Gate (Chapter 4 Part 1)
Crescent woke up in a cold sweat. The vivid colors of her nightmare danced behind her eyes, still lingering once she bolted upright. Groaning, she rubbed her head with her hand, wildly looking around to check her surroundings.
Home. She was fine, she wasn't in the arena. The familiar wooden bedframe with its pale green sheets enveloped her, making her feel as though she was stuck and constricted. Fighting to pull the sheets back, she thrashed around, finally getting her body out of the trap of her own making. Her hair was wild, sticking up at all angles, but she didn't particularly care to deal with it at the moment.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath, exhaling and inhaling several times before she truly felt safe. The air was fresh and clean. There were no fumes here, nothing that could alter her perception of reality. She touched her cheek, making sure that there was no mask attached to it. Crescent grimaced.
Even after three years, she couldn't keep herself from the nightmares. In her heart, she knew that they'd never go away, no matter how hard she tried. The arena would be stuck with her forever. She grabbed her pillow, hugging it tight against her body, wanting the comfort of something pressed against her.
Every time she woke up like this, she had to fight past the fear that ran through her veins. The pillow helped stabilize her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to jump out at her from around the corner.
Dropping the pillow and putting it back where it belonged, she reached under her bed, taking out a large wooden staff and holding it tightly. This helped, too. The feeling of a weapon in her hand let her know that she could take on anything that came at her, even though there really wasn't anything there. Standing up, she leaned on the staff for support, and then walked across the room, going to check behind the closed door. She opened it, staff at the ready, and breathed a sigh of relief when there was nothing there.
This happened around three times a week.
She woke up, adrenaline coursing through her, and had to check behind every door in her immediate vicinity. Her arena hadn't even been inside. Why did she do this to herself? Paranoia was a constant part of her life. She knew from the older victor that it wouldn't go away, and might even get worse with age, but she held out hope that it would lessen over time.
Crescent closed her eyes, shaking her head to make the colorful images go away, and let the dream fade from her mind. Setting the staff down, she walked over to her closet, taking out her clothes before heading to the bathroom to change.
Once she was changed, she exited the room, moving the staff on the floor with her foot before heading to the kitchen. Not particularly feeling like she wanted to make breakfast, she opened the fridge, frustrated when the only thing inside was some meat and cheese. Though she was a victor, she still dealt with the poverty of the districts, and often donated most of her food around town instead of eating it herself.
After all, she could always get more, and they couldn't. Deciding that she'd wait and head out to the markets later, she sat herself down at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall.
Her arena had been a brightly colored monstrosity, the saturation turned up to eleven on everything, and it hadn't helped that most of the arena was covered in fumes that had caused hallucinations once breathed in. She'd won by getting lucky, or perhaps by the work of the gamemakers.
Either way, the constant smog of the city in district 8 made her rarely venture beyond the market lines, as the factories were a little farther out than the living areas in the city, and her home in Victor's village was in the other direction. The mask she wore whenever she left the house was hanging up next to her keys by the door.
As she sat, reminiscing about the past, a knock on her door made her jump. She instinctively sprung up, going into a defensive stance. Once she saw through the door's glass that it was only her neighbors, she calmed down, shaking out her hands before heading over to the door.
Opening it, she smiled at Hilbert and Sylvester, the couple holding some sort of baked good tray in their arms. Hilbert gave a wave, the victor waiting to be let inside before stepping over the threshold. Sylvester walked into the kitchen and set the tray down, then returned to the living room entrance, standing beside his husband.
"Good to see you finally up, Crescent. Yesterday must have been exhausting," said Hilbert, shaking his head.
That reminded Crescent of the day before, which made her sigh. That stupid man from district seven. She'd thought about it way too much, and had vented her frustrations to Hilbert the night before. He must have come over to check on her and make sure that she was okay after the stressful evening. Realizing that she hadn't brushed her hair when she looked in the mirror, she ran a finger through it, pulling out a clump before rushing back into her bathroom to grab a hairbrush and going back to the living room.
"I assume you just woke up?" asked Sylvester, smiling at her as she furiously attacked her hair with the brush. She nodded, and he laughed, though not in a rude way.
