III— COMMENSALISM
Lorelai Marinee, 17. District Four.
Beneath, the aquamarine water churns endlessly, undulating in a rhythmic motion toward shore. She watches the white-capped waves dance along the surface, listening to the roar of the surf as it drowns out any other noise in its path. From the cliff overlooking the cove, Four seems like a distant fantasy of gemlike waters and sun-drenched days instead of her daily reality.
(Not that it's bad, by any means. But her district is full of problems that will never be fixed.)
The sound of the surf brings with it voices. All muffled, yet still pitched high with childish enthusiasm. It brings a smile to her face, even though it interrupts the serenity of her afternoon escape. Usually after weekdays, Lorelai spends her time giving some of the local kids swimming lessons or taking them on trips to teach them about the local wildlife. If she squints, there is a handful she recognizes among them, sprinting eagerly across the sand to jump around in the waves crashing against the shoreline.
Lorelai grins, raking her jet-black hair out of her eyes. The wind has picked up again, a rush of air scaling the short cliffside to swirl around her haven. It smells like the brine of the ocean, and feels like the warmth of sand. Life along the coast has always been good to her. The space between the last schoolbell on a Friday and the beginning of the weekend's work always reminds her of that notion. It's a feeling that has never left her, a gratitude that keeps her humbled.
Others in Four certainly don't have it quite as easy. In fact, being comparatively stable is why her mother insists that she and her sisters follow her footsteps in giving back to the community. In a strong community, there is a strength to be found in roots. It's a good thing when neighbors get along. It's better when they all look after each other.
Thus, it's always been on her agenda to contribute. On weekends, Lorelai loves to tag along with her father when he's running his sloop, helping him demonstrate efficient sailing techniques to aspiring fishermen. She's always been curious what the open waters are like; his stories of sea have always been alluringly entertaining. She figures joining him on such excursions is the closest she'll get; further than she's able to swim, yet sadly still in view of land. Someday perhaps, her father will take her, but Lorelai knows better than to cling to such foolish hopes.
She's grown up along the water all her life. The knowledge she's gleaned from that experience is certainly valuable, and worth sharing to those who need the guidance. Some in Four, who live further inland in river-towns, often come to the coast to seek new prosperity. Paradise Bay is a popular place for it. The Marinee family, largely in thanks to her mother's charitable ways, has always been happy to help them. After all, there is no one else trying to make Four a more hospitable place.
So long as the district produces its fishing quotas, the Capitol could care less how it operates. Nevermind the rampant poverty, inexperienced youth, and damaged infrastructure from being along Panem's biggest stormfront— they're left stranded, completely to their own devices.
In the wild, that kind of symbiosis is commensalism. She learned the word in her ecology class, a special elective designed for Four's youth to learn more about their varied landscape. She's always preferred classes centered on music and the arts, but science has fascinated her in equal measures. In such a relationship, one party benefits, while the other remains indifferent.
On the surface, they should be thankful that the Capitol doesn't cause them harm as it does some of the other districts. But the governing body of Panem doesn't help them, either, especially when help is needed. For that reason, her older sister Naomi has begun to take a more aggressive approach to her mother's philanthropy, seeking the introduction of actual reforms to the district.
It's a noble cause, but it largely goes over Lorelai's head. It's much easier to find contentment where she's at. There's something about the simplicity of it all that energizes her. Allows her to reflect on the week, whether it be her family's philanthropy work, the late-night hangouts she attends with her friends at the beach, or the way Adrian Bolivar in her athleisure class seems to stare just a little longer than he should when they're done doing laps across the gymnasium.
Despite the hardships facing others in Panem, if Lorelai's biggest problem is a boy, she would consider herself as doing just fine. And hell, if she wanted him, Lorelai knows all it would take is to turn on a little bit of charm. He would do anything she asked. Ever since Naomi taught her that it was better to weaponize her natural charisma, the boys at school have responded to her differently. The girls, too, if she's feeling the persuasion— she's certainly not picky.
