New chapterrrrr! We've got two more and then that's everyone introduced, holy heck. I hope you all enjoy this chapter in the meantime, and that you like the characters sent in my Platrium and TheEngineeringGames respectively!
18 - Servitude and Fame
Cyber Tronovsky, 12, C-District 7
Maddie is angry.
Not at him, he thinks. She's not ranting about the mess all over him, but rather the people who caused it. She's not yelling at him, but over the phone to one of their neighbours. She's not blaming him for taking too long to come home with the groceries, but the children who'd hassled him along the way.
Maddie is not angry at him.
"I don't care what his status is, Petunia," she argues. "Cyber may as well be my son, and I will not tolerate such immature, blatantly disrespectful treatment towards him."
A son. That's how she keeps seeing him, but legally he's just a servant. A technical Avox in society's eyes—just different enough to still warrant a tongue. He doesn't know why she keeps saying he's like a son to her; Cyber is already someone else's son, even if that someone is long dead and forgotten. Perhaps it's Maddie's lack of children prior to taking in Cyber? He'll have to look into it when she's calmer.
"Why—" Maddie's face turns red. Fury? "You'll be hearing from me again, don't you worry!"
Maddie slams the phone against the wall. The screen goes blank, signalling the end of the call.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Cyber," Maddie sighs at him. She grabs a teatowel and starts wiping at his face, peeling away at the mostly dried paint that'd been lobbed at him. "I'll make sure he never bothers you again."
He nods, and says a blank, "Thank you, Madam Maddie."
She smiles at him sweetly and plants a kiss on the top of his head. Cyber reaches up to the spot and feels it; his hair isn't like other people's, far from silky. Does it bother her when she touches it? Does she not care?
"Tell you what?" Maddie wipes at his chin. "After the reaping, we'll go somewhere nice. Take a holiday somewhere. How does that sound?"
Cyber stares up at her with wide eyes. "Can we look at the new computers that came out?"
Maddie cringes at the request. Did he say something bad? He'll have to make a note of it and refrain from suggesting it in the future.
"I was thinking something a little more…" Maddie finishes cleaning his face. She pats him on the shoulder with a smile. "More natural."
"Natural?"
Maddie nods. "They've recently opened up the arena from the Ninety-Seventh Games to the public," she explains. "Don't you want to see the tree that changes colours? Try the fruit?"
He turns his gaze to his feet. It's practically pointless to ask Cyber if he'd prefer something, especially since he'll never have an opinion for someone to refer to. No matter how much Maddie gives him choices, he'll have no inclination towards one over the other. He can only say what pleases her, and it's fairly obvious what she'd like to hear from him right now—he just can't say it without lying.
Cyber doesn't say anything quick enough. Maddie just pats him on the head and walks out of the room with the teatowel still in her hands. He assumes she's taking it to the laundry—something he normally should have done.
When she returns to the kitchen she has her handbag slung over her arm, her wrinkled face back in its gleeful state. "We'll work it out after the reaping," she decides. Maddie holds a hand out to Cyber, waiting patiently for him to take it. He does, noticing just how different the textures of their skins are.
Maddie's is bumpy and soft, stretchy enough to be pinched and pulled at—natural. Cyber's is smooth and free of blemishes, barely a trace of creases that normal joints and knuckles have—blaringly unnatural. His hands weren't always like this, but after he'd gotten sick his father could only do so much to make him look as natural as possible.
Maddie gives his hand a reassuring squeeze as she leads him towards the front door of her lavish house. "Do you remember how to register?" she asks him.
The information springs right into the forefront of his mind. "State my name and age," he recites monotonously. "Make absolute certain to count each slip properly."
The woman pats him on the head approvingly. "There'll only be one slip," she says, "but that's absolutely perfect."
"Thank you, Madam Maddie."
She opens the door, the sun hitting them with enough warmth that even Cyber can feel it in his joints. It's time to go to the reaping.
…
Dover Street. Corialanus Garden. Construction finished two years and twelve days following President Snow I's death. Opened to the public on the late President's birthday anniversary. Known species planted in the gardens: Aster tataricus, camellia japonica, chrysanthemum indicum, narcissus pseudonarcissus—
"Name and…" The official trails off at the sight of Cyber. He looks the boy up and down, and immediately Cyber begins running through the different questions and insults that have been thrown his way in the past. The man looks around nervously before calling out to the adults, "Has someone misplaced their mannequin here?"
