bel racat and nightmare,

[dionaea]

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reed o'harrow // district four

bay fitzgerald // district four

[reynard]

вαч fıтzgeяαłđ

"I'm learning not to hope for what I can't control..." - Leila Meacham

______________________________________

Bare feet thudded against the damp earth as the smaller girl ran along the path towards the small seaside shanties. The smell of fish permeated the air, but everyone was so used to that no one bothered to care. When someone said they lived by the sea, foreign minds automatically jumped to pristine beaches and big houses. That was not quite true as a description of where Bay had been born and raised. Instead of beautiful sand, the crafters shanties were located on the stony part of the shore, where people only walked on the docks, not along the shore. Fishing boats and crafting stands were the most prominent thing, as this was where people struggled to make their living. The work was hard, the air smelled, and no one was any wiser to this dark underbelly. The houses themselves looked like a strong sea breeze would cause them to topple. Yet, there they stood, passing from generation to generation, much like the businesses themselves.
Bay had lived in this punishing place her whole life. Although her family was not as poor off as some of the others that lived among them, they certainly did not bask in the luxury that the rest of the district was known for. The only reason her family was still afloat was probably because of the necessity of their craft. The Fitzegerald's made a good amount of the nets that were used in district four. Although her father claimed to make them, the truth was that both Bay and her mother were the true backbone of the business. Her father spent most of his time drinking away what little money they had, stumbling home in the dark hours. Bay and her mother were the ones who either made or mended the nets. With nimble fingers, they were suited to the task. Bay herself had a certain aptitude to mending old nets, being able to find the holes and fix them with an envious ease.
Bay was a short, five foot tall petite girl. Her mousy brown hair was always cut short, barely touching her shoulders. Her skin was smooth, with startling hazel eyes. She had a worn look to her face, which far surpassed what it should look like at her young age of sixteen. Her mouth always seemed to be drawn to a solemn frown, as if she always disapproved. Her hair was usually unkempt, the look of the ocean evident in both it and in her eyes. Some of the customers that came to the net shop commented how, in the years of their patronage, they had never seen the Fitzgerald girl smile. Bay had always been rather quiet, preferring to take in her surroundings to talking over them. Even her body was quiet, footsteps normally silent as she moved around. Like a mouse, she usually hid in plain sight. An enigma, not many people approached her for this reason.
There was only one day every year that Bay's appearance was changed. Today just so happened to be that day. The reaping, when two innocent children were chosen to go into the arena to fight to the death. Bay never really thought much of it. Her name would only be in five times this year, opposed to some of the kids who needed to take out tesserae. As an only child, she had no siblings to worry about. Making nets was a good enough business to keep the family fed and clothed for the most part, although some months were harder than the others.
Slowing her gait as she approached one of the aforementioned slanting shanties, she opened the door to slip in. When she closed the door, she made sure it made a sound, so that her mother was alerted to her presence. The woman looked up sharply from the rocker she was sitting in, a partially made net draped across her lap. The woman opened her mouth, but closed it after a moment. With a sigh and a frown, she looked back to the net. Bay knew the reaping was hard for her mother. After all, she had only one child, and should Bay be taken and never come home, the net business would suffer as well. Looking sadly at her mother, the brunette went to her room to get ready for today's events. Slipping on an old dress that her mother had made for her when she first became eligible, Bay ran her fingertips over the fabric. It was strange, to wear something nice for once, instead of her ragged shirts and pants. Brushing her hair took longer than it ought to have, only because the knots had become abundant in the short locks.
Once she was finally done, she toed on her shoes. Rarely did she actually wear anything on her feet, preferring to run barefoot. The soles of her feet were rough because of this, but they were also strong. Walking out of the small space they considered her room, she saw her mother was up and near the door. It was time for them to go. They could only assume her father would come stumbling to the ceremony at some point, so they did not wait for him. Instead, mother and daughter joined the procession of people that was slowly trickling towards the town centre. Bay felt her mothers hand slip into her own, and she looked at with with surprise in her hazel eyes. Although her mother was not a bad person, she was a colder individual, much like Bay herself. Therefore, this sign of solidarity and fondness was slightly surprising.
As they got to where the reaping would occur, Bay moved off to go get checked in. Her mother stopped her for a second though. "Come back to me, my girl," she said quietly, a faint smile echoing on her normal drawn face. Bay nodded, and a few seconds later gave in, hugging her mother close. "I'll be back mama. Don't worry," the young girl said, before walking off to join the group of other sixteen year old girls. No one spoke, the air was thick with tension. Cries could be heard from the young ones in the pool for the first time, or from mothers who had children in so many times, the odds where most certainly not in their favor. As their escort walked up onto the stage, Bay began to zone out. She never really particularly cared for the ceremony, instead treating it like a necessary evil. District four was left alone by the Capitol for the most part. If a reaping stopped the worse of their meddling, Bay was not one to argue. Looking around, she could hear the hum of the escort, but paid no mind to it. Now she was looking at the faces of her fellow district members, generally just noticing which she knew and which she didn't.
"Bay Fitzgerald," called out the overly happy voice of the district four escort. It took Bay a moment to realize that she had just been reaped. Still, no fear blossomed within her. Four was a borderline career district, meaning that usually, there were volunteers. The peacekeepers came to collect her, and she walked willingly. Any moment, she expected to hear someone cry out that they wished to take her place. It was only when she set her foot on the stage that her stomach dropped. Alarm bells began to clang in her mind as she walked up to shake hands with the escort. No. No no no. This was not happening. Why was no one volunteering?! Her hope was ultimately crushed when she saw the escorts elegant arm reach into the bowl for the male tribute. That was it. No one volunteered for her. Her hazel gaze traveled out into the crowd of gathered families, and her heart broke a little when she saw her mother. Neither she or Bay made any kind of obvious emotional display. Instead, the two of them looked at each other, stone faced. And for the first time, Bay saw a tear leak from her mothers eye, breaking past her steady resolve.
Biting her lip, she made a pact. She needed to come home. She needed to survive.

