Akira Hinode, 16
District Five Tribute, she/they
There was nothing more alluring than the call of destruction.
Everywhere they went, destruction followed. It was Akira's friend and constant companion. Her touch ruined, and Akira was nothing more than collateral.
Not that they minded, of course. Akira was more than willing to let devastation take hold of her, drag her down with it.
(It was the only thing that kept the monsters at bay.)
Now, Akira had very important business on the agenda for the day. They'd cleared their schedule for the matter, in fact. It was hard being oh-so-busy, but this particular excursion would be more than worth it. She stuck her tongue out, tinkering with the device one last time. As far as they could tell, it would be completely functional with one more…
"Aha!" they cheered, spinning their chair in a circle. She took the voidspiker and put it with the rest - ten in total.
Not too bad, really. This was a particularly spur of the moment decision - most of Akira's were in the first place - so they were lucky that they'd saved up for something like this. And besides, she'd made enough of these voidspikers in her life that she could replicate it by heart, create it out of practically anything.
Their head popped up at the sound of a slight squeak, and Akira couldn't decide who she wanted it to be. Ever since she split from the Syndicate - a fucking terrible place by the way - they couldn't manage to find Treachery. It was a shame, really. Akira missed the cat's comforting presence and the way it liked to bite at Scala for being a fucking bitch.
But, alas, the only thing that skittered across the floor was a rather large mouse. It paused when it saw Akira, and they watched its whiskers twitch in anticipation.
"What, do you want me to kill you?" Akira offered, sticking her tongue out. "Lucky for you, I've got a more important job for these voidspikers. Much more important than a silly little mouse."
The mouse didn't appear to be too bothered by that, giving Akira one last twitch of its whiskers before disappearing under one of the work benches.
Oh well. No matter.
Akira finally got up from her chair, stretching as she got used to being in a position that didn't include being hunched over in one spot. There was something tickling the edge of their mind, but every time Akira tried to give chase, it disappeared.
She tapped her foot on the ground repeatedly, eventually garnering a rhythm. When they found a beat they liked, Akira skipped around the room collecting all the other things they'd need for their mission. The Syndicate couldn't control them anymore, so Akira could do whatever the fuck she wanted.
Right, the Syndicate. Akira needed to do something about that matter. They paused, setting a half-filled bag on the counter. If they yelled loud enough, she could probably still get his attention.
"Strat-"
She froze before she could call out his full name. Blinking rapidly, they played with the ends of her hair, trying to force the name out of their mind before-
Stratus.
Despite herself, Akira grinned. Her laugh was hollow, ringing through the enclosed space. "He's gone, silly!"
Of course he's gone, you killed him-
"I know," she muttered, ducking her head to shove her precious devices into her back. "I know, I know, I know."
-but it doesn't even matter anyway because he betrayed you first-
Akira shoved the voice out of her head, attempting to drown it out by humming to herself. They couldn't recall any tune in particular, but anything loud and annoying enough could usually take care of things.
-and now he's gone just like all the others and those were your fault too weren't they?
"Gone," Akira muttered to herself. "Gone, gone, gone. All gone."
And even though Akira could never forgive him for what he did, they also could never forget the look in his eyes as she leveled a gun to his head. The way he almost accepted his fate, as if he'd known this day would come. It was all his fault, too. So she had no other choice. He made his first.
So she killed him. Stared him in the eyes as they put a bullet through his forehead. Heard his last breath as a sharp, sudden inhale and then nothing more. Felt their hands tremble as she lowered the gun, the muzzle now slick with his blood.
See, Akira didn't have any regrets about the matter. They'd do it again if they needed.
(Even if it meant she no longer had someone that told them I love you.)
(She didn't need that either.)
They finished filling their bag with voidspikers, setting it over in the corner. Ten was a good number, after all. She could do a lot with those kinds of numbers.
Humming again, Akira tilted their head to the side. She still had a few nuts and bolts left over from her projects, as well as some empty casings. Without any more of the fun stuff, this shit would all be pretty useless. And even if this all played out exactly how Akira wanted it to - which didn't happen often - there was every chance that they'd wind up in some shitty ass jail cell to rot away.
