DISTRICT 6! HALFWAY THERE (whooooooaaaa, living on a prayer)

That's officially the halfway point on intros! I don't quite know yet if I want to to an interlude or just steamroll all the way through, though I'm leaning towards just devoting all of the time to getting intros out of the way. We'll see!

Thanks to Tales from the Cluttered Desk, yoyowhitehole, Grim Apocrypha, Dante Aleghieri1308 and mxrcury-mxon for the reviews! Your continued support and reviews are always, always valued.

No more foreword! Let's get into D6 with Sterling and Mira!

Most places closed early on Reaping Night.

Workers clocked out early. Stores locked their entrances and placed up dingy signs that read 'Closed for Reaping.' They were as dull and grey and lifeless as the rest of the district.

But beneath the city...

People never slept. The underbelly of Six was like the yawning maw of a ferocious beast, swallowing up those who had nowhere else to turn in life. When your lot was as shit as Sterling Lee's, you didn't get the luxury of turning in early for the night. You didn't get to say goodbye to your co-workers and head home. You didn't get to eat dinner with parents that were lucid enough to remember your name. You didn't get to relax in your own room and tune out the world.

Some people were given these luxuries. They earned their money by working at a desk or on an assembly line.

Sterling fought. Every penny, every morsel was not given - it was earned. Through grit. Through determination. Through blood.

Each drop of crimson ichor paid for his sibling's meals. With six of them, he'd need to shed a lot to get it all sorted out. Especially with such a big day coming up.

But that wasn't the expensive part.

There were 8 other mouths aside from Sterling's to feed in this household.

Six looking for food.

Two looking for something to satisfy a stronger craving. Something that mealy Tesserae grain couldn't satisfy.

Penny and Mitch - he could no longer call them 'Mom and Dad' after how they'd abandoned their entire family. Sterling traced along his upper arm with his left hand. His hands leave the fabric of his tank top and find scar tissue. From his shoulder to his elbow to his wrist. He goes down, and then across, and then across again just a bit lower, and then down again. So many permanent reminders of the role he'd been thrust into. The role that he hadn't wanted to take. But he hadn't wanted to see his siblings starve, either.

And as much as he swore and spit and silently detested them... he couldn't stand to see Penny and Mitch waste away, either. So they got their hits. Daily, because Sterling was someone who actually fucking cared about his family. So be it if he had to pay in some more of his blood.

"Lee."

A rough voice sounds from behind him, snapping him from his thoughts and black to the bleak, gritty reality in front of him.

Voices flooded in to his perception, raucous laughter and jeering shouts from three hundred and sixty degrees. The packed dirt beneath worn boots scraped with every step of the man approaching behind him. Concrete walls around him were peeling, spectators leaning over and leering at Sterling and the boy across the pit.

Shit, the other guy had already come out?

"Tough one tonight. 2 years younger than you, but he's had a knife in his hand twice as long. Lansing says he's on a bona-fide tear right now. A 13 win-streak."

Wes Cahnsen's voice is measured and gravelly, as if he's got ash clogging up his throat. Sterling has to resist turning his head away. He could smell the cigar smoke wafting off of his sponsor's clothes. Maybe he did have ash in that throat of his.

"But you know I'll take care of you, kid. Give you something to fight for. So I brought your little doll along to say 'hi' before you start."

Sterling winced internally. Ever since Dakota had found out about his 'job,' she'd insisted on showing up to every match. He was terrified, at first. To let her see this side of him. It was so much different from when they'd met. The light in her eyes had died just a little the first time he'd confessed, and it had been replaced with something stronger. Worry, yes - but also care.

'It's ok.' She'd told him after the first fight she'd witnessed. Sterling had been victim to a long cut, straight down the chest and ending just above his navel. He'd made a mistake. Thought too much about Dakota. About how she must see him as some monster - some carved up ghoul who clutched his blade like his life depended on it.

'It's for your family. I don't judge you. Please... please, don't push me away. I don't have to know everything.'

She had come equipped with a first aid kit, the first time she'd attended one of these matches.

'Just let me be here to pick up the pieces afterwards.'

And the rest had been history.

Dakota was much better off than Sterling was. But in Six, that didn't mean much more than she got to eat twice a day (three times only on special occasions) as opposed to once. Her family, too, was much smaller than Sterling's. She understood. It worried her sick, watching him go out and fight like that - but it put food on the table. He had to do it.

"Dakota." Sterling greets her with a skittish smile, his nerves on the fray. His heart fluttered a bit whenever Dakota got close. He'd been told that would stop happening eventually, but it never did.