[dionaea]

ｒｅｅｄ ｏ＇ｈａｒｒｏｗ

_____________________________________________________________

He was facedown in the grass, songbirds vocalizing their miseries overhead, cherry-blossom petals drifting around him. The young man walked slowly to the body, grabbing his cold and bare shoulder, gently turning him over to view the identity of the cadaver. What he saw made him scream. A clear gash sliced across his throat, green eyes open and empty, their last moment staring upward at the cerulean sky. The deceased? Reed found himself staring at his own body, then suddenly the scenery changed. A countdown echoed throughout a field. Ten, nine, eight...it was then clear where he was. The boy was in the games. Once it reached zero, a buzzer sounded...and a spear came flying at his forehead. Death was swift and painless, yet in his final moments, the cannon sounded, breaking the dream with finality.


Reed O'Harrow shot up in bed, his teal bedding billowing around him in a wave, similar to the ocean surrounding them. It was simply a dream, albeit a traumatizing one. It was the day of the reaping, which seemed to have spurred the nightmare. Reed ran a hand through his black hair, making it stick up in unruly spikes. "Just a dream." he told himself, though it seemed pointless. Of course it was a dream. There was no way he was going to be chosen as a tribute, his name was only in there, what, five times? Six? He didn't have to take out tesserae of course, he was wealthy enough that his family had no need for surplus. Reed eventually rose from his plush bed, wearing nothing but his undergarments, he padded silently across the blue and brown carpet to open the window, the immediate scent of salty ocean brine assaulting his senses. The ocean glittered with golden rays of sunlight, warming the water just enough for the fish to come to the surface. It was days like this that fishermen had their best luck. Reed's father was the captain of a ship, there was no need for them to fish themselves, they received all of their fresh soon-to-be-meals from their local fish monger. The job of a fisherman, at least in the wealthier areas of district four, was regarded as undesirable. With a sigh, Reed sat on his bed, falling backwards into the multitude of pillows and fluffy blankets. He was fortunate, it was true. In the poorer districts, he doubted that they could afford a room of their own, let alone pillows and blankets. It made him somewhat depressed, but then he always felt the carpet between his toes, and eventually forgot the misfortunes of others. A knock on his door made him turn, raising his brows. It was his older brother no doubt, and sure enough, it was. Christopher opened the door without waiting for a reply, a grin on his elfin features. Chris was twenty, and now safe from the games. It was a miracle he hadn't been picked, the guy had been itching to volunteer if anyone he knew was chosen. It always ended up being someone 'poor' as he called it, so he never felt the urge to volunteer. Chris plopped a nice pair of trousers and a dress shirt. "Get dressed, mum wants us downstairs in ten minutes...it's almost time. You really overslept." Reed nodded, and as soon as his brother left, the young man dressed and combed his hair. Deciding he hated the neat look, he mussed up his hair and untucked his shirt, finally satisfied. Taking the stairs two at him, he was on his way.


