Mercury Harrigan, 16
"I'm a grenade. At some point I'm going to blow up and I'd like to minimize the casualties, okay?"
(Two Years before the Reapings)
TW for past mentions/descriptions of physical abuse
He used to love words.
Words were his best friend, the only way he could ever get his point across.
Now? Now, words are his worst enemy and his biggest fear. It makes sense from an outside standpoint; after years of being taught that speaking, making noises in general and anything that gives the idea that he's a real person would earn him a new mark, no one would expect him to be talkative.
Even now, when Marion and William are in jail, there are bruises on his arms and cuts on his face. His ribs ache with each movement he makes, forcing him to draw in short, clipped breaths. He has the hood of his jacket pulled up over his face in a vain attempt to obscure the red marks, as if no one in the Community Home knows where he came from. As if everyone in all of District 7 hasn't read the newspaper, the article with the blaring title. Upstanding Harrigan Family Involved in Seven-Year-Long Abuse Scandal. As if everyone didn't already know who he is and how defective that person is. As if no one knew.
"Mercury, there's a woman here who would like to speak with you."
He slowly looks up to meet the eyes of Matron Bellamy, standing sternly on the other side of the table. "And take that hood off!" she commands, her hands on her hips.
Her voice reminds him too much of Marion Harrigan's, her dark eyes too void of emotion. It sends a surge of terror pouring through his veins as he carefully gets to his feet. His hands shakily come up to his face to remove his hood as he follows Bellamy out of mess hall, his eyes glancing nervously at the kids he passes. They aren't staring, but it feels like they are. It feels like they're staring at him, their eyes burning into his skin as they whisper behind their hands. He's not perfect, not like Marion and William always demanded he be, and it feels like no else can let it go.
For so many years, he had been held to an impossible standard. Marion and William always demanded perfection from him, and if he ever stepped out of line…well, usually, he would wake up on the floor with bruises on his chest and cracks in his ribs. Fists couldn't hurt him nearly as much as the thoughts that came with it. He was supposed to be perfect, and if he wasn't perfect, what was he? He doesn't remember ever being someone beyond striving for perfection. Everyone around him is so different, yet all he is is nothing but an empty shell of a human being, trained like a dog to answer commands no matter the consequences.
Bellamy's office looms down the hallway, which does not make him feel confident. What goes on in there is beyond him. Besides, he's only been here a week. He's never seen anybody who looks like they've been hit…but Marion and William always made exceptions for him…
Matron Bellamy pulls open the door to her office and ushers him inside. She closes the door, leaving him standing alone with a woman he's never seen before on the other side of the desk.
"Mercury, hi."
He keeps his head down, letting his hair fall onto his face, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"I'm Zela Weber." There's an emotion in her voice that he is entirely unfamiliar with. He doesn't know its name, if it even has a name, or if he's ever heard it before.
Again, he doesn't raise his head. He doesn't need "Zela Weber" to see the only-partially-healed marks on his face.
"Mercury? I'm looking into taking you in. Would you look at me?"
His head snaps up, his eyes going wide as he frantically searches for Zela's eyes. "I-I-I—" the words start stumbling out of his mouth without his permission and he quickly clamps his hand under his chin, trying to hold it closed. He looks down again, staring at his shoes like they are the most interesting things in the world. He can't talk. He can't talk. He isn't allowed to make a sound or else Marion will get the knife and there will be blood on his hands and—
He can feel Zela's eyes from across the office, burning into the top of his head. "Mercury? Are you alright?"
With a sharp nod of his head, he carefully raises his head again, trying to keep his eyes locked on Zela's.
"As I was saying," Zela continues slowly, her eyes darting around as if she is trying to commit his face to memory. "I'm hoping to take you in. I've taken in several cases from the Community Home that have been deemed unfixable before, and Matron Bellamy has asked for me specifically to work with you."
It sounds fine and dandy, but all he can hear is that he's too messed up for anyone else to take care of. That he's so imperfect that no one would ever have interest in even speaking to him that Bellamy has to ask for someone specifically to get him out of the Community Home. He's heard enough kids talking in the past week to know that kids don't just get taken out of the Community Home. Ninety-nine percent of them stay there until they turn eighteen and are kicked out.
Maybe that's why people tend to look at him like he's a delicate piece of glass. They treat him like he's fragile, something easily breakable. And maybe he is. Or maybe he's already broken.
…
(One Year before the Reapings)
"Merc."