"Lee." She speaks, mirroring Wes's gravelly tone. Sterling catches his sponsor giving a wry grin and, despite himself, begins to feel more comfortable as well.

"Big one tonight." Sterling echoes what Wes had relayed to him. "Kid sounds like a little psycho."

Normally, there would be more meaningless chatter to make. But Sterling could see another figure making its way into the arena, clad in unusually bright colors. The moderator, there to make sure nobody was killed. It was almost time.

"Wes filled me in. But hey - your streak is bigger than his. You're bigger, too. Who cares if he's been at it longer? You've got this, Sterling." Dakota pauses. Her confidence is practiced, developed after many a pep-talk, but she can never quite hide the fear in her eyes whenever she sends her love off to the pit.

"I'll be waiting. If you need me, I mean. But I hope you don't."

"I'll do my best. Love you. See you in a few. Hopefully not, you know.." Sterling draws his finger along his neck. An exaggeration - death was unlikely, though never impossible in this sport. Dakota gives a strained smile and steps back, followed by Wes, who appears to be much more at ease. Easy, Sterling figures, when you're not in a position of life or death.

"Go get 'em, kid. Big payday waiting for you if ya' do. Shame you already took out all that Tesserae. This woulda helped with the food. Provided you win, and all."

"Good luck!" Dakota speaks right after, raising her voice as she's escorted away. "I love you! Come see me right when you're finished!"

Sterling watches until they round the corner and exit the pit.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He turns around to face his opponent, drawing two long, cruel blades from his sides. One is held normally in the left hand, the one in his right clutched in a reverse grip.

Alright, Sterling. This means food. This means keeping Dakota smiling. Don't worry her. Don't fuck up tonight.

You need to keep winning. Keep fighting.

You have too many people depending on you not to.

And the fight begins.

"Check."

Mira announces, her tone even and her gaze alert. Her eyes flit between the others sitting around the dingy, rotting oak table. All of them look so sure of themselves. The man to the right's lips had flickered downwards slightly as the second to last card had been turned over. He'd hidden it quickly - but not quickly enough to avoid Mira's watchful eye. The woman to the left had a sour expression on her face, not even bothering to try and keep her emotions under control as the penultimate card was revealed.

"I fold."

She hisses, dropping her hand haphazardly across the table and standing up. Her rickety chair tips backwards with the sudden movement and crashes to the floor, one of the decaying legs snapping as it hits the floor. Not even a minute passes before she's swarmed by what passes for Security in the underworld casinos of Six. Men with hard eyes and rough hands pull her off to the side. Off to whoever runs this casino, Mira bets. And then that figure will decide her fate. Play judge, jury, and executioner, all over the destruction of one of his precious pieces of furniture. It wasn't a matter of money, she knew, but a matter of power. An example to make, so everyone knew that gambling in a place like this was serious business.

Perhaps normally she'd have felt pity - but Mira remembered this woman. Two years ago, while Mira had still been getting the hang of cards, she'd conned her. Stolen Mira's chips with unfair play, spit on her shoes and laughed about it with her gaggle of druggie friends, their tittering laughter reminding her of the squeaking of a rodent.

So instead of pity, there's a grim sense of satisfaction. She'd gotten what was coming to her. Perhaps if she'd been a little kinder to Mira and the other patrons, she wouldn't be in such a predicament.

Was that a long grudge to hold? Perhaps. But Mira held it nonetheless.

As the commotion fades away, Mira turns her attention back to the game. With the removal of the woman, there were two men left. The one to her right, whom she believed to have been dissatisfied with the final card. It was his turn to call next.

"Check."

He does the smart thing. She was confident that he had a losing hand - perhaps one or two pairs at best, but nothing that would leave him with certain victory.

And then there was Ol' Spades. His expression is entirely unreadable. The wrinkles on his craggy face do not so much as shift as milky eyes flicker from left to right, quickly reading his hand in comparison to the cards laid out across the table.

"Raise. 3 chips."

A small bet - but a confident one. Mira glances down at her own two cards, and then at the four upturned community cards.

Two sevens. There was a third present after the fourth card had been revealed. Three of a kind, already? Mira was confident that it put her over the third player - the man with no control over his expression. But Ol' Spades could have had anything. He had a notorious habit of bluffing his way to victory with the shittiest hands Six had ever seen. But just when you think you've actually caught him in a bluff, he reveals some bullshit miracle hand that wins him the pot.

Infuriating - but always fun to watch.

"Call."

Mira pushes her own chips forward with a measured confidence. Three of a kind was good enough more than half of the time. Most poker hands ended up with no pairs - so really, the odds were in her favor. She shudders to herself as she thinks this. That nasty saying had ruined her favorite pastime.