"One for the father who only used me," she sang to herself, using their finger to topple over one of the empty casings. "Two for the rotten friends that never cared about me. One for the father that always left me."
As they got to the last piece, Akira's face twisted into a deep scowl. With more force than was probably necessary, she whipped out her gun and, without bothering to aim, shot it thrice in succession.
"And one for the sister that fucking betrayed me."
As soon as their little song was done, Akira was at a loss for what to do. They flipped their gun around once before shoving it into the holster on her hip. Now that they thought about it, Mads probably would've cautioned her to avoid using her gun in the presence of so many voidspikers, but Mads didn't even know what fun was.
No. No Mads. No Stratus no Mads no anyone.
She didn't need them.
But you want them.
No. No. Akira was just fine on her own.
And they'd prove it.
Without letting herself think twice, Akira snatched their bag off of the table. The voidspikers gently clattered against each other, but Akira didn't have anything to worry about. They wouldn't explode until she told them to.
It had been a while since she traveled the streets of Five. They glanced around at all the people milling about in the dead of night, a few giving her curious glances, but Akira didn't mind. Let them stare all they wanted. No one would be able to stop what happened next.
Luckily for them, the peacekeepers all seemed to be occupied tonight. Not many factories were still operating this late, so it was the perfect area for Akira to cause as much chaos as possible. That's what they thrived on. And if no one in the District could see that, then she'd show them all.
Squinting at the signs, Akira tried to remember the location Elseri told them about a few days ago. As long as she managed to find Cosmo Converse's Incandescent Colors, they'd be able to pinpoint the empty factory next to it. Evidently, that's where a bunch of low lifes and druggies went to fuck around and avoid getting caught by peacekeepers. It was also the perfect vantage point for Akira to throw a bunch of bombs into the middle of the factory district.
They climbed to the roof, navigating broken equipment and discarded metal with ease; the voidspikers gently clattered against her back with every step they took. The air was clear, and the stars twinkled distantly above. Akira paid none of that any mind. They circled the roof a few times, double checking the information they'd got from Elseri. She had plenty of vantage points from here, and as long as she didn't stray too close to the edge - yet - the peacekeepers down below wouldn't see them.
Huh. Wonder how they got there.
Akira brought out the first voidspiker and ever so gently pressed a kiss to it. "Work for me," they whispered.
Click.
The first landed on the next roof over. The second clattered inside a broken window a few stories down. Akira continued on like this, making it so her own building was the center of the destruction while making sure to give herself a way out.
And then, as Akira brought out the last of her bombs, they allowed herself a wide grin that matched the face she'd painted onto this voidspiker. It seemed to wink at her, and Akira let it sail from their hands to the ground down below.
Click.
She snickered, watching all the poor little peacekeepers scramble to discover what they'd thrown down there. They shaped their hand like a gun, aiming it down at the little fools that didn't know any better. One had the foresight to glance around, surveying who might've done this, but by the time the glossy white helmet made its way up to her-
"Boom," she whispered, imagining she was pulling the trigger.
Their world exploded once again in hues of flaming red and orange and yellow and everything in between. The wave of heat was enough to make them stagger back a couple steps, a few unwilling tears springing into her eyes. They could hear screams from down below - fear, agony, rage - but all Akira did was laugh.
Destruction was beautiful.
Akira could see it all from where they were. She couldn't bring herself to step away. Before they could think twice, she stepped up on the ledge of the rooftop, holding their arms out for balance. She took a few steps, dancing right at the edge. Sure, if she landed somewhere on the ground several stories below she'd wind up in a pretty rough place - deadlostgone - but wouldn't the fall be beautiful too?
After all these years, Akira Hinode hadn't found herself anywhere but the edge. If they took one step, slipped up once, they'd fall right off. The thought made her grin, and they let their toes peek over the ledge. Wind swept by, threatening to carry her away, but Akira merely breathed in the thick smell of smoke and the agonized screams of the dying.
No one could take this from her.
