Districts 10 and 12 Reapings: Snow is Dancing
-Koda Emory, 15, D10-
"Catch me if you can, Koda!" Moki ran down the dirt trail, his feet thundering as he ran ahead of me. He kept looking behind his shoulder, trying to gauge when I might catch him, which slowed him down dramatically.
Besides, those playful foot races weren't as fun if you were in the front, we had decided earlier, because then you couldn't see the other person.
Really, there was no reason I should have been able to catch Moki: he was like a kit, so fast and full of energy. I was a good runner, but there was no way I should have been able to catch up to him. Moki was fast. When I would be in the front for our races, it would only take about five seconds for him to be able to grab my shoulder. It didn't help that, even though he was a year younger than I was, he was also four or five inches taller.
We may've looked like an odd couple, with him being tall with toned muscles and skinny, and me being short and not even remotely toned. The one thing that connected us was our identical brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes, qualities shared by most everyone in the tribe. Mixed race babies were a rarity in the tribe, and often treated so poorly their family left in favor of living in the District. The separation between them and us is something that all of us have been raised to respect and keep in place. It really just made things run more smoothly.
"You got me!" he said, laughing. I was panting, breathing heavy, practically sweating with the effort, while he was grinning and composed, not even having broken a sweat.
"I did," I panted. Hey, it was hard to run after him with short little legs! I had a lot of extra distance to cover.
Moki just laughed and ruffled my hair. In that action, he successfully ruffled up the shaggy mess of thickness, completely eliminated my side part, and brushed off the feather I had been wearing behind my ear.
"Hey! I worked hard on that!" I squeaked, but as always, Moki wasn't fooled by my whining, and I couldn't hold back my grin as I bent down to look for the feather, realizing the wind carried it away. It was just a normal day. It was just a normal morning.
And it was. It was still a weekday, and in the afternoon I would still have classes. I would still spend the morning with Moki, running around the open expanse of fields owned by the Tribe. It was a day just like any other, really. We didn't get out of work or school just because of the ceremony that would be happening. Life would go on, just as always. We would watch the reaping, then come back to the reservation, and get on with our lives. We would have the tiny televisions we were required to have on for as little time as possible, on as little volume as possible. My mother would show me how to keep up the house, how to dust and wash clothes and do my part. My father would come home and ask Mother how I was doing, she would say "they were great," and my father would lift me on his shoulder.
I'd visit my grandfather in his little hut, just a minute's walk away from mine. He would show me how to make something new out of clay, or maybe we would just make beads. On my walk back from Grandpa's, I'd stop by the glass-blowing fire and watch them at work. I'd always wanted to do what they did. After that, I'd go home. Mom would tell me a bedtime story and kiss my forehead, and I'd go to sleep. Life would go back to how it had always been.
Moki took a seat on a rock, and I sat next to him, vowing to look for another feather to replace the one that had flown away.
"Are you worried?" I asked him.
My best friend put an arm around me. "Yeah. Kind of." I snuggled into Moki's side gratefully. I was a year older than him, but so small I fit perfectly against him.
We'd always been like that. Ever since we were kids, we were practically attached at the hip. We'd always held hands, and hugged, and cuddled. Everyone had been saying that we would grow up and get married or something. But we weren't dating. We were just friends, all affection between us was totally platonic. I mean, he was 14, and I was 15. It wasn't like we wouldn't have a lot of time to figure it out.
He held me close, and I closed my eyes. All that mattered was his warmth, his scent.
It was all so familiar to me. There hadn't been a day of my life I could remember that I hadn't seen him. Even on our busiest days, we always took at least a minute to meet, even if we just met, said hi, and left. Even if we just saw each other walking past us on the street, letting go of our parents' hands and exchanging a tight hug before racing back to our parents, who had kept walking with the knowledge that we would come back to them.
"Besides, it's been ten years or so since the last tribe child was reaped. It doesn't happen often at all. We're a small, small group compared to the outside."
"That's true." His words always calmed me down, at least a little bit.
The truth was that we were all so very small, in the scheme of things. A couple of kids in a world we as humans were still struggling to understand completely. We would probably never know how everything in the world worked and why. In the scheme of things, we were so incredibly small.
"No need to worry then," he said, brushing bangs out of my eyes. "None at all."
"You're right Moki. Thanks."
"Any time you need it." He didn't stop stroking my hair, brushing it behind my ear and out of my eyes. It didn't matter if my bottomside was sore as heck by sitting on the jagged rock, or if the summer sun was beating down on me. All that mattered was that I was well-loved. Even though I was small in the big scheme of things, I still had purpose. When I got older, I would contribute something for the welfare of the tribe.