"...Fold."

The bluffing man calls, placing his hand on the table. As Mira had predicted - he only had one pair, and wasn't really ready to risk more money on such a narrow chance at victory.

That just left her and the man who had taught her everything she knew.

Each of them check, and the dealer reaches forward, flipping the final card.

"That's the river. Hands on the table, please."

The final card had been a four of hearts. Unfortunate for her, but still - her three of a kind wasn't bad. In fact, it was very good.

"Three of a kind. Sorry, Spades, but I think you've been beaten."

Mira gloats in good humor. Many wouldn't have been comfortable showing off in front of the old man, but she knew he was always a bit soft on her, even if he'd refused to admit it. He'd taken on an almost paternal figure, guiding her through the underworld when she'd been so lost and new. Without him, she wouldn't be here right now. She wouldn't have the skill to earn the money she needed to survive, and she likely would have starved off in some gutter somewhere.

Spades says nothing, merely laying his cards down with a smile so miniscule Mira has to squint to see it. Her heart drops.

A jack and a four. Her assured grin turns into a gawking expression of surprise as she connects the dots. A full fucking house? Was he for real? Where had that even come from? He'd only bet three chips on a full house? He could have easily done more - not that it would have scared Mira away, but... this was a hand you pulled maybe once in a month. And he'd played softball with it. Why..?

"Guess these 'ere are all mine. 'Pologies, Andrelo."

Ol' Spades reaches out slowly, languidly, and scoops the chips towards him. Mira still can't wrap her head around it. The old man could have run the entire table for all they were worth, but he'd let them - let her - off easy. She simply couldn't wrap her mind around it no matter how hard she tried. But to ask would be to reveal that she wasn't as experienced as she liked to let on. A man like Spades always had a reason to make the plays he did. He entered each game with a level of strategy that Mira could only aspire to emulate. So she'll approach it differently. Less directly.

"Thought I had you, Spades. Damn... that puts me under half of what I came in with. I think Jaxton woulda killed me if I'd come home with much less." Mira clicks her tongue in frustration, remembering her deal with Jaxton. Her older brother had made himself clear - you lose half of the wages, and you're cut off for the week. She was lucky she'd even gotten him to agree to that.

Ol' Spades smirks as Mira engages him in conversation, his eyes focused on his chips as he counts each individual piece of plastic. He knew exactly what she was playing at with her words, the question embedded deep in her rant.

"Why d'ya think I only raised by three?" He responds simply, scooping his earned chips into a brown cloth pouch. Mira's eyebrows raise in shock at the confession, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

"Spades!" She scolds, earning a wry chuckle from the old man. "How many times to I have to tell ya' not to pull your punches?" Mira's eyes are alight with indignation. She didn't want the special treatment. That wouldn't make her any better at the game, and it certainly wouldn't earn her the respect of the other patrons of the casino. She was already good enough on her own, damnit. Pity would only dull her senses and warp the game.

"Enough times. How many times have I listened to yer' requests?" Spades shoots back, turning to fully face Mira for the first time. His smile reveals old, worn teeth, many of them replaced with shiny golden crowns. "I'm not into taken' my friends for all they own. If I'd wanted that outta you, believe me, Andrelo - you would have been beggin' on the street long ago. I save my real teeth for the folk like that screamin' bitch from earlier. Though I can't imagine we'll be seein' much of her 'round here anymore."

The old man adds with a humorous wink, and Mira has to actively remind herself that she's supposed to be upset with Spades. Until he speaks again.

"Plus... what kinda' teacher would I be if I let my prodigy take such a loss?" Spades reaches into his pouch, pulling a singular black chip from the bag. Eyeing it for a moment, he flicks it in Mira's direction and she fumbles to catch it, the round plastic token bouncing between her hands until she finally manages to secure it.

"That should putcha back at even, if I guess correctly. Another decade's practice on you and you'll run this place like this old drunk." Spades gestures to himself. "So keep at it. Yer' good enough to start beating me for real soon. For now, though, go home. Sleep the night away and get ready, kid." The old man's face darkens as he continues to speak. "Stressful day tomorrow for you young folk. Swing by here afterwards and I'll get ya' a meal."

Sighing, Mira relents and lets her frustration go. As infuriating as Spade's insistence on her 'potential' was, she couldn't deny that one of the casino's pot pies sounded heavenly right now.

"I'll hold you to it, old man. Tomorrow evening. Be ready - cause I'll sure as shit be hungry."

Mira waves goodbye to the man and makes to turn in her singular chip. She leaves with exactly half of what she'd come in with.

Jaxton was going to be pissed.

