TW- Self harm in the third PoV (Kayn). If you do not wish to read something like that, you are perfectly valid! Just DM/PM me and I can totally summarize.
Wells Bobbin
District 8 Male
Age 17
Morning of the reaping
Wells listens to the creaking of the front door close before he hops up from his bed. His twin brother, Warp, had left early for work- per usual. He really does believes everyone is depending on him, so he's got to work as much as possible, Wells can tell.
Wells can tell a lot of things about his brother, they are best friends after all. Wells, or Weft to his family, protects Warp physically and Warp keeps Wells sane emotionally. It's a fine balance the pair have found, that saves them both the struggle.
"Morning!" he says to his mother, walking from his and Warp's bedroom into the kitchen and living room. His mood oddly preppy even though it's reaping day.
"Hey Weft." she nods, motioning to the door. "He went out early, said he needed to clear his head." She's talking about Warp no doubt.
"That's cool, it's reaping day, I don't blame him." Wells smiles, "can I?" he asks, pointing towards an apple sitting alone on the counter.
"Totally," she says and Wells shoots her a quick, light nod. He bounces the apple in his palm before taking a swift bite.
"Thank you!" he says, appreciative for all his parents have done for him and Warp. It's not like the twins don't do enough to earn their keep, it's just that Wells likes to appreciate the small things in life. He enjoys being thankful for even the tiniest of gestures or actions, little things come in small packages after all.
"See you soon." His mother says, " at the reaping of course."
"Alright, just gonna grab a few more hours at the factory, meet you two there."
Wells smiles one last time, ducking through the pine door frame and out into the chilly February air. His strides are long and soon he makes it to the factory where both he and Warp work. Wells undoubtedly makes it there before his twin. Warp always takes the long way to work when they don't walk together. Most of the time they actually do, but Wells doesn't blame Warp for wanting a bit of space. Death looms very close today and could easily choose either of them.
However, Wells doesn't like thinking about that, preferring to keep his head up without worry. He doesn't adapt to things the best but that doesn't mean he can't keep a positive outlook on the world. It's not what's expected of him but who needs expectations? Clearly not the Bobbin twins.
"Ready for work?" A voice to the right of Wells speaks up.
Unfortunately, Wells has been put on a shift with two downright mean boys. They're known across the District for bullying weaker teenagers and Wells doesn't want to run with that crowd. So he just ignores them and their terrible plans.
"I guess." Wells nods at Vincant, his dark mop of curls, matching slightly to the brown color of Wells's own hair.
"Alright, boys!" Mr. Lennox pipes up, "shortish haul today. Just pile up these cardboard boxes into that," he points at a giant, ivory white semi-truck, "cargo truck. These clothes are heading to District Fourteen again and once you finish, you're free to go. I will give you your pay tomorrow."
"Alright." Wells nods as his employer waltzes away.
The boxes are heavy but are nothing for Wells's grit. His feet fly across the cement, transferring each case with ease. His body falls into his typical rhythm, dancing along in a steady beat.
Soon, he's done with his task, smiling slightly to himself as he starts to head to the back entrance to the factory. He and Warp always meet there and are planning to walk to the reaping together.
"Hey Bobbin." Sneers a sick voice behind the boy as he takes a few steps towards the exit.
"Yes?" Wells says, turning slowly on his heels. He comes face-to-face with red-haired Ellieh, the typical smirk of a District bully plastered on his features. "You need something?" Wells asks, trying not to come across as impatient as he feels.
"We're gonna go beat up another guy, wanna come?"
"Hell no," Wells says, taken aback by the remark. "Why would you ask me? I ain't ever beat up anyone, ever."
"Me and Vincant just figured we'd ask 'cause you're on our shift or whatever."
"I ain't going along with scum like you. Who you bullying this time anyway?" Wells asks, his voice oddly raspy and quiet as he feels a jolt of confidence rock through his veins.
"Some kid named Wade, he's short and scrawny- shouldn't be long before we get some loose change."
"Wade?"
"Yeah, he works in the looms, why? Y'know him?"
"Wade Bobbin?" Wells clarifies, holding himself back from exploding at the boy before him.