The walk was far and grueling, across boardwalks and through fishy smelling markets. The upper part of the district was wealthier, and the gradual decline of quality was nearly frightening. Even the scents changed. Reed wasn't in the lower areas much, and the reek of fish surprised him. Most people didn't even enjoy the smell of fish in district four, it was nearly impossible to. Reed walked behind his mother and brother, feeling entirely out of place in his dress shirt and pressed trousers. The rest of the teenagers and young adults walking to the reaping were dressed in what Reed presumed were their nicest clothes, but they certainly weren't fashion forward. Even for what was considered a career district, there were still poor areas.


The stage was set up before the ocean, looking almost pretty, with the blaring lights glancing off the waters. Peacekeepers were ushering people to separate by gender, and the elders to the side. Reed checked in like usual, with blood taken. A wince sounded as the buzzing needle took his blood and determined his identity, but the pain soon faded. He was a bit late. The representative hired to do the initial reaping was antsy, he could tell. She was pacing the stage, her gaudy silvery wig askew. Once everyone was situated, they began.


The girl was someone he had never met, nor heard of. Someone named Bay. She was escorted to the stage almost willingly, not resisting in the least. It became clear that she had been waiting for someone to volunteer...but when no one did, her expression turned broken. Once the escort's reached gracefully into the bowl, Reed clenched his fists and closed his eyes. The games were something of horror for him, something unnecessary and cruel. If he were picked, he wouldn't have much choice but to win. But at what cost? Most likely the cost of his sanity and morality. The escort picked a name. She raised it above the rim of the bowl, and began to read out loud. The moment her tongue rolled off her teeth in the 'r' sound, Reed's heart dropped. "Reed O'harrow!" Her voice was nearly gleeful, oh-so-excited to begin the death match. Reed swore under his breath, swallowing hard as a peacekeeper began to walk down the aisles towards him. A rough gloved hand closed around his forearm, practically dragging him towards the stage. "No! No!" his mother and brother began to shout, his brother thundering his fists against the chest of a peacekeeper that was attempting to hold the two back. Reed's father stood with a steady expression, closing his eyes and lowering his head to avoid Reed's panicked gaze. "Please don't...no..." Reed tugged backwards on the peacekeeper's grip, causing the man to reach for the baton on his belt. Reed, not wanting to be bludgeoned, finally gave up resisting and went with him, knowing in his heart that no one was going to volunteer for him. Reed made a vow then, as he took the final steps onto the stage, fists balled so tightly that his arms were shaking. He glanced at the small and mousy girl beside him, she looked utterly unfamiliar, and as terrified as himself. "Here we have it, then! Our tributes from district four!" The escort was excited, it was clear. She was excited to send them to their deaths. And just like that, the reaping was over, and they were ushered inside to city hall. They would be given a chance to say goodbye, but after that, it was off to the capitol for primping and preening.


Reed sat in a small room in city hall, separated from the girl. Her name was Bay. He would try to remember that, it could save his life. The door burst open a mere two minutes after arrival, and in came his brother. "You survive, you got it?" This was the first thing he said as he arrived, gathering his younger brother into his arms, hot tears dripping from his brother's cheekbones to Reed's back. "I will. I swear." The rest of the ten minute visit was spend hugging, crying...general bromance stuff. His mother was next, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks the moment she saw her youngest son. "Don't leave me, Reed. Don't go, sweetheart." Reed, of course, promised that he would try his best to win. He was surprised to find out that his father had gone home, and wouldn't be saying goodbye to his son. Reed tried to play it off as nonchalant, but the action hit him like a bullet in the heart. Then it was time. Ushered from the room and to the train, Reed collapsed immediately into a couch, laying down on his back, staring at the brightly lit ceiling of the vehicle. Bay had not yet arrived, but when she did, he would most likely try to learn more about her...probably to use against her in the arena. He wasn't here to make friends or alliances, he was here to survive and get back to his family.