Not any ghosts or peacekeepers or stupid useless sisters that didn't fulfill their promises. No one.
(If Akira was the failure, the disappointment, then why was she the only one that tried to stay?)
They refocused their gaze on the burning buildings below. She probably needed to move soon before this one went up in flames as well, but they caught sight of a familiar frame with dark hair.
She froze.
This isn't real you're safe she's gone she left you she hates you she'd never come find you not now not ever she abandoned you you're nothing but a jinx a curse a failure a disappointment and who could ever love something as hideous as that, a disgusting freak-
"Mads?"
The dark hair was gone in a flash, but Akira spun in a circle, trying to figure out where it had gone. Her laughter was high pitched, mixing with the screams of the dying.
"Mads, are you there? Do you see me yet?" they called, throat hoarse from the smoke. "Look at what I can do! You can take me with you now!"
"This is all your fault – you ruined it just like you ruin everything else!"
"I didn't mean to," Akira whispered, watching the flames lick higher and higher. "It… it was an accident."
"An accident? God, I shouldn't even be surprised at this point. I knew you were too young to come with us."
"No," Akira insisted, wrapping their arms tighter around herself. "You… you can't leave me behind!"
"Leave you? Why would I ever want you with me in the first place."
Akira gritted her teeth, staggering back and clasping their hands over their ears. "Stop. Leave me alone."
Because if she wasn't careful, then the voices would multiply. They'd have to hear Kaizen and Maxus and Virgo in her head, telling her how goddamn worthless and useless she was.
(And she wasn't. That's what Stratus always told her. Sure, she was only good at one thing - destruction - but she was pretty damn good at it.)
(It was the only thing that understood them.)
The next time she inhaled, the smoke filled their lungs and she coughed, ducking down to get off the roof. They had to go, had to run before they were swallowed by the fire again.
dontleavemedontleavemedontleavemedontleaveme
She paused by the stairs, glancing over at the buildings that were already beginning to crumble. The screams were quieter now, but sirens had begun to take their place. Even though Akira didn't plan on sticking around for the fallout, they figured people would know it was her anyway.
What would they say? That Akira was just a screwup? Their opinions didn't matter to her. That's why they'd make everyone pay. She hasn't turned out like this without their influence.
(What would Mads say? Would she be able to tell Akira that things would be okay again, that they'd always be together?)
(No. Mads had abandoned her long ago. And someday, Akira would find a way to even the score.)
She could see them now. Watching. Waiting. Akira's breath caught in their throat, and they had to tear their eyes away from the sight. Kaizen and Maxus and Virgo would never leave her alone.
They'd be so disappointed in her now. But Akira didn't have it in her to care anymore. So what if they ruined things? So what if she made everything worse?
And if Akira Hinode was fucking insane? That was fine, too. She could add it to the list.
(Unloveableworthlessdisappointmentfailuredefectivefreakuselessscrewup)
Someday they'd all see. Akira Hinode wasn't meant to be left behind or abandoned. If they wanted to make her pay, they'd first have to catch her.
That would never happen. Akira would play by their own rules, create their own game.
They'd bring all of Panem to its knees.
Xander Luman, 16
District Five Male, he/him
Every second that ticked by made Xander feel like he was going more and more insane.
He fixed his eyes on the clock again - a mistake, always a mistake. Everyone knew that watching the time would only make it pass more slowly. Even so, Xander was unnaturally on edge, waiting on pins and needles for the rest of the day to pass by.
He couldn't figure out why he was so anxious, though. To his knowledge, Xander would go home like any other day, practice like any other day, and study like any other day. There was nothing special about this day in particular. In theory, it would go on just like any other.
Heaving a sigh, Xander tapped his pen on his desk twice before straightening his spine. Next to him, Odette played with her hair, twirling her own pen between her fingers. When she noticed that he'd glanced over at her, she flashed him a simpering smile. He tried not to visibly roll his eyes as he glanced away.
Xander wished his father had determined someone better to be suitable company for him. Odette was… fine, but she was also a complete nuisance even when she was on her best behavior. Then again, he supposed that's what he got for believing that his father could ever pick someone tolerable for him to spend time with.