"My name is Cyber Tronovsky," Cyber says blankly. The man flinches and looks down at him, uncertain of what to do. "I am twelve years old and require one slip of paper for the reaping."
"H—Hold on a moment, kid." He quickly turns around and presses his finger rapidly to the smart watch around his wrist. A small phone symbol pops up on it, and Cyber is quick to take note of the clear plastic earplug in his ear. "Janice, I need a second opinion. No, no—not gender technicalities. There's this thing that looks like a little kid, I think it's a mannequin one of the stylists misplaced."
Cyber blinks up at the man. "I used to be wholly organic," he jumps in. The man glances at him, suddenly looking paranoid, and returns to his call. The line behind Cyber is getting more and more impatient, some of the boys cutting into the line beside them.
"Says it's twelve, but it looks like it was modelled after an eight-year-old." He clears his throat and nods fractionally. "Alright. Just in case, can you run the name 'Cyber Tronovsky' through the birth records?" The man pauses, and then his eyes bulge. "You're shitting me…"
"I was born in Three," Cyber provides, but his statement goes ignored yet again.
"Alright. Yeah, it's weird. I'll ring it up and send it in—call its owner and let her know." The man presses a finger to the tiny screen and his attention is back on Cyber. Without another word to the boy he simply writes in his name to the machine in his hand, and then he dumps the slip of paper with Cyber's name into the bowl.
When Cyber doesn't move immediately to enter the garden, he snaps, "Move it!"
Cyber scrambles through the glass doors and finds himself among a sea of young men who are trying to find a place to stand with their friends. The way the Capitol conducts its reaping is a very different affair compared to the Districts; all the children Cyber had once watched be sectioned by age and name would be envious of all the siblings and friends who won't be separated until the last minute. Cyber really doesn't have an opinion on the difference, since this is his first and last reaping. It'll be over soon enough, and he'll continue living in service of Maddie soon after.
He wanders over towards a large hedge that's been cut into the shape of a lion. Thrice his size and it looks to be well taken care of, every leaf a luscious green that Three never had while he was there. Cyber rakes his eyes up and down the hedge, taking in the details as best he can before the reaping starts.
Just as he's back at its face, two pairs of hands shove him hard at his shoulders. He stumbles forward a couple of steps, but his balance is kept thanks to the weight of his inner framing.
"Damn it," a familiar voice growls. "You didn't push it hard enough, Hans."
Hans just tells his friend to shut up and demands Cyber's attention with a sharp, "Hey, Cyborg!"
Cyber looks over his shoulder blankly at the group of boys. They're the very same who had pelted him with baby food earlier today, now armed with apples and oranges that they snack on obnoxiously. Tanner—the one who'd scolded Hans—snickers at Cyber and nudges one of the boys with his elbow.
"Its eyes still glow in the day," he laughs. "What's even the point of that?"
"Poor workmanship," Hans says around an orange slice. "Couldn't even make the skin look real."
Cyber lifts his hands to his face, staring at them with a tilt of his head. They all laugh at him then, and Hans adds in a cooing voice, "Aw, did the little Tron Boy get his feelings hurt?"
"Not at all," Cyber says. They all shut up, now glaring at him for daring to reply. "Why do you always try to torment me? Most bullies get satisfaction from seeing their victims in distress, but I don't feel that. It never bothers me, so why do you do it at all?"
Hans and Tanner look at each other, their scowls mirroring each other's. "He's got a point," one of their friends mutters shamefully. "It's boring when he doesn't react…"
Almost like the boy's just set off an alarm system, Hans turns on his heel and punches the boy square in the jaw. He topples to the ground and cradles his face in his hands, abandoned by the group as they turn their sights back to Cyber.
Tanner pulls a bottle of water from his backpack and quickly pops open its lid. "Wonder if it's waterproof," he starts again.
"Please don't." Cyber looks up at him with a blink.
"Oh?" Tanner hovers the bottle over Cyber's head. Cyber doesn't move an inch. "Hit a nerve? You gonna short-circuit?"
"No." He pinches at the collar of his button-down, unfolding it briefly so Tanner can see it. "Madam Maddie would be upset if I got my clothes dirty at the reaping."