[reynard]

вαч fıтzgeяαłđ

"I'm learning not to hope for what I can't control..." - Leila Meacham

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Saying that Bay was shocked that no careers had volunteered this year was an understatement. Normally, there was at least one every year, if not two. Something about preserving the honour of district four, and making sure that they had their proper glory. Regardless of the logic behind it, no one could deny that there was a reason many of the victor houses were occupied. Four was a powerful district, and she could simply not believe no one stepped up to defend its right as a power player in the games. However, a possibility, and the only one she could properly fathom, was that the boy who had joined her on stage was strong enough, or a Career who happened to get picked lottery style by chance and pure irony. Although, she had noted his resistance coming to the stage. She herself had given a more stoic performance, not waiting to be ushered, but instead walking up with what little pride she had. Granted, she had also expected to be bailed out at the last second. Perhaps he reaction would have different if hope had been lost from the very start. The escorts chirpy voice echoed in her ears, breaking her from her assessments. Casting her gaze out over the crowd up people, she had to choke down emotion as she realized that she may never see those people again. Bay did not know the majority of them, but that did not stop the moment from being so poignant.
Before she could react any further, she and the boy - Reed - were herded off to the city hall like two sacrificial lambs being readied for the alter. Although when she stood before the crowd, her emotions had been compromised, Bay quickly began to fall back into her solemn normality. Instead of blindly allowing herself to be manhandled, one of the peacekeepers had grabbed her arm, she shook him loose. With a glare, she looked back at him. Did he really think she would try to make a break for it now? How much of an idiot did she look like? Bay was not about to put her life and her mothers life in danger. The mousy girl was not stupid, she knew the only way she would ever return home was to win this battle. As quickly as they had been thrown together, she and the boy were ushered apart, each getting their own room. A part of her wondered if his whole family would visit him, and his friends too. She knew she would have a single visitor. Bay did not even entertain the thought that her father would show up. He was probably back to the drink by now.
The creak of one of the large doors is what alerted her to the presence of her mother. Bay had sat in one of the fancy chairs that were around the room. In her opinion, it looked gaudy and was not comfortable. She would prefer to be sitting in her mothers rocker, or the cushion that Bay sat on when she worked. It seemed that the rich people had so many gaudy things, when it was just the look of them they wanted. Looking up at the women who gave her life, she did not crack any emotion. In return, her mother did the same. The woman was almost timid as she walked into the room, constantly looking over her shoulder at where the peacekeepers stood guarding. Bay understood why, as the part of four that they were from, they didn't see much authority. The rocky shore had been written off as where the poor stayed, and so not even the peacekeepers wanted to go down to the dirty place. They preferred to stay in the part of the district that didn't smell like fish, and didn't have people who begged on the streets. Peacekeepers were associated with the reaping, and nothing else. Having so many of them buzzing around was incredibly foreign to those who lived in the shanties.
Much to Bay's surprise, her mother did not opt to sit in the chair next to her. No, the woman instead knelt on the ground right before her daughter. Neither of the Fitzgerald women where the type to speak many words. Actions meant so much more to the quiet pair. And this...this was something Bay had never even fathomed. It showed her, in the moment, just how broken the woman before her was. Her mother grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight as she gazed into Bay's hazel eyes. A prayer and a promise were exchanged in that moment. Reaching into the bag that she had brought into the room with her, Bay's mother produced an old worn net. Bay swiped at her face as tears threatened to spill over. The net was a complex one, made to last many years. Bay had started it, and struggled with it as expected. Because of the cost that type of net would be, there was no prospective buyers for it. Therefore, she had only worked on it in her free time, as a pet project. Once she was done mending and tying for the day, she would go home and lay on her palette, working away at the net until she fell asleep. It was very slow going, as the type was tricky. Knots needed to be ripped and re-done, complex ties were fashioned, and slowly she had begun to make it come to life.
Taking one of Bay's hands again, her mother pressed it into her palm and onto her lap. Bay looked down at it, running her fingers over its bumps, she looked at her mother, biting her lip. With a choked back sob, Bay launched herself into her mothers arms. The woman clutched at her daughters short hair, her breath halting in Bay's ear. After a few moments in this position, Bay's mother whispered in a muffled tone, "please, please come home." With clarity, Bay replied with a simple, "I will." The two women pulled apart after that, looking at each other somberly. Bay picked the net back up, holding it close to her chest as her mother stood. Bay stayed on the floor, trying to struggle back her tears. With one final touch to her cheek, Bay's mother went to the door where a peacekeeper waited for her. Bay had not even heard him come in and call, she had been so wrapped up in her mothers actions. Digging her fingers into the net, she mentally vowed that when she returned, she would have it finished.
The peacekeeper came in a few moments later, to usher her to the train that would take them to the Capitol. Something unexpected occurred when the peacekeeper offered his hand to her, to help her up off the floor in her dress. She looked up at him with confusion, but took his hand anyway. Perhaps this was a good start. Nodding to her, he resumed his gruffness, instructing her the direction to go to get on the train that would rip her away from her home. Bay had never been near a locomotive before, let alone on one. She was very hesitant as she stepped on, looking around to try to figure things out as she went. Because she was so out of her element, she had to try to find a way to get to the higher ground again. She needed something she could use, somehow make her way through this test.
Before she went to the main car, where she had been told she would meet the other boy and the people mentoring them, Bay ducked into one of the private rooms that had been given to her. One of the guards had off highhandedly mention there was clothing she could change into, and Bay jumped at the chance. Being in a dress was uncomfortable to the petite girl, she desired to be in one of her too big shirts and loose shorts. The first article of clothing was easy to find. Unfortunately, there were no shorts to be found, so she settled for a pair of pants that hugged her legs. It was disconcerting and odd, but better than being in a dress. Once she was all changed, Bay made her way through the cars. She had lost her escort a little bit ago, as they had gone back to their duties, or returned back to their posts in the district. Therefore, she took her time as she made her way to the main car. Her hand still clasped the net she had been given by mother, as it was a comforting thing in these hard times.
Finally, she arrived into the main car. The boy was already in there, she noticed almost immediately. It was a bittersweet thing when she realized that the two of them were alone at the moment. The up side was that their mentors were not their to tell them the stark reality of the games and jump into strategies, and their escort was not there to annoy her to death. The bad side was that is was just the two of them, and she was in no mood for socializing. One of the screens in the car was broadcasting the other reapings, so Bay chose to settle in the chair across from it so she could watch. Half paying attention to the screen, she began to work on the net, pulling a few of the strings back as she began working on one of the complex knots that would serve as a base for a series of others. It didn't even cross her mind to greet the boy in the car with her, being social not her forte or desire.