That was the thing, though. Xander didn't have any of his own friends; he only had ones that his father picked out for him. Occasionally, he wondered what it would be like to have a friend to call his own, but he very quickly shoved that thought out of his mind. He didn't need something as petty and insignificant as a "friend."
(Right?)
Ugh, no matter. Xander was perfectly fine on his own. Even if Odette was… well, herself, she was still perfectly serviceable.
Across the room, someone sniffled loudly enough for both of them to visibly cringe. Xander and Odette shared a glance before looking back down at their note pages.
"Positively filthy," Odette muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
He gritted his teeth, baring them into something that resembled a smile. "And I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"
Odette blinked innocently. "Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. What's it to you?"
"Mere curiosity, nothing more. Don't start getting too full of yourself."
"How could I? I thought that's what your job was."
"Well, aren't you clever? Aren't you going to need to save some of that for your classes? I heard English isn't going particularly well for you right now."
She bristled, and Xander quietly smirked to himself. "My grades are just fine, thank you for being kind enough to inquire. How's your violin practicing going?"
Xander barely withheld a grimace at that. Truthfully, his violin practicing was going quite well, but after years of playing the instrument, he'd gotten rather tired of it. He never would've considered himself passionate about playing, but now he just felt rather dull about it in general. Just one more thing that his father wanted him to do.
"Quite well," he said. "All of my lessons have been going smoothly. Haven't you recently taken up the piano?"
That got a genuine smile out of her, and Xander silently sighed to himself. Their little game of throwing barbs at each other only lasted so long, after all, and he got quite bored when she inevitably decided that he was interested in her life. Which, of course, was a silly thing to assume. If anything, Xander just needed a way to pass the time and appease his father along the way.
So, while she began to prattle on about her lessons, Xander glanced back down at his notes and hummed along as if he was paying very close attention. Of course, he was doing the complete opposite of that, and Odette would never know. She was always so wrapped up in her own world, which was probably why his father had singled her out to be his friend in the first place. She had that sort of abject misery about her that clung to most of the upper class people in the District.
It was disgusting, really. But Xander had no one better to spend his time with, and certainly no one that his father would approve of.
Xander went back to rewriting his notes, carefully tracing the words in his best calligraphy. This was his best method for studying, since he had to concentrate so fiercely on the words he was writing.
"Are you even listening?" Odette said a touch too loud.
He glanced up, realizing that she'd caught the attention of several people in the room. What a nuisance.
"Of course," he said, plastering on a smile. "You were telling me all about your lessons. Riveting information, as I'm sure you know. I don't know how I could possibly tune out your wonderful voice."
She tilted her head to the side, sizing him up. Xander rolled his eyes at the show, leaning back in his chair. He was quickly growing tired of whatever little game they were playing, so his eyes flickered over to the wall, watching as the seconds ticked away. Class was almost done, so if he could just last a few more minutes…
"I'll let you off the hook this time," Odette said, preening as she did so, "but don't let it happen again."
"Well, maybe if you told more interesting stories, it wouldn't have to happen again," Xander muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Xander insisted, rolling his pencil between his fingers. "My mouth is as empty as your head."
She shot him a look that he chose to ignore, instead directing his attention back down to the notes in front of him. He traced the next sentence in perfectly precise handwriting before stopping and sighing again.
For fuck's sake - this day would never end.
Beside him, Odette had gone back to her own little world, where everything was perfect and lovely and she was the center of it all. If he listened closely, he could hear her humming something - probably whatever tune she'd been trying to tell him about earlier. Xander scrunched up his nose at the sound.
He had to wonder why she even stuck around him in the first place. Even though their parents had determined that their friendship could be mutually beneficial - like this was a goddamn business exchange - she could still branch off to forge her own relationships if she really wanted to. That, of course, insinuated that she didn't really want to. Or she was somehow content where she was.
The most pathetic answer was also the most obvious - she didn't have anyone else to spend time with, either. Xander could assume why (she was sort of an unlikeable bitch), but even that type managed to scrounge up a few friends around school. They all clustered together to feed off of each other's persistent negativity, just like-
Hm. Just like he and Odette.