She motioned for them to take a seat on the couch, and sat in the chair next to it as she continued to pull out more clumps of her hair. Crescent knew that this wasn't great for her hair, but she needed to express her anger in some way. Going out in the backyard and hitting trees with her staff didn't do very much for her anymore. The pair on the couch both looked at her, and once she finished brushing her hair, she met their gaze.
"There are some muffins in the kitchen," started Hilbert, barely finishing his sentence before Crescent was up and grabbing one out of the tray. Walking back, she took a bite, smiling at them as she started to consume it.
It was a blueberry muffin, perfectly moist, just like Sylvester always made them. She was lucky that she lived near them and was able to have the tasty baked treats on occasion. Taking her spot on the chair again, she sank into the plush cushion, chowing down on her muffin as she looked between the couple. They must have already been up for hours. Looking at the clock, she noticed it was around noon.
"Thanks. I didn't realize that I slept so late. I guess I was exhausted," she said, eating the final bite of the muffin. Noticing that she'd almost sat on her hairbrush, she extracted it from the chair, making a face at the clump of hair that came with it. Gross.
She didn't mean to spend so much time thinking about the broadcast yesterday, but she couldn't help it. Crescent was angry enough about it that just thinking about the district seven victor's stupid face made her blood boil. At the victor's dinner in a few weeks, she was definitely going to make sure he heard her complaints about it.
"I wouldn't have guessed that he'd do something like that. Hilbert told me all about it. That's really unfortunate. Ezekiel never striked me as the type to play into the tabloids, but you never know. I hadn't really paid much attention during his games," mentioned Sylvester.
Crescent nodded, knowing that the short man would have been working during most of the last games. She certainly knew that Ezekiel was the type to get gossip stirring about him, and also knew that she wasn't the only victor he'd made an enemy off in the ten months or so since his games. From experience, she knew that new victors weren't immediately liked by their elders.
Did Ezekiel have nightmares about his games? She wondered if he kept a weapon by his bed like she did. Probably not, given the ease in which he'd won. The arena had almost been tailored to him, high up in the treetops with platforms and rope bridges spanning the entire arena.
He was also the type that didn't mind pushing his allies into the rocky ravine below, taking out several of the other tributes that way. At least Crescent had a little more honor in how she'd won her games. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms, glaring at the television before looking back to the two guests and softening her expression.
"Do you mind if I turn on the TV? I want to make sure that they're not still talking about it,' she asked, getting up to try and find the remote. It had to be around here somewhere, and she eventually found it on the floor by her shoes. She must have dropped it while trying to get her coat on last night. Tapping the side of it and checking to make sure the batteries were still in place, she pointed it at the television, taking a few tries to get the device to light up. Once it did, she was relieved to see that her name was nowhere to be found on the screen. However, there was something far more worrisome upon it.
"After yesterday's discovery of Head Gamemaker Lullaby Amadeus's death, we've found little evidence as to who the killer might be. Lullaby was killed in her apartment, home alone, and there are signs of a struggle. The murder weapon has not been found," said a stone-faced woman on the television, her gaudy capitol attire a stark contrast to the message she was delivering.
At hearing the news, the three inhabitants of the room gasped, Crescent almost dropping the remote in shock. Lullaby was dead? She'd been murdered? She wasn't sure whether she should jump for joy or fall down in shock.
"She's dead? How? Why?" questioned Sylvester, eyes going wide. Due to his close proximity to Hilbert and Crescent, he knew firsthand the horrors that the gamemakers wrought, and the constant power struggle that went on between them.
This didn't seem like something orchestrated by a gamemaker, though. None of them would brutally murder their colleague in such a way. Both Crescent and Hilbert were silent. She met his eyes, shaking her head, not wanting to speak in fear of the news suddenly becoming false. Lullaby had been the one that had run Crescent's games.
That horrible woman had been responsible for all the nightmares, all the fear, all the paranoia that she now experienced. Just like that, she was dead and gone.