[dionaea]

ｒｅｅｄ ｏ＇ｈａｒｒｏｗ

_____________________________________________________________

His mother's words were haunting him. Reed closed his hazel eyes tightly, the knot in his throat threatening to explode into salty tears. Reed hadn't cried since he was nine, when his faithful cat had been drowned by some of the neighborhood's teenagers. Before Bay arrived, Reed began to explore. The dining car was to his immediate right, where he grabbed a roll, green with the seaweed folded into the batter. A sprinkle of dried seaweed and sea-salt crunched satisfyingly when he bit into the soft, doughy bread. Through the cars he went, the automatic sliding doors hissing behind him after every entry. Finally, he found his private car, the door labeled 'male tribute: district four.' The door hissed open, and Reed was greeted with a scene that was almost too familiar. A teal and tan carpet blanketed the floor, and light-blocking teal curtains shielded the circular train windows. There was a large bed, a dresser, a small writing desk, a private bathroom and a large closet with boxes of his clothes from home, as well as new garments. Reed didn't bother wondering when they had gotten his clothes from home, but he assumed it had been as soon as he was chosen. Reed changed out of the scratchy dress shirt, into a pair of somewhat baggy trousers in a material he didn't quite recognize, but it felt similar to denim. The material was very airy, and he assumed it was the newest thing from district eight, where the textiles were made. With a sigh, he opted for a button-down shirt, and a thin black jacket. Satisfied, he exited the compartment to return to the car where he had first arrived.


Reed was surprised to find Bay already there, sitting with some sort of net. It would most likely be used in the arena, if they allowed that sort of thing. The screens in the car were replaying the broadcasts of the reaping across the districts. He noticed a pair volunteering from district one, a male volunteering for two, and a beefy looking brother and sister pair chosen for three. Suddenly uncomfortable, he turned back to his female companion, a bit put off by the fact that she hadn't greeted him. Even though socialization may not be her preference, it was somewhat rude. He cleared his throat, and when she didn't look up, he spoke. "Did you make that?" He questioned, though the answer was clear. His feeble attempt at getting to know her was feeling more pathetic as the seconds passed. "I don't do much with my hands, besides fish. You're lucky you have a talent. Me? I'm kind of useless." This was somewhat true, but Reed had his talents. He was well muscled from a lifetime of training to possibly volunteer, pushed by his father and brother to be prepared in the arena. He was adept with a spear, though he often slacked a bit on his training. His net skills were average, he couldn't make a full net yet, but he was able to make one small enough to ensnare an unfortunate toddler.


