Cecil Peacemaker, 15.
District 3 Male.
(trigger warning: implied abuse. proceed at your own discretion)
"C'mon Cecil, get off your ass! You're taking too long," Counselor Peacemaker called from across the gym, his authoritative voice booming loudly in Cecil's ears. Cecil dragged himself to his feet, groaning as he took one last gulp of water before returning to the mats, picking up his discarded batons from the floor. It was the same routine, every day of every week for four years straight, and Cecil was sick of it. His father demanded he train to continue the family's legacy and become a Peacekeeper, like all the Peacemaker men who came before him.
But that was what Counselor wanted, not what Cecil wanted. It didn't matter what Cecil wanted to be in life or what he wanted to do with it; no, his only purpose was to become a soldier, marry a nice woman that his parents approved of, and have children to continue it all. But Cecil wanted to break the cycle, to live his own life his own way.
And Cecil Peacemaker always got what he wanted.
"Hurry up," Counselor growled, glaring at his son. He never seemed like he actually loved his son; it always seemed like he was using Cecil as a puppet of sorts. Cecil had always gone along with this, for 14 years of his life, in fact. But around the time he turned 15, he realized something: he didn't want this life anymore.
And so he would not lead it.
"And why should I do that?" Cecil muttered under his breath as he hefted his batons, gripping the rubber-coated handles tightly in his hands. There was nothing that pissed him off more than being spoken down on like he was a dog, like he was nothing more than an idiot kid who didn't get anything that was going on around him. Cecil had tried to prove himself to his father for weeks, months, years even that he was worthy of being on an even playing field. But nothing ever changed. It never made any difference what Cecil did, or what he said, or how hard he trained. He could never be his father's equal.
"What did you say to me? You should know better than to talk back to me," Counselor snapped loudly, moving in a blink of the eye to stand tall over Cecil. The boy had never been particularly tall (in fact, he was quite short for his age) and Counselor's looming figure only reminded him of this.
"I said why should I do that. This is my training and I work on my own time," Cecil snapped back, voice echoing louder throughout the gym.
"Well guess what? When you're a Peacekeeper, you don't get the luxury to work on your own time," Counselor responded, raising his voice much the same as Cecil had. Cecil could feel his face flushing, his grip tightening on his weapons with every moment that passed.
"Have you ever considered maybe that's not what I want? What if I don't want to be a Peacekeeper, huh?" Cecil shouted, watching as his father's expression went from one of anger to shock, before sinking to a sort of hardened, determined disappointment. Cecil had seen his father wear many expressions, but never one like this.
"I don't care what you want, you spoiled brat. The world doesn't revolve around you and all your needs," Counselor replied, his voice surprisingly calm. He grabbed Cecil by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the doors of the gym, Cecil's batons clattering to the floor loudly.
"Maybe I wouldn't be like this if you didn't raise me like this," Cecil responded, ripping his father's hand off before they got more than a few steps away.
"It doesn't matter. You will do with your life what I want, and that's final," Counselor replied, crossing his arms in front of him.
"No," Cecil said defiantly, assuredly, looking his father dead in the eyes as the word came from his mouth without any thought. No longer would Cecil repress himself, forcing himself into a mould of something he wasn't.
"You will do what I want, and that's final," Counselor continued, seemingly not amused with his son's defiance. He had always been able to intimidate Cecil in the past, into what he wanted Cecil to be and do. But Cecil was not afraid, not anymore. Cecil would be afraid if he could bring himself to care. But he didn't. He couldn't muster the emotion to care after all the years of putting up with this. He knew - or at least, he hoped his father would never actually do anything to him, and so Cecil, for once, would stand up for himself.
Counselor reached for Cecil's arm once again, to drag him off to who knows where in their giant house. But this time, Ceci's instincts kicked in. He dodged his father's hand and rammed his shoulder into his father's midriff, sending Counselor tumbling to the concrete floor with a thud. Cecil didn't bother sticking around to see what the aftermath was; instead, he spun on his heel, sprinting to the door nearby. He pushed it hard, and the door swung open with a great deal of force, banging loudly on the wall behind it. Cecil turned into the hallway, feet slapping against the polished wooden floors as he continued towards the stairs down the hall. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, nearly knocking over the person coming down the stairs opposite of him.
"Oh dear, Cecil where are you going in such a hurry?" His nurse, whom Cecil called Nana, asked, taking him by the shoulders and holding him still. He was still practically vibrating, every fibre of his being coursing with adrenaline and anger fueling him. The comforting touch of the woman who had practically raised him dispelled all of this, the tension in his body dissipating as he sunk into Nana's arms, wrapping his own around her tightly.
"Is everything okay?" Nana asked, pulling back out of the hug to look down on the boy. Cecil quickly realized that he'd knocked several towels out of the woman's hands when he'd collided with her, and he began collecting them as he thought of a response.