And there it is—the proof Tanner needed to actually believe that Cyber would be no fun for him to bully. The green-eyed boy just sneers, flicking his wrist and allowing the water to splash onto Cyber's head. It drips down the hard strands of his hair and pools at his shirt's shoulders, some of it slipping through and dripping from his fingertips, before finally at least half of the water has finished pooling around his feet. He looks down at the mess—the water on his jeans might make it a bit hard to walk for a while—and then looks back up at Tanner and Hans. The boys are already on their way, hunting around for more fruit to chew on.
An announcement is made for the boys to gather at the middle of the garden, where a round stage waits for them. Cyber shakes his hands out once and wipes at the back of his head, flicking as much water off as possible, before he begins to make his way over.
He's one of the people right up at the front, the circular stage almost two heads taller than him. He'll be lucky to see whoever stands up there from here, and the same could be said of him moving further back. Cyber's easily one of the smallest kids here, and he doubts he'll be given a step to stand on in order to see.
The mentors have already clambered up onto the stage, helping each other up with familiar smiles. They must be friends, he thinks, because why else would competing mentors pat each other on the shoulder and ask how their wife and child are faring? The burlier one calls for someone named "Ham" to hurry up and get onstage, and the slowly growing crowd soon begins to part for the two District tributes set to be introduced. The escorts follow closely behind, keeping to themselves more than the mentors are.
Once the duo arrive at the edge of the stage, mere metres from Cyber, they pause to take in its height. The blonde girl, purposefully leaning off of one of her feet, makes an attempt to climb up on her own—but she slips and shakes out her arms with a nervous smile.
"Guess I'm a bit out of practice," she mutters in a raspy voice. The other girl—burlier, shorter—kneels down and clasps her hands together, holding them just high enough for the blonde to step up onto them. She does so, wincing as her foot—swollen and red, Cyber notices—is lifted by the shorter girl. She flies up, her upper body safely over the stage, and then her mentor is offering her a hand for the rest of the ascent.
The shorter girl has a little less trouble. She simply stretches her legs and jumps as high as she can, and then pulls herself over the edge with a soft grunt. Her mentor pats her on the shoulder with a half-hearted, "Good climb."
The escorts are given steps by the Peacekeepers, making their ways onstage as the reaping bowl is lifted up behind them.
District Seven and District Eight look to be polar opposites in tributes. One with blonde hair, one with jet black. One with grey eyes, one with blue. One with pale skin, one with a deep tan. One with suspenders and loafers, one with a dress and choker.
Cirrus, the escort for Seven, greets everyone with an unexpected cat pun. Half of the boys around the stage groan, but Cyber just stores it in the back of his mind for later. Maddie might like the puns if he uses them at home.
"I have with me today Meowgnolia Hammond and Phylhiss Nyamilton!" she cheers. The tribute buries her face in her hands while the mentor heaves out a very audible sigh. "Give them a round of appaws, effurryone!"
The mentor for Eight snorts into the palm of her head, amused gaze stuck on the Seven duo.
Greve, the same age as the eldest of the boys gathered, gushes over her mentor's name. "I have the legendary Charlotte Harper here! Still the holder of the highest kills in a single Hunger Games." And then her face deflates, a single glance at her tribute before delivering a flat, "And Chambray Hemingway."
They waste no time getting to the reaping. Cirrus dips one hand into the bowl with a mewl, making more cat puns with her good luck message to everyone. She yanks her hand out and meows victoriously.
But the moment she looks at the name on the slip, her face sours. Seconds pass, and then a minute, before "Phylhiss" gasps and stares at Cirrus with wide eyes.
"She can't come up with a pun," the tribute wheezes. "Meowgnolia" sprints forward and snatches the slip from Cirrus, eliciting a screech from the feline woman.
"Cyber Tronovsky, get up on this stage before I drag you up myself!"
Oh. That's his name. Cyber supposes he has to get up onstage immediately, then.
He steps forward and raises a hand, probably only appearing as said hand to the duo from Seven. One of them darts over to him, grasping his hand tightly, and then she's cursing under her breath as his weight becomes apparent. They probably think he's an overweight boy.
Just as half of him makes it over the stage, "Phylhiss" grunting with each pull to his hand, Maddie's voice echoes through the crowd. She's calling for him, saying all manner of things. He's special. He shouldn't count. Cyber was never born a Capitolite. He's only a child. He different.