"Yeah-" Ellieh smirks but his words are cut off by Wells driving his fist into the boy's stomach. "What the hell?" he gasps, clutching his stomach.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on my brother, ya hear me?" Wells says, without his typical stutter or slur of words.
"He's your brother? HA."
Wells slams the thick-headed boy into the back of the cargo truck without a second thought. "So what? He's my best friend."
"What the hell man, you never get angry." Ellieh wheezes and Wells lets go of his collar. For a moment, the boy's words make him doubt himself but he quickly regains his thoughts.
"I do when my family is involved. You don't touch a hair on that boy's head, hear me? Unless ya wanna end up really messed up."
"Whatever." Ellieh sighs, scrambling away from Wells himself.
He knows he's not one to beat others up, but something came over his fists. He is Warp's protector, and he can't let those boys hurt him. Not if there is anything he could do to stop it.
"Good," Wells whispers, turning back towards the exit. He's always somehow done before his brother so he often stands for a second outside for a second.
Passing by, he sees Mr. Windham. The two, Lennox and Windham are brothers-in-law and somehow ended up working together. They are good, fair employers, of whom Wells greatly enjoys working for.
Wells strikes up a small conversation with the middle-aged man, trying to be polite before asking nicely if his brother could get out of work early.
Windham smiles, disappearing for a good while before his brother comes outta the loom with a slightly disappointed look bearing his features.
"You didn't," Warp says, stepping off the back steps, and as a response, Wells chuckles slightly.
"Yeah, I did. You had to get out of work early anyways for the reapings-" Wells tries to explain about asking Windham to let Warp out early and whatnot, but his twin doesn't listen. He interrupts Wells, going on about how he could have been fired and shit like that.
Guess not everyone can have a positive outlook on reaping day but that's alright.
Evadne Svajone
District 3 Female
Age 14
3 weeks before the reaping
"Ugh, I totally just messed this thing up," Althea says, wiping a small smear of blue paint off her tanned skin. The short girl backs away slowly from the canvas, turning her head this way and that. She coughs slightly, eyes trying to make sense of the piece she had crafted.
"Nonsense." Evadne giggles, pacing back to where her best friend stood, taking in the swirls of dancing cobalt dye. She closes one eye, holding up her fingers to make images inside the work itself. "Look, it's a flower." She nods, smiling at Althea.
"With too many petals." Althea whispers, exportation clinging to her features.
"That's not a thing, flowers can have however many petals you want," Evadne responds, trying to keep up her best friend's spirits.
"Doesn't change the fact it's ugly, look at yours. I seriously wish I could paint half as good as you."
"Art is in the eye of the beholder," Evadne says, leaning her forearms onto Althea's right shoulder. The height difference between them isn't too much, but enough so Evadne could lean her head on Althea's shoulders.
"That's a lie," Althea sighs, her long raven hair hanging limp on her petite shoulders.
"Tis not." Evadne chuckles, handing Althea her blue-coated paintbrush. "Come on, please. Painting is fun!"
"I like drawing better," Althea mumbles, turning back to the canvas.
"I know, but you gotta try new things! You draw all the time at your house, don't act like I haven't seen your sketchbook." She says, with probably too much enthusiasm for Althea but she doesn't care.
However, at her words; Althea blushes, her features turning bright tomato-red.
"I guess…"
"Just try," Evadne says, pushing her closer to the easel and canvas.
"Fine." Althea mutters, dipping her brush into the cobalt dye on the small side table beside the two girls. Evadne can't help herself and giggles as she twirls lightly in place.
She loves art with a passion, following lightly in her parent's footsteps as some of the greatest painters in the District. Evadne loves the peace painting brings her, the self-expression, and the feeling of being in control yet letting go at the exact same tim-
"I need to use your bathroom!" someone shouts, interrupting Evadne's thoughts. She instantly recognizes the voice and nods to herself.
Evadne doesn't have many friends but the ones she does have, she holds close. Which is why she's not surprised when she sees a head of wavy black hair rush past her room and into the only bathroom of the small house.
"Go ahead!" Evadne calls, even though she knows Braeden needs no invitation in.
For a second, there's pure silence between her and Althea before the sound of vomiting fills the air. Instantly, Evadne shakes herself from her light mood and takes a few quick strides to the bathroom.
