic double-doors slammed shut without delay.
And so, alone Shaffa sat on the couch, the house completely silent besides her sniffling and the crackling of the embers. The fireplace whispered endless promises of warmth and comfort, but did nothing to combat the loneliness inside of her.
Orion Amsel, 17;
District Three Male, HE/HIM
- A WEEK BEFORE -
There were countless constellations scattered across the expanse of the night sky, light years beyond where Orion laid on the grass. Distant, faraway stars seemed to skirt just out of reach from his outstretched hand. There was one orb in particular that stood alone and apart from the rest, its blazing light casting the surrounding stars in a shroud of darkness before its glory. Its radiance appeared almost boastful to the naked eye, but Orion knew it held undeniably melancholic, lonely undertones.
He knew this constellation's origin myth like the back of his hand; after all, the tale of Xerxes, the lone monarch, was one he always went back to. It was an incredibly niche story, something Orion stumbled upon after hours of scouring through the astronomy books in his grandfather's dusty library. The story went as followed; Xerxes had once been a rigid and unyielding ruler of a kingdom that laid in the crook of continents, an auspicious place that granted eternal youth to its inhabitants. Inside the impenetrable gates, the people of his kingdom were kept safe from the outside world and suffered not from famine nor hunger nor plague. Yet, there was still a gaping emptiness that rotted the people from the inside out, and was left neglected by his Superior. See, Xerxes was an absent king - during the entirety of his rule, he had never stepped outside his palace even once. In his vacance grew an unfulfillment that the people couldn't fan away as centuries passed in silence.
By no means was Xerxes a cruel ruler. Sure, he was apathetic, but cruel wasn't the correct term for him. In fact, he was quite merciful more times than not; he pardoned his subjects with the same surety, the same iron fist he ruled them with, but it did little to quell their anxieties amidst the face of an insidious, untouchable adversary.
Xerxes's wife, on the other hand, was incredibly sensitive to the ever-growing restlessness of the people. On several occasions, she attempted to voice her concerns to her husband, but he would uncharacteristically swat her down everytime she tried to broach the subject. His hostility on the matter bordered on being personal, which was strange, because the queen knew for a fact that there was nothing personal about the king. Xerxes held objectivity and rationality to the highest regard, but for this issue, he refused to see reason and she couldn't figure out why.
There was one particular night that she brought up the issue once more, seeing as she only found herself more and more troubled over the civilians' plight as time went on. Under the covers, she nudged Xerxes's slumbering form. "Dear," she whispered. "The people are unhappy."
He didn't reply immediately. The queen wasn't sure whether her husband was awake, and made to turn the other way until he spoke in a gravelly voice, "There is no reason for them to be unhappy. There is no danger, no death."
"Neither is there change," she responded. "The novelty of this land has been exhausted eons ago."
The king scoffed. "This land grants us immortality. Living forever is a luxury."
"Perhaps so," the queen said softly, "but perhaps we ought to open the gates. Let the people decide whether living forever is a luxury they desire, and allow them the option to leave. There is nothing left to do here; they want to live."
"It is foolish to think of living!" Xerxes snarled. "The people are selfish and naive, and take their survival for granted. Other kingdoms are not as fortunate as ours - they are subject to horrors and terrors beyond our imagination." The queen opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off, eyes alight with fury.
"I do not want to hear another word on this," the king spat.
The queen obeyed. She obeyed so well that Xerxes never heard another word from her. She refused to speak to him, eat with him, or sleep in the same chambers as him. After a couple years, word of her small protest caught on beyond the palace grounds.
That spark was all the kingdom needed. After a millennia of stillness, the people's simmering outrage grew to astronomical proportions. Each day, there would be a crowd of thousands swarming the palace steps, clamoring outside its fortified walls and demanding the king to open the gates to the outside world. Still, Xerxes refused to yield. So the queen took matters into her own hands. She took her lady-in-waiting and instigated a plan. The maid agreed, and they set to work.
Weeks into the riots, the queen and her maid corralled the people outside the palace steps, hours after the monarch had embarked on his journey across the river of slumber. In one hand, the queen held a blazing torch, its green flames dancing ravenously under the dusk. This green fire was a commodity only the royal family held, an eternal source of energy for the entire kingdom. It was also what kept the gates to the outside world indestructible. By taking it from its heart, the queen had ventured onto the path of no return, but she knew it had to be done.
The queen threw the torch down at the entrance of the palace, and within seconds, the flames turned into an inferno and began eating at the mighty fortress. Bursting through the weakened gates, the kingless kingdom absconded far into the desert. The sands sent them to an oasis where the people eventually built a thriving colony far, far away from Xerxes's eternal land, with his former queen and maid as their new, benevolent rulers.
Back inside the burning palace, Xerxes jolted awake with a start to the smell of smoke. Through bleary eyes, he could see that all around him was an endless barrage of green fire. His dark skin had become charred, a crystallized obsidian encasing him in a glass prison made of his own flesh. His infinite regeneration fought back vigorously, matching his burns with a fiery radiance that seemed to bloom from inside of him. Xerxes screamed in agony as the inferno propelled inside of him, sucking the flames that consumed the palace into his body like a vacuum, igniting him from the inside out.
Much like his body, the pain was eternal. He was immortal and regenerated endlessly, so there was no way to die, and he knew the flames would never cease; after all, it was the same green fire that had powered the kingdom for a millennium, the same green fire only he and the queen had access to. Only she could have done this to him.
His queen had been torn between two unyielding constants, and she chose the people over her husband. Logic would always be overpowered by emotions, for humans were greedy and chased for something as fickle as freedom over survival. That was what made Xerxes less than human, he supposed. Perhaps he should've done something sooner, or perhaps he could've reconciled with his people. He'd have an eternity to think about it. Although he knew it was the queen that cast the flames, the lone monarch could only blame himself.