He doesn't look up from his book, instead simply turning the page and continuing to skim through the words.
"Mercury."
Still, he doesn't raise his head. He's got a test in the morning that's far more important than whatever Zumi has to tell him.
"Mercury!" Zumi drapes herself across his back, grabbing his textbook and holding it high above his head.
"Hm?" he hums, making a mad grab for the textbook.
Zumi hops to her feet, slams the book shut, and holds it tight to her chest. "Now that I have your attention, I have come with important news. I'm bored, and I'm keeping this." With that, she turns on her heel and dashes toward the stairs, prompting him to get up and follow her.
"Zu…" he murmurs, taking the steps two at a time. People have said that it makes no sense when he talks in quiet, clipped half-sentences while moving fast. They say it's weird for him to pound up the stairs, yet make absolutely no sound with each footfall.
But, no one has ever accused him of making sense.
And that is infuriating. Zumi makes sense. Zela makes sense. The others that Zela have taken in make sense. Yet he doesn't. He's begun to come to terms with it but…
He catches up to Zumi as she runs into her bedroom. She tries to slam the door but he sticks out his foot and shoves his way inside. "…book," he mumbles after a moment, making another desperate grab for his textbook. "Zu."
"Okay, okay," Zumi says, starting to hand the book back to him. Suddenly, she raises her arm and tosses it backwards onto her bed.
He flinches as he leans around her and throws himself onto her bed. He wraps his arm around the textbook.
Zumi starts laughing as he stands up. "You've been studying for hours, though," Zumi says. "I know it's important but, dude, chill. Let's do something. Maybe we can get Alton and Blaise to join us."
See, "chilling" is not something he is very good at. He needs to study so that he can get good grades and do something with his life. He needs to focus on school so he can go somewhere. Maybe if he studies hard enough he can go to university in District 3 and he'll be able to start over and no one will know who he is in District 3 so they'll have no reason to look at him like he might explode if touched wrong and—
He wants a new beginning. It's not that Zela's house is bad or anything, even if Zumi gets a little bit annoying, but it doesn't change his past. It doesn't change that everyone knows who he is and what happened to him. He wants to go somewhere where no one knows his name, where no one recognizes his face, and he can just start over.
Geo Stryker, 15
"If I win this, I promise that I will repay my parents for everything they've done for me. If I die, I just want them to know that I'm sorry I couldn't help them."
(Three Years before the Reapings)
It never ceases to amaze Geo that the Hob has survived for so long. The place is practically falling to pieces, which makes it hell during the winter, but in the summer, it's perfect. Honestly, it's one of Geo's favorite spots when his parents are at work. It has this sense of community that you can't get anywhere else in District 12. Everybody knows everybody, and everybody wants to extend a helping hand if they can.
Unfortunately, as of late, Geo has usually been on the receiving end of those helping hands. He and his parents have never had issues taking what they can if it's offered—as long as whoever is offering it doesn't need it more—but it's starting to feel ridiculous.
See, ever since the coal miners' pay was cut in half, a lot of people have been struggling to get by, even more so than usual. Everybody has been in need, it seems, and no one else has anything to give. If anything, it's just made those who sell and buy at the Hob closer.
Geo doesn't come often, especially in recent months. His family just doesn't have the money to buy whatever they want. It's not like they've ever had copious amounts of caps to throw around whenever they want, but everything has become extremely tight. It's a weight that rests on Geo's chest as he walks through the rows of market stalls in search of Arick. In fact, it never really leaves his chest; it has made a home there, mingling with anything else that Geo finds himself stressing over.
At last he spots Arick sitting on the ground by a stall that sells soup. Geo takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and walks over to Arick. "Hey!" he greets, a lopsided grin that feels misplaced in his current situation sliding onto his face. "How's it going?"
"Good," Arick answers, hopping to his feet. "You?"
"I'm good too," responds Geo as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Whatchu up to?"
Talking to Arick always demands that Geo be high-energy. He's not a bad actor, so it's not really difficult, even with this weight sitting on his chest. It feels like a metal band that slowly closes around his lungs, cutting off his air supply and making his head spin. But he can ignore it; he's been ignoring those kinds of feelings for years.
"Just eatin' some soup," Arick says, lifting his half-empty cup of soup. "It tastes better than the stuff we have at home, you know?"
Arick is one of the few people in Geo's life that can feasibly give him handouts without digging himself into a hole. Seeing as he comes from the merchant side of town, money is never exactly "tight" in his house. They always have enough to eat and enough compassion in their hearts to help out those from the Seam.
