.
xii. offbeat
✦ ✧ ✦
different from the ordinary, usual, or expected
leda gero
eighteen / / district three
—
There are many things that Leda understands.
In fact, if asked, they would say that they understand everything that exists in this world. The encyclopedia is one of their favorite books of all time. They have never missed a single point on an exam at the Institute, and every university in Three is clamoring for the chance to have them as students.
There is, however, one thing that Leda does not understand: why does nobody like them?
With a scowl, they sit in the back of the library, watching Claris Varsenova, the girl who is supposed to accompany them in the Hunger Games in just a few week's time, make horrendous mistakes. At least it's an excellent library —- the only room in the Institute with a classical architecture style as opposed to the modern crap that has infested Three like a plague. Shades of brown and tan will always be more comforting than shades of gray.
But yes, making mistakes is not unusual for her. Claris spends a lot of time with the Institute's younger students, helping them with their assignments. This is a mistake because not only is Claris teaching people to rely on one another for help, something that does not fly in an exam room or an arena, but she is also wasting time that could be spent preparing for the six months ahead.
Every so often, she looks over to Leda and shyly smiles, like she wants them to get up and come talk to her, but they see no point in doing so. They will have plenty of opportunities to speak in the future.
According to their teachers, If there is one category that Leda lacks, it would be that they are not a "team player." They take great offense to that, as they would gladly play for any team willing to have them, yet have not been given such an opportunity. Then again, they have no desire to play for a team if everybody is going to be like Claris, all soft-hearted and emotional. They remember the rumors of Claris' brief stint in the hospital a few years ago. How that did not automatically disqualify her from being considered is beyond them. It seems Leda will just have to make do with her as her partner.
Anyway, Leda has many more important things to think about, such as why sometimes people feel intense pain and sensations in body parts they no longer have. For example, if somebody cut off one of Leda's fingers in the arena, not that they would allow that, there is a chance they would still be able to feel it. It makes them wonder if some parts of the human body are real and others are made up.
Also, it is rather peculiar that there are traces of DNA embedded in the human genome from ancient diseases and infections. What would happen if these "fossil" viruses were to reawaken? Actually, no, that would be impossible because the ancient DNA has been watered down, and if it could be reactivated, it already would have.
It's still interesting food for thought, though, and Leda's mind is constantly famished.
The unfortunate part of knowing everything is that Leda has very little to learn. Supposedly, university will be good for that, but there is also a chance it will be a repeat of the Institute where they are legions ahead of their peers and left bored more often than not. What they really crave is new experiences, and perhaps that is why the Hunger Games will be so good for them.
That, and it is expected of them to participate. That's why their parents created them, to be their perfect prodigy, a champion. Once that is out of the way, Leda will join them as researchers in the medical field or perhaps make a career as a surgeon.
Their silence is rudely interrupted by a young girl, no older than fourteen, walking toward them from Claris' table with a worksheet. Leda sighs and then asks, "What do you want?"
"Hi, I'm Umbra," she says.
"Okay. What do you want?" They do not really see the point in small talk. It is just a waste of space and a waste of time. "Something with that worksheet, I presume?"
"You got it right." She lays the sheet flat on the table. "Claris is a bit busy helping everybody else, so she referred me to you and said maybe you can help."
It makes sense that she is busy. It is final's season, after all. However, her face does not show any signs of stress. Interesting. The paper has a bunch of short answer questions surrounding the topic of internal bleeding, which must be why Claris thought Leda would be equipped to answer it.
However, they do not particularly want to, nor would they see it as beneficial. "Let me ask you something, Umbra."
"Yes?" Her face twitches, likely from nervousness.
"How would my assistance benefit you?"
"Well, you can explain the questions and maybe help me find the answers."
"I see." Leda nods. "Will I be in the room with you during your exam?"
"No?"
"Exactly." They hand the paper back to her. "It is best to complete your homework under test-taking conditions. If you really need assistance, I reckon checking your notes would be the appropriate course of action. I am sure one your teachers explained the answers during class. If you did not take notes, you probably will not last long here, so I would suggest seeking other educational opportunities." Leda looks Umbra directly in the eyes and notices that she is starting to tear up. "Was that helpful?"
"Not at all," she says with a scowl.
"A shame."
As she walks away, she mumbles, "I guess the people were right about them."
Leda does not understand — they were earnestly trying to be helpful, which meant giving her a much-needed reality check. Being coddled does not help people succeed at the Institute.
Even if their version of assistance does not satisfy her, they were expecting at least a "thank you for trying."
It's fine, Leda tells themself. Soon, they will have an opportunity to actually be useful.
—
It is a rather loud evening in the Gero household. That has been common lately—both their parents come home from work early and insist on gathering in the kitchen, usually over food that one of them picked up on the way back.