Strangely, the part that bothered him most about this realization was the insinuation that he and Odette were actually friends.
Disgusting.
The bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day. Xander heaved a sigh of relief. He was pretty sure that another five minutes would have him going totally insane, so at least he could go home with a few of his brain cells intact. Odette wiggled her fingers at him to say goodbye, and he reluctantly returned the gesture. He even managed to do it without flipping her off or using some other crude and barbaric hand signal.
Someone should really be proud of him for that.
He hefted his bag onto his shoulders, ready for the rather short walk home. Xander figured, not for the first time, that he should be grateful Odette didn't live in the same direction as him. If he had to tolerate walking home with her every day, a blood vessel might pop in his forehead. His father wouldn't take too kindly to that.
Speaking of his father, Xander's brow wrinkled as he remembered what was likely to come as soon as he stepped foot inside. He'd managed to entirely forget about it until now, but his father had threatened to throw a pop quiz at him. Medicinal shit, the kind his father did. The kind his father wanted him to do as well.
Theoretically, there wasn't anything to worry about. After all, Xander had spent most of his free time in class today rewriting notes on this very subject. He'd always been pretty shit at the endocrine system, but hopefully he'd figured it out by now.
No. Not hopefully. Definitely. Xander couldn't afford to fuck this one up.
He stepped in the door of his house, toeing off his shoes just inside. "I'm ho-"
"You're late," his father snapped from the kitchen. "What held you up today?"
In truth, nothing but his own thoughts, but Xander figured that his father was merely looking for a reason to be angry at him. "Sorry," he managed, rounding the corner into the kitchen. "Long walk."
"'Sorry,'" he mocked, scoffing to himself. "What a useless word. You don't apologize, you just move on and be better. I raised you better. You saying I didn't raise you well enough?"
That was, in fact, not what Xander was saying at all, and he felt himself starting to get frustrated. "I'm saying nothing of the sort, Father," he said, opting for a tone that was light and carefree and couldn't be turned against him.
"Oh, so now I'm a liar?" he breathed, placing both hands on the counter. "Is that how it is?"
"Not at all," Xander said, licking his lips. "Just… mistaken."
His father leaned close enough to make Xander silently sweat. He tried to look as disinterested as he possibly could - any flicker of emotion across his face could be his undoing right now. He sucked in a slow breath, trying to keep himself from panicking.
"Your instructor is waiting on you," his father said, turning his back to Xander, who let out a silent sigh. "Don't keep her waiting any longer than you already have."
"Of course," Xander said. His head was still spinning, and he wasn't quite sure where he'd gone wrong along the way, but he knew better than to argue. That wouldn't get him anywhere. Besides, if he kept his head down and kept to himself, his father would be infinitely more pleased with him.
(And that meant a lot to Xander - his father's endorsement, anyway. If he could finally attain his father's genuine approval, then… well, Xander wasn't quite sure what would happen. Maybe he'd finally be happy. He'd have to figure it out once he actually got that far.)
(If he actually got that far.)
He moved into the parlor area - what a ridiculous place that his father insisted they needed in the house - to meet his instructor, who smiled kindly at him. Xander barely managed to grit his teeth into a smile in response, but she didn't appear too bothered by that. She never appeared too bothered by anything, which is probably why his father hired her. She knew how to mind her own business and get to work.
"Have you been practicing?" she asked, eyes sparkling.
Xander tried to look like he wanted to be there, but even he could tell that it wasn't fully working. "I have," he said truthfully, grabbing his violin from where it had been brought down to wait for him. "Are you throwing anything new at me today, or am I going to have to entertain myself with scales all day?"
She grinned and flipped through a book of music that they'd been working through. "You're confident today, aren't you? I'm sure we could find something to work on."
Because even though Xander didn't even love to play this instrument, even though his entire life was predetermined by his own father, he still wanted to find new ways to challenge himself, to be better. If he let himself fall into mediocrity like the rest of the District, then where would that leave him?