"Oh, yeah," Geo agrees.
"You wanna come over to my house? Promise my sisters aren't home," laughs Arick as they pass a can full of trash. He carelessly tosses his empty soup cup into the can and jams his now-free hands into his pockets.
"Yep," Geo says, still grinning. "Your shop's still open now, huh?"
"Probably," Arick says with a shrug. "We can go through the back door and my parents won't know we came in."
"Sounds good to me," Geo says nonchalantly, despite the fact that it really doesn't sound good to him. He'd rather…well, he's not exactly sure what he'd rather do, but if it will make Arick happy, then he'll be happy about it too.
They carefully leave the Hob so as to avoid the Peacekeepers, even though just about every Peacekeeper in the district knows about the place. Security has become more and more lax in years of past, which makes hanging out with Arick much easier. At least when he hangs out with Ryan or Devin, they don't do anything that could get them arrested.
Geo has never really been one for breaking the law. Arick has a (un)healthy disregard for rules, so Geo does too. But Ryan follows rules religiously, so Geo does too. Devin doesn't really acknowledge rules, so Geo doesn't as well. But his parents have always taught him to respect authority figures, so he does as well…
Arick wants him to disregard the rules, and that will make Arick like him more. So, he'll disregard the law and take the consequences of his actions, as long as Arick continues to be happy.
…
(Two Years before the Reapings)
"Hi, Geo. How is everything?" Ryan asks when Geo answers the door, the sunlight pouring past his shoulders and shining on Geo's face.
"It's alright." Geo shrugs, his eyes downcast. "What about you?"
"Yeah, I'm getting by," Ryan responds, smiling softly.
"So, do you want to come in?" Geo asks, stepping to the side to let Ryan inside.
"Yeah, thanks." Ryan walks past him as Geo quietly shuts the door behind him.
The Stryker house certainly isn't anything special. It is, however, nicer to hang out in than Ryan's place. It's several levels below Arick's house, but Ryan doesn't really know Arick and Arick doesn't really know Ryan. Geo doesn't even want to think about what would happen if they happened to cross paths while he was with one of them…
Geo settles down on the floor, letting Ryan take the couch. It's common courtesy, he thinks.
Nah, it's not, Arick's voice says in his head.
"Are you parents out on a shift as well?" Ryan asks.
"Yeah," Geo replies. "They've got an extra-long shift today, unfortunately."
"That's more caps, though," Ryan says.
Geo answers with a small inclination of his head. He opens his mouth to say something else, until he's interrupted by a knock at the door. "I'll get it," he volunteers, hopping up from off the floor and heading toward the door. He pulls it open and takes a step backward.
"Hey, Geo!" Arick exclaims. "How's it going?"
"Oh…" Geo says, his eyes wide and darting back and forth between Arick and Ryan. "Uh…great! I, uh…"
"Hey, who's this?" Arick asks casually, grinning.
Geo takes a deep breath and quickly plasters his grin to his face. "Ryan, uh, uhm, Ryan Welch."
"Hi," Ryan says with a small wave, his eyebrows furrowed.
The silence that stretches in the room makes Geo's breathing speed up. Is he supposed to talk, that would make Arick happy? Or is he supposed to just be quiet and comfortable, like Ryan would prefer? Should he be grinning and laughing or quiet and thoughtful? He takes another step backward, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in on him. What's he supposed to be doing? What's going to make both of them happy? Quiet, happy, thoughtful, loud, grinning, downcast, what is it? Who does he care about more? Who does he want to please more? Arick or Ryan? Arick or Ryan? Arick or Ryan Arick or Ryan Arick or Ryan? Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—
"Geo, are you…are you alright?" Ryan asks, his face suddenly right in front of Geo's. Arick is just beside him, waving his hand in front of Geo's eyes.
"Um, uh, ah…yeah! Yes, I'm—I'm fine," Geo stammers, feeling nauseous. "Can you—you guys, um, go—go somewhere else?" Oh god, he can't ask them to leave! They're going to hate him! "Or—or don't. You can—can stay, if you—you want to—"
Arick suddenly snaps in front of his eyes. Geo blinks rapidly at his fingers, trying to get his vision to stop blurring. He tries to focus his eyes on one of their faces but—who does he look at? Arick or Ryan? Arick or Ryan? Arick or Ryan Arick or Ryan Arick or Ryan? He starts hyperventilating again, pulling his hands to his chest. Which of them does he look at? Which one does he cater to? Who is he supposed to be?