Leda quite enjoys these evenings. They have always been fond of the kitchen and its warm lighting. Again, it is less clinical than the rest of Three, with copper appliances, brown floor tiles, and the scent of cinnamon always in the air.
"How was school today?" Mother asks. Despite the atmosphere, her voice is the furthest thing from warm. She carries a loaf of garlic bread and delicately sets it on the table. "Do you feel like you learned anything that will help you later this month?"
Leda debates not taking a slice of the bread. A few years ago, people spread a rumor that they were secretly a vampire. The theory amused them, so they played into it, never eating food with garlic and completely shielding themself from the sun no matter what the weather was. Some people were scared, but others found it somewhat funny. Leda, however, found it hilarious.
But, Mother is expecting that they eat what is on the table, so they put a slice on their plate.
"School was decent," they tell her. "I did not learn anything new, but it is always nice to refresh what I already know." It is a lie, but it will be appreciated by Mother and Father. They have spent a lot of money on Leda's education. The least they could do is express a sliver of gratitude.
"You don't need to lie to me," she says. "Were people picking on you again?"
"When are they not?" Leda cuts off a piece of their bread slice and brings it to their mouth with a fork.
"I really have no idea why they do that." Father takes a seat next to them. "I know I've told you this a million times, but don't feel like you need to change yourself to make other people happy. It's most important that you feel satisfied with yourself."
"I do," Leda replies. "It is just sometimes grating. I feel like I will not be a valuable asset in the arena if I cannot even get along with people here."
"Don't say that!" Mother says. "The arena, and the months before it, are going to be completely different from Three. You have a unique skill set, too — the other trained kids are going to be thrilled to have you as a part of their team."
And even if they are not, Leda will be there regardless, always willing to help a hand when somebody is injured or unwell. Far too often, people focus on the offensive part of the Games, and while Leda is beyond competent at that, their real talents will shine when their allies need medical assistance. A lack of expertise in that field is what screws trained packs over time and time again.
Leda's primary hope is that people challenge them in a way that is unlike Claris. It will be interesting to observe her in a different setting for sure, but they want to get to know everybody else, too — figure out their oddities and what makes them tick. Training is very different in each district, so it will be neat to compare and contrast.
"You don't need to beat yourself up," comes Father's voice as he cuts two slices of bread for himself. The expression on his face is one of slight concern, though it appears he is trying to hide it. "You're going to be great, Leda."
"I will be, yes."
"You're going to be beyond great," Mother adds.
But of course, that is what their parents are going to say. Leda was, after all, their special project. It is no secret that Mother and Father do not love one another — they just want to create a child so that their individual intelligence could be merged and passed on to the next generation. Sometimes, Leda wonders if they do not love them but rather the idea of who they could be once they win. They do not mind, though, as they do not really resonate with the concept of love and are unsure they feel it in return.
"You think I will win, correct?" Leda asks. They have not yet considered the possibility of dying, as that could shift into a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ideally, they will not have to think of it at all.
"O-Of—" Father pauses for a bit, straightening his posture in his chair. "Of course I do."
"You hesitated."
"He didn't mean to," Mother interjects. "It's just a strange question for you to ask. Do you think you won't win?"
"Obviously not," Leda answers. "I am simply curious what your opinions are."
"We wouldn't have pushed this on you if we didn't think you could do it," Father says. Leda suspects that is a lie — their parents wanted the Games and the success that came with it from the moment they were born. They had no choice in the matter, and they were extremely lucky that they fit their expectations like a glove.
"You're going to win," Mother reinforces his point. "You're the most brilliant mind in this country; your father and I's absolute pride and joy. Winning is in your genetics."
"I suppose you are right." Dejectedly, Leda continues to eat their bread.
It is not that they do not believe their parents' praises, but rather, there is a notable lack of emotion in each of their words. Leda is not dissimilar, and they know the reason why they are so insistent on having these family dinners every night:
Mother and Father never truly cared about them. They just feel guilty that they are sending them to potentially die. Luckily, Leda will not, but they still know insincerity when they see it.
(But perhaps this is the reason why nobody likes them. Leda doubts everything they are presented with and assumes the worst in everybody. They may not be able to change the fact they were believed to think they are above everybody else, but they can still change how they act.
However, that would mean admitting they were wrong. They would rather die than do such a thing.)
asphodel zegota
seventeen / / district nine
—
He can hear colors if he really focuses.
They're ringing near his ear like the sound of a drum but slow, steady, and relaxing. The blues and yellows of the sunset sound like a snare drum, and the green grass they're sitting on is more like a high hat drum.
But also, it doesn't really sound like drums at all because if everything sounded like drums, then nothing would sound like drums. That's ridiculous.