(Such thoughts swirl around in her brain like the seaside wind. In and out, receding quickly and returning in full force. In a life as social as hers, Lorelai rarely gets peace nor quiet.)
Behind her, she can hear a laugh, clear as crystal against the ebbing ocean wind. Judging by its distance, Lorelai would guess the person it belongs to is about twenty feet away, standing in the middle of the trail that snakes up the gentle slopes rising behind the cliff.
No doubt, her sister has her hands on her hips, long, lush grasses matted at her careless feet.
"Knew I'd find you up here, Lola," her younger sister says, the words devolving into another melodic laugh. "You're so predictable. It gets kind of funny, honestly."
"It's nice," Lorelai says evasively. "Though I really don't get what's so funny about that." She can't fight her own smile— she supposes there is a truth to her predictability, though she prefers to think of it as simply falling into a groove. It sounds much better, anyhow.
"Whatever," Serenity huffs, the word impatient.
"You just get out of school?" Lorelai asks her, examining her nails as if she's bored. She can see that her sister's gotten antsy about something, and fully intends to exploit it.
"Shut up," her sister groans. Unluckily, Lorelai's plans are cut short. "Yes. I was. And I don't want to talk about it. Such a waste of time," she adds dismissively. "There are bigger fish to fry. Such as… what are we doing tonight? Mom and Dad are busy with their shit, and Naomi's too good for us now, it's probably just you and me. That cool?"
"Sure," Lorelai grins, shrugging in one smooth, fluid motion. "Always has been. Clearly, you've got something in mind?"
"Of course," Serenity nods. Her spitfire sister is always up to no good. Truthfully, so long as it isn't damaging to the community, Lorelai is happy to play along. "I'm not gonna tell you until you promise me you're in, though. Deal?"
"What? No," Lorelai sighs. "You're actually moronic if you think that's how this works." Acting entirely unfazed by Serenity's frustrated scowling, she closes her eyes and angles her head back toward the sea. The sun feels good against her skin; the rushing of the waves filling the silence her sister has created. It's only momentary, of course.
"Fine," Serenity caves. "I need your help."
"With what? Boys? Or some kind of scheme?"
"Gonna go with both," her sister explains. "It's a scheme, involving a boy. Two, actually."
"Care to explain who? And what?" Lorelai replies, her eyes remaining shut.
"I was thinking, since it's getting late, we sneak down into the dockyard. On weekends, nobody really cares about making sure the smaller vessels aren't stolen or trashed. You following me? Cool," Serenity continues without any confirmation. "I want to borrow a dinghy. There's a boy I want to impress. Sailing. Stargazing. The works. I think he might actually be into me this time. And," she adds, without being prompted, "there's something in it for you."
"What?" Lorelai asks, if only because she can hear her sister eagerly rocking on her heels.
"How about a good time? There's a guy working the late shift. I know he gives you fuckin' goo-goo eyes every time you so much as glance in his direction. I figure you butter him up a little— fun for you, as we know— and enough distraction for me to get out unnoticed."
Lorelai snorts. "That's actually dumb. Beyond, even. Do you even know how to steer a boat?"
"Come on," Serenity whines. "Don't do this to me. This boy told me it would be cool."
"You sound desperate," Lorelai quips. "Really desperate."
Lorelai yawns. Stretches. "Lola, I swear," her sister growls.
She rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. She was fifteen once.
It took less than ten seconds for Lorelai to decide the plan they devised would be too easy.
It took less than thirty seconds to strut across the beach, down toward the water's edge. The local docks are situated on the outside of the cove, forming a rickety h-shape over the ocean. A few equally rough-looking structures populate the space where the sand meets the grass— if she had to guess, they're for storing equipment or seized cargo, but neither are important.