Had she finally gotten a taste of her own medicine? Crescent sincerely hoped that whoever had killed her had made it long and painful. Judging from Hilbert's expression, he had similar feelings, even though it had been a different gamemaker that had headed his games. Lullaby had still been involved at that time, though, so he had no love for her either. This far overshadowed the news from yesterday. Judging from the reporter, they'd narrowly missed the broadcast about it last night.
"Her replacement has chosen not to comment on the death. A representative from the gamemakers organization has come forward and said that her death is a terrible tragedy, and that she will be missed. The games will continue as planned, under new leadership," said the reporter, clearly reading off of a teleprompter off screen.
It wasn't as though things would change with a new gamemaker. In fact, they could be even worse. Crescent felt like crying. Her shock and initial joy had turned to confusion. Which gamemaker was replacing her? She didn't recognize the picture of the woman on the screen that they said was her replacement.
Stepping forward, Hilbert got off the couch and took the remote from Crescent's hands, pointing it at the television and turning it off. His expression was clear, letting it be known that they didn't need to hear any more about the death. Crescent stared at the opposite wall, eyes glazing, her body perfectly still.
Hilbert put a hand on her shoulder, waiting for her to respond before finally giving up and returning to the couch with Sylvester. After a minute or so, Crescent came back to her senses, biting her lip in frustration before turning to the men with a muddled look in her eyes.
"How many games did she run? Back to the 107th games, right? I think Rubicon from four was the first victor under her," she finally spoke, counting backwards in her mind. Only seven games. That was still a long time for a head gamemaker to keep their position for. The gamemaker before her had been fired, found poisoned, after they had their first district twelve victor in a long time. For some reason, the capitol had it out for district 12, as Olson was their first victor since the rules change back nearly forty years ago. He was a little intimidating, but was a good friend of Hilbert's.
"I think so. We've gone through so many head gamemakers since my games, it's hard to remember," replied Hilbert, shaking his head. Sylvester ruffled his husband's short brown hair, giving the other man a hug and patting him on the back.
Crescent gave a small smile. Hilbert and Sylvester had been together since shortly after Hilbert's games, and they were the people that she remained closest to. After her games, they'd come over to help her, offering their support, and she'd mentored alongside Hilbert in the games since the year after her own. They'd always have her back.
"Thanks, 'vest. It'll be interesting to see what they do this year. I'm not looking forward to it, but I don't think any of us are. Speaking of the games, the Victor's dinner is coming up. Have you already picked out your dress?" he asked, trying to change the subject.
Crescent shook her head. She still needed to talk to a stylist from the capitol about it. They'd surely want to put her in something new instead of leaving her in whatever she'd worn last year. For Hilbert, it was a lot easier, since he just had to get fitted for a new suit every year. The stylists liked to mix up what she was wearing, much to her annoyance.
"I'm not excited about the dinner. Having all of us in a room together always seems like a bad idea," said Crescent. She wasn't sure why the capitol liked to put all of the remaining victors in a room together, though only the victors from the past forty years were actually required to go.
Apparently they weren't a big fan of having the older people at the dinner, so very few of the victors beyond that showed up. She supposed that it was a way for the capitol to control the images of the victors, and a way to constantly remind the public that the victors were always under the capitol's thumb.
"Still, they continue to do it. I'll tell you what. If Ezekiel goes near you, I'll step in and help," responded Hilbert, smiling at her. That made her feel a little better, though she knew in reality that he'd be pulled away to talk with the victors around his age while she'd be stuck with the victors from the past few years.
Grimacing, she realized that she'd also have to talk to Ermine and Eren. The career victors were insufferable, and they didn't like her any better than she liked them. Ermine was very stuck-up, and liked to talk about her kills in vivid detail, which made Crescent's stomach turn. The victors from one were always like that, though.
Although the victors all got along, to some degree, most of the career victors liked to stay with their own, and the other districts' victors avoided their little pack. The only exception to that were some of the district four victors, who liked to branch out and try to make friends with everyone. Crescent hadn't been around long enough to meet all of the victors, but she knew most of their names.
As a mentor, she was required to go to the Capitol every Games, and always felt intimidated by the victors that had been mentoring for years. She mostly relied on Hilbert to tell her what she needed to do in that situation.
