District Seven & Eight Non-Reapings
Liat North, 18, District Seven
As the spring breeze rustled through the lumber worksite, tousling her short blonde curls, Liat momentarily stilled her ax to breathe in the aromas of tree sap and wildflowers. It stirred up a pleasant chill that ran up and down her spine—it was the aroma of life, and she didn't want it to stop.
The crunching of leaves underfoot, the lacey pattern of sunshine through the bare branches above, the murmur of squirrels in the underbrush… These alone made her job worth it, though chopping down trees wasn't her ideal choice for spending the rest of her life.
Honk! Honk! Honk!
She tilted her head back and let her gaze follow the geese flying overhead, returning for the summer to the regions north of Panem, where the Capitol's power was naught and the animals roamed wild and free. She cracked a smile. Geese. Seemingly average birds that harbored a wild streak.
That could be a plot point!
Oh… the ideas! But she was at work; this wasn't the time to dream up stories. She chuckled and slipped her notebook out of her pocket, quickly scrawling "geese attack" inside before sliding it back in. It didn't fit quite right into the current story she was writing, but maybe it could work in a different one. It had to; it was simply too funny to not use!
"Hey! Liat!"
She swiveled around and found her co-worker Roan watching her with a twinkle in his curious brown eyes. "What's up?"
"Story idea?"
"Maybe."
"Do I get to know this one?"
She winked at him and returned to the tree she was working on. "Pretty sure we're supposed to be working right now."
He rolled his eyes and slammed his own ax into a tree trunk, the final swing it took for the tree to tilt, wobble, and finally crash to the ground with a boom that shook the earth and got her blood pumping.
"There," he said, wiping his brow to smooth back a couple of stray brown curls, "I worked. What's the idea?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I just thought it would be funny if I had geese attack someone."
"Geese?" He frowned. "Ugh. I hate geese. They're so aggressive for no reason."
She laughed, remembering the last time they'd had an encounter with the birds. A couple of them had mobbed him, and he clearly hadn't forgiven them. "That's why it'd be hilarious!"
"They're the Peacekeepers of the animal world."
Her eyes widened as mental cogs turned, and a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. "Ooh… I like that."
"What?"
"We'll call them Geesekeepers!"
He groaned. "You're insane."
She jabbed him in the side. "You're just traumatized."
Brrr! Brr! Brr!
The ugly sound of the shift-change alarm was music to her ears. Most of her coworkers would have to come back for another shift later, but as an eighteen-year-old, she only had to work a half-day, with the rest of the time given for training, just in case she was Reaped. Liat had no plans of getting Reaped, but training was fun.
Besides, Joanne was waiting for her at the Training Center. Just the thought of the gorgeous girl put a smile on her face. But first, she leveled her shoulders and raised her ax, aiming at one of the tree stumps. Throwing axes was against the rules at work, but work hours were technically over, so…
Roan raised an eyebrow. "Bet you won't do it."
"Really?"
She glanced to her left, and then she checked the right. All around her, the rest of the logging team marched towards the foreman's station to deposit their axes. That was a green light if she ever saw one. After a moment of careful aiming, she swung her arm, flicked her wrist, and sent the axe spinning into the stump, where it stuck with a satisfying "crack!"
"There!" She yanked it out of its wooden notch and flashed him an exaggeratedly smug smile. "But I've got training to do. Bye!"
Leaving Roan behind, she skipped over to the foreman's station and deposited her axe in the collection box with a twirl. Logging hadn't been her first choice for what she wanted to do with her life, but so what? She had good friends. She got to spend her days in the woods, reveling in the mountain breeze. She wouldn't give the memories she'd made for anything.
That was that. With her workday over, all her mental space was reserved for training, writing… and Joanne!
After a good walk, she strolled through the front gate of the District Seven Center for the Training of Tributes, passing the log palisade that encircled the Center. Officially, it was there as an aesthetic choice to represent the "strength and resilience of the people of District Seven." Likely story. Odds were, it was actually to keep the weaponry inside from spreading to rebel pockets of the district.
Hmm… That would make a good premise. I'll have to jot it down later.
"Liat!"
She had barely entered the inner courtyard when Joanne barreled into her, wrapping her in a crushing hug and giving her a faceful of Joanne's luscious brown hair.