There are only two workers. Neither sister saw anyone else on this side of the ridge. It's late enough that the sun is no longer visible, beyond a thin orange sliver that's rapidly sinking over marvelously colored waves. The taller one is Adrian. She could have spotted him a mile away. The other worker is shorter than him, but he still has a couple inches on her. When he turns her way, Lorelai glimpses a face that she feels like she should remember. It's a shame she doesn't.
Though Adrian is the catch, she'll need to distract both.
The other boy, the one with the face that seems familiar, is staring at the water when she makes her way onto the dock. His gaze is blank, as if he were a million miles across the sea instead of sharing the same space as her.
"Hey. Are you afraid of the water or something?" Lorelai quips, trying to engage him. He lifts his eyes, and despite the summer sun, a shiver runs down her spine. "I teach kids how to swim. I could teach you sometime if you wanted! There's nothing wrong with the ocean. If that's the case."
Peripherally, Lorelai can see Adrian looking over at their conversation. She can tell he's pretending not to be interested, but her presence is a wrench in his perpetual boredom.
The other boy slowly shakes his head. He seems to mumble something that she can't quite hear, and then makes himself busy tidying unused hawsers into neat coils.
"Oooohkay," she comments aloud. That was an awkward exchange. Thankfully, her attention is on other matters. Since one deckhand is already preoccupied with moping around, her role in Serenity's plan becomes a hell of a lot easier.
She's always come across as a bit ditzy for planning, but it's a role Lorelai is happy to play to her advantage. Far too many have underestimated her sharpness. Some never realize she's exploiting them. She's just that good. A pointed look here, a breathy whisper there. Easy.
Adrian Bolivar will be a piece of cake. It helps that he's not bad-looking, either. In time, she can have him and eat him too.
"Hey, Adrian," Lorelai calls out to him, her tone alluringly sweet.
"Hey," he replies, folding his arms in front of his chest. It doesn't intimidate her— rather, it gives her the distinct impression that he's uncomfortable in his excitement to talk with her, and needs to make himself look less awkward. She's seen it more than once. He'll crack.
"Been looking for you," she intones, leaning against a weathered dock piling. "Didn't actually for sure if you worked here, but I figured it was a nice… isolated… place for a walk, yeah?"
Adrian nods. He swallows nervously. It isn't lost on her. "Looking… for me?"
"Yes," she grins. "Of course. Don't act dumb, okay?"
"Yeah," he breathes. They're about a foot apart now— she's looking up at him through her lashes. Not an exaggerated motion, but one meant to positively unsettle him. Behind him, she can see Serenity sprinting stealthily across the dock, making sure to strategically time her steps with the fluctuating roar of the ocean.
It's a sailing dinghy Serenity is aiming for. Perhaps a fifteen-footer, nothing nice enough to be missed. Enough equipment to get the job done, but not overwhelm an inexperienced sailor like her sister. Lorelai flashes her an encouraging smile when Adrian's eyes stray away from her.
"Hey, Cas?" he asks, seemingly to the other worker. "Can you handle the dock further down? Lorelai and I are going to have a… chat," he decides. "Thanks, man."
She doesn't hear a verbal response from the other boy, but she can track his receding footsteps across the creaky boards of the salt-lashed dock. She whistles. "What's his deal?"
"If you weren't around to see his deal, I'm not gonna be the one to say. Better if you don't know. Honestly. We just need hands around here," he adds, as an afterthought. With the attention off of himself, he almost seems more at ease. They sit at the odd end of the dock, old wood scraping against the backs of her legs as she dangles them over the water.
"Fair," Lorelai nods, though her curiosity is left unsatiated. "Guess it beats spending Friday night all by yourself out here, yeah?"
"Yeah," Adrian agrees. "It does. You plan on staying awhile?"
"If you want me to," Lorelai shrugs. "It's not like I've known you for years. We aren't total strangers, are we?"
"No."
"Good," she continues. "It would be weird if we were, huh?"