Of course I knew I still had a lot to learn, but each coming year I became prouder and prouder of who I was becoming, and with that, more and more excited to keep growing. Every year I learned more about who I was, what I believed in, and what I held close. Friends had come and gone, but Moki had stayed by my side with a loyalty I could never copy. I grew and changed, and I knew that it was a long road ahead of growth before I could be considered mature.
I was just thankful to my mother for letting me enjoy my youth while it was here. There was a certain respect she had for me as her child, even though I wasn't mature enough to be considered an adult. And, for that, I would have never dreamed of disobeying or disrespecting her. She realized I still had to learn to keep up the house, as well as learning to work, but she didn't keep me inside all day. And, of course, I knew there was a time when work and family would come before adventure, but that day was still at least a couple of years away.
Then there was my father. He was a sculptor, and crafted dishes and silverware and plates, as well as statues and works of art. He was a man with vision, a vision that had taken years upon years for him to develop. When he took me to work with him, I hung on his every word. He let me use some clay to sculpt things, mostly spoons and sometimes bowls if he had a lot of excess. He always said that practice made perfect. He didn't try to stifle me either. If there was no demand for pottery, he would let me make whatever I wanted. These creations often weren't great, but he always said they got better each time. I wanted to use my creativity and follow in his footsteps.
Even after working beside my father, I still had an urge to create. I wanted to put my hands to work. That's one of the reasons I loved visiting my grandfather.
When I visited, he would always give me some of his broth, and sit down and tell me something new, something about the tribe, about history, maybe something about the plants around his house, or maybe something about our family. I especially loved it when he told me things about my grandmother. She had passed away when I was young, so I only had fuzzy memories of her, but I knew she was here watching over and protecting her family.
After he told me something new, he would give me some clay and tell me to make something. My favorite things to make at his house were beads, all of which I had on a twine cord wrapped around my neck. At the very center of the necklace was a little glass globe with an interesting mushroom I'd found inside. He'd gotten me the globe for my tenth birthday, and every year on the day I would go out and search for something new and exciting to put in it. On either side of the necklace were beads. I made all of them except for one, which was made for me by Moki and exchanged with one that I had made for him. I wore his bead with pride. Though his style and mine were very different, we were still inseparable. I wouldn't have had him any other way.
Moki and I sat like that for a while before he spoke up again. "Want to go on a flower hunt?"
"Yeah, sure!" I loved looking for flowers. Even if our hunts were wildly unsuccessful, we still had fun. I stood up, my bottom complaining from where it had been sitting, and together we walked into some of the deeper foliage.
"I found a dandelion!" Moki said.
"Those are weeds," I said, looking up.
"Well, they're pretty weeds." He picked it up. "Look, I'm going to make a wish on it." He looked off at the bright blue sky for a while, deciding what to wish for. His round brown eyes lit up as he decided on a wish, before they slid closed and he blew the seeds off, sending them away with the wind.
"What did you wish for?" I asked.
He grinned at me. "If I told you, I'd jinx it and it wouldn't come true!"
"Alright, alright, that's true."
"There's another good one over there if you want to make one!" he said, walking through the grass to retrieve it. He skipped back, his tiny ponytail bouncing as he held it out to me. "For you."
"Why thank you. What a proper… Gentle-demi-man? Demigentleman?"
Moki bursted out laughing, taking my shoulders and pulling me to the ground with him as he went down. Everyone our age knew that if you made Moki laugh hard enough, his legs would collapse and he'd fall. It just made me laugh even harder, really. We'd so often ended up sprawled out on the ground, recovering from laughing and staring at the sky up above. That's how we were now.
The clouds were white and fluffy and drifted lazily. The sun was shining, and there was the gentlest breeze on our faces. When I looked over, he was giving me a grin, sprawled out across the ground and catching his breath. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but it was a welcome ache. Certainly familiar.
"So much for the dandelion," I said, seeing as it had lost all its seeds in the fall.
"There are plenty of dandelions," Moki said. I felt a warm touch as Moki wrapped his hand around mine. "And plenty of time to make wishes on all of them."
"True."
We laid there for a while, just enjoying the warmth, enjoying the day, enjoying being together while we still could. Finally, Moki got up. "I'll find you another one," he said decidedly, walking away and looking for another one. I just sat on the ground and watched him for a second before I got to my feet. It didn't take very long for Moki to find me another one he deemed fit for wishing.