Crescent and Hilbert were the only two district eight victors left alive, meaning that they had to mentor whether they liked it or not.
The only other victor that had passed shortly before her games, Stretch, had been from the 51st games and hadn't been in the best of health for several years. The older woman had lived in Crescent's house before her, which was why most of the furnishings there were fairly old in style. Most of her personal things had been cleared out, though, so Crescent never felt like she'd really known the woman by living in her old place of residence. Hilbert had mentored both Crescent and her district partner during her games.
"Hey, Crescent, did I tell you about what happened at the factory this week? It was a whole lot of drama,.." said Sylvester, beginning to gossip about the past week at his work.
As he spoke, Crescent listened, smiling as he dove into a story about the dye for the latest batch of clothes being the wrong color and them having to scramble to find the right batch. Sylvester was a great storyteller, and Hilbert listened attentively to his husband, even though he'd already heard the story at home. Given that Crescent didn't get out a lot, it was nice hearing about other people around the town.
As the three talked, Crescent calmed down a considerable amount. It was nice, not having to worry about the nightmares when other people were there. She was used to being on her own, and without Hilbert and Sylvester, she would be living a very lonely life. Smiling, she looked at her friends.
They'd soon be stuck in the Capitol again for the games and the victors' dinner, but for now, she could pretend that they were normal citizens, not having to worry about the games for a brief time. All thoughts of murders and stupid district seven victors out her head, she relaxed. Life wasn't great, but it was fine for the moment.
Sanctuary (4 part 2)
Foil stood in front of the stove, a frying pan being stabilized with his left hand and a few bowls sat out on the counter. Inside the pan was some sort of grain, currently being cooked with a few sprinkles of salt added on top of it. The young adult was currently watching the pan like a hawk to make sure the contents didn't burn, every so often glancing back behind him to make sure his siblings were still seated at the table.
Hearing a familiar sizzle, he picked up the handle of the pan, slopping the mushy grain into three bowls. Next to the bowls sat a cut up apple, the slices divided into three portions.
This was a normal morning routine for him. Making breakfast out of their grain rations was a fixture of the beginning of every day, and as much as his siblings complained about the grain, he didn't really have anything else to give them.
The apple was a lucky addition, saved for their Saturday breakfast to make it a little more interesting. He'd gotten it from the market two days earlier, and it was still fresh enough in their tiny refrigerator after sitting there through the rolling blackouts that occurred every so often. Turning around, he presented the bowls to his younger siblings, noticing their bored faces.
Because his father was often gone at work in the nearest power plant in the mornings, it fell to Foil to make breakfast for his siblings. His father's day off was Sunday, so when his siblings didn't go to school on Saturdays, he had to entertain them until they left the house to hang out with their friends.
He didn't particularly mind on most days, but the constant bickering of his siblings that morning had left him feeling drained as soon as he woke up to greet them. Sliding the bowls across the table, he set a fork in front of each of the two blondes, sitting down as he did so. He immediately began shoveling down the grain, barely tasting it as he consumed it.
Lise, his fifteen year old sister, made another face at the grain. Fizz copied her, as he was used to doing. The eleven year old would do anything to annoy his older sister, and she glared at him as he stuck his tongue out at her.
Foil sighed, still wolfing down his food and taking a bite of an apple slice after every few bites of grain. The power was currently out, so the normal hum of electricity that illuminated the house was missing. This was a frequent occurrence. District Five often had blackouts when the power plants were in full force, the power all being directed towards the capitol instead of in their district.
"This is gross. I don't want to eat this," complained Fizz, crossing his arms. Foil looked up from his food, shook his head, and gestured towards the apple slices on the table. Fizz looked at the apple with equal amounts of disgust, causing Foil to glare at him until he began poking at his food again.
Lise had started eating her grain already, with less enthusiasm, but at least was eating it. Sometimes Foil wanted to rip his hair out when dealing with his siblings. It didn't help that he was five years older than his sister. He still didn't have that much control over them, and the only person they'd really listen to was their father.