The story was a tragic one, yet despite it being his favorite, Orion couldn't sympathize with the way Xerxes ruled nor the fate he succumbed to. If Orion had been in the monarch's position, frigid yet aflame, feeling everything yet nothing whilst completely isolated, he would be nothing short of content. It was already Orion's everyday. Alone, under the stars, with not a single soul nearby to perceive him- just how Orion liked it.
It was fascinating. There were several facets to the story that Orion both related to and denounced, namely the king's personality and the people's ambitions.
On the surface, it would seem that Orion would defend Xerxes and his actions. Like the king, he was calculating and intelligent, assessing situations with a steel eye and a steel heart, casting only the most rationally-sound verdicts. He was stoic and kept to himself, letting not a soul know of the knowledge and burden he held deep inside of him. Isolation was the most comfortable state for him, and he lived inside a palace of his own: his mind. He was efficient and hated wasting time, despite the fact that he had eons of it to kill. Lastly, he didn't see the point of trying more than he had to if he already had everything he needed to be content. Xerxes and Orion were one and the same, alike in both mind and soul.
And yet, shockingly enough, the story of the people struck a chord with him after a couple re-readings. Orion had to admire their will from an objective standpoint; they wanted to make a change, and so they did. They wanted to experience something different, and so they did. He wished that it could come as easily to him as it did them. For that reason he was slightly envious of their simplicity. He wanted nothing more than to be alive again.
Orion's grandfather was similar to the queen in this story, in the way that he was the person Orion was closest to in this world. Xerxes hadn't even known it, but the only reason he was so content with life was because he had her by his side. When she left, that world came crumbling down. Although the palace was full of flames, Xerxes felt nothing but empty with the loss of the only person that came close to knowing him.
Physically, nothing in Orion's life had changed when his grandfather died. He still had his routine, his house, his parents and his grandmother, but one by one he began to isolate himself from each, abandoning them to lurk in the caverns of his own mind instead. There was a static in there that had only grown louder since his grandfather passed, beckoning Orion to submit because nothing else mattered anymore. And he did; he started skipping school and work, and avoided his parents and his grandmother, despite her attempts to lure him into her house with his grandfather's old trinkets.
Orion couldn't break free of this endless nihilistic cycle in his mind. Everything ceased to exist besides the presence of his grandfather - er, rather, lack thereof. His death hadn't even been shocking or untimely - he had died from old age, a merciful passing - so why was it that ever since, Orion couldn't feel anything anymore? Anything?
On clear nights like these where all the stars were visible, Orion missed him more. He had always been a quiet, introspective kid, but his grandfather had no faults with it. They used to lay together on the grass outside his house, Orion's coily hair getting caught on scraggly blades of grass. His grandfather would laugh heartily at him and pick out the spurs from grandson's hair with a steady, tender hand.
Orion only loved astronomy because of his grandfather. As a kid, he always waited eagerly for nighttime, in anticipation of his grandfather's animated stories about the people and animals that lived behind the stars. Orion only loved reading because of him. Orion only loved learning because of him. Orion only loved living because of him. And when the queen betrayed Xerxes, when Orion's grandfather passed, he couldn't even find it in himself to cry - Orion felt nothing but a black hole inside his heart.
At first, Orion tried to find the joy of life without his grandfather by his side. Still, it was hard when everything that would spark his fascination would fizzle out almost immediately, leaving only an irrepressible hollowness behind. It was just pathetic at this point; Orion feared that he would never find something that truly inspired him, that could take him out of his numb, static misery. If he was never going to accomplish anything for himself, what was the point of living at all?
Now, Orion was staring at the same sky he had stared at with his grandfather years prior, but instead of laying on cushy grass, he was laying haphazardly on the crooked metal railing of a bridge in the dead of night. His limbs dangled over the edge, teasing the void underneath. There was no grass for his curls to get caught on, and there were no fingers combing stray bits out of his hair. Those days were long behind him. If a gust came out of nowhere and blew Orion over the edge, his broken body would mesh perfectly with the industrial junkyard that lay thousands of feet underneath the bridge. Wonder how long it would take Mom and Dad to find me, he mused, draping his arm over himself casually.
Thankfully, Orion would never have to relate to Xerxes's eternal pain, just the emptiness. Orion would never have to understand what it was like to be reduced to ash and reborn, and reduced to ash yet again if he kept along the path of no resistance. He could avoid a phoenix's punishment as long as he avoided the pain of trying. It was much better to believe nothing and feel empty than have faith and be hurt, even if the hurt came with the promise of beautiful rewards. The risk of failure was just too great, and Orion was too proud to render himself a fool for something as capricious as living authentically.
And so, Orion tried to convince himself that he was content with merely surviving, pushing away thoughts of an oasis that laid light years out of reach from his numb, numb reality.
DISTRICT THREE REAPINGS
July 4th, 11:07 AM
Female Slot: Shaffa Zorp - 6 slips
Male Slot: Orion Amsel - 6 slips
a/n: hey boobies! give it up for shaffa and orion, submitted by LordShiro and TitanMaddix. actually as goofy as this chapter was it's one of my favorites, i really really liked both of their intros. had a mf blast yes i did yupper doodle doo. thank you so much to linds and my irl-part-2-electric-boogaloo for betaing this bad boy this week (they combined efforts to shave off .5k words everybody say thank you) ugh fresh as hell
q: if there were two guys on the moon and one of them killed the other with a rock would that be fucked up or what
$wag im out this bitch,
dwayne the brokkke johnson