She knows Braeden's suffered from bulimia since he was young but anytime she can, she tries to help.
"Braeden, you alright?" Evadne asks sweetly, her tone soft as she leans on the doorway.
"I'm fine." He whispers and the sounds stop.
"No, you're not, please, talk to me. I'm right here."
Braedon squeaks as Evadne taps the door handle, lightly resting her palm against the metal.
"Hey, just relax, just come out please?" Evadne says softly, trying to comfort her friend as best as possible.
Evadne knows the struggles of having an eating disorder, having suffered from a mild form of anorexia herself. She recovered, thank god, but she can still remember the feelings and the guilt. The days upon days of purging that haunted her past like a house full of ghouls.
Without thinking much, she runs her fingers through her blonde hair, reliving the hair loss, the hunger pains, the tears, and the mental torture. But in the end, it made her stronger. She conquered her demons, or at least that monster, and she wants to help others do the same.
"No, I'm sorry, my dad just-" Braedon starts but quickly stops.
"Your dad?"
"Yeah."
"Braedon, I'm sorry- I know he's a jerk, what did he say?" Evadne asks, "I'm right here for you." She repeats.
"He.."
"He? If you don't want to talk, I respect that." Evadne whispers, her words still soft.
"Thank you."
"You deserve some space,"
When there's no response, Evadne nods slightly to herself, " I just want you to know, it's alright not to be okay. And when you're ready, me and Al are painting out here, there's another canvas if you want it."
"I-" Braedon says slowly, "Evadne?"
"Yeah?" she asks, tone soft and mellow.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Just being here." Braedon whimpers.
"Of course, you mean a lot to me, and I mean this is kinda my house, I can't not be here." Evadne grins.
"Oh, I'm sorry, if my dad…" Braedon starts to apologize but doesn't finish his sentence.
"Nah, you're always welcome here."
"Al?" Althea asks, as Evadne turns back to Althea and the paintings.
"Made it up on the fly, shaboom, I found you a new nickname."
"I love it." Althea giggles and fist-bumps her best friend.
"And I love that flower."
"You do?"
"Of course!" Evadne compliments.
Kayn Ashran
District 12 Male
Age 18
3 weeks before the reaping
Kayn lets a small noise escape from his cracked and dry lips, a whisper not of instant hurt or distress, but a deep ache.
He slams his tall frame against the wall for the second time, his pale skin blemishing with red scrapes and pinpricks. His fists beat into the thin wall of the apartment, leaving such indents capturing his anger.
It's a suicide mission to send their best fighter into the arena.
"Not send, force." He grunts to no one but the darkness.
Kayn is a strong competitor amongst the assassins of District Twelve and truly has worked to become the best. No wonder the Watches are pushing him into the arena, they've always wanted good representation but yet, Kayn's not sure of it all.
The only thing he is sure of is just how much punishment his own soul deserves.
Kill the body, build the body, free the body. Kill the mind, build the mind, free the mind.
The mantra skids across his thoughts, playing devilishly into his features. The words turn his feet away from the wall, eyes tearing away with dismay. However, he instantly feels enthralled when they land on his mentor Shen's, dagger resting on the counter.
The blade is almost indistinguishable in the darkness but Kayn knows it's there. It's always there. Instinctively, his wrists and forearms burn in a spit of rage. The mere and meager idea of running the object against his flesh portraying his stagger.
For, he's an assassin; a weapon of mass destruction. Nothing but a killer, a cold-hearted, worthless murderer. He is stoic, he is silent; it's all he's ever known to be. That's Kayn's essence, he is the idea of darkness and that's all that's left of this soul.
Kayn pulls back his hood, eyes cackling feverishly as self-mutilation is the only thing on his mind. His strides are long, quickly reaching out to the knife itself. In a quick heartbeat of a pounding second, the blade is pressed to his forearm with a grip stronger than nails.
As someone who's dealt with weapons of all kinds, Kayn particularly dislikes flashy daggers or swords. They are too dramatic and his skill is much more appreciated towards such of a scythe. It's one of the most underestimated weapons, slicing through the moonlit darkness.
Kayn is often underestimated himself, the Assassin's skill much more than average when it comes to training. Call him arrogant, call him brutal, but he's his true self when he's holding a weapon.