"Phylhiss" looks visibly more and more annoyed by Maddie's cries, but Cyber doesn't focus on it too long. Something slimy hits his back, a half-eaten lemon flying past his shoulder and landing by his District partner's feet.
"Good riddance!" Hans shouts. Some adults are telling him to hold his tongue, but he just keeps on yelling across the crowd. "I always wanted to know if androids could bleed!"
There's multiple gasps throughout the crowd, and Maddie just goes into a fit of fury. Cyber thinks he can see her once he's up onstage properly, but the adults crowding around her and telling her to calm down make it a bit difficult. "Meowgnolia" inches towards him, a hand landing on his shoulder as Greve tries to demand the crowd be silent.
"Cyber," she mutters, and when she really looks at him he can see her expression change. She's noticed the little things that make him look not quite human enough. "Are you a real person?"
Cyber nods. Then he looks down at his feet. Well, maybe he doesn't count as a real person to anyone else, but to him it's logical to think he is. He was born like any other person. He had a family like any other person. He used to feel things like any other person. And now he continues to live like any other person. But that's never enough to those who don't like to open their minds.
He looks back up at her and nods again. "I was born in District Three," he tells her. "Phylhiss" looks at him with sudden disdain just as Greve finally has the crowd quiet again. "My dad made this body for me when I got sick. Some parts of me are still from my old self—like my brain." He points to his head. "I'm just… different. Yeah. Different."
"Phylhiss" pulls "Meowgnolia" away from him desperately. The woman looks down at her with a similar expression of frustration. "They'll off him before the countdown even ends," "Phylhiss" insists. "A Goddamn robot—that can't be legal by the Games' standards. They'll sabotage Seven and say we were cheating!"
"I'm not built for combat—" Before Cyber can finish the sentence, Greve shrieks at the top of her lungs and breaks into a giddy laughter. All eyes are on her, on the magnificent blush on her face as she fans herself with her free hand.
"L—Luxor Aricun—" She cuts herself off with a loud screech that, based on what Cyber knows about the elite of the Capitol, does a good enough job of finishing Luxor's surname. He's only ever seen pictures of Luxor on billboards and posters, showing off the latest season of fashion, so he already has a clear idea of what Luxor looks like as he turns back to his mentor and partner. He has to take care of some important issues, though right after one last thing he has left to do in the Capitol.
Cyber really should apologise to Maddie for making her worry again today.
Luxor Aricunai, 17, C-District 8
This is certainly not how he saw his day ending. He'd been so comfortable being a Capitolite, knowing that he'd never see the Hunger Games through a first person perspective, but now look at him. He's on a train with District Eight's mentor and tribute, sitting in absolute silence as he processes what's just happened.
The paperwork is easy to fill out and send off, leaving Luxor to ponder the rest of the trip about his team. He's heard of cool and collected Charlotte before, her kill count being a thing of legends among the victors who visit the Capitol—Chambray, though, he'll still need to learn about. Capitol kids survive as long as they have a District kid with them, right? So it'd be natural that Luxor's first step is to get to know his partner and ally with her for as long as possible.
He scowls. He doesn't like the rules of this Quell, nor the conditions for the District tributes to win. It feels so brutal to actually get into the mindset of a tribute, thinking about who will be helpful and who won't. Not to mention Luxor will eventually face his own insecurities once the other tributes show off their abilities—what if he's not good enough? What if he's just dead weight in the eyes of the District kids?
Luxor glances over at Chambray. She's busy looking through one of Charlotte's books, nose scrunched up in distaste at its contents. Will she consider him useless? What if she sees him as equal? Luxor definitely won't get special treatment from any of the District tributes—none of them would know who he is outside of his name announced by Lola—but the fact that he was given to a textiles District won't go unnoticed by the public. A few other people might give him special treatment, but he sincerely hopes Chambray never does.
The girl sets down the book and sighs. She shifts in her chair, the red swelling around one of her ankles more apparent from where Luxor sits. He wonders if she had an accident as she was leaving Eight. He hopes it's not something that'll get in the way of training.
"Do you have anything on medicines?" Chambray asks Charlotte, and immediately Luxor cringes at the sound of her voice. It's the voice of a chainsmoker, of someone who's long since lost the youth of their speech too early. He can't imagine how it'd become so raspy. "Plants?"