"Sterling Lee!"

Yeah. He'd kind of figured that this would happen.

With so many tesserae slips taken out and now being on the older end of reaping eligibility, Sterling had had a sinking feeling about the Sixty Third ever since the tesserae signups had opened. That still hadn't stopped him from taking out those nearly fifty slips, but in the back of his mind he'd already sort of resigned himself to his fate.

There's a bit of commotion as he makes the walk. A various shrieks from all age groups and both genders. Sterling's heart tugs and he fights the urge to start crying right then and there. Traverse and Willow-Gray were of reaping age. Grayling and Monaca, the twins, were just a year off. Even little Jeanette understood the gravity of the reaping, and all of their screams fused together into a torturous cacophony.

But that wasn't the worst of it, Because Sterling could pick out one more horrified scream.

Dakota.

Sterling has been under enough high-pressure situations to keep his cool. He thinks back to his bouts in the pit. Keeping composure was key. He'd learned that at 14, when he'd made the switch from his fists to his trust blades. In a fistfight, you could swing and swing and oftentimes raw grit and determination would see that you pulled through, bloodied and beaten but still triumphant. With knives, death was a very real possibility. One lapse in focus, one wrong move and the blade finds your flesh. Carves you open and spills your blood freely across the packed dirt floors. That was the every-day reality that Sterling had faced for the past 3 or so years.

That was the kind of environment he was heading in to, in the Games.

And yet Dakota's scream is almost enough to crack the facade he puts up as he ascends the stairs. The raw, unfiltered emotion causes his throat to tighten as he reaches the final step and turns around. Piercing brown eyes scan the crowd until they locate her blonde hair, her own eyes wide and terrified.

'It's okay.' He mouths. It isn't. He knows it isn't. But he has to give her faith. Project the confidence he wishes so desperately he had.

"Mira Andrelo!"

Like her.

Mira Andrelo makes her way up to the stage with minimal noise and little interruption. The look upon her face is unreadable - a bona-fide poker face. Her eyes betray nothing but mild intrigue and her mouth remains pressed in a flat line. She portrayed the confidence and the coolness that Sterling would have killed to have right now.

Though, of course, on the inside, things are much different.

Are you kidding me? Of all times? Will Jaxton and Caster be okay? Will I make it back?

Mira's mind is racing at a blinding pace, questions rapid-firing and bouncing inside the walls of her head. Her thoughts are deafening, almost roaring and drowning out anything and everything else that seeks to penetrate her train of thought. There won't be a volunteer. She wouldn't bet on that in a hundred years - not from Six. This would be her reality now, and it was fucking terrifying.

Nobody would be able to tell that this is what she was thinking as she, too, ascends the hard concrete steps that lead to the Reaping stage in Six's central square, because her trained poker face holds true. Her own dark eyes find the similar brown of her partner's, and her brain leaps upon the opportunity to analyze him. To fill itself with anything but the reality of what she was facing.

His expression was still and measured - she wishes she felt that calm - and he stood a good couple inches taller than she did. Taking a closer look, she thinks that the two of them could have been mistaken for siblings. They both possessed the same darker tanned skin, dark hair and dark eyes, the largest difference being that Mira's hair was black compared to Sterling's dark brown. That, of course, wasn't including the scars.

Mira had to actively stop herself from gawking as she gazes upon the criss-cross of scars that mark Sterling's arms, face, and even what was visible of his chest. It was as if he was absolutely covered in them. So he was a fighter, then..? That was... good to know. The scars were evidence that he'd battled plenty, and him being alive and capable of standing stood as evidence that he'd won most of them.

As she reaches out to shake his hand, she takes note of the tight grip, as well as the appearance of the hand itself. He grips her hand in the same manner she would grip the hilt of a knife for one of the various odd jobs that funded her trips to the casino. How odd, Mira thinks.

She notes that he keeps the same stony expression as both of their hands are raised into the air by the escort. Once more, she wishes she felt like Sterling did. Wished she was as collected as he was.

What she doesn't know is that, as he takes in the blank expression on Mira's face, he thinks the exact same thing about her.

And there they are! Another pretty standard reaping - though these guys appear to have been living a bit rougher than our last 'regular' reaping back in Three. Wonder how that'll play out for them?

Any thoughts on Sterling and Mira? I always enjoy the directions people take urban districts like 6 in, and a knife-wielding pit fighter and a stone-faced gambler are both very fun concepts to me, so I personally loved them! Of course, I'm biased because I accepted them into my story, so that's why I'm asking you!

That's about it! Mid-terms next week but D7 hopefully sometime soon.

Until next time,

logangster out.