"Well, you're going to eat it, it's the best we've got. See, Lise is eating it. I'm eating it. The grain isn't that bad," said Foil with a fake smile. Fizz just looked at him with tired eyes, causing Foil to shrug.
It was the younger boy's own fault for not going to sleep early last night. After his session, Foil had gotten home in time to eat a late dinner, and then watched their father try and coral the other two into sleeping. His father was normally so tired from work that he didn't have any energy to play with the younger two, but he always tried to do so, much to Foil's frustration. Dad needed to sleep, not to entertain Lise and Fizz.
Finally finishing his own bowl, and eating his last few apple slices, Foil stood up, going to go rinse his bowl off in the sink. It wasn't the prettiest sink, it was really more of a basin rigged into having a faucet and drain, but it was the best they could do. Lise finished her bowl, and Fizz finally started to eat his.
After washing his bowl, he leaned against the counter, making sure that Fizz ate every last bite before taking the other two bowls and rinsing them off as well. His siblings quickly disappeared from the table, going their separate ways to see their friends for the day. Foil himself waited for them to leave, and then stepped into his tiny room.
His room was an old closet fashioned into having a bed in it, and some storage underneath. There was very little room to stand in it, so Foil sat down on his bed, taking out one of his journals from under it. Flipping to a random page, he began reading the entry. This must have been from the 110th games, nearly four years ago.
He'd just barely been old enough to put his name in, and had made it past the reaping with little worry. This page documented the happenings of the third day of the the career alliance had broken up that day, with half of them going one way and the other half going something else.
With handwriting as neat as a pin, it was no trouble to read through the old journal. All of his notes were neatly organized by day and by who they were about. He flipped to the halfway point of the notebook, the beginning of those games, since he could normally fit two games into one notebook.
The list of all the tributes' names was there, all underlined and bolded, with as much information about them as he could pack into the page. During the games, he watched the television as much as possible, and that year had been one where the constant blackouts meant that school wasn't occurring during the beginning of the games.
Noticing the list of names, he saw the names of the tributes from his own district. They'd both been older than him, already graduated from school, and they hadn't put up much of a fight. The boy had died in the bloodbath to the district one girl that had ended up winning, while the girl had died one day into the Games from falling into the river. He hadn't even been alive the last time district five had a victor, and he doubted that they'd have one anytime soon.
The fact that they were sending three tributes this year only meant that they'd die faster. District seven was lucky, only having to send one after their victory last year.
Sighing, he set the journal back with the others under his bed. He should probably get out of the house before he started thinking about the session the night before. Leaving his room, making sure to lock the door, he made his way out of the house and out into the small neighborhood that his house was a part of.
The long street had a few scraggly trees out in front of the houses, but the humid climate meant that they were small and tangled. Seeing one of his neighbors down the street, he waved, getting a wave back before he started heading up the street towards where the rest of the town lay.
They were a few miles out from the city, with an old train stop by their place to take the workers into the main city center. He was used to making the trip into the city for work, though calling it a city was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a collection of power plants and the dam, with a few markets and the justice building.
Most citizens of district five lived a short trip on the train away from the city, so the suburbs surrounding it were larger than the so-called city itself. Walking up the street, he passed a few other pedestrians, waving at them. He knew most of his neighborhood by name. It didn't take him long to get to his destination.
Scope's house was the same size as the rest of the houses nearby, one level high with a shingled roof and vines crawling up the side of it. Sitting outside was a tall boy with hair up in a bun, sitting on a bench and watching as Foil walked up to him.
Scope cracked a smile, patting the bench beside him.
Foil had known Scope since they were kids, and the two were pretty close, spending most weekends together when they had the time. Sitting down, the blonde boy stretched out his arms in front of him, then turned to his friend with a wide smile. He was tired and confused, but he could always make time for his friend.
"Hey, man! Took you long enough. How'd your appointment go last night? More of the scary lady asking you too much personal stuff?" joked Scope, eyes sparkling. He patted Foil on the arm, causing Foil to shake his head and smile back.
He wasn't sure how much to tell Scope about last night, given that Scope always mistrusted anything he heard about Mnemosyne and wouldn't be likely to trust the new questioner either. Foil didn't blame him, though. Neither of them trusted the capitol very much, feeling the same way that most district citizens did in their dislike of the establishment.