(What would his father think of that?)
So he lifted his violin to his chin, ready for another day of agonizing practice. He'd find a way to take control of his own fate sooner or later.
Bourbon Jaque, 17
District Nine Female, she/her
There were many things that Bourbon Jaque had become accustomed to over the course of her life. Hunger, cold, and sheer desperation had all been close companions at one point or another; Bourbon knew them intimately, and she feared that one day she'd know them again.
She didn't fear for her sake, of course. No, Bourbon didn't give a rat's ass if she was thrust into another cold winter without a real way to defend for herself. But she thought about her siblings, about Bia and Scotch, and they sure as hell couldn't navigate the streets of Nine the same way she could. Not that Bourbon was going to brag about that to them.
(She was going to brag about that to them.)
So every time she hit the streets, eyes searching for a target to pickpocket, Bourbon had something else on her mind. Someone else. She wasn't in it for only herself, though her own ego fueled most of her targets. Bourbon would rather die than pick someone that looked too easy. Where was the challenge to it?
And besides, Bourbon was way too good at this shit. She'd never been caught before, not in her life. Her father may not have been good for much, but he'd at least managed to impart a few nuggets of wisdom. Of course, Bourbon took all that he taught her and learned how to do it better. And she did that part all on her own.
She could steal through the streets without anyone giving her more than a single glance. Bourbon knew that, in their eyes, she was nothing more than the dirt under their shoes. While that naturally pissed her off, she just held her head a bit higher. Someday they'd all know better, and she'd be the one to make sure they knew better. Bourbon Jaque was not to be fucked with, and she'd drive that into the skull of anyone that looked at her wrong.
On this particular day, Bourbon had hit the streets with the intention to rob some idiot blind. By this point in her "career," Bourbon could tell which pedestrians would be good targets and which wouldn't be. Mind you, she said good and not easy. Bourbon wasn't in the business for fucking handouts.
Even at the age of twelve, Bourbon knew by now that this was what needed to be done. If Bourbon herself didn't do it, then she knew her father would throw Bia out on the streets again to bring in money instead of getting off his useless ass and getting a real job. Fucking pathetic of him to leave it to his kids instead of doing it himself.
She stayed on the edge of the crowd, kicking her shoes in the dust on the street. As long as she could keep her head down long enough to get her hands on something, she'd be able to get away. Bourbon Jaque had never in her life been caught, and she wasn't about to start now.
(Some may have called it inevitable. Bourbon chose to call it a one-time fluke. Even in the present, she couldn't remember how things had gone wrong. All she knew was that what used to be a flawless reputation was now stained by this one little mistake. )
In the blink of an eye, she'd been caught red-handed, cash clutched in her fist, and dragged into an alleyway by the same guy she'd tried to steal from. A million situations were running through her mind; the main one involved getting dragged up to a peacekeeper and getting her hand chopped off or whipped within an inch of her life. If she couldn't find a way out of this-
"Feisty, aren't you?" he muttered, lifting her wrist higher over her head. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Let go, you old creep!" Bourbon spat, trying to wrench her arm out of his grip. Her panic wassteadily building, and she hoped that he couldn't see it. She glanced to the side, blinking furious tears out of her eyes.
He tilted his head to the side, regarding her with a look that made her shudder. "How old are you?" he asked instead.
"What's it to you?" Bourbon asked, spitting on the ground near his shoe. "Got some kind of sick fantasy you're trying to play into? Well let me tell you, I'm not interested."
"You look about the same age as Kosa," he muttered, completely ignoring her words. "Twelve? First reaping?"
"Fine," she said, hoping that if she played along he'd let her go. "I'm fucking twelve. Happy now?"
His eyes glittered with something that she couldn't quite pinpoint, so she went back to tugging fruitlessly on her arm. "Very. I have an offer for you."
"Not interested."
"Oh really?" he said, fingers digging into her wrist. "How much do you need, then?"
"Huh?"
"Wrong question. How much do you want?"
"As in money?" she asked, blinking up at him. "Why?"