As he sits by his Uncle Mauu, best friend Erba, and cousin Chwast (not from Uncle Mauu), Asphodel is as happy as a clam. That is if clams can be happy because they might not. It might be a good thing he hasn't met one because he wouldn't know what to say really. "Are you happy ever?" would be a waste of a question if Asphodel was ever invited to the once-in-a-life clam meet and greet and got to ask one question to a clam.
Um…. Anyways! Yeah — it's a happy, happy day for Mr. Popo. He'll be able to see his way back home when the day's over, too. That's super neat. Maybe Uncle Mauu will be able to walk him home, too, since he lives next to Asphodel.
The fire everyone is sitting around sounds like a snare drum because it's yellow. Shit. Why is he thinking about the colors thing? What's more important is that it's a great night, and it will continue to be a great night because Asphodel has all that he needs:
His loved ones and his dank weed.
They take the blunt from Uncle Jau with a super big smile. "Thank you so much, Uncle Mauu!"
"Popo, I already told you — I'm not your uncle!" Uncle Mauu says. Or wait… not Uncle Mauu, just Mauu. Popo doesn't have an uncle named Mauu. Obviously not.
"Okay then." Asphodel sticks out a thumbs up to show he really cares. "Just Mauu!"
"Mauu isn't my name either!"
"It's not?"
"No! That's my brother. I'm Jau!"
How could Asphodel forget? Mauu and Jau get so confusing sometimes, even though he hasn't met Mauu; he's just heard a lot about him.
Asphodel starts rocking back and forth on the stack of hay he's sitting on. "I'm so sorry, Jau! You know I didn't mean to do it, my bro dude!"
"Don't even sweat it," Jau says, and now he's laughing too! "I know how you get when you hit too much of that good kush. We all get mixed up sometimes!"
"Yeah, you're so chill, dude," is what his best friend, Erba, says, except she's actually not that; she's just a regular friend. "I know you'd never Mauu the Jau or Jau the Mauu on purpose."
"Of course not, homie!" He daps Erba up.
"You sound super weird right now," Chwast (who is actually Asphodel's cousin) says. Ugh, what a buzzkill. Chwast isn't allowed to smoke yet because he's only thirteen — next year, though — and he always wants to go to Asphodel's smoke sessions with the homies, and it's just not cool at all.
Popo is always like, "Chwast, you're being so weird, dude. Just stay home," but he never stinking listens to him. He joins, doesn't smoke, and just calls Asphodel weird, even though he's not weird.
That's why Popo is kind of annoyed that he and his parents live with his uncle (not Mauu or Jau): Chwast is around, and he's so annoying.
But wait… maybe there's something that would make Chwast calm down. It's not like anybody else is around who'd get Asphodel in public for giving weed to somebody too young. Besides, Asphodel is just trying to make people happy.
"Hey, Chwast, my guy," Asphodel tells his cousin. "What if… what if, what if, what if — what if we let you smoke your first J."
"Oh, that's an awesome idea," Jau says — he's Asphodel's best friend, not Erba. He waves the blunt in Chwast's face. "Hey, little guy? Want to take your first puff."
"Are you sure?" Chwast's eyes light up like a Snow Day tree. Speaking of Snow Day trees, what is Snow Day all about, huh? All Asphodel knows about Snow Day is that this year, he got a letter that says he has to go to the closest town center for a ceremony. It's happened a few times before, but never in the winter.
Sometimes, people get taken during the ceremony. Actually, it was just one time: this guy named Fialli, who Asphodel used to be friends with, got put on stage, and then he never came back. Wherever he is, Asphodel hopes there's weed.
But yes — Chwast is really happy about this idea, it seems, so Asphodel tells Jau, "Give him the J. Oh, Chwast, this is going to be so dope."
"Completely dope," Erba agrees.
And then Jau gives Chwast the joint, and it's so big in his tiny hands. But he puts it between his lips and the fiery part flickers. Then he takes a deep breath and blows it out.
"Oh my gosh!" Chwast starts giggling and swinging around, just like Asphodel. "Am I high yet? Because I feel so high, actually."
"Not yet," Erba snorts.
"Yeah, cuz," Asphodel says. "You ain't high just yet!"
"Don't tell him that," Jau whispers. "If we can convince him he's high off just one puff, there will be more weed for us."
"You're a genius, dude." Asphodel returns their focus to Chwast. "Dude, you're like so high right now, bro."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you sure are, big guy!"
And then, everyone gets along with each other again. Everybody is happy, and the world is spinning a bit faster than usual, but it's okay because Asphodel is with the people who matter, and it will all be OK.
—
He wakes up to the soft rays of sunlight peaking through the holes in his curtains. He can already tell — today will be the best day ever.