The question is rhetorical. She doesn't want an answer— just a tantalizing silence that he will decide to fill in a desperation to impress. As he picks at his cuticles, struggling to choose the right words, Lorelai casts a look behind her.
The other boy, Cas, is nowhere to be seen. Serenity, on the other hand, is quickly untying the mooring lines from the ship, leaving them in messy strands across the surface of the dock. Lorelai frowns, thumping the decking to get her attention. She makes a circular motion to clue Serenity in— the lines should be coiled, or the deckhands will notice.
"It would be," he finally says. "I'm glad we're not. Just for the record."
"For the record, or off the record?" she queries, equipped with a sly smile.
"For. To be honest…" he takes a deep breath, "... to be honest, I've been thinking about you for a while. I think, I think that's what you mean. You know about it. That's why you're here right?"
By now, they're just a few inches apart. He's willingly become ensnared in her net.
"For the moment," she laughs. "Once the sun goes all the way down, I'll have to go. I figured I'd stop by anyway. Heard you worked here from a friend of a friend. Thought I'd help you loosen up for the weekend a little bit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Why not?" she asks, leaning in further. She closes her eyes, and she's rewarded with a kiss.
His lips are soft, with enough firm pressure to make it pleasurable enough. His mouth tastes sweet, his lips tinged with salt from the ocean wind. She's had better, but Adrian's not a bad kiss. Lorelai only pulls away when she's certain the only sounds she can hear are their heartbeats, and the cyclical rhythm of the waves.
The way he looks into her eyes after is equally rewarding, even though she knows it'll never work out between them. He's not the first in a long line of romances and he won't be the last. But a favor's a favor, and once the sun has gone down, she's scored a date for tomorrow. A win-win, with any luck.
Whether or not the date will be attended remains to be seen, but the option is nice. Soon enough, she'll have to forego the fruitful chaos of her teenage years and become an adult. Until then, though, she's happy to exploit the careful symbiosis of her life just a little longer.
(After all, what's life without a little fun and games?)
Stati Curren, 15. District Three.
To say that Stati's never been the smartest person in Three is a complete undersell. That's not to say she doesn't try— she really does. Her grades are competitive with the best in her schooling zone. She scores well on tests, on assignments. High marks on everything. Universal praise from her instructors, for her memory, her ingenuity, her ability to problem-solve.
Yet, such praise feels worthless. In comparison with her parents, and her siblings, Stati will never amount to anything special. Her brain might as well be a bag of rocks.
A part of her knows that it's a disservice to herself to believe that. It's something her friends have corroborated nearly a hundred times. But it just doesn't feel like it matters. When she returns to a home so intelligent that they've lost the ability to truly connect with her— to understand her— trying to cling to her own intelligence feels like an inane chore.
(There's a certain exhaustion in being the Currens' black sheep. It makes her feel like a leech, a parasite, to contribute nothing to the legacy they've created.)
The hard plastic backing of the chair she's sitting in suddenly feels too rigid. Stati has an urge to bend it backwards, just to see if it would break. She's tried to drown out the erratic click-clacking of a neighboring student's fingernails against their desk's laminated surface. The lecture itself has escaped her entirely. She tries to refocus, but her attention is drawn elsewhere.
Across the room, she notices her friend is absentmindedly folding a piece of paper. It's a small strip, with thin blue lines. He's folding it into the shape of a star. It is enough to hold her attention until he's done, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb to crinkle the edges. Then he starts anew, with a second strip of paper.
Stati wishes she had something to do with her hands, to keep her mind off of the lecture. It makes her jealous of Zero, in a way. She's nearly ecstatic when the lecture finishes— the last of the day always feels the longest. Their instructor claps her hands together and powers off the screen projector, with a drily spoken "see you tomorrow." Stati turns to her friend as the class begins packing up their bookbags.
"Glad that's over, yeah?"