…who is he?
Geo suddenly pushes both of them way and charges for the bathroom. He collapses by the toilet and throws up the meager contents of his stomach, his hands clenching tightly around the bowl. Once he has successfully emptied his stomach, he coughs up bile and kicks the door closed. Neither of them need to see this. They already hate him enough. He pushed them away and freaked out in front of them and god they must hate him. They must hate him so much.
He rolls onto his back and starts at the ceiling, his vision still blurred. The dirty ceiling shivers in his view as his eyelids threaten to drop closed. He blinks slowly as if trying to decipher tiny words written on the ceiling. After a long moment, he rolls onto his side, grabs for the toilet bowl, and pulls himself to his feet. He leans heavily against the wall, takes a few deep breaths, and reopens the door.
"Geo! Are you okay?" Ryan exclaims, rushing toward him.
Geo looks at him cautiously. "Yes. Yes…I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Arick asks from a few feet away.
"Yep," Geo answers, locking eyes with Arick and trying to make himself grin. "I just…got real nauseous there for a moment, but I'm good now. Promise." He looks toward Ryan. "I'm sorry I messed everything up, though."
"You're good!" Arick assures.
"Yes, it's okay," Ryan agrees.
Geo closes his eyes for a few moments. They might say it's okay, but he knows they hate him. They both despise me, he decides. It's amazing how quickly he messed everything up.
Larch Tyre, 18
"The true victims are the ones still alive."
(Eleven Years Before the Reapings)
"Hey, Larch, wake up. It's getting late," Sorrel says, carefully shaking Larch awake. "You should go up to bed instead of sleeping on the couch. You'll wake up with a crick in your neck."
"But…" Larch mumbles sleepily, shifting his position and looking up to meet Sorrel's eyes. "Where are Mom and Dad?"
"I'm sure they'll be home soon," Sorrel assures him. "How about you go to bed? I'll stay up and wait for Mom and Dad."
"Okay," Larch says slowly as he gets to his feet. He glances at the clock as he passes it and notices that it's well after midnight. "Sorrel?" he calls back down the hallway toward the living room, his eyes dancing nervously.
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't Mom and Dad be home by now?" Larch asks. Mom and Dad are never out this late, especially not when they have Sage with them.
"I'm sure they'll be home soon, Larch," Sorrel repeats, but even Larch can't miss the nervous edge in his voice.
"And Sage? Will she be home soon too?"
"Of course," Sorrel says. "She'll be home with Mom and Dad."
"…promise?" Larch asks, unable to apprehension from his voice. Mom and Dad and Sage definitely should be home by now. They left hours ago, before the sun even set! It's been too long and they should be back.
"Promise," Sorrel says, appearing at Larch's shoulder. "Now let's get you to bed."
Larch sighs and lets Sorrel guide him into their bedroom. He slowly climbs into bed as Sorrel closes the door. The darkness doesn't make him feel very confident.
He rolls over and starts resolutely at the wall. He'll stay up until Mom and Dad come too. They'll be home soon, he tells himself. It repeats like a mantra in his head until he at last drifts off into a restless, fragile sleep.
The sound that wakes him up is someone knocking on their door. It's a little weird, Larch notes, that his parents would knock before coming inside. Maybe it's just out of courtesy, since they would probably assume that both he and Sorrel are asleep. Then they'll turn the key and come inside, and they'll come reassure Larch and he can go back to bed…
Sure enough, the front door opens, but the voices he hears through the door aren't his parents' or his older sister's.
Uneasiness creeping into his stomach, Larch quickly slips out of bed and pads down the hallway. When he reaches the end of it, he peers around the corner and sees Sorrel standing in the doorway, talking to a pair of men in bright white uniforms.
Peacekeepers, he realizes with a jolt. But…why are there Peacekeepers in his house in the middle of the night? Are they coming to arrest them? But Larch has never done anything against the law…
"A few hours ago, the bodies of who we believe to be your family members were discovered in the Slums…"
Larch doesn't pick up the rest. All that registers is the word "bodies". Bodies, as in, dead people. Dead people, as in, dead family members. Dead family members, as in his mom and dad and sister. Dead as in dead.
For a long moment, Larch doesn't really move. He just stares off into space, his eyes wide and his mind working overtime to process this…new development. Then, all at once, he wakes up and charges forward, making a mad grab for Sorrel's hand. "Sorrel," he says, blinking rapidly. "Did they say…did they say that Mom and Dad are…dead?"