It's not truly the feeling of power that runs through his veins, but the feeling of fulfillment. He was born to kill.
An utter whisper of death- he's a reaper of shadows, a reaper of lost hearts. With his clients, he's a crooked and dim smile beneath a masquerade mask. A cool and collected voice shattering across panels, telling those of deeds that have been done. His game of death complete with just enough bite to warn those around him that the Shadow Reaper is not someone to be messed or trifled with.
Kayn bites his lip, hard and the familiar taste of iron slips delicately onto his tongue. There's a sudden pang that ripples through his arm as Kayn presses the knife deep. Scarlet plummets toward his palm as icy blue eyes fall upon the cut. It shatters upon the pale skin of his mid-forearm. A self-inflicted reminder of his worthlessness.
"Kill the body, build the body, free the body. Kill the mind, build the mind, free the mind." He repeats.
Kayn needs to be free. Free from the killing, free from life, free from emotions, free from it all. Gritting his teeth even harder, he pushes the knife deeper into his skin, sorrow pillowing from the steady drip of blood.
He does not sob.
He does not show weakness.
He is a weapon and should be treated as such.
Kayn takes a deep breath, drawing the knife away from his skin. The voices pound at his skull, but he silences them all with a simple flick of his mind. The world around him coming to an unholy stand-still.
For a while, Kayn just stands there, alone in the darkness of his apartment. He never hesitates in actuality, but something held him in place for the first time in a whole.
"Fucking damnit." He whispers, lightly sighing to himself as he sits down on the cold floor. The concrete's bitter temperature biting into Kayn's skin but he couldn't care less.
Kayn slowly shifts to the side, hands grasping for his bag that lays abandoned in the corner. He pulls the weapons from his carrier, setting them down lightly on the floor one at a time. He's careful with his blades, not because he might wake the neighbors by loud metal clanging, but because they desperately mean something to him. They are a part of his being, simple as that.
He finds comfort in the sharp edges, protection if you will. A beating, throbbing piece of him shimmering against the cold metal. Spiraling into a grip of calm.
Quickly, Kayn gets to his feet, crossing over the threshold of his apartment. He collects the navy blue, twisted rag from its place on the small kitchen table. The oak side piece is the only furniture in the entire residence, which, in Kayn's opinion, is saying much.
He swiftly makes his way back to the array of weapons that had descended from his backpack. It's typical of Kayn to clean his blades when he gets home, a customary practice of his own liking.
This way and that, he moves the cloth across the scattered weapons. Kayn's movements are robotic in their style, capturing how stiff he feels when he's not actively in motion.
Balancing his scythe in his right hand, Kayn can vividly picture the feeling of stabbing, slashing, and fighting. Right, then left, back to the right. The weapon is light in his scarred palms, cutting through the air in an icy breath.
Kayn's breaths are always icy, always bitter and cold to the touch. Even in the sunny months, his body runs oddly rigidly frosty. Turning his fingers even paler than they normally are, making his body frigid to others' touch.
It's not like he likes when others touch him, but when a clumsy grip falls, people are often confused and scared at his skin's clamminess.
But it's always better to be feared, than loved.
Edmund Evander
District 14 Male
Age 18
3 weeks before the reaping
"I just want others to be happy," Edmund sighs to himself, thrusting his cold hands deeper into the pockets of his beige winter coat. "Can't he just see that?" he questions, voice an unsure pitch.
He kicks a small pebble lightly, footsteps slowly beating along the abandoned cobbles of District Fourteen. Around his figure, a peaceful sunrise floats, its beams like breaths of fresh air. The pale colors swirl about in his view, an opera of light hues as he pictures the man causing his distress; his father.
The man looks almost identical to Edmund himself, just a bit taller with more muscular shoulders and a confident business-like stature. Edmund guesses it works well for him because his father owns the entire Savior Program. The stupid yet marvelous program that has somehow ruined his relationship with his father whilst letting him live how he wants to.
For, his father will never understand life how Edmund sees it; an opportunity to give to others. His father calls him too selfless, demanding he make better for himself but Edmund doesn't want to. His own life is very useless and lacks meaning. He'd much rather give another District Fourteen boy a chance to live, to grow, to smile. Ed knows pain will surely come in the future, and what better way to avoid that, than by volunteering for his death?