"No, it was someone different this time. Some weird dude with teal hair" replied Foil. Scope raised his eyebrows, looking curious.
Thinking back to the events of the past night, Foil frowned, remembering the questions he'd been asked. Most of it had been about the games, and his mixed feelings towards them. He didn't love the games, nor like them in the slightest, but his fascination towards them was a product of being forced to watch them every year. The answers he'd given had made him think through most of the night, not letting him get much sleep. Waking up that morning had been particularly hard.
"Really? Odd. Was he any better?" inquired Scope, a breeze taking some of the heat out of the air. Foil shook his head. As they sat, they watched a few other people walk back and forth down the street, having some sort of heated discussion. Best to stay out of that.
Ors had been better in some ways, but was also a lot more unpredictable. While he felt at least somewhat comfortable around Mnemosyne, Ors made him constantly on edge. Just thinking about him made his face twitch. Scope noticed this, nudging him with his shoulder and grinning.
"Judging from that I'd guess not. Made you tell your entire life story, then?" Scope continued, making a disgusted face. Foil shrugged, unsure of what he should say. Was it best to tell the truth, and mention the games?
The Games were a sensitive subject with Scope, given that his cousin had been selected two years prior. He knew better than to bring them up, so he stayed silent for a minute, letting the other boy infer what he wanted to. Finally, Foil looked back at him, deciding that he'd just tell part of the truth. After all, Scope didn't need to know everything.
"He asked some other stuff. Mostly about my feelings on things, Wanted to know how I knew Turbine," he said, saying as much as he could without mentioning the Games.
Scope nodded. He'd never been the biggest fan of Turbine, either, but at least tolerated the older man enough to help out with groceries when Foil couldn't get time away from his job. Foil made sure not to make eye contact with Scope, knowing that the other boy would probably figure out that he was withholding information if they met eyes. He didn't do it to be mean, he just knew that it would upset Scope to talk about the games.
Turbine wasn't actually named Turbine. That was his last name, but for some reason, instead of people calling him Gerald, he preferred to be called his surname. Foil was pretty used to it, but it sometimes shocked people from the Capitol, at least from the stories that Turbine told him.
People in district five almost prided themselves on having names like that, rather than the pretentious sounding names of Capitol folk. When Foil had first met Mnemosyne, it had taken him months to learn how to spell it correctly, since he kept trying to spell out the first part phonetically.
"Turbine, right. It's weird that Mnemosyne just up and dipped. From what you told me about her, she didn't seem like the type. What does this new dude look like? Capitol people have weird things done to them most of the time. Does this guy have anything going on?" Scope asked, curiously peering over at Foil.
The blonde boy had to think back to the last night and picture Ors' face in his mind. He'd been fairly normal, as far as Capitol people go, the dyed hair and yellow eyes being the only thing that stood out. No tattoos, no super intense makeup. It was still odd, compared to normal people, but it wasn't that bad.
"He had this long teal hair with it pinned up to kind of look like horns. Also, some weird yellow eyes. Not as bad as you'd think, though," replied Foil.
Scope looked confused for a second, almost as if he was pondering something, but quickly snorted and shook his head. Foil figured that he was just trying to figure out if he'd seen Ors before anywhere.
When his meetings with Mnemosyne first started, Scope had been convinced that she was a reporter trying to trick him, and had constantly been watching on television to see if she showed up. She never had, as Scope's theory was ridiculous, but it had been a funny joke between them.
"Hmm. You'll have to tell me more as time goes on. Anyway, what've you got planned this weekend?" said the taller of the two, a large grin on his face. Foil thought about his question, tilting his head.
His father had the day off tomorrow, so he'd probably spend most of the day at home before he had to go shopping for food for the week. Today, though, he didn't really have anything planned, just checking in on his siblings a couple of times to make sure they were still up and moving. He was used to having to keep track of them, especially since he was normally the only one around the house.
"Not much. Dad's home tomorrow, but I've got nothing going on today. Why do you ask?" Foil peered over at Scope, who stretched and let out a slight yawn.