What should I wish for? I thought, quietly to myself, of course. I closed my eyes. I wish that Moki and I stay together forever. I wish for us to grow old together and never lose our sense of adventure. I took a big breath and released it all in a stream of air, watching the seeds fly away.
"Well? What did you wish for?" Moki looked hopeful.
"I can't tell you!" I said, laughing.
"How about we tell each other? That cancels it out."
I laughed a little bit. "Alright. What did you wish for?"
"I wished for us to never be apart."
I blinked at him. "We think alike then, because that's what I wished too."
He grinned. "Good." Then, he reached out and grabbed my hand. "C'mon, Koda. Let's get home and dressed for the reaping."
Together, we walked back to the more populated part of the reservation, exchanging a hug before we separated to our respective huts.
"Hey Little Bird," my mother ruffled my hair when I entered. "How was your morning?"
"A lot of fun!" I said, a sunny grin spreading across my lips.
"And how's he?" She knew who I spent all my time with.
"He's good!" I said, smiling.
"Your clothes are out at the front of your closet, dear," she said, giving me a kiss on the top of the head. "Also, you have some dirt on your face." She held my chin, using her thumbs to wipe away the smudge from my cheeks and nose. It was more common to see me with dirt on my face than not, but for today it was proper to be clean.
"Thanks Mom." I smiled and went to the area designated as my space.
Little Bird was what my family called me. The nickname came from my grandmother, who, on her way to see my mother when she was in labor, had seen a little canary in her path, and stopped to give it a piece of bread before hurrying to see my mother give birth. She was the first to call me Little Bird, but ever since the nickname was adopted by my parents and grandfather. Moki, his brother, and his parents even call me Little Bird sometimes; they were close enough to be considered family.
I looked in my little closet, where two possible outfits were put out before me. My mother and father worked hard so that I could have a choice. They understood and respected the fact that I wasn't fully masculine, and not fully feminine either. They understood my identity and respected it, which only made me respect them even more than I already did. I put on the dress shirt and buttoned it up before tying the tie around my neck. I got to choose if I wanted to wear pants or a skirt.
I decided to wear the skirt, stepping into the silky garment and feeling cute. I was just tucking my shirt in when my mother called, "Koda!"
"Yeah Mom?" I slid into a pair of flat dress shoes and went quickly to meet her.
"I have something else for you, Little Bird." She opened my hand and put something in it.
"It's a hair clip," she said. "See? It's a little bird." Indeed it was. I knew she must have commissioned a craftsman for this, or gone to the District to get it. It was a very special present.
"Thanks Mom!" I said happily, hugging her.
"Let me help you put it on." She took the shaggy bangs out of my eyes and twisted them, using the bird to clip them back. "There you are."
"Thank you," I said again, kissing her cheek.
The door swung open again and my father appeared, his eyes bright. "There they are, my two favorite people!" he picked me up in a hug and spun me, causing me to laugh, before he kissed the top of my mother's head.
"Hi Father!" I said cheerfully. "Do you like my little bird?"
"I think it's perfect."
"Thanks!"
"I think everyone's gathering to get to the reaping," Father said, taking my hand. "We best be on our way." I nodded, and together the three of us met Moki, his parents, and his older brother Nikan in the crowd. Nikan was 19: this was his first year removed from the reapings, and he was glad for that, but still afraid for Moki.
Moki had a new bow in his hair, too, which looked cute. Moki was always picked on for things like that when we went to the District, and I always stood up for him. I was blessed in the fact that I naturally looked genderneutral. My voice wasn't high, wasn't deep either. My face wasn't exactly masculine, nor was it exactly feminine. You could've argued the case that I was a female, or that I was a male. Honestly, nobody knew for sure except for myself and my family, not even Moki. It's none of their business anyways.
I walked to the Square with the Goodhouse family along with my own, the parents chattering and making small-talk about anything but the reaping.
"I like your Bird, Little Bird," Nikan said, to make conversation.
"Oh, thanks!"
"Sure thing," Nikan said, looking as if he would've pat my head if he wouldn't have messed up my hair with the motion.
We reached the Square, and I could feel eyes on me. On us. I swished my skirt nervously as we all said goodbye to our families. My parents didn't crack any kind of emotion as I hugged them. After all, Tribe kids were rarely reaped. I knew I'd see them again within a matter of an hour or so. I'd be going back to class and homework. My parents found Grandfather and helped him away to the section for viewing, the Goodhouses and Nikan following.