"It's been too long!" Joanne said, radiating a smile warmer than a sunbeam.
Liat snorted. "It's been twenty-four hours."
"That's too long."
"C'mon," Liat said, gently leading the pair towards the actual training building at the center of the compound. "It's training time."
Joanne sighed. "What are the odds of getting Reaped? It's some young kid half the time to force a volunteer anyway, and there's no way I'm ever going to volunteer."
"I dunno." Liat shrugged. "But hey, training is fun." She grabbed an axe and hurled at the target, smiling when it thud dead center, the way it always did. "I mean, they don't let you do this at work, do they?"
"Not wrong." Joanne gave a laugh that warmed Liat to the core. "I bet you do it at work anyway."
Liat threw up her hands. "You know me too well. Besides, this is our last year. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts."
Last year. The thought made her oddly somber. Once she finished her last Reaping, her workdays would go from half-day to full-day, since there would be no need for training. The rest of her life would be spent logging for the Capitol, only to stop when her body grew too weak to work. Where would she have space for the stories she burned to tell?
She smiled anyway. Even if her certain future wasn't attractive by any means, she had her friends and Joanne with her. She'd be fine.
Adair Ryder, 18, District Seven
As the sun climbed the bright spring sky, it found more people than usual wandering District Seven's central city. It was a holiday weekend in District Seven. On both sides of the well-paved streets, shopkeepers stood at the entrances to their stores, greeting travelers with expectations of good business to be done. People from all over the district were in town, whether from the nearby paper mills or the distant logging mountains.
It'd normally be a good day for tricking a few bucks off travelers as well, but Adair had no plans for it, at least not today. He leaned back in a patio chair right outside a bar and kicked his legs up on a nearby chair, holding a hand of playing cards, above which he watched every twitch of his friend Kirkland's face.
"It's your turn," he drawled, slamming a card on the table. "Got anythin' to beat that?"
Kirkland sighed and slid a one-denarius bill over the table. "You win this time."
"Thank you, good sir." He smiled and pocketed the denarius before taking a deep swig from the old beer bottle filled with water next to him. He liked alcohol as much as the next man, but he hadn't planned on getting drunk first thing in the morning.
Well, now that he thought about it, a bit of alcohol wouldn't hurt. It'd also be a chance to make a few extra bucks.
"Up for another?" Kirkland asked with a cheeky smirk. "I'll win my denarius back."
Adair paused to consider it. He always loved a good challenge… but the drink was on his mind and he wasn't about to turn that down.
"Nah, maybe later," he said, "I'mma get myself a drink first."
While Kirkland waited outside, he wandered into the bar, bustling with travelers on top of the regulars that frequented the place. His eyes wandered over to the counter, where a cowering young woman rapidly counted change under the angry glare of a scowling customer. This would be an easy day.
He sauntered up to her and flashed his winning smile. "Good day, ma'am. I'm just lookin' for a whiskey on the rocks."
"Of course," she said, blinking rapidly. Though her voice was soft, not unlike a beaten bird, the corner of her lip curled up a bit as she met his eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a mess today."
Good thing beaten birds were easy to play. "Don't mind 'em; he ain't nobody. That frown don't suit a pretty girl like you."
She blushed and averted her eyes, but she couldn't hide that smile. "Thank you… That'll be three denarii."
He pretended to fumble around in his pocket before pulling out the twenty-denarii note that he had intended to use from the start. "Is twenty okay, ma'am?"
"Oh! Yes, of course!" She took the twenty and opened the cash register, counting out seventeen denarii of change. "You're… not from around here, are you?"
"Nah, I'm from one of those far loggin' areas. Nothin' near as interesting as here." He chuckled, a hearty one reminiscent of lazy nights by the campfire though he hadn't had one in years. It was true. Born and raised in a fringe community, with middle-class parents that did their best to provide him and his brother a happy childhood. Nothing wrong with that, if a bit boring. "What gives? The accent?"
"Oh! I guess so. B-But I think it's charming, actually. We don't hear it much here in town."
He wouldn't admit it to himself, but those words felt good. Or maybe he would admit it. He deserved it, after all. He was the Adair Ryder, the unstoppable one, the one that waltzed into Town with nothing years ago but the clothes on his back and worked his way to where he was now—clever and hard-working with a life totally of his own.