Charlotte looks at Chambray, then at the book left on the table—Luxor can just barely make out the title, Beyond the Square: A Guide to Crochet for Advanced Readers. Part of him wants to strike up conversation with the duo, but they both seem too set on distracting themselves with books.
Almost as though proving him wrong on purpose, though, Charlotte just shakes her head. "Let's talk for a while," she sighs. "I've got some tips I'd rather you both know before training starts."
Chambray sinks further into her seat and nods, meekly looking down at the table. Luxor clears his throat, lifting himself off the couch, and takes a seat right next to Chambray.
"We didn't get to greet each other properly earlier," Luxor says, putting on a charming smile. "I'm—"
"Luxor Aricunai," Chambray mutters. "I've heard Greve fawn over you enough not to forget it."
"Right. Sorry." He scratches the back of his neck. He really hopes Greve's freakout over being in the same room as him hasn't affected his mentor or his partner too badly.
She looks him up and down once, smiles apologetically, and says softly, "I'm Cham. Chambray, but everyone calls me Cham."
"Like the fabric." Luxor grins down at her. "Is that what your dress is made of?"
Cham pauses before nodding. "Yeah. My brother has the same name as the pattern on it, too."
He barely wastes any time announcing it. "Calico."
Cham nods. Charlotte lets out a small cough, the kind that's meant to gain attention on purpose, and halts their conversation. There's a small frown on her face as she looks at Luxor and Cham—and keeps her eyes on Cham for longer than expected.
"Look at you two, bonding over fashion," she says blandly. Cham goes tense, her lips tugging into a bigger frown than Charlotte's as she glares at the woman. "Do you want to wait until we get to the Training Centre to even talk about a plan?"
Cham shakes her head quickly, but Luxor thinks there might be something more important at hand. Cham won't be able to do much with that sore leg of hers—he can't have been the only one to notice her slight limp and the swelling around her ankle.
"Shouldn't we get something to help Cham's ankle?" he asks.
Now Charlotte goes rigid, her hands clenching into fists within milliseconds. She looks at Cham with wide eyes, and when Luxor checks the girl he finds that she has a similar expression.
With what feels like an almost forced calm, Charlotte asks, "Why didn't you tell me your ankle still hurt?"
Cham clears her throat. She looks down at the table, purposely keeping her face free of Luxor and Charlotte's gazes. "I thought I could play it up to make the others think I was an easy target. Surprise them. The ankle's still fine."
The topic is dropped with a speed Luxor has never seen before in a conversation. Charlotte nods approving, the deer-in-the-headlights expression not quite gone yet, while Cham pushes herself out of her chair and declares that she wants to take a short rest. She disappears through the next cart, leaving Luxor behind with Charlotte, and it's the most awkward thing he's ever had to sit through.
Luxor's had interviews that brought up topics he'd rather keep personal. He's had people flirt with him only to find out he's younger than he looks. He's even had embarrassing conversations with his friends and Hira over his own health and diet. But this silence after Cham's retreat takes the cake.
He doesn't want to say it out loud, but Charlotte is intimidating. That no-nonsense look and the way she talks with absolutely professionalism. Only lawyers and judges during Luxor's fashion shows do what Charlotte does, and he won't deny that it makes it nervous. Part of him wishes he got the mentor who fought the escort for the name on that paper, but then he'd be left with being called "Luxpaw" or something every day. Not the most ideal thing to put up with leading up to the Quell.
He sinks into his seat with a frown. No one he knows will probably find out about this until his reaping is played back by Lola for all to see. Darios—Luxor's own father—won't find out that his son is in the Games until Luxor presents a talent in his private session. Relope won't be able to get hold of her husband to tell him the news, left to wait for her son in an empty house on her own.
It's not just his family either. Hira was the only one who'd given him something to remember everyone by, generous enough to let Luxor borrow the scarf for the reaping. Luxor may not have been big on agents and all those suits and how stuffy they are, but Hira Mahonan is a treasure. She at least gave him something to hold onto and bring him back home. He wonders if she's calling Valerio now, telling them the bad news. What would she say? "I'm sorry, Mx. Requio. Luxor's going into the Games this year." Formal like that?
Valerio might not take it well. Gemini might take it worse. She always took him with her to those parties, always played the wingman when they were feeling frisky. Modelling can be cutthroat, but Gemini's a real friend. He hopes he can see her again.
"I know that look."
