Tori and Tris - Chapter Seven - It takes a village
I woke rather confusedly to the sound of Tris calling my name from the foot of my bed, very early on Sunday morning. "Tori, Tori?" I sat up urgently "Tris? What is it? What's wrong?" The sheet slipped down in my hasty movement, she was gaping at the sight of my naked breasts, and turned her demurely. I struggled to find the edge of the sheet and pulled it up to cover myself, for her sake. "Are you ok?" "I'm ok," she nodded, "Sorry to wake you." I shifted to the middle of the bed, patting the vacant spot, indicating for Tris to take a seat by me. I tucked the sheet firmly under my armpits and clawed my hair back out of my face.
Tris approached shyly and sat facing me, in the spot where my hand had just been, she folded one leg underneath her and the other hung over the side of the bed. "I am sorry about George," she started, rather unsure of herself. "It's ok, Tris," I doubted that this was the reason for her early morning visit, but being less clever I thought my best bet was to wait to hear what she had to say. She appeared to be struggling with either the topic at hand, or how to verbalise it, and very probably both. Her hands began worrying each other, twisting, rubbing and picking, trying to ease her anxiety.
Eventually she eyed me and said "Last week, Keats asked me to help him with a shipment," I am going to have to work on my poker face because I can feel my eyebrows rising against my wishes and Tris is very perceptive. "He asked me about weapons training all the way to the collection point." "Really?" I knew I was unconvincing. "Really," she nodded, not buying what I was selling. "Instead of pulling in to the collection point, he drove on and pulled into some abandoned weapons training facility." I zipped my lips, she talked on, "He just happened to have a small selection of handguns and semi automatics in the back. Quite a lot of ammunition and would you believe it - throwing knives," she finished up and skewered me with one of her knowing looks.
I just knew that the kind of answers Tris anticipated was going to require coffee, "Do you know how to make coffee?" I asked her. "I know how to boil a kettle," she replied, taking the hint and heading into the kitchen. I wrapped the sheet around my body and slithered into the bathroom. I had a quick wash and found something to wear, in the kitchen Tris had spooned an Abnegation measure of coffee into two mugs. Preferring a strong coffee, I tilted the mug to assess how much coffee I would need to add in order to be able to drink it. I showed her a heaped spoon of coffee before adding it to my cup - if Tris was going to be in the habit of waking me up so early she was going to have to learn how to make coffee.
Tris acknowledged my message about the coffee with a nod and picking up where she left off, said, "Really helpful, Keats was. In the same vein, it was really nice of Four to tip me off about Peter, on Friday." I was sticking to my zipped lip policy, and pushed a mug of coffee into her hand. "Are you helping other initiates?" "No," I shook my head, wondering where she was going with this. "Have you helped anyone else in the past?" "No." "The other initiates are not getting outside help," she said following me back to the bedroom where she joined me on the floor. "Are you sure?" I plant a seed of doubt.
No chance, it seems she is always a step ahead of me. "Did you know about Keats?" she asked. Feeling trapped, I raise my arms in mock surrender, "Yes." A tiny half nod reveals her self congratulation, she knew she was on the right track. "And Four?" "Not directly, but Four and I are close." "And, it's because I am Divergent?" "Not exactly, no." I have finally managed to surprise her, "You aren't going to leave this alone are you?" No answer. I nudge her in the ribs, "Not even until the sun comes up?" She looks like she has been scolded, so I quickly smile and add, "I wouldn't wait either."
She grins, reaches under the mattress and pulls out my cigarettes. Cheeky little… I shake my head. I know that she knows that I will talk more and be less guarded if I am distracted by my beloved ciggies. I give in, light up and pick up the next chapter of the story that Tris needs to know. It begins with another introduction, the death of another one very dear to my heart - Dauntless. Triss listens with deep interest as I share with her my experience of my wonderful new home and my loving new family. I reveal how scared I was, how homesick, how skinny and feeble, how I thought I would never amount to anything. Tris was nodding constantly, seeing herself in my experience.
She began to appreciate the cultural shift between Dauntless then and Dauntless now. Initiates were never threatened with being cut or being made factionless. Only as punishment for the worst crimes. Membership had been extended to us upon arrival, but over time membership was withheld, a prize to be won by a select few, upon a successful Initiation Day.
Leadership had been committed to helping all initiates achieve a high level of physical, emotional and mental proficiency; in fitness, hand to hand and weapons. And Newbies were never subjected to harm in Fight Club. There was a very real sense of community, a sense of family and belonging. Initiates of the same cohort bonded closely and used to refer to each other as brothers and sisters, competition was lighthearted entertainment, but there was nothing one wouldn't do for another.
Tris was moved by my passion as I spoke about Dauntless as my home and my family. I shared my philosophy about how I had been given so much and wanted to preserve and extend that to future generations of Dauntless. Without naming names, I regretfully explained the slow erosion of traditional Dauntless values which had been replaced by a vicious authoritative culture in which violence, bullying, coercion and competition thrived. Tris began to comprehend the culture of secrecy and silence and had no problem heeding my reminder about keeping our friendship undisclosed. To never take the chance of bitching about people like Eric, even if she felt certain others shared her sentiments.
Taking the trouble to explain the intricacies of my system; that even though Keats and I were friends, and Four and I were close, that I never discussed one with the other and neither with anyone else - herself excepted. Tris nodded fervently, her brow creased as her brilliant mind processed all the explicit and implicit implications that could be drawn from the information contained in my dialogue. I have no trouble expecting that she likely understands it better than me. She will be a much more valuable member of Dauntless - and I am no lightweight.