"Oh—actually, could you change these ones for a ten?" he said before she slid the register closed, handing her eight ones.
"Ten? Sure," she said, much more at ease now. She set a ten on the counter. "I'll take the ones."
"Might want to double-check them; I can be such a mess with numbers…" He smiled at her, feigning uncertainty. The moment she looked down to count, he slipped the ten off the counter and into his hand with the other bills.
"…Seven… Eight… That's eight."
His eyes flew open wide. He pulled a bit of red to his cheeks. "Oh? I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, I must've miscounted. Here's two. And here's a ten while we're at it; I'll take a twenty."
She giggled at his apparent flustration. "Oh, of course! Here!"
"Thanks," he said, "My pleasure meeting you."
" 'My pleasure...' I like the ring of that," she said, batting her eyelashes. "My pleasure meeting you too!"
With his drink in hand, he left her at the counter and ambled back out the front door, counting on the crowd to hide his exit. Seven-buck profit? And a drink? It wasn't much compared to what'd he done before, but hey—he hadn't planned on making any money that day.
It wasn't as if he was short on money. The time he'd spent with a couple of professional con artists had honed his skill set; he could waltz into any ol' shop and come out with an extra twenty denarii, easy as skinnin' a squirrel.
But he could make the money, and so he did. He'd been through times of prosperity and times of starvation. He'd seen how District Seven was on the up-and-up, and he'd taken advantage of every opportunity to pull himself up.
This was his life. All his. What's not to be proud of?
Virginia Bedford, 17, District Eight
The chemistry classroom was a somber place, especially in the last period of the school day, with its too-bright hospital-white lights that revealed all the dirty corners that no one truly bothered to clean. Mrs. Taff sat behind her desk with a scowl on her face, an image made complete by her thick-rimmed glasses which framed her unamused glare. Around black-topped lab benches, students sat in groups, each one with a case of chemicals, various beakers and flasks, and a hot plate. Every last student could vouch for how slowly the minutes seemed to pass in that horrid class.
Well, every student except Virginia, who sat at her lab station with perfect posture. She hummed a little tune under her breath and twirled her hair while she scribbled out the reactions that they were about to perform, something about the "effect of acidity on the color of a solution." She smiled as she ran her hands through her wavy brown locks. She'd spent a good bit of time on it that morning since her parents could afford the hair care products.
Mrs. Taff rose and spoke in her nasal voice. "Now, who can tell me how the color of our solution will vary with acidity?"
Silence. The students stared at each other as if daring someone to speak and face the teacher's wrath. They hadn't covered the material in full yet; how would they know what to do?
Virginia cleared her throat. "I can, ma'am."
She ignored the rolling eyes and subtle sighs—she had been taught to address adults with respect, and she wasn't about to stop just because her peers found it weird.
"Virginia!" The teacher smiled and her eyes softened. "Go ahead."
"In acidic solution, the purple permanganate solution reduces to become light pink," she said, her voice singsong yet steady. She checked her paper, a little paranoid that she might misspeak. "But in a strongly basic solution, it oxidizes to become blue and then green."
"Good so far… And in a slightly basic solution?"
"Super ugly brown," she said, stifling a laugh.
A couple of the other students chuckled, bored out of their minds with chemistry. Mrs. Taff glared disapprovingly at the laughing students, but she sat down with a contented smile.
"Very good. You all would do well to study the reactions before we perform the experiment tomorrow. Class is dismissed."
While the other students bolted out of the room as if running from a vat of toxic dye, Virginia continued the little song stuck in her head and took her lovely time sliding her books into her backpack, thanking Mrs. Taff on her way out with a respectful nod.
As soon as she stepped out of the classroom, she found Janine waiting outside with her dirty blonde hair tied back in a rough ponytail. Virginia never quite understood why her friend didn't care that much about her appearance, but oh well—it wouldn't be Janine any other way.
"Ugh!" Janine groaned as they walked down the hall. "I hate chemistry. I hate reactions. I hate Mrs. Taff. I wish she'd go dye herself that ugly shade of per-manga-whatever."
Virginia chuckled. "She's not that bad."