I winced as they poked a needle into my hand, but couldn't look away from the scanner that took my information to the computer. It was amazing, the only technology I ever saw was the television we had. Moki and I hugged goodbye and walked to our sections, and suddenly I was alone.
The District kids seemed so scary suddenly, and I could feel their eyes on me. I looked around, hoping to catch the eye of another 15-year-old from the Tribe, but I couldn't see anyone.
I jumped when the speakers boomed with the noise of Ellery Hampton tapping on the microphones. I sighed as the video was shown, and before I knew it, the first name was being drawn.
"Our first tribute… Koda Emory!"
I felt all eyes turn to me, and froze up.
"Koda? Koda Emory?"
I swallowed a lump in my throat, stumbling up to the stage slowly. I realized then that I was going into the Hunger Games, I was going to have to leave my tribe and my home, go somewhere, kill to survive… Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn't stop them as I went up the stairs. I squinted in the bright lights that were on me, hearing the sounds of Moki's sobs from the crowd.
I felt like I was alone, for the first time in my entire life. I had never been alone before, I had always had my family or Moki's behind me. I had never been exposed like this, I had never been left without anyone. And suddenly, I'd been tugged away from them.
"Our second tribute… Scout Foster!" I bit my lip to hold in sobs as the second tribute started to the stage. She had a more neutral face, and wore a sundress and a stetson hat accompanied by cowboy boots. When she arrived at the stage, her face was still set in shock.
"Wonderful! Shake hands you two!"
Through the blur of my tears, Scout put her hand out to me sluggishly. Slowly, sadly, I took it and shook it, as if sealing my death contract.
"Everyone, your District 10 tributes, Scout Foster and Koda Emory!"
I knew the Tribe wouldn't have a normal day. They would all go home, close their shutters, and mourn. They would visit my family and the Goodhouses, and make them food.
The Chief would pay my parents a special visit and try to make out a possible cause for this. He'd tell them that sometimes bad things happen. He wouldn't be able to help their grief but he would grieve with them.
The Tribe itself was a family. They would all mourn me, only if they had never known my name until today.
I swallowed a lump in my throat.
The Tribe hadn't ever had a Victor before.
And I certainly wasn't fit to be the first.
~.~.
-Maverick Quinn, 17, D12-
That hot summer night before the Reapings, I dreamt of snow.
I dreamt of the fur-lined jacket I stored under my bed at this time of year.
And I dreamt of my parents.
"Maverick, I know you're upset-"
"Shut up!" I hoarsely screamed. "You don't know anything!"
"There's nothing we could do, your parents' will couldn't be found, and in the event of that, the District repossesses the entire estate." The pointy-nosed lawyer wrung his hands apologetically but his beady eyes said otherwise. Every moment here was a moment he wasn't making money elsewhere. "Maverick, please-" He reached out for me.
"Don't call me Maverick, you scum!" I snarled, yanking my arm out of range for him to touch.
"For being nine years old you have quite the mouth on you." The lawyer couldn't sound more disdainful as he packed up his papers. "I don't think you grasp what's happening to you, girl."
"My parents are never coming back!" I felt hot tears dangerously threatening to spill over, but I refused to let them. That's how this dream always went.
"More than that. You don't legally own anything, and everything in the estate will be auctioned off by the end of the week. No other family exists, so you're being relocated to an orphanage. Tomorrow." He put on a pair of black gloves and a bowler hat, which he tipped before stepping out the door. "Good day to you, Miss Quinn." When he left, I fell to my knees. The family friends had already left at the conclusion of the announcement that a will was not found to be read. I didn't know what that meant until the lawyer walked out the door.
Silence is defined as the lack of sound, but that's wrong. It's viscous and suffocating, it rings in your ears and worms its way down your throat until breathing becomes a chore. It's the most horrible sound. Every time I have this dream I'm forcefully reminded of that.
I walked up the stairs, each creak doing nothing to ease the weight in the air. I zipped up my jacket and shivered. Then I opened the door to my room.
The clothes I needed to sort from the last of the laundry Mom did sat on top of the armchair. A recently pressed dress from the last neighborhood party hung in faded baby blue. The snow flurried outside my window overlooking the District. I wrapped myself in the jacket that was way too big for me and cried.
"Wake up, it's Reaping Day, bitch."