"Not really, no." Cecil responded, voice quaking ever so slightly as he finished collecting the items, shoving them into Nana's arms. "I'll be fine though. I'm going to bed, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh, no you won't. Tomorrow is Reaping Day." Nana responded with a warm smile. She'd practically raised Cecil, and he saw her as more of a mother than he did his actual mother. She ruffled his hair affectionately as he continued up the stairs, quickly moving past her as he headed towards his room.
Turning the corner into his room and closing the door behind him, Cecil finally felt at peace. He made sure to lock his door before making his way through the messy room, stepping between scattered clothes and other various items he'd left out as he navigated to one of the large windows that lined the wall. Hefting the heavy wooden window frame open and propping it open with a large stick, Cecil shimmied through the opening, ending up on the slightly slanted shingled roof. Cecil had always liked sitting on the roof outside his window. It provided a goal, a visual for where he wanted to be as he gazed out at the distant twinkling lights of District 3. He'd been looking at this view for nearly his entire life, and it had only ever started to mean something to him in the past year. Cecil simply wanted to be free, to live his own life, to be who he truly was. He never wanted to marry a woman or settle down as a Peacekeeper. No, Cecil wanted to go out into the city, make friends, maybe meet a pretty boy if he was lucky enough. After all, Cecil always got what he wanted, one way or another. Even if that meant doing something himself rather than waiting to be let out of his gilded golden cage.
Cecil Peacemaker would break out on his own terms.
M'Pingo "Ping" Apara, 18.
District 3 Female.
M'Pingo Apara was proud. She always had been proud, and always would be proud. Despite her circumstances trying to drag her down and break her spirit, she would never let them get the best of her. After all, her mother always told her, "Stand tall Ping, stand proud like the Apara you are." And Ping would not refute that, not even with all of her friends dying around her.
It started slowly, in that bunker beneath District 3. At first, everything was okay. All of the children there got along well enough, and Dr. Coven was there to reassure them that everything would be okay, that they'd return to their homes within the year. But then, a few weeks into testing, the first subject dropped dead. Ping mourned, hurt, realizing for the first time that maybe none of them would be safe. Maybe they would never return home. What if they died here, deep beneath District Three, never to be seen again by their families?
As it turned out, deep beneath District Three was where she - and the others - would all wither.
First, it was one more, then two more, and then four more. The dead continued to pile up until, out of thirty-two, only six remained. Ping didn't know how she'd managed to live that long; maybe it was luck, maybe determination to get back to District Eleven to see her family, maybe a combination of both. Nonetheless, Ping lived, and she would only continue living. But death would continue to follow her like a shadow, never more than a few steps behind her and yet never managing to catch her.
And next, Ping would lead it herself, across the country to District 2.
The test subjects had been told that the people doing this to them were creating a virus, although what exactly they were doing with this disease was never specified. None of them would ever find out, except for Ping, who was sent to District 2 to distribute it. They told her that since she was the only immune one, she was the only one who could safely plant the bombs which would spread the virus. Ping didn't know what the District had done to the Capitol, nor why the Capitol would think to unleash something of this magnitude on their most loyal District. But Ping had no choice; even as she watched children play in the streets, normal, innocent people going about their lives, she still marched on.
Ping was the cause of District Two's suffering, and yet she was not safe herself. Upon returning to Three stepping off of the helicarrier into the District which she never wished to set foot in again, Ping found nothing but death. Everyone who she had left in the bunker was dead, Kingsley, Oltrice, Dr. Coven, every single one of them cold and gone, leaving Ping completely and utterly alone. They were dispatched by the Capitol, she supposed, as they'd outlived their usefulness. And with their deaths went Ping's last hope to get home, to get back to her family. Ping had never told them she was leaving, as they'd never let her go if they knew. She'd just picked up the few things she needed and left of her own accord. After all, the opportunity had presented itself, and her family needed the money after their orchard had been struck by drought.
But she would never see them again, not if she continued on the way she was going. Ping was trapped, trapped in faraway District 3. Nevertheless, Ping would make the most of her circumstances, one step at a time.
She was a proud Apara, after all.
"Ping?" Morticia called, walking up to Ping who was frozen, standing over a large section of planters filled with large, blossoming moonflowers. She was gripping the edge of the box so tightly, she hadn't even realized that she'd drifted off into her thoughts so severely.
"You alright?" Morticia said, wrapping an arm around Ping's shoulders, or at least attempting to, as Ping towered over the other girl.
"Yeah, everything's alright. What else do we have to do?" Ping replied, straightening up. She shook her hands out slightly as she stood up straight and tall, a pleasant smile creeping onto her face as it usually did.