He tilted his head back to let out a loud laugh that rang in the alleyway. "My daughter, Kosa. It's her first reaping, just like it is yours, and I want a failsafe in place."
"Failsafe?"
"Let me lay it out like this," the man said. "I want reassurance that my daughter won't go into the Games. I'll pay you to volunteer for her on the off chance that she gets reaped. If she doesn't get reaped, you walk away a little richer without any sweat off your back for it."
"And if she does?" Bourbon couldn't help but ask.
"You volunteer," he said simply. "And if you don't… well, you don't want to find out."
The odds were slim. Bourbon knew that much. They were obviously higher than if Bourbon was just relying on her own name to come out of the bowl, but the chances were still low. Bourbon could make it to the other side of this with enough cash to more than stay afloat.
"And that's all I need to do," Bourbon said, raising an eyebrow. "You pay me to take your daughter's place if the time ever comes."
"Simple, isn't it?" the man said, his teeth glinting in the dim light. "All you have to do is say yes."
He finally let go of her wrist, taking a step back and lifting his hands to give her room to run if she wanted. Bourbon frowned, gnawing on her lip. She could take off and never be seen again - unless this asshole decided to get peacekeepers after her - but where would that leave her? In the same place she'd always been?
While Bourbon didn't accept handouts - not in the fucking slightest - she knew a good deal when she saw one.
"Yes," she said, extending a hand for him to shake. "It's a deal."
Bourbon tapped her shoe against her knee, bobbing her head to whatever song was reverberating in her skull. The school bathrooms were pretty goddamn shitty, but she'd staked out a spot in one of the nicer spots in the building so she could pass time and wait for the day to end.
She heaved a sigh, leaning back against one of the mirrors. Last she checked, class was almost over, and then she could go pick up Bia and Scotch and drop them off at home.
The door to the bathroom squeaked open, and Bourbon glanced towards the doorway, hoping some teacher hadn't shown up to drag her back to class. Another girl stumbled in, slamming the door shut behind her. Their eyes met, and Bourbon froze. Dark hair, dark eyes, lifted chin. Even though Bourbon had never met her before, she'd recognize Kosa Hotakim anywhere.
And, evidently, Kosa Hotakim recognized her, too.
The girl's lips curled up into a slow smile, and she took a step further into the bathroom. Bourbon didn't move, instead lifting an eyebrow and wondering what the fuck this bitch wanted from her.
"So, they'll just let anyone use these bathrooms," Kosa said, sniffing haughtily. "I'll have to find somewhere else, then." Without even giving Bourbon a chance to respond, Kosa turned on her heel and slammed the door shut behind her.
"Fucking bitch," Bourbon muttered, hopping down from the sink.
She stretched her arms up over her head until she cracked her back. Bourbon heaved a sigh, tapping her foot on the ground a few times.
Honest to god, it wasn't fucking fair. Absolutely ridiculous for her to put her life on the line for some bitch that clearly thought she was a lesser being. Kosa looked at her like she was a stain on the bottom of her goddamn shoe.
Stupid rich people. Bourbon hated thinking that she would have to risk her life for some bitch that thought she was nothing. But if Bourbon tried to back out now, then she - and the rest of her family - would be hunted down and killed. So she would have to bear the weight of her choices.
Disgusting.
The bell rang out in the hallway, and Bourbon threw the door open with a sigh. She popped back into her classroom, offering her teacher a half-assed salute as she grabbed her backpack and threw it on. Her teacher opened her mouth to say something, but Bourbon had already tuned her out and moved down the hall. She was on the lookout for one of her siblings, but Bia in particular had the tendency to avoid her in the hallways. It was strange, really. Bourbon had no idea why that would be the case.
"Bia!" she called when she saw a head of dark hair flitting down the hallway. "C'mon, let's go!"
Bia tried to run away from her outstretched arm, but Bourbon was more prepared. She grinned broadly as she ruffled Bia's hair, the younger girl straining desperately to get away.
"You're terrible," Bia complained, holding up her hands in the hopes that her peers wouldn't recognize her. "Actually terrible. I cannot stand you."