If Scope had another overly ambitious idea, there was no way he was going to let him go through with it. So far, Scope hadn't gotten in trouble, but it was only a matter of time before he did something that ended up with him in a tight spot. His ideas had mellowed with age, but sometimes he'd still come up with a scheme that made Foil have to talk some sense into him. Luckily, Scope didn't have the mischievous grin that he normally did when pitching a new plan, just a small smile.
"My mother is coming home tonight," he said, his eyes sparkling. Foil smiled in reaction to his words. Scope's mother worked as a technician on the dam, working near the city and being gone for weeks at a time. She rarely got to go home, and it was always exciting when she finally had some time off.
Foil's own mother was long dead, but Scope talking about his mom didn't make him as sad as it used to. He'd gotten over his mother's death years ago, and while he missed her, he was more accustomed to her not being around. It was just the way life worked sometimes.
"Really? That's great! How long will she be off for?" inquired Foil, noticing a small gray creature approaching them as he spoke.
It was a cat, one with stripes running down its back, looking a little worse for wear. Scope immediately perked up upon seeing the cat, waiting for the animal to get closer before reaching his hand out and beckoning it forward.
The other boy had a gift with animals, while Foil wasn't great with them. The cat tentatively glanced at Scope before moving up a little bit, close enough for them to notice how thin and sad it looked. All previous questions forgotten, the taller of the pair stood up and knelt down, still holding his hand out.
"Scope, I don't know if that's the best idea…" Foil started, quickly shushed by Scope as the cat inched closer. The cat went right up to his hand, sniffing it and letting out a pathetic meow.
Foil sighed. Neither of them had enough food or income to support a cat, and any spare food they had went towards their siblings, not towards an animal. Scope seemed to realize this too, but was intent on making friends with the cat. It didn't run away, so Scope reached out to pet it, his hand making contact with the messy and matted fur of the poor creature. For a moment, it stood there, eyes closing as it got a few pets.
A few noisy people walked by, startling the cat and causing it to instantly dart away from the pair.
Scope cursed, obviously angry, and watched as the cat ran out of their line of sight. Foil knew that his friend would be on the lookout for the cat for the rest of the weekend, and that it probably wouldn't show up again.
It was a shame, really. How did a cat get all the way out here, anyway? He knew that there were some strays in the city area, but they rarely made it all the way out here. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for it, even though there wasn't much he could do if he saw it.
It was probably about time for him to go and check on Fizz, making sure that the kid wasn't getting into too much trouble with his friends. Scope looked dejected, and nodded at him as he stood up.
Foil patted Scope on the back, then started walking back towards his own place, keeping an eye out for Fizz and Lise on the way. He made it back to the house without incident, stepping inside just long enough to figure out that neither of his siblings were there. Immediately going back outside, he spotted Lise across the street, who waved back at him.
The sun was high in the sky, beaming down the district with the usual heat of their climate. The bright glow hurt Foil's eyes to look at. There were barely any clouds, nothing providing shade to the people down below.
It would keep shining for the rest of the day, the heat warming his skin and making him wish that they had air conditioning in their house.
Still firmly in spring, it would only get worse over the coming weeks.
District Five was always sunny and miserable this time of year. There was no escaping it, either. Foil knew that he'd be stuck here for the rest of his life, whether he liked it or not.
This chapter is a little late, and next week's chapter might go up a few days late as well. I wanted to clarify some things about submissions before then, as I've received a few at this point. If you're sending them to me through discord, don't worry about this! If you're sending in a submission, please, read the rules. I'd much prefer it if you ask me questions and tell me your concept for your submission before actually submitting so I can tell you whether or not it works. I want to be able to accept everyone, and I can't do that if I don't get enough detail for me to actually write with. I'd like a good two paragraphs each for both Personality and Backstory! If you've already sent in an accepted tribute, again, don't worry about fixing anything. Next up is chapter 5, and after that in chapter 6 we'll get to the Victors' Dinner! The prologues will eventually turn into interludes when I get to the intros. Everything is connected, even though it might not seem like it. I hope everyone is still enjoying reading, and I thank everyone who has made it this far!