Janine rolled her eyes. "That's because you're smart and you're her favorite."
"She's like any other person. If you're nice to her, she'll be nice to you."
"What's the point of this anyway? Most of us will just end up working in the mills, following the instructions. We don't need to know why the dye changes color."
Virginia shrugged as they skipped down a stairwell. "I guess not… but at least there's a chance of getting promoted if you understand the science."
"You won't need to know it…" Janine sighed. "You'll get married to some rich, old a—hole and never have to work a day in your life."
"Janine!"
"I'm sorry!"
"It's fine…" Virginia bit her lip. She smiled and ignored the tiny twinge of annoyance that bubbled at the pit of her stomach. Janine could be a bit sharp-tongued sometimes, but she meant well. "But Jakob isn't old. He's only 19. And he's not a… what you said."
Janine snorted. "Course he isn't."
"He's… just a little rough around the edges," Virginia insisted, face burning red. "He's responsible and super nice most of the time."
"Just to you!"
"I'm telling you; he's not horrible!"
"That's just not how the real world works. Just because he's nice to you doesn't make him a nice person."
Virginia turned her head away from her friend and fixed her eyes straight ahead. Janine didn't know Jakob; how could she make a judgment on his character? Sure, he wasn't perfect, but Virginia liked to think that he was mostly good.
The two exited the building. Though the atmosphere now pressed on the two like an awkward blanket, Virginia smiled and waved goodbye before the two split ways, Janine to the left with most of their schoolmates and Virginia to the right, down the road towards the nicer side of town. It didn't take her long to spot Jakob's tall, broad-shouldered figure leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and his perfectly combed-over hair barely rustling in the breeze.
"Hello, beautiful," he whispered in her ear as he planted a kiss on her cheek. He roughly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they walked down the street together.
His grip was a bit tight, but she simply smiled at him and tried to ignore the discomfort. "So good to see you!"
"How was school?"
"It was okay," she said, hoping that he'd ask for more. The conversations with Janine echoed in her head, refusing to let her rest, but she didn't want to bring them up if he wasn't interested.
He simply rubbed his head against hers. They walked on without a word.
"Is chemistry actually all that useful?" Virginia wondered aloud to fill the silence.
"Huh?"
That response was better than none. "A friend at school said that learning chemistry was pointless."
"Don't listen to them," he spat. "What do they know?"
She shifted in discomfort. Janine wasn't always the politest person, but she was a good friend and that was that. "Well… maybe she has a point though. All they have to do is follow instructions."
"The real world doesn't care if you make good points if you don't have any money, but whatever."
She bit her lip for what felt like the millionth time that day. As they approached her house, decked out with trails of pink hanging from the windows, she almost felt… relieved. And she hated it.
"Bye, Jakob."
"Goodbye, gorgeous." He ran his hands through her hair and pecked her on the cheek before he released her.
As he walked away, she watched from her porch, leaning against the doorframe. Why did she feel so conflicted? He was the one her parents chose for her—industrious, entrepreneurial, and nice (as far as she knew). She could live a happy life with him, right? And he was rich. Very, very rich. Her family would go from lower-upper class to solid upper class. Even if he had major problems, she'd put up with him for her family's sake.
Gosh, now she was slumping. This wouldn't do. She straightened her shoulders, fixed the expected smile on her face, and entered the door, leaving any concerns outside on the porch. Jakob was a nice person; he had to be. Wasn't everyone, more or less?
Ellis Lowery, 17, District Eight
Even on the weekends, the sun rarely shone brightly in the urban jungle of District Eight, its warm rays diffracted and deflected by the thick smog cover over the city. The pothole-ridden streets laid bare and empty because its usual travelers slept at home, hoping to make up some rest while the mills sat still and silent. The street market's regular chatter subdued into soft wisps of conversation, the only participants being the stall owners and a few elderly residents that long retired from their days in the factories.
In this ghostly rendition of the market's usual life, Ellis Lowery's sunny smile stood out like a shimmery thread of gold as he strolled down the pavement with a bag of precious beet sugar in his arms. He sidestepped potholes with a little skip and leap, a song in his soul and a spring in his step, the anticipated smell of freshly baked cookies already tingling in his nose.