Dying in his own father's program. The one designed into the District's framework to save innocent children by training others to take their place. Not exactly like a career academy though, per children from Fourteen are only reaped every ten years.
Edmund sighs deeply to himself, how ironic for a boy to die in the exact thing his father built to protect him-
"Ed!" he hears a preppy voice behind him, interrupting his thoughts. Quickly he turns, heels pivoting on the District's mossy cement.
"Izzy," he greets, shooting his best friend a small smile as she runs up to him. She almost completely knocks him forward with her momentum.
"You betcha." Izzy bubbles, twirling beside Edmund in a fit of energy.
"You're up early." Edmund laughs, normally Izora is always impossible to wake up in the early hours of the morning, she is most definitely a night owl.
"Figured I'd surprise you on your morning walk today." She responds, casually keeping time with Ed as he tours the small District. Even though it was eleven years ago, pieces of charred cement and brick lay in obscure positions throughout the streets.
Edmund was only seven when Nine erupted with flames, killing the spirit left within his mother. For, they'd lost her parents in the crossfire and since then, she's never quite been the same. His father is the one who ended up raising Ed for almost all his life.
"You're sweet." Edmund blushes, running a hand through his messy black hair. "Wait." He whispers, observant, dark eyes catching a glint of silver on Izzy's wrist.
"Huh?" she asks.
"You only wear your father's bracelet when you're sad."
"What? Oh, how did you know it was the bracelet?"
"I picked up on it a while ago, but that's beside the point."
"And the point is?" Izzy asks, bouncing on her heels as the pair trek through the company of District Fourteen.
"The point is, what's wrong?"
"I just miss him, it's nothing. But ya wanna know something that's not nothing?"
"Not particularly." Edmund sighs, "and your feelings are not nothing."
"Oh pish posh, I know ya want to see this." She says, roughly grabbing his wrist. She starts to gain speed, jogging into the heart of the District.
"What?" Edmund whispers, hesitantly letting her pull him along.
"Come on, just trust me." Izora giggles, stopping for a moment to take a breath before pulling him along. Her jog is pretty speedy, but of course it is, Izzy's a solid long-distance runner. Ed himself though? Not really designed for racing for long periods. He'll admit, his skinny figure has a bit of muscle, but he's still pretty lanky.
For a while longer, the pair run onwards. And soon people start to emerge from their slumbers, beginning their day in a flourish of life.
"Tada!" Izzy whispers, coming to a halt before a small factory on the outskirts of town.
"I'm confused… is there supposed to be something cool?" Ed asks, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice.
"No no, stupid, come here." She says, grabbing his arm tighter and pulling him towards the left side of the factory.
That's when he sees it, the giant spray-painted mural cascading the length of the factory's side. The letter is spelled out in huge block letters, surrounded by a vibrant depiction of the District Nine fires.
Edmund can't help but let out a gasp, he's always loved art and this is.. wow. From what Ed's observed, street art always seems to bleed right from this canister, an SOS of emotions too vivid for words. Shouting in the truest language of man. That's why Edmund himself has resided in sketching, but he could never do something as great as this piece.
"Wow," is all he can muster.
"It's incredible." Izzy muses, "I love the flames so much!"
"Wow," Edmund repeats, unsure of himself as he lets go of Izzy's arm.
His soft fingertips trace the burning depiction, from the buildings to the figures. All of it swelled with a breathtaking beauty that Ed could truly not convey to Izzy through words.
Edmund's never quite had the courage for street art himself but he values the people who are. There is pure soul poured into the art before him, pictures showing troubles and shimmering hope.
"You like it?" Izora asks, smiling wildly as he beams back at her.
"Wow." He repeats again. "I love it."
A/N: Annnnd we're back with another Mariesday! Staboom!
I really don't have much to say except point out the fact that out of all the intros done so far, Wells is the only one not three weeks from the reaping. This is to line up with Warp's intro in Stars Around Stars (if you haven't read it I recommend it 1000000%, it's so fucking good and Tia deserves all the love). Special thanks to Goldie for the idea to intertwine the two a little.
And yep that's all I got, as always- have a good day/night/afternoon.
Bye for now,
Marie