"Yeah," Zero agrees, scooping up his paper stars. "Honestly, I don't know what learning physics has to do with anything practical or applicable, but it is what it is."
"You can say that again," Stati chuckles, slinging her bag over her shoulder. One of the girls from the back of the class passes her to the door and flashes her a smile that Stati returns. She waits for Zero to finish before going on the offensive. "You still into Nym?"
Zero groans, leading the way out the door and into the crowded hallway. " Nah. She and I aren't going to work out."
"Ever? Shame. She's a nice enough girl," Stati says. She's known Nym for the last five years of schooling. They've never been the closest, but they've hung out on occasion. She always makes sure to acknowledge Stati, because Stati acknowledges Nym. It's something she's rather good at— the recognition. Being outgoing and personable enough certainly helps to create a decent social standing. The ladder is always being climbed. Stati happens to be likable enough to skip a few rungs here and there.
In school, it seems like everything is dictated by Three's brainiac culture. The smartest in the class are often held in the highest social regard. It gives Stati an extra edge that she knows how to talk to people. It helps that she's confident enough to crack jokes and speak her mind when she wants to. Such arbitrarily commonplace abilities are seen as profound and bizarre, in a sense. In another, it has been her saving grace.
(It saves her intelligence from scrutiny. Keeps people from thinking the same thoughts she does.)
Three's strange. It's the only way she can really describe it. Even if it's all she's ever known, Stati knows that the way her community interacts with itself isn't normal. In the hall, she sees scant few schoolmates stopping with friends to talk at their lockers. Many her age work short shifts after school at the factories. Others have more functional jobs, like paper routes and working as a barista.
Stati likes to think that when she turns sixteen, her parents might let her pick up a role as a barista. She doesn't drink coffee— neither does anyone in her purist family— but the social nature of the job is well within her wheelhouse. On rare occasions after school, Stati and her friends will hang out at the coffee shop on the corner, just two blocks from the school building and three more from her parents' house. It's a very bright place to be, full of a sociable buzz that the rest of the city seems to lack. She finds it to be a tantalizingly foreign world.
She and Zero push past the double-doors at the end of their year's designated hall and descend three crowded flights of stairs before they're finally free. Stati cheers, running out onto the street with a wild grin on her face. Zero joins in. They watch a streetcar roll by before crossing it, ready to head home for the weekend.
"Got any plans?" Stati asks him once they've reached the fire hydrant that marks half the distance between the school and the cafe.
"Nope," Zero shrugs. "I've got to babysit my sister tomorrow so my parents can get out a little. Other than that, not much. You want to go to the park with me and Watty later?"
"Which park?" Stati asks curiously. "Skate or nature?"
"Buyer's choice," he tells her. "Kind of a half-baked plan. Skate park is usually the busiest tonight. Nature would be nice too, though. Feels a lot less crowded."
"Agreed," Stati replies. Casting a glance upward at the city that crowds them in, she's reminded that Three had been built on the rubble of a city that existed long before Panem. The name has since been lost to history, alongside its biggest skyscrapers.
The ones that remain are like deities. Broken metal monoliths to a past era, a stark reminder of what must have brought Panem to be. They tower silently over the district, guardians of the sky. Or perhaps wardens— there is something equally comforting and unnerving about the space they obstruct. Training her eyes back on the ground, Stati is reminded of how unpleasantly gray everything seems to be.
"Nature," she decides with a grimace. "Usually I'd go for the skate park, but it's not like we know how to skate anyway. Due for a quieter weekend, anyway."
"Yeah," Zero agrees. His tone drops lower. "Been a long week too. Not really looking forward to Sunday, either."
Stati simply nods. "Me neither."
Stati and her friends have already survived three years of the Reapings, but each attendance feels less like pure panic and more like slow, creeping dread. Not that she'd ever admit that aloud, but she knows her friends feel the same thing. Last year, they were all quite shaken when one of their classmates was reaped. She lasted two minutes and thirty six seconds into the Games. Her funeral was private. Though they had all witnessed her die, it still remained closed-casket.