Reed scanned the girl before him, raising his brows at the fact that she was either ignoring him, or deaf. He assumed, naturally, that is was the first option. How else would she have heard her name get called? Unless she could read lips...Reed found himself thinking of this perhaps a bit too in depth, and blinked himself out of his reverie. His comment on being useless was something he regretted. If they where to be fighting to the death, he would need to appear as strong as possible, right? Then people wouldn't mess with him. That, or they would seek him out for the purpose of appearing stronger. Either way, he was screwed.


The train began to hum as it powered on, electricity coursing through its sleek bodice. People were crowded around the locomotive, waving goodbye with cheerful smiles. The games were a wonderful event in most of district four, and volunteers were common. The district was even considered a career district by some, as many victors had been crowned from four. Peacekeepers held them back, but their arms reached over the white-clad shoulders to wave, to stretch and attempt to touch the train. Reed closed the curtains, which were unsurprisingly silk. The escort arrived then, accompanied by the man who would be their mentor. He did not speak, only nodded to the two and poured himself a milky white drink, a cocktail of sorts. He didn't seem to be an alcoholic, perhaps the liquid was medicinal.


Reed gave them a slight wave of acknowledgement, and the pair went off to the dining car to feast on whatever goodies they could find. "Are you going to speak, or is your special talent ignoring people who are trying to make some conversation?" He wasn't sure if she was being rude or just finding it difficult to make conversation, however.


[ooc; I assume we will just roleplay the escort and mentor together, using them whenever they're needed?]

[reynard]

вαч fıтzgeяαłđ

"I'm learning not to hope for what I can't control..." - Leila Meacham

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The boy was trying to be social now, much to Bay's exasperation. Due to the fact that neither she nor her mother were chatty people, Bay was used to a certain amount of silence. The click of needles from someone crafting, the creak of the rocking chair as her mother sat by the fire, the slow roll of an ocean wave as it crashed onto the rocky shore, spreading it's fingers along both polished and jagged stones. Those noises were fine, welcomed even. They gave her the sense of being home, being safe, and knowing what tomorrow will bring. Other sounds though, the ones that were not the serene type, they tended to grate on the girl. The sound of a door slamming as her father stumbled into the house, long after the light had died. The sound of loud voices when she ran to the wharf, fishermen shouting at each other over something. The reverberation of the microphone as their escort called her name into it. The sound this train made as it glided along the tracks. The sound this boy made every time he opened his mouth.

Right now, her focus was split between two important things. One, the net she held in her hands. Not paying attention to it could result in a missed knot, or having to undo a knot because she didn't focus on where it was supposed to go. The rest of her attention had been diverted to the television, where she kept an eye on the other tributes. At this point, they were finishing with the love showings. Soon, they would be going to to the taped recaps, in which every tribute was dissected like chattel for sale by a panel of 'analysis's.' Happy Hunger Games. And now, this boy wanted to suck up some her precious attention. Just because he probably was used to being flattered and pampered with as much attention as he demanded, did not mean she was going to fall right into that trend for him. Especially when he asked very, very stupid questions. Did she make this herself? No. She bought it off a peacekeeper on the way to the train. Of course she was making it herself.

His own lack of talent was unsurprising to her, and her mouth twitched in a wry smile. Probably only good with brute fighting, like most of his type seemed to be. Lacking delicacy and finesse when it comes to everything. Rather plow right through things than figure out a more efficient way of handling the situation. Aside from the fact she was not in the mood to say anything to him, it was not like they didn't already know each other. She knew his name. He knew hers. One or both of them would likely be dead in the near future. That was all she needed to know and care about. Another part of her, perhaps a darker side, pointed out that she may be distancing herself to make her job easier later. The boy talked to much, it would be an advantage to her she thought.

Part of her amusement for that moment was watching the boy sit and stew because he was not getting an immediate reply. Easily, she continued to work on a particular knot that was being used to anchor a few others. This one, thank god, was not particularly complicated to execute. It was just pain-staking due to the finer details of it. Everything had to sit just right, or it could cause complications during usage. The whooshing of one of the doors made her shift her gaze, looking at the people who entered the train. Of course, the escort, and the man she assumed would be making sure she got out alive. Quirking an eyebrow slightly, she watched as the man poured himself some kind of drink. Interesting. She filed that little detail away for later. As quickly as they had arrived, they left again. Resisting the urge to snort, she instead settled for rolling her eyes. She had a feeling she was going to be trying to figure this whole thing out on her own.