"Just gotta turn the lights out and lock up, then we can get the hell out of here for the night," Morticia replied, turning and marching towards the light switches. Ping followed behind, turning her head to look out the glass walls of the rooftop greenhouse. Ping had always had a way with plants, and so she'd managed to land a job at one of District 3's rooftop gardens. It didn't pay much, but it was enough to live comfortably in a small apartment with her roommates. She had never been overly fond of lavish things, so this life was more than good enough for her, at least until she could get back home.
"Got everything?" Ping asked, as Morticia moved to turn the lights off. Morticia nodded, then promptly flicked off the lights, plunging the building into darkness. This was always Ping's favourite part of the night - well, that and giving visiting school children tours around the greenhouse, imparting all of her knowledge about flora to them.
Ping pushed the door open, stepping out into the stairwell adjacent, holding it open as Morticia followed her through. "You got any plans for tonight?" Morticia asked as they descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the concrete stairwell.
"No, I'm gonna go home and relax. You?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. You should come with me sometime," Morticia responded with a grin as they exited into a large, carpeted lobby. Conveniently enough, Ping, Morticia and their two other roommates lived in the same building as they worked in, which proved to make the journey home far easier than it would be otherwise.
"I could sometime, I guess, but you know I can't legally drink," Ping replied, quirking an eyebrow at the suggestion as they entered the elevator, Morticia pushing the button for their floor.
"It's only illegal if you get caught." Ping shot Morticia a look. "You're no fun," Morticia replied, making a pouty face. "You should loosen up sometimes."
"Having fun and being responsible are two different things," Ping said, as the elevator jolted to a start.
"Well I guess somebody has to drag our asses home," Morticia snorted, rolling her eyes. The elevator soon arrived on their floor, as it was closer to the top of the building. They lived in one of District 3's massive skyscrapers, which held everything from apartments to offices to shops in some cases. Each building was like its own society within itself, some people rarely leaving the confines of the massive buildings - and why would they? Everything they needed was inside their building already, so why leave if they didn't have to? But Ping didn't exactly enjoy this mentality; she supposed it could be from having lived underground for an entire year, but she valued the sun and everything that grew beneath it.
"Are Charlie and Volt going with you?" Ping asked as the elevator creaked to a stop. She was referring to their other two roommates, who both also worked at the rooftop greenhouse. The elevator doors slid open, rattling loudly as the pair of girls stepped out.
"Volt probably will. She usually does. Dunno 'bout Charlie but I guess we'll see when we get home," Morticia said as they continued down the hallway, passing identical door after identical door, the only difference the numbers emblazoned on them. The hallway was narrow, cramped and harshly lit by bright lightbulbs. It was a place Ping had never been particularly fond of; tight and claustrophobic, it reminded her far too much of the bunker. Any attempts to make it seem hospitable and welcoming failed quite pitifully, only succeeding in making the place more unwelcoming and unappealing.
The two girls kept walking, Ping actively slowing her pace so she wouldn't accidentally leave Morticia behind. Ping had never actively thought about the way she walked until she'd ended up with Morticia as a roommate, and yet it was endearing in a strange sort of way. Humans were strange creatures and ones that Ping had only grown to appreciate more after being ripped away from the society she knew.
Eventually, the pair arrived at their apartment, the familiar number on the door reading 1132. Morticia unlocked the door and burst through it, Ping following behind, rolling her eyes fondly at Morticia's familiar action.
"Charlie, Volt, y'all wanna come out with me tonight?" Morticia asked loudly, standing proudly in the middle of their small living room, hands on her hips as she looked at the two other girls who were splayed out on the couches. Charlie was perched in the corner, curled up underneath a blanket with a book in her lap looking unimpressed by Morticia's entrance, and Volt was lying across one of the other chairs, rubbing her eyes blearily.
"Is Ping coming?" Charlie asked, carefully slotting a bookmark into the large book.
"Is she?" Morticia asked, turning to face Ping, who was standing in the doorway, looking on at the scene.
"No, I'm good," Ping replied, turning to head into the kitchen.
"Come onnnn, please?" Morticia said, grabbing Ping's hand and giving her a pleading sort of face.
"Okay, fine, I'll come. But not to drink, just to look after you lot," Ping replied with an exaggerated sigh. Morticia squealed in response, jumping up and down on the spot like a kid in a candy shop.
"I'm gonna go get ready, okay?" Ping said, taking her hand from Morticia's grasp. The other three all nodded as Ping headed back to her room It was small, but comfortable enough that Ping didn't mind it. The walls were filled with shelves, every single square inch of which were covered in plants. Ping often took home plants that were dying from the greenhouse just to nurse them back to health; no matter how many plants she had to care for, there was always room in her room and her heart for one more. She brushed past one particularly large spider plant which was hanging in a basket that was strung from the ceiling, opening her drawers as she picked out an outfit for the night.
It was true that she liked it here in Three enough; Ping was comfortable enough in her existence. But she would be getting home, back to her sisters and their orchard.
Even if it was the last thing she did.