Cookies…
His stash of sweets had run out a week ago, and baking was all he'd been able to think about ever since. Months ago, he would've planned to bake a cake, but wages were down and prices were up and cakes simply cost too much dairy and sugar. He tightened his grip on the sugar. This little bag had cost double what it was months ago, and cookies were the most cost-efficient way to satisfy his sugar cravings for as long as possible.
As he passed the local apothecary, he caught a glimpse of old Mrs. Chantilly through the window, a disheartened frown on her face as she cat behind her counter of herbs. Did he have cookies to bake? Yes, but it didn't cost anything to stop and say hello, especially if it could make her day.
Pushing the thought of cookies aside, he turned around and entered the store, the low door frame grazing the very top of his half-combed bedhead. As the bell above the door heralded his arrival, a flash of light returned to the old lady's eyes.
"Good morning, Mrs. Chantilly!" he sang.
"Ellis!" She stumbled to her feet and welcomed him with wide-open arms. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Aw… It's been too long. How are you?"
"Oh, you know me." She laughed with a bitter tint. "The weather's making my joints acting up again, but a good cup of ginger tea makes it bearable. How are you?"
"I'm doing fine." He shrugged, suppressing a grimace at the thought of unsweetened ginger tea. "I'm working now that school's over."
She smiled sympathetically. "Is it going well?"
"It's tedious work, but it's not bad. Plus I'm baking today, so everything's great!" He glanced at the counter, where the old lady's mug sat steaming, filling the room with its herbal aroma. "Isn't the tea bitter?"
"I'm used to it now…" she said, but her voice trailed off in a sigh.
Ellis frowned. Mrs. Chantilly had originally come from a rich family; drinking herbal tea straight couldn't be easy for her. "Would you like a bit of sugar?"
Mrs. Chantilly gasped. "Sugar! Oh, no—I couldn't take that from you—"
"C'mon," Ellis beamed, gingerly prying his precious bag open. "Take some."
The old lady didn't move, mouth open in amazement. "Ellis—"
He raised an eyebrow. "You know, a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down…"
"Well…" Her voice quivered with flustered uncertainty. "If you insist…"
"I insist." He sidled over to the counter and carefully tipped a bit of the beet sugar into the mug. "There you go!"
"Oh, thank you!" She took a little sip and gave him a big, toothless grin.
He winked. "My pleasure. I'm going to head home now. These cookies won't bake themselves."
"Come again soon!" She called, right as he passed the threshold of the store.
He popped his head back in for a moment and beamed at her. "You know I will!"
Once he arrived home, he skipped into the kitchen with his soft tread, nearly dropping the sugar in his excitement. He froze, caught his breath, and steadied his hands. It was better to be careful. This bag cost a few weeks of careful saving.
In a smooth loop around the kitchen, he whipped his ingredients and utensils out of their drawers and onto the counter. Tesserae flour… Bowls… Rubber Spatula…
Sugar! He pushed up the sleeves of his greatly oversized sweater, carefully teased out a few granules of sugar with a spoon, and brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes and relished in the tiny explosions of sweetness over his tongue. It'd been way too long since the last time he had any.
His face now torn, he looked at the bag longingly. Just another spoonful. But he mustn't, not with how long it'd be before he could buy more. Once he finished baking, he'd have to store the cookies in a little bag and nibble on them little by little, day by day, so that they would last as long as possible and he wouldn't have to go sugar-less before his next paycheck.
Ha! What a funny idea. He chuckled as he carefully measured out his flour. That plan hadn't ever worked before, and odds were, it wasn't going to happen this time. Either he'd cave in and eat more than wise in a single sitting, or he'd invite a friend over and they'd eat a few. And now that he knew Mrs. Chantilly liked her herbal tea sweet… He looked back at his little bag of sugar.
At this rate, I'll be sugar-free in a week…
But that was fine. District Eight was dreary enough as it was; it only needed a bit of sunshine to make it a brighter place.
He could be that bit of sunshine.
A/N It hasn't been a month! Hooray! Considering this chapter took less than a week to write, we're looking at intros being done before 2021. Plus, my favorite district is in the next chapter, so it should come quickly. As always, I'd love to hear what you think about our Sevens and Eights.
Thoughts?