He startles. Charlotte's staring at him, a somewhat softer gaze on him than before. It's a look of understanding, of sympathy.
"You do?" he gasps, trying to calm himself again. Charlotte nods.
"I was going to give you something practical in the way of advice," she says, "but I think what I'll say now will click better with you."
He nods. Charlotte takes in a deep breath and knits her fingers together loosely. "If you want to give yourself something to work towards," Charlotte tells him, "picture the one person you'd give everything to be with again. Someone you couldn't bear to leave behind if something happened in that arena."
A face flashes through his mind—nights of giggling and frenzied kisses, of warmth at his back and arms around his waist. He's been trying to keep from thinking too much about how this will affect Jarlos, especially since Jarlos lives closer to the section designated for District Five and Six. He doesn't want to imagine what will happen. He doesn't even want to dwell on it himself either—as far as the two boys were concerned, their whole relationship was just flirting and sex. They had fun and trusted each other, but they were never what anyone would call a couple.
Luxor brings a hand to his chest, his heart suddenly aching. He needs to put the topic back onto Charlotte. Focus more on her. "W—Who was it for you?"
Charlotte's eyes slowly close, her face a mask of calm and serenity. After what feels like an eternity, she whispers, "My wife."
A wife. Okay. This is a good conversation topic to focus on. He can focus properly if he talks about Charlotte's wife instead of Jarlos.
"How'd you two meet?" He swallows a lump in his throat. "Were you dating before you were reaped?"
The woman shakes her head. "I met her the night before I went into the arena," she says with a fondness to her voice. "Her family had just kicked her out and she only had the nicest dress she owned and a pair of heels to her name. I didn't like spending time with the other tributes, so I happened upon her asking for a spare room from the Gamemakers."
Charlotte's wife is from the Capitol? That's a bit of a surprise to hear.
"It was her birthday." Charlotte smiles wryly. "She thought she'd be safe to come out to her family, but they weren't having it. Taffy ran away and her parents didn't bother to look for her."
"How'd you get to spend any time to get to know her if it was the night before?"
She opens her eyes, and once again the smile turns soft and sweet. A happy memory. "I ran into her while I was still in my interview dress and lied about her being part of my prep team. She stayed the night in my room." Charlotte sighs wistfully. "She was supposed to dance with her friends on her birthday. I did my best to give her one. Best waltz of my life."
It's surprisingly sweet to hear. Luxor almost wants to meet Charlotte's wife now, see such a loving relationship before his own eyes. With Jarlos it's always passion and lust fueling them, but the way Charlotte describes hers sounds almost like the opposite.
"I promised myself I'd give her a beautiful home with all the clothes she wanted inside if I won," she goes on. "I never wanted to see her cry again unless they were tears of joy." Charlotte's gaze flickers to Luxor, brows raised expectantly at him. Oh no. "Now that I've just revealed a very personal motivation of mine, why don't you tell me about who you'll win for?"
He winces and sinks lower into the seat. It's not like he's going to win for just Jarlos. He has other friends and family to fight for, an entire city of people who want him to come home. It's not just Jarlos. Jarlos isn't the only one Luxor wants to come home to.
Jarlos is just the only one who makes his heart ache so horribly, already missing him and the touch of his skin.
"He's…" What does he say? His relationship with Jarlos isn't like Charlotte's and Taffy's. What if she mocks him for this? What if it's not a strong enough desire to come home to Jarlos alone? "We're not really an item, but…"
She's patient with him. She just watches with an expression free of impatience, her hands folded neatly across the skirt of her cheongsam.
"Jarlos is physically to me," he tries, "what Taffy was emotionally to you."
Charlotte gives him a half smile and huffs out a small laugh. "As long as it means something to you, it's enough to work towards. I'm sure Jarlos would do the same."
Luxor breathes out a sigh of relief. It's enough. All the need to feel Jarlos's warmth and to share the same space is enough. Luxor really doesn't know what he can do in terms of fighting, but his desire to go back to his loved ones—the one who makes his heart ache most—is enough.
Fame of the Capitol and fans be damned, he's going to come home to the one he wants to be beside.
And that's the Seven and Eight Capitol kids! I'll see you next time for the Nine and Ten kids, and until then here's a QQ!
QQ #13: Would you want to defy stereotypes your job places upon you?
Vaguely connected to the theme of the chapter, but I hope the status quo popped up enough to hint at it at least!