In a second I was staring down the sneering prepubescent face of the asshole who woke me. His grubby hand was gripping my shoulder roughly. Normally I would thank him (wait no I wouldn't.) but it was Otis McCarthy. Who proceeded to slap me once he saw my eyes were open. The sting hadn't even begun to fade before my right arm shot out from under my sheet and smashed into his left temple.
He squealed and fell on his ass like the snot-nosed brat he was. "You could show some gratitude! Goddamnit…" he pawed at his face, eyes clenched shut. "I was just waking you up!"
"Get out." I swung my legs off the bed and mustered my best glower. It wasn't hard this early in the morning. Otis scrambled out faster than he could pull his too large pants up to cover his underwear. Gross.
The rest of the room was empty. It figured, since the room was already suffocatingly hot and humid enough to cook eggs on the concrete floor. I fished under my cot for my fur-lined jacket to tie around my waist, despite the heat. I can't give the bastards here a chance to get their grimy fingers on it. Not a single chance. I changed quickly and headed down the hallway to the common room.
"I hope you get Reaped," Otis's best friend Bengal sneered at me, eating something that resembled old jerky. He held a protective arm behind Otis's back, and Otis himself was slumped onto the wooden table shooting splinters into his arms and looking miserable. Par for the course on a late summer morning.
I thought of a comment more biting and indicative of my mood but curbed it. No need to start a fight. "I hope you sunburn your asscrack while listening to the Reaping ceremonial shit since your shirt's too short and your pants are too loose."
His little freckled face sneered in disdain. "Good morning to you too," he said. As if he deserved a nicer response than what I gave.
Luckily everyone else was already out and about. I didn't want to have to deal with Lucy or Delilah today, my patience had already been tried enough. Except…
"You picking on my little man?" Chris's rising voice from the entryway said I'd be in a lot of shit if I didn't think fast. The well over six feet tall excuse for a "child" also living at the orphanage for his last year was like a mama bear to those two little shits. It was a shame, since those two don't seem to know how to be grateful to Chris.
"Chris she punched me this morning!" Otis cried. Chris stormed in, sweat already forming an oily sheen on his broad brow. His hulking physique towered over me. I don't understand how he got to be that size on a fucking orphanage diet, there had to be something up with him, working in the coal mines or not.
"Pardon me for being grouchy this morning," I coolly held my ground and willed the quiver in my knees to be still, "considering what day it is."
His fists tightened at his sides and his eyes narrowed. "That's no excuse, Quinn."
"I'll make you a deal, Chris," I sighed, putting my hands up in defeat, "You can beat the shit out of me for laying a hand on your precious babies after the Reapings. I just want to look nice for once in my life."
For a moment I thought I had won him over. Then his face distorted with anger. "You had your chance. Unlike the rest of us." Instantly my temper flared and I forced it down just as fast.
The peanut gallery made a noise like a choked laugh. How does Chris not notice? "That doesn't matter now. And besides, I would like the time to visit my friends, y'know...just in case I get Reaped." At that he sneered and shoved me roughly towards the door.
"That's funny. You don't have any friends, Quinn. Get out of my sight, you're pathetic." I didn't need to be told twice. I was lucky I was getting out of this scot-free, thank goodness.
Outside it was actually cooler than that oven of an excuse for an orphanage house. I think it was the first year I looked forward to walking to the Reaping. The breeze was almost constant. You could see the maple and pine trees swaying slightly from the force of it.
I don't know what it was but the wind at my back made me feel lighter, freer. It was something that made me feel stronger than I actually was I almost skipped to the Reaping, despite the fact that I wasn't going to talk to anyone because Chris was absolutely right. I stuck to myself for a reason anyway, I didn't need anyone. The only person I can rely on is myself, after all.
"Welcome, step right up!" the peacekeeper that beckoned me over was clearly newer. She had a smile on her face and a warm tone when she asked me for my hand to prick. Must be her first year doing this. I'm amazed the sullen faces around me hadn't worn her down yet.
"I said your left hand, not your right…" at that point I heard the change in her voice. The smile, the voice, the enthusiasm...It was fake. Figures. I don't know why I felt disappointed about it. It was to be expected. How couldn't you be when you had to listen to sobbing and thinly veiled tense conversation for duration of the three-hour check-ins for the Reapings?
"Right, sorry." My polite, higher voice was equally fake. Why do people fake politeness? I couldn't tell you why. It was frustrating as hell that people couldn't be direct with their feelings. Why did we have to pretend this was a positive scenario where we we respected each other when we clearly didn't? Fuck if I know.