"Aw, ya know you love me," Bourbon cooed, squishing her face close to Bia's. "I bet ya wanted to show off to the whole school, huh? Can't hide from me forever."
"Not true!" Bia protested, ducking out of the way of another head pat. "You're the one that's obsessed with me! Just take me home!"
"You're no fun at all," Bourbon pouted, craning her neck to look around at their peers. "I bet Scotch would be willing to have fun with me."
"You're just gonna drag him into something again," Bia said, tugging on her shirt. "Like the time you almost convinced him that paint was edible."
Bourbon snickered. "That was a good time."
"Not when he actually tried to eat paint."
"Hey, I stopped him!"
"Okay, then what about the time you convinced him-"
Bourbon clapped a hand over Bia's mouth, grinning at Scotch as he approached them in the hallway. He immediately looked wary, his eyes going back and forth between them in the hopes that one of them would let something slip.
"You guys are strange," he determined before taking the lead. "Also, Bia, stop licking Bourbon's hand."
Bia made a muffled noise before Bourbon took her hand back, wiping Bia's spit on her own shirt. Her younger sister made an indignant noise, staring furiously at the back of Scotch's head. "It's not my fault she put her hand on my mouth!"
"Why would you lick her?" Scotch asked, spinning around to face them as he walked. "You don't know where those hands have been."
Bourbon wiggled her fingers at Bia, who looked properly mortified. "I can't stand you."
"That sounds like a personal problem," Bourbon said, slinging her arm over Scotch's shoulders next. "Say, you think we could try something out later?"
"Quit dragging him into your shit!" Bia insisted, popping up by Bourbon's side again.
Affronted, Bourbon put a hand over her mouth. "Bia, I can't believe you. First of all, I would never, and second of all - who taught you such filthy words? I'll have to wash your mouth out for that later."
Bia's face turned a delightful shade of fuschia that made Bourbon smirk. "Wash my- you're the one that says- ugh!"
She stomped off down the hallway, trying to gain distance between herself and her siblings. Bourbon waved after her before cupping a hand around her mouth. "Stay safe, Bia! Don't piss yourself on the way home!"
"You're so fucking gross!" Bia yelled back, making Bourbon snicker quietly.
"You enjoy making her mad," Scotch noted intelligently.
Bourbon shrugged, following the path Bia left in the crowd. "It's too easy. I have fun with it."
"Clearly," he said, though he didn't seem too bent out of shape over it.
"You have fun with it too, huh?"
A tiny smile played across his features. "Sometimes. When she doesn't yell at me about it."
"She just doesn't know how to have any fun, but that's something we have in common," Bourbon said, ruffling Scotch's hair this time.
He laughed, letting his hair stay mussed. "She's just mad," he said primly. "She'll loosen up, though."
"Hopefully so," Bourbon muttered, watching as Bia reluctantly stopped by the street to wait for them. "I'd hate to be that wound up the rest of my life."
Scotch wiggled out of her grip, and this time Bourbon let him. "Meet us in a minute?" he asked, bouncing on his toes.
"I'll catch up."
Scotch took off in the crowd, weaving through kids like he'd been trained. Bourbon watched him go after Bia, tackling her in a hug as if they hadn't seen each other all day. Despite herself, Bourbon smiled. She might be selling herself to some shitty rich fuckheads, but it meant her siblings would be okay.
After all, what were the odds that she had to go in at all?
hewwo... so i didn't fulfill my promise but that's my bad actually. i kind of forgot that when i was in cali w my friends i would want to spend my time with my friends instead of writing. i also contracted the bubonic plague and died for about 24 hours (read: i probably got covid) but i'm all better now. mostly. i'm not dying at least.
omg anyway! if i can get the last intros posted on sunday i will be doing that. it's still possible. but for this set of intros - thank u to linds for akira, art for xander, and brooke for bourbon! after this, we have a whole three kids left to meet (whoa crazy almost done) and then a reapings recap chapter and then pregames begins! which means i should really um start planning.
anyway kya~ see u next time for the last set of intros! ner and jas and rin will be pleased to make your acquaintance :D
~de laney is out