"It is what it is," Stati echoes a previous sentiment. "I'd really rather not get caught up on it. It's a worry for Sunday, not today. But, yeah, I'm down to meet you two at the park. Have to be home for dinner, but after that I'm sure my parents won't even notice I'm gone."
"Cool," Zero nods. "It's a plan then."
"Good shit," Stati confirms. They chat amicably until they reach the cafe, at which point their paths diverge. Zero heads further down the main street, where he will return to his apartment. Stati still has a good three blocks to go. Three blocks isn't quite long enough.
It's not that she's ungrateful for what her parents provide. She has all of the basic necessities; much more than some of those in Three's less savory areas have access to. In truth, Stati doesn't quite know what she wants from her family. It's not like she's ever known anything better.
Surely, anything would be better than feeling like a stranger in her own home.
As she did in class, Stati only pays limited attention to the dinner table conversation.
As microelectronic researchers, her parents are certifiably genius, even by Three's standards. Since before she was born, they worked in a cutting-edge research facility, collecting data on specialized microelectronics to in turn collaborate with Three's top electrical engineers.
Their line of work is at the forefront of Three's modern technological revolution. Her siblings seem to be on track to follow in their footsteps. Stati, on the other hand, struggles to follow the highly technical intricacies of the conversation bouncing around the family table.
She tries to focus on the food. She tries to appreciate the spaghetti carbonara, the roasted beet salad. Neither feel appetizing today. The worst part of each day is having to sit at the table with them. She's thankful for the food, but it feels laughable to pretend that they're a cohesive family unit when her parents are too stoic and cerebral to make conversation with her, and her elder sister and younger brother are somehow more attached to each-other than with her.
Middle child. Middle of the pack. On the middle road, destined to go nowhere.
Stati sighs and pushes away her dinner. Her parents stop conversing to look at her. Her mother blinks, but says nothing. Her father's eyes return to his plate.
"You okay?" her older sister asks.
"Yeah. Just not hungry, I guess. I'm heading out to the park with some friends," she says decisively, both uncaring if they'd stop her and knowing that no such action will be taken. "But don't worry, I'll take care of my dishes first."
The words are bitter. The strength with which she mashes the brush bristles into her plate is worse. When she dries her hands on the dish-towel, her parents have struck up another conversation about the modified transistors they're working on.
Silently, she crosses out of the bleakly modern kitchen and over the foyer to the front door. There's an entertaining space between the two, never used. Her father instead turned it into a desk with a shelving system. It could have been full of laughter and noise, like the cafe on the corner. Instead, it's a reminder of how little their worlds connect under this roof.
Impulsively, Stati slams the door, utterly tactless in her exit. She enjoys imagining that the conversation has stopped once again, even though it will pick back up momentarily. They're all usually so absorbed in whatever they're doing that dinner is the only time some of them will have spoken all day. Even though it's been this way forever, she can't help but find it absurd.
(Maybe all she wanted was someone to ask her how her day had been. Maybe all she wanted was someone to show that she mattered as much as some machines.)
She doesn't bother waiting on the door-stoop for anyone to come after her. She learned a long time ago that no one will. To them, she exists as an extra mouth to feed and nothing more. It doesn't matter that her grades are top-of-the-class. It doesn't matter that she's nearly universally well-liked at school. They've never asked. Never seen.
If the rest of Three can acknowledge her, what is stopping her family?
She's frustrated, as usual, but knows she needs to shrug it off and move on. There's much more to life than the four walls of her home. She catches a streetcar on the main road, and wordlessly takes it down to the nature park. There are scant few other passengers, and most aren't up for chatting. Not to say that she didn't try, at least. Most of them are too worn out from the day's work to talk to some random teenager, anyhow.