Larch may be seven years old, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what death is. He knows that dead means dead. Mom, Dad and Sage are gone. They aren't coming back.
"Larch, go back to bed," Sorrel says. "I'll tell you in the morning—"
"I'm afraid we need to escort you to the Community Home," one of the Peacekeepers interrupts.
"What?" Sorrel and Larch say in unison, for different reasons.
Larch has heard of the kind of bad stuff that happens at the Community Home. Dixie Spoke-Wheeler has done a lot for the place, but it's still overflowing and running low on funds. He doesn't want to go there! He wants to stay home with Sorrel and Sage and Mom and Dad…he doesn't want this!
His parents can't just be…dead! That's…that's not allowed!
But the look on Sorrel's face tells him that is, and that there's no way back.
…
(Seven Years before the Reapings)
If Larch thought the Community Home is unsanitary, then the plane factories are absolutely cesspools. And, yeah, they are. There are rats that run past his feet and he feels afraid to put his hands on anything as he works. Not to mention that the machinery is extremely dangerous. Larch has seen more severed fingers in his seven months of working here than he ever wanted to see. There are random splotches of blood on the ground from where said fingers where severed, and no one ever bothered to clean it up.
So, it makes for a wonderful working experience. It's too loud to talk, and even though Larch is surrounded by tons of other kids his age, he has yet to get any of their names. He doesn't really want any of their names, but the sentiment still stands. He's never been the best at forming meaningful connections with people.
Unfortunately, he's only halfway through his shift, which means he's going to be standing here for another five hours before he and Sorrel can head back to the Community Home.
Sorrel himself is standing next to Larch, looking about as dead as Larch feels. They're both just so tired. Larch can't really remember the last time he woke up feeling rested. Each day just blurs together with the last, a never-ending swirl of factory shifts, empty stomachs and long nights in which little sleep is gained. Those nights in bed does give Larch ample time to think about how his life came to this. He doubts that most eleven-year-olds out there are spending their nights wondering how their life got fucked so quickly, but he's never been "most eleven-year-olds".
His hands move sluggishly, going about their tedious work without much thought. He's been at this long enough he hardly puts any focus into his job, only reminding himself to move quickly enough to keep the supervisors off his back. He glances sidelong at Sorrel, his hands moving deftly as he stares off into space. It's mind-numbing work they do, but it pays acceptably. Maybe one day they'll be able to save up enough to get out of the Community Home, to live somewhere nice and eat every night. It's a far-fetched dream, but it's one that Larch is willing to work to achieve. Anything to fix this mess of a life he now lives.
Larch heaves a heavy sigh and drops his head toward his chest. The ground beneath his worn shoes is dirty, rough and splattered with a substance Larch really, really hopes isn't blood. It certainly doesn't smell good in the factory either. It's hot, since none of the windows near the ceiling can be opened, which also traps the smell inside. It smells like…well, he's not exactly sure how to describe it, but it kind of reminds him of death. Just, like, the thought of death. It's unsurprising, considering just how many people the machinery has killed—
The ear-splitting shriek from beside him shakes his out of his thoughts of smells. He whirls around, dropping whatever plane-parts he was holding, which hit the ground with a loud latter. Blood sprays onto his face, making him fall backwards with shock and hit the disgusting ground.
Sorrel continues to scream as the machine's blades eat at his arm and side. Blood continues to trickle across the floor, congregating in the palms of Larch's hand. The supervisors continue to do nothing as Sorrel is quite literally eaten alive by one of their beloved machines.
Larch suddenly powers to his feet and rushes towards Sorrel's free leg. He reaches out for it, but stops at the last second. Is there really anything he can do? Is there anything he can do to save Sorrel? Or will he just get himself sucked into the machine as well?
Besides, it's not like they have the money to get Sorrel fixed, even if he was savable.
A/N: I really don't like how this chapter came out. I feel like I wrote all three of these tributes really, really badly. Geo especially just felt…off to me. If you submitted one of them, how did I do?
Anyways, final intros! The feeling of having the Reapings done never gets old.
1. Thoughts on Mercury?
2. Thoughts on Geo?
3. Thoughts on Larch?
4. Which of these three is your favorite?
Random Question: So, now that we've seen everyone, who is your pick for Victor?
My answer: well, I think I've pretty much come a conclusion on who is going to win, so there's that.
Also, there is a new poll on my profile, so make sure to vote on that.
-Amanda