Or maybe that was yesterday. Either way, it doesn't really matter because every day is a great day. Asphodel neatly makes his bed, folding every blanket to perfection and arranging his pillows and stuffed fox so they all stand in the right direction. He brushes his hair enough to look presentable, then joins their parents in the kitchen.
Mom and Dad are sitting by the kitchen table, and it seems Asphodel's uncle is making something to eat. Chwast hasn't woken up yet, but that's probably because he thinks he got high. Truth be told, Asphodel felt kind of bad taking advantage of the kid, but like, it's chill. Now, he can threaten to tell Uncle he smoked whenever Chwast gets on his nerves.
"Good mornin'," Asphodel cutely waves at his parents, swaying his hips a little. "I see you've already got your first joint all fired up."
There's a small J in her mouth with pretty pink rolling paper. Usually, she advocates not smoking until after breakfast, but some days, Mom really can't help herself. Asphodel totally understands, and once he's finished with breakfast, they're stoked to take a few hits with them.
"Hey, Popo," Mom says, her eyes blinking. "Can you be a saint and pick the indica? A bit more has sprouted."
Oh, that's great to know. The Zegota family has been planting cannabis since the birth of this village, and supply and demand is becoming a real issue. People have moved here an exponential amount every year since the Second Rebellion because they know there's lots of weed here, and it's kind of nice to take a break from whatever's out there. This is great, but it also means that they've had to expand their farms."
Luckily, Asphodel loves to help out the fam, so this should be fun. He's also really good at it!
"I've got you, Ma!" They exclaim. It's sort of unbecoming of Asphodel to go outside wearing just their tattered flannel pajamas, but they also don't really care. It's another beautiful day with the sun hanging high in the sky, the same type of day it is every day here.
Gosh, Asphodel really is lucky that they'll never have to leave this place.
It doesn't matter what he does and does not know because the only thing that matters is weed, friends, family, and kindness. That's all that will matter until Asphodel's dying day, not that they want to think about that. But if he were to think about it, he would think about how ghosts are basically giant bong rips in a sense. That's epic!
He grabs a pair of pruning sheers and a basket and heads outside, then stumbles around through the plants, careful not to actually crush them. That used to happen often when Asphodel was a kid, and sometimes their parents would get upset. That was rare, though — usually, they would just smoke a joint and forget about it.
Grr, now Asphodel wants one. He rapidly shakes his head. No weed until they finish their fieldwork — they've got this in the bag! Er, the basket. For the record, Asphodel personally came up with the no-weed-until-you're-done-with-chores rule. As much as they enjoy floating away into blissful oblivion, his days need at least the slightest bit of structure. Ugh, their life really is so perfect.
Carefully, Asphodel trims the indica plants and places the clippings in the basket. If they're lucky, they'll probably smoke some of it tonight. Mornings are for sativa, though.
He walks back into the house with the same cheery smile that was on his face when he left and loudly proclaims. "I did it! I harvested the indica, dudes!"
"No way!" Dad exclaims, running toward Asphodel to give him the most epic high-five of all time. "That's got to be record time, little buddy."
"Yeah, I think so." They vigorously shake their hand. The high-five was so strong and powerful it kind of hurts now. Oops. "How much money do you think we'll make?"
"Does it matter?"
Asphodel shrugs. Dad's right — it doesn't matter at all. Even if they have a lot of money, there isn't much for the Zegota family to do with it. If they wanted to spend a lot of it in one go, that'd mean leaving their town. Again, why would they do that?
He shuffles to the kitchen counter and pushes himself on a barstool. Their uncle looks at them, genuine gratitude in his eyes, and says, "Thank you for hanging out with Chwast last night."
"It was my pleasure," Asphodel replies.
There have been a few times when he's debated complaining to Uncle about Chawst, but they never did. He had a feeling that everything would work out in the end, and he was right.
Because everything always works out for Asphodel, and it'll be that way forever and ever.
becquerel ivanov
twelve / / district thirteen
—
"Ivanov!" Mr. Veritas rapidly taps on Bex's desk, snapping her out of her blissful slumber. "What did I just say?"
Obviously, she has no idea. She was sleeping, for crying out loud. It happens whenever Mr. Veritas dims the lights in their stark gray classroom so he can display a video on the wall with a projector. That's like… prime sleeping environment, unlike the Community Home, where lights flicker on and off every few minutes, and hustle and bustle always fill the air.
Alas, the sleep aura of the classroom means Bex has no clue what's going on. So, she glances at the projection, sees a bunch of green vials, and makes her best guess. "Magic potions?"
Mr. Veritas stares at her like she's the dumbest person in the world. "No, Bex. We were talking about the history of practical medicine."
"I'm sure it's a great history," she says.