My timing was impeccable, as always. Just late enough that once I found a place to sit, the Reapings started. To be fair, I got jostled out of sitting in places a handful of times before I finally sat down though. Chris and Lucy and Delilah and all those miserable excuses for human life were probably here. Or checking in at least. A small line of the late people had formed and were panicking they would be punished for it, except for Chris who wore the same bored expression he always had.
"Citizens of District 12...welcome, welcome. I humbly thank you for coming." The spring in my step that took the edge off my mood abruptly vanished the moment Cinque Formantius started talking.
She always made a point to wear outfits of pure extravagance to remind us who we were. Vermin to squish into cannon fodder under her eight-inch heels. I swear there was a correlation between her lack of confidence in this District, and the ridiculousness of her outfit. This year was a low-neckline two piece dress made out of rabbit feet. Rabbit feet. At her neck was a...necklace? Scarf? Round-shaped circle of rabbit fur? That. And when she turned, you could see a rabbit tail pinned onto her ass. And her dress length ended around her ass, too. I had no words, except for that she must be hoping the amount of luck she was wearing would mean the first Victor for District 12 would appear this year. I couldn't listen to that hideous Capitolite drawl or look at her without being compelled to punch myself in the face. I thanked the fucking stars that the stupid video came on quickly.
"War...terrible war…."
Never-fucking-mind that. The video was just as bad as she was. The only other options were to zone out, unfortunately notice the breeze was giving me a view I never wanted of Cinque's ass, and staring at the misery around me. It's not like I'm an artist, I couldn't put the level of misery around me into words or colors or shit if I had the money for supplies to try or the desire to do so. No one wanted to be here on this beautiful day. No one deserved to have to go be this year's bloodbaths. And not one soul wanted to be subjected to Cinque's boney ass like this. This was torture.
"And now to draw our two lucky tributes for this year! Boys first, hmm?" she teetered over to the fishbowl of names on her fucking stilts for shoes and picked a name right off the top. "Glenn Decim!" Internally I cringed.
Glenn came trotting out of the 18-year-old's section smiling like it was his birthday because he was a fucking weirdo. There was no nice way to put it. I had seen him at school, and he's tried talking to me…
Well, everyone will see why people avoid him eventually. I was interested how he would do in the Games…Cinque took his smile enthusiastically. "Oh this year we might have a winner, everyone! Look at that smile!" A wave of nausea slammed into me. I didn't think it was possible to be allergic to a person's voice.
"Alright time for our girl!" I would never understand how she moved so quickly in that outfit and those shoes. "Maverick Quinn!"
Well. Would you fucking look at that.
I didn't think it was possible to feel even colder bitterness than I already did. And with a sick satisfaction I realized I wasn't going to have to worry about Chris beating the shit out of me after this. I strode to the stage aggressively. Cinque's smile looked plastered on her face from the stairs.
"Couldn't dress nice for the Reapings, could you?" she hissed. The nicest thing I had was my jacket, and it being tied around my waist ruined the clean look of my white v-neck shirt and grey slacks that were too small for me. When she grabbed my hand I was immediately assaulted by a smell that could only be associated to roadkill. Someone forgot to cure the skin attached to the rabbit fur that made up her dress correctly, or this is the Capitol's idea of a perfume. It could be either.
"Alright, District 12! We'll see you on the Victory Tour soon!" Cinque held both Glenn's hand and mine high to slightly more than scattered applause and led us back to the Justice Building. Before spiriting us off to separate rooms, Glenn's gaze caught mine warmly. His grey eyes suggested he would want to talk an alliance later.
The Peacekeeper that led me into the cramped room stayed by the door. After about five minutes, they said "Are you expecting anyone to come?"
"No. Parents are dead. No friends."
There was silence. "I'm sorry."
"They've been dead awhile." I didn't want to talk to this Peacekeeper and their pity, but it was better than the roaring silence otherwise. "It's fine."
"I'm still sorry...hey, good luck, okay?" I bit my lip. Hell must have frozen over while I was in this room, because Peacekeepers do not talk to us lowly civilians, much less extend their sympathies.
Another Peacekeeper opened the door to collect me. I never saw the talkative one's face. Within seconds the train door popped open and Cinque's obnoxiously pink nails beckoned me inside.
Well...it's a beautiful day to ride a train for the first time, I suppose.
~.~.
A/N: Done with reapings! :D Woo hoo! The next chapters will come quicker now that we're getting the ball rolling! Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! Also, let us know who are your favorites so far? (AKA which ones do you still remember after all this time between chapters, haha). Thanks for the support! :D
