The Stars
Title: Misfortune
Characters: Syarnark, Pyro, Cuan, mentions of the others
Word Count: 1,286
Warnings: Talk of child abandonment, mention of murder
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games and the inspiration for these characters comes from another series entirely.
Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I might try writing about the other characters soon, not just these guys.
013: Misfortune
Misfortune had always followed them like a good friend from the old times. Since the day they were born the universe had already preordained that they were to be unlucky in life, forever coming up short of what they truly wanted by virtue of the parents they were born to and the place where they lived.
Syarnark had always felt fortunate though, like the universe was smiling down at him, perhaps playing a joke or prank every now and again. Unlike the boys he grew up playing with, he never grumbled about being abandoned in the junkyard or living in the orphanage.
With the junkyard as his playground he never grew bored - he learned how to live and survive without help from the useless adults in his life - and it was where he'd met Cuan and the rest.
It was Sche who he'd met first as a thin and malnourished nine year old boy, and her a gangly teenager complete a sour expression and a foul temper. He was unafraid of her threats to strangle him if he didn't be quiet and smiled even when she pulled a thin knife on him.
She had liked that smile, not because she was fond of kids or because his smile was anything special, but because she saw potential in him. The others called him unlucky for being singled out by "that group" who at that time had only been a small, growing force barely even acknowledged as anything more than a group of troublemakers.
Syarnark didn't think he was unlucky, though.
It was because of the life he'd led - the ruthless, cutthroat life filled with times of starvation and death threats and filth - that he'd been able to meet the people who he would later come to see as the closest thing to family he had.
None of them complained about their unfortunate lives like the kids in the orphanage had. All of them had been in the same or similar situations - brought up in the junkyard, working in the factories at young ages, and resorting to petty crime to survive.
Of course there were some people born into money and comfort, people who had families and who were born in different, more prosperous Districts or in the Capitol itself.
Thinking back, Syarnark didn't think he would trade that childhood for anything in the world. Those were the days when no one worried about the Hunger Games yet, days spent until sundown playing makeshift games in the junkyards and chasing each other until they were worn out. It was a time before they became bitter towards the world, before they learned fear and hatred.
One day Pyro asked Syarnark about all the rest. The blond was forever curious, never satisfied with yes or no answers. There was much he knew that he learned from Cuan and much that he still desired to know but no one would teach him.
"Why do you want to know?" Syarnark asked.
"Because," Pyro flushed, his lips turning down in a frown. "I just do. I don't know anything about you guys."
"Sure you do."
The shorter boy narrowed his eyes and stomped his foot on the dusty ground, kicking up grey clouds that drifted into the air. "No, I don't. I know that you never stop smiling and Cuan's creepy and comes and goes out of thin air. Faiz and Haakon hate me. Matiy is airheaded. Penka is one of the only sane ones in this whole group and Sche is just plain scary. But I don't really know any of you that well."
Syarnark shrugged and gave him a playful smile. "Isn't that all you need to know, then?"
"Don't be stupid," Pyro snapped. "Maybe I'm just curious. Tell me something about you and I'll tell you something about me. How's that sound?"
"Why do I need to know anything about you that I don't already know?" Syarnark saw the growing impatience on the boy's face and sighed, thinking better of it. If he played Pyro's little game then he would eventually leave, satisfied, and go bother Cuan for the rest. He rolled his eyes in jest and relented. "Alright, what d'you want to know?"
"I don't know…" Pyro trailed off. "About you, I guess. I grew up with my parents and my older sister. We lived in an apartment and my parents worked in the factory."
Syarnark shrugged. "That's easy. I don't know my parents. I guess they didn't want to raise a kid so they left me in the junkyard. The orphanage found me and I lived there until Cuan and Sche recruited me."
Pyro shifted uncomfortably. "People really do that?"
"Well yeah," Syarnark smiled, raising an eyebrow at the boy. He did look truly confused, but it was hard to believe that he was so naive. "As long as you don't register the kid you can leave it anywhere. The Capitol can't keep track of everything, you know. They just want you to think they do."
"Okay…well…you know that my parents died," Pyro said slowly, as if he was picking his words with great care. "They were killed. My sister, too. I found them when I came home from school one day; my sister was sick so she didn't go. They were definitely murdered."
"You know who did it?"
Pyro nibbled at his bottom lip. It was a rare habit for him, but Syarnark he wasn't as comfortable talking about his family's deaths as he acted. In fact, he had never heard the story straight from the boy's mouth. It was Cuan who had told them before the kid joined the group.
"No," he said at last. "It wasn't the Capitol, though. They always make it seem like an 'accident' when they want someone gone. And they'd complete the job; there was no reason to leave me alive."
Syarnark nodded thoughtfully. He put down the book he'd been trying to read before Pyro came by with his endless supply of questions.
"You're right, you know. About Cuan, that is. No one really knows anything about him. I think Penka and Haakon have known him the longest, but his childhood is basically an unknown. He never talks about it even if you ask."
"Well, I know that," Pyro grumbled. "I can't even keep track of how many times I've asked him."
Syarnark laughed lightly. "You tried? More than once, too?"
"Well, yeah," Pyro insisted with a petulant frown. "I want to know who I'm working for, after all. But now I know perfectly well what kind of guy Cuan is: manipulative but charismatic, a smooth talker but the most insufferable man I've ever known."
"You're also the only one who has the guts to tell him that to his face." Syarnark pointed to the doorway behind Pyro as he muffled his laughter with one hand, the other bracing him against the rickety chair he was sitting in.
The boy flushed, green eyes wide but already showing flickers of defiance as he turned to face the man in the doorway. A light, teasing smirk played at the corners of his lips as he stared the boy down.
"I do so value fearlessness in my subordinates."
"Why you - "
Syarnark's laughter subsided, but he still had a wide grin on his face as the two went at it.
Misfortune was their friend, a lifelong companion, but because it was they were able to smile and laugh freely without facing the world with bitter, rose tinted glasses.
Syarnark didn't believe in fate or destiny, didn't believe that he'd been born unlucky and unfortunate. He didn't think he would trade this for anything - for no amount of wealth or comfort or safety.