Truth be told, it doesn't matter to Bex in the slightest, just like everything else she's been taught in this stupid classroom. Learning all this Capitol nonsense is for nerds and losers, and Bex is not a nerd or a loser. Besides, only a tiny handful of students get to go to Three once they're grown, and let's face it, there was never a chance Bex would be one of them. Even if she was, why would she actually want to go? That just means even more schoolwork — how boring!
Mr. Veritas sighs, then crouches over to meet Bex's gaze. "How many times do I have to tell you that I think you're wasting your potential?"
Before she can reply, her arch nemesis (or one of them), Calandria, shouts out. "Let it up!"
"You're wasting your time with her," Bex's other arch-nemesis, Radon, says.
Both of their faces are painfully smug — they're both such tools. They think that if they reprimand Bex and all the other slackers out loud, it'll make Mr. Veritas like them. Honestly, they should just try being smarter instead.
"Simmer down." Mr. Veritas pushes up his glasses. "What did I say about needing to raise your hand in the classroom."
"The same thing you said about not sleeping in the classroom," Calandria supplies.
"Fair point."
Bex crosses her arms. "I just don't see how this is either of your business. This conversation is about me and my totally awesome squad."
"Yeah," she hears Melina say from behind her. "You're just jealous because you're not as swag as we are!"
"Exactly." Bex nods.
Meanwhile, Mr. Veritas' veins are practically popping out of his skull, and his pale skin has turned a nasty shade of red. Bex should probably feel bad for him since this whole mess started when she fell asleep in class, but she doesn't. He's mega-rich, sent to Thirteen straight from the Capitol, and Bex literally doesn't even have parents. She's suffered enough to earn the right to laugh at him.
"Becquerel—" he warns.
"Ew." She rolls her eyes. "Not the government name."
Seriously, why did her parents have to name her after some scientific unit that has to do with radioactive things? It doesn't get more on the nose for Thirteen than that.
"She goes by Bex," Colin, another friend of hers, blurts out.
Mr. Veritas squints. "Don't tell me you've also decided to become a troublemaker."
"We're not troublemakers," Melina shouts. "Sorry that we want to have fun, and you just want to lecture us about boring stuff!"
Her comment appears to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. "That's quite enough," Mr. Veritas practically yells. "You kids are some of the most ungrateful people I've ever met. Do you not understand who I am? You are here in Thirteen because you have the chance to not be amongst the rest of Panem's mongrels, yet you're putting it to waste. You should be mortified by your behavior and the consequences it'll eventually lead to. Do you think this is going to fly when you're older? Absolutely not — we're always running low on people to whip in the city center, and while nobody wants to see a child get abused, I know we can make exceptions." He stares directly at Bex for the last part, which is… yikes. "I want to see you in my office after class."
As usual, everyone shuts up after that when Mr. Veritas decides it's time to assert his dominance by making threats. Bex hates that it works, but at the end of the day, no matter how unruly everyone gets, they are stuck underground forever and are still real people who get afraid.
When class ends, Bex waves at Melina and Colin and then sighs. "I'll catch up with you after I'm done with him."
They wave back, and Bex makes her way to the corner of the classroom, where there's a desk partitioned off, at which Mr. Veritas sits. Gingerly, he rattles his nails on the top of it like he's trying to be intimidating or something. It doesn't work — Bex isn't afraid of anything anymore.
"Ms. Ivanov," he begins, his tone unsettlingly neutral. "What do you think I'm going to say to you?"
She thinks for a moment, then replies. "The same thing you said about me to all of class. How I'm letting myself go to waste."
"Exactly. Bex, I remember you were one of my best students when you were younger. You were so alert and always had the answers to my toughest questions. What happened to you?"
What happened? Oh, Bex doesn't think he needs to know the answer to that. "It's none of your business."
"I know it's not, but I worry for you." His face softens. "You had such a fall from grace."
"And I'm perfectly fine staying here at rock bottom. I have more fun this way, anyhow."
If fun is even something that exists in Thirteen, that is. Whenever Bex and her friends try to do anything that they'd consider enjoyable, their plans get squashed like a spider. She knows that if she worked hard and were allowed to go to Three, there would be a chance that she could actually experience good, exciting things, but that'd also mean having to go to school more. Why does education have to be the answer to all her woes? She doesn't get it.
Can't she just have a life that consists of hanging out with her best friends forever without facing any consequences? Is that really too much for her to ask?
"When you're older, it won't be so fun," Mr. Veritas warns. "I know you've messed with Peacekeepers, and it's gotten you in trouble. Your punishments will only get worse with age."
"You don't get it," she tells him. "You'll never understand what it's like to grow up here or why I do the things that I do." Because more than anything, Bex wants to feel like she's alive. Being complicit robs her of that chance. "Even then, don't you ever get bored too?"