When she arrives at the park, Watty and Zero are waiting for her just outside of where the trail meets the woods. They're sitting underneath a pavilion, at one of a handful of empty picnic tables. They're the metal kind, perforated with thousands of tiny holes and coated in a durable green thermoplastic coating. Their backs are facing her; she climbs onto the bench to sit in-between them and is rewarded with a laugh.
"Hey, Stati," Watty greets her. "You're a little early."
She quirks an eyebrow dramatically. "I think you two are here pretty early. Had dinner for maybe twenty more minutes. Starting to hang out without me?"
"No!" Zero says hastily. "We would never. Genuinely. You're just as—"
"Oh quit it," she laughs. "I'm just winding you up. You know I don't care. I hang out with both of you one-on-one all the time, it's not a big deal."
Zero looks relieved. It isn't like Stati would care— typically, if somebody doesn't vibe with her, it's because they're a stuck-up lunatic. Besides, all three of them are integral parts to their group dynamic, but Stati knows that they wouldn't quite be where they are socially without her effect on them. When she met them both after transferring schools, they were extremely awkward and uptight. Over time, she bridged those gaps and made close friends out of them.
"What have you guys been up to?" she probes. "Just chatting?"
"Yeah," Watty nods. "And… this," he continues, gesturing grandiosely at the edge of the table where it seems he's etched something into the thermoplastic.
Watty wuz here.
Stati shrieks with laughter, rocking back on the bench. The motion is enough to cause her to fall halfway, her shoulders catching on the bench behind them while her rear is suspended in midair between the two. The fall finally smashes through all of the imaginary tension. None of them have dry eyes by the time she rights herself again.
"Too much velocity, or something," she chuckles, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. "But seriously? Why'd you fuck up the spelling so badly?"
"Because it was funny," he answers simply.
"I guess," Stati agrees, bobbing her head enthusiastically. "If you're going to vandalize public property it should be funny. I concur. You have a knife, or…?"
"Yeah," Watty says. He fishes it out of his jeans pocket and passes it over to her.
Satisfied with the blocky-lettered etching, Stati confidently slaps the knife down on the table above it. Her friends lean in closer to see what she wrote.
Sorry about your table.
"I don't get it," Zero admits after the silence has drawn on long enough to speak for him.
"It's ironic," Stati groans. "If I was actually sorry about the table, I wouldn't have busted it up for a laugh."
Watty chuckles. "That's so stupid."
She shrugs. "I thought it was funny. That's what matters to me."
Zero snorts. "Right."
Stati stands, shuffling out of her seat, and then socks them both in their shoulders. "Fuck you guys," she laughs. "Let's go for a walk. Vandalism seems more fun when it's of the spray-paint variety, anyway. And if we wanted to do that we would have gone to the skate park."
Watty nods sagely. "Yeah my lettering looks awful."
"That we can both agree on," Stati quips.
The nature park is small; only an acre-and-a-half of old-growth trees and carefully preserved undergrowth. The only animals it can sustain are songbirds, and a handful of squirrels that she's seen visitors feeding. Thankfully, it's nighttime— they would've been bothered already.
This, Stati can enjoy. All thoughts of the day's previous grievances have left her head by the time they've devolved into a series of jokes and maniacal laughter, lighting up the empty park. This is what she wants. It doesn't matter whether or not her family plays a role in that. She's always been just fine on her own, anyhow.
This kind of life is one worth enjoying, no matter the role she plays in it.
Huge thank you to NostalgicPride for Lorelai and caffeinatedvirgo for Stati! Once again, I did have a lot of fun writing these two. I apologize for the update being quite a bit later than expected, but I got zero writing done over the holidays. I'm happy to push another update, and to have almost half of my cast filled out! I do still need more tributes, however, and reviews are appreciated. Let me know how I did with your tributes please!
In other news, I'm working on a blog for the story. It's a work in progress, but the link is on my profile.
Hope everyone has a great day/night wherever they're at! Thanks! :)