"I don't."
—
"Mr. Veritas is soooooo annoying," Bex says as she hops onto the light rail, Melina and Colin trailing right behind her. "He was saying that when I'm older, I'm going to suffer because of the mistakes I'm making now, but honestly, why should I care?"
"Sounds about right," Colin says.
Luckily, there are three empty seats, so they're all able to sit down. The light rail is pretty much one of the only good things about Thirteen. Even if it's shaky, and every car is painted the same gray shade, it makes getting around easier. It's also fun to just sit down and pretend it's a rollercoaster.
"Is he ever tough on you?" Bex asks Colin. "I know you also used to be a nerd."
"Oh, absolutely."
"I get that he wants the best for us or whatever," Melina chimes in, "but does he have to be so boring and grumpy?"
"Adults are so we—" Bex jolts in her seat as the light rail starts moving. "They're so weird! I hope I'm not like that when I grow up."
The whole idea of growing up gets more and more terrifying with every day. What if Bex becomes just as mediocre as Mr. Veritas and loses all of her whimsy? She swears she won't let Thirteen crush her spirits, but there's still so much uncertainty.
"You won't be," Colin swears. His face starts getting red, which is common when on the light rail. He claims he doesn't get motion sickness, but it's so evident that he does. "We all made a promise, after all."
"Exactly," Melina says. "No matter what happens, we won't turn boring."
But what if that's not a promise any of them can keep? What if Mr. Veritas is right and Thirteen truly does suck all the life out of their bodies?
Hmm. Bex is probably too young to be all philosophical like this. "Can we talk about something else now?"
"Like what?" Colin asks. For the record, he still looks like he's about to puke. "Did either of you see any cool cartoons as of late?"
"Obviously not!" Melina rolls her eyes. "The only things that I've seen on my telly are about how awesome the Capitol is, even though forcing a bunch of people to live underground is the exact opposite of awesome."
"And you, Bex," Colin starts, but instantly realizes his mistake. "Never mind."
When Bex was living with her parents, she used to get a real kick out of all the propaganda, even if they, too, demanded she be serious. Now, the community home doesn't even let her watch TV, so she just has to sit around in contemplation forever.
"Yeah," she whistles. "No cartoons for me."
"Maybe someday you'll come over and watch some with me."
"Yeah, that would be great, actually."
—
Bex never thought she would be capable of missing her parents, out of all people, but the community home has shown her that anything is possible.
She's lucky that she doesn't have to share a room with anybody, but in a way, that's also a bad thing because it makes her feel so terribly lonely all of the time. As much as she wishes she could hang out with Colin and Melina twenty-four-seven, she'd feel guilty having sleepovers with them every day. So, most nights, she's stuck in a room that's so tiny, it could be mistaken for a shoebox, without anything to soothe her.
It's not like her parents would do anything to comfort her — they got tired of her when she wasn't even a year old, but dealing with them is better than being alone. Melina and Colin are great, but Bex has always wondered what it would be like to have a real family.
When she was told her parents had messed up so badly that they were being shipped off to Twelve, that hope went out the window.
As she lies flat in bed, unable to sleep because of all of the noise, she imagines what it would be like if her mother was telling her a bedtime story or if her father was telling her all the strange jokes that Colin's dad says whenever Bex is visiting him at his house. She'd probably smile the way she does when she's with her friends, dimples in her cheeks and all her crooked teeth out on display.
She wonders what her parents even do in a giant prison all day. She wonders if they ever regret ignoring her now that they've sunk so low. Honestly, Bex doubts it.
When sleep eventually takes her, Bex dreams about what it would be like if she and her friends ever successfully escaped Thirteen and saw sunlight for more than thirty seconds.
In her dreams, she smiles, even when the sun turns to night, because then she can see the most beautiful stars. She and her friends eventually find a park, and they frolic in a field of real flowers instead of the plastic ones Mr. Veritas keeps on his desk.
In those dreams, Bex finally knows what it's like to be alive. She knows what it's like to experience the world for all it's worth, and she can confidently say she's actually happy.
Alas, they're dreams for a reason, and she'll never feel truly free.
malus mortimer-bowery
sixteen / / district seven
—
It would appear Olathe has given birth.
Malus watches with wide eyes as the wolf spider climbs up a branch, and the large green sack hanging off her abdomen from yesterday is no longer present. He hums and zooms in with his binoculars to get up close and notices a few small critters are following her.
Fascinating. Malus begins to draw an exact replication of what he just saw in his notebook. In all his fifteen years, he's never witnessed the aftermath of spider birth. Usually, they scuttle away from where he and his mothers live before Malus can see the newborns, but Olathe appears to be the exception.
Still, he can't help but wish he could see a bat fly or a hissing cockroach because they give live birth instead of merely laying eggs and carrying them around like the wolf spider does. Malus sighs — sometimes, the fauna of District Seven can get quite repetitive.
As soon as Malus knew what a bug was, he decided it would be his life's work to see as many different ones as humanly possible. Even if they're scary to some people, insects are his best friends. They don't judge him or call him weird like the other kids. They usually leave Malus alone; sometimes, that's what he needs. After all, if Malus has to talk to somebody, he gets all weird about it and usually never knows what to say.
But, when he tells Olathe the wolf spider, "You're looking splendid, m'lady," she doesn't call him any names or even pay attention to his existence, and he likes it that way.
Gingerly, Malus walks around the tree, his eyes eagerly searching for his other favorite insects: Treech, the morning cloak butterfly, Fawkes the round-back slug, and Aescelin, the Japanese beetle. Don't ask him what "Japanese" means — he couldn't tell you. It's just the name of Aescelin's species.
To be fair, though, the morning cloak butterfly he eventually finds could not be Treech but rather a completely different butterfly. Malus is still figuring out how to distinguish his favorite insects of each species from the rest, but it's an extensive process. For now, every morning, the cloak butterfly he sees is Treech, every wolf spider he sees is Olathe, and so on and so forth.
"You're all so lovely," Malus says with a whistle. The sun is beginning to fade into the trees, and the skies are turning shades of orange and purple, but he really doesn't want to go inside. He's heard Mother and Other-Mother's lectures so many times — going outside at night is dangerous, but at the same time, he earnestly can't help himself.
There are so many types of bugs that only show themselves at night, and Malus really wants to see them. If there's like a bear or something else that's scary, he'll just run away. Alas, that's not the kind of thing that Malus' mothers want to hear, so as soon as he sees the first star light up the sky, he scrambles back inside their cottage.
Even if he couldn't see the nighttime bugs again, he's still all smiles as he closes the door behind him. Though Mother is in her room, as she often is these days, Other-Mother is preparing dinner over their cherry-red stovetop. Based on the giant pot, she's probably making soup — Malus' favorite!
His cottage is lovely, even if none of the furniture matches because his mothers bought it all from various flea markets and estate sales. For example, the stovetop is contrasted with a bright blue cabinet, and the kitchen table and chairs are a murky shade of gray. The lamps are made of mason jars and soda bottles, and each oddity makes Malus feel more at home.
In many ways, it highlights why Mother and Malus' father's marriage was never going to work. He was always so much more bleak than Mother. Even if Malus hasn't seen him in a decade, he can still recall that.
"You're home earlier than usual," Other-Mother observes as Malus sits by the stove on one of the neon green barstools. "I thought I was going to have to wrangle you to come inside again."
"Not necessary today," Malus says, spinning a bit on the stool. "I got to observe Olathe — you know, the wolf spider — with her newborns. It satisfied me for the day." Bitterly, he remembers when Mother would accompany him on his bug searches before she was sick. Then, he even got the chance to stay outside after dark sometimes. "Mother would've thought it was so awesome!"
"You'll have to tell her all about it after dinner, then."
"Yes, after dinner." Malus nods.
He misses when Mother wasn't a ghost of herself, laying in bed all of the time and occasionally coughing up blood. She and Other-Mother have told Malus that it's not terminal, but he doesn't know whether or not to believe them. After all, if he were dying, he wouldn't want to worry people about it.
"Do you want to help with the soup?" Other-Mother asks. "It'd be a huge favor if you could chop up the carrots for me."
"Of course," Malus beams, practically leaping off the stool. He takes great pride in helping his mothers — they raised him to be a kindly gentleman, and he's taken pridefully to that role. He knows to be courteous and gentle and never speaks over a lady if she's trying to talk — or anyone, for that matter.
He's not allowed to use the sharp knife, so it takes him a bit more time to chop the carrots, but he still gets the job done. He gives the chopped carrots to Other-Mother, and it makes her smile.
His life is simple, but Malus enjoys it immensely.
—
Father tied Malus' tie too tight, and now he's worried he'll suffocate or something.
It's hard for him to smile these days—ever since Mother disappeared overnight, and a Peacekeeper knocked on the cottage door and said he had to move back with Father since Mother and Other-Mother never officially got married.
He's only been here for two months, but he already feels like a bee without a hive or a spider who can't spin a web. It doesn't make any sense. He doesn't think Mother died, but it would explain why she "disappeared." Other-Mother swore Mother is still out there, and one day when Malus is older, he'll get to see her.
For now, though, and until he's a grown-up, Malus is stuck with Father, who tells him, "Hold still," as he ties the final knot on his tie.
"Sorry," Malus says, unable to control how he sometimes wiggles when he's afraid. "It's just really tight." But he isn't scared now, or at least that's what he tells himself. He's just… adjusting, that's all. "Could you maybe tie it a bit looser next time?"
"I'm afraid I cannot," Father replies, his voice super stern. "If there was one thing your mother and I agreed upon, it was that you are to be a gentleman. Gentlemen always tie their ties as tightly as they can."
Mother never told Malus that, but he doesn't want Father to be angry, so he just shrugs. "Alright then. I'll adjust to this, I suppose."
"Of course you will. We're meeting with very important people today."
They meet with very important people every day, and honestly, Malus is kind of tired of it. He gets that Father runs a big paper-making company, and one day, he'll be expected to follow in his steed, but that doesn't mean he wants to.
As long as he could remember, Malus thought he'd be an entomologist, and that's still what he wants to do. But there are not as many bugs in the main town of Delonix, so it's hard for him to conduct research the way he used to. It's confusing — he hardly understands why he's here and why his life has changed entirely upside down.
"Looking forward to it, sir." Malus nods, then follows Father downstairs. The new house is quite different from the cottage. There's no unique "character," so to speak — everything is in matching shades of brown, and there is not a single object out of the ordinary. It doesn't feel like home, even if it's ten times bigger than the cottage.
Maybe it will with time, but for now, Malus doubts it. How can a house be home if there's insect repellent on all the trees outside, which means he can't see any of his friends?
After breakfast, he ventures into the "gathering room," sitting next to Father and his colleagues. They're all wearing black suits similar to Malus' and Father's, with painfully neutral expressions on their faces.
"Alright, so," Father begins, everyone's eyes laser-focused on him. "There's been a delay in trees coming from Southside. Does anybody know another location where we can harvest from?"
"I was just in Greenbriar," one of the men says. "They've been trying — and failing — to grow redwoods, so they may have some leftovers we can pick from."
Other men mention other locations, but they all blend together in Malus' head. He didn't know Seven was so expansive. He much preferred it when all he knew was that his town was so rural that it didn't even have a name. But he doesn't have a choice anymore. He wishes he did, still.
"Malus, what do you think?" Father asks. Honestly, Malus has no idea what he's even talking about. He's never sure how much time passes when he zones out like this.
"Um…" He ponders, trying not to shrivel up at how everyone else around the table is glaring daggers at him. "I think um…"
"Malus?" Father's brows furrow. "Were you not paying attention?"
"I was," Malus says. "I'm just thinking… and I think that Greenbriar would be a good choice, yeah."
Everyone nods — hopefully, that means that Malus made the right choice. Father gives him a look of approval and smiles, which is rare.
He sincerely appreciates Father for trying to involve him in the business, at least. It's clear that he wants to connect with Malus, but they're just such different people, so that makes no sense.
"Why do you want Greenbriar," another man asks. Malus thinks it's the one who suggested Greenbriar in the first place, but again, everything blends together.
"Redwoods are good trees," Malus starts, not sure what he's about to say. He focuses really hard and attempts to string the rest of the words together. "But if they're not growing well, we might as well recycle, no? Any tree can become paper, and I don't think the paper will be red."
"Very true," the man says, and Malus sighs with immense relief. "Mespilus, you're raising a mighty fine young gentleman here."
"I'm glad it's okay." Malus smiles. "Sorry if any of that sounded weird."
"You didn't sound weird," Father tells him.
"Phew…"
The conversations continue, and Malus finds himself understanding less and less. His head is all cloudy, and all he can think about is his insects and how much he misses them.
He wonders if the Peacekeepers did anything to harm the bugs by the cottage or if they're still minding their business. He wonders if they miss him as much as he misses them, but that's most definitely wishful thinking — they never knew he existed at all.
Honestly, he might as well not if he doesn't have insects to study. Until they reunite, he'll feel irreparably stuck, forever waiting for a chance to learn once again.
More than anything, he misses his simple life.
Ah, we are back back again with Intros 7 featuring Leda (thank you, Em), Asphodel (thank you, Goldie), Bex (thank you, Neb), and Malus (thank you, QoM). Sorry for the mini-delay, the election results took a lot out of me and I was struggling to write about sad children.
IG Monday is the new update day? At least, until I graduate in a month because so many of my academic deadlines also being on Fridays? IDK, we'll see. Regardless, I'll see you next week with kinfolk, our final intro chapter featuring Sabine, Song-yi, Tyrian, and Balor!
Q: I was going to post this chapter on Nov 8 (my bday) so I could ask this ridiculously vain question then, but I'm doing it now. What's your favorite thing about me? I guarantee I have asked this question at least twice before but whatever.
Linds. Laugh. Love.