"Don't usually speak on command," she hummed to the boy once he snapped at her. The fact that she had been able to drive him to that point in a short amount of time spoke a bit about him. Impulsive. Good, she could work with that. Finishing off that knot she had painstakingly worked on, she finally cast her green eyes up at the boy. Letting her gaze flick and scan over him, she did note that he was handsome, in a way. That could bite her in the butt, as sponsors would be more drawn to he than her. She was by no means a conventional beauty, instead stripped down to the basics, plain features with striking eyes. She was always told she looked older than she was, which was nice in the way that she was usually taken seriously by others. Running a pale hand through her mousy hair, leaned back a little in the chair she had found.

"I do usually ignore people who are talking for the sake of talking, though," she said with a quirked eyebrow. He was talking to fill the silence, not to get to know her. Had they had someone else in the car with him, she would be mostly ignored, as she was in her normal life. A small urchin running the beaten paths of the crafters shanties. Never did she venture up to the neck of the woods this boy was from, not unless there was a dire, urgent need. "Unless you really want to look me in the eyes and tell me that this conversation is because you have a dire need to get to know me. Then maybe we can talk. Otherwise, yes, I made this, and no, I don't care if you deem yourself useless."

Neatly, she packed her net back up, as she was done working on it for the moment. Standing up, she looked at the boy with an evident raised eyebrow. She was very short compared to him, something not very uncommon though. She was short compared to a lot of people. Walking towards the bigger television, she stood in front of it as they began to go over the different tributes. Good, they were starting on one. Of course, there would be some humming and hawing that four did not have a single volunteer, but that had happened before. It was not as much of an anomaly as if it had been districts one or two. If they had no volunteers, now that would be very, very odd.

[dionaea]

ｒｅｅｄ ｏ＇ｈａｒｒｏｗ

_________________________________________

Reed was never good at making friends. His tendency to snap or become annoyed when he wasn't greeted with the reaction he expected was his downfall. Reed was generally the sort that people would avoid. Angry, rude at times. He was the type of person to pick on the less fortunate, or bully them even. The sheer reality of the situation now placed things in perspective for him. He needed to make nice with at least this girl from his district, otherwise she would end up with the careers and hunt him down. He had watched the games since a very young age, always fascinated with the prospect of children fighting each other to the death, and pushed by his father and brother to volunteer...well, it was safe to say that Reed was thoroughly addicted to disappointing others.


Presently, his eyes were downcast, fingers intertwined to create a steeple of sorts. His hazel gaze was almost wavering. Almost. "Sorry. I'm stressed out, and honestly, I don't think know how you manage to stay so calm. We've never met before now, have we?" It seemed like a stupid response, but Reed needed to write off his anger as something other than pure cruelty. He scanned this girl now, surprised by what he found. Her stature was petite and slim, her hair brown. Her eyes were strikingly blue, the color of the ocean just after dawn. Her expression? Her eyebrow was quirked as she spoke to him, and Reed found that he could not meet her gaze. Her words rang true, however. He was simply speaking to bridge the gap between them. Of course they had never met. Reed was privileged, the sort that people expected to volunteer. This girl? She seemed to be a street urchin, though her head was held high, clearly this life had not affected her pride.


Bay was plain-looking in a way, but Reed found himself to be fascinated by her. How did she manage to stay so calm? He asked himself this over and over, the question echoing in his mind. He reminded himself with an inward grimace that he was expected to be poised, excited even, for the games to come.


As she stood, Reed followed her like a lost puppy towards the screen, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. The iron tang of blood flooded into his mouth as he bit hard, seeing the tributes from district one volunteer without hesitation. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the arm of the couch, sighing as district two had a male volunteer. It wasn't until the chosen female tribute was halfway to the stage that another volunteered, a redheaded and slim young woman. So far, all of the volunteers looked to be at least fifteen. Reed hoped that no children would be chosen. That is to say, people that had their name in only once or twice. It would make it easier in the arena, he decided. If he made it there without having a breakdown, that is.


He watched the window instead of the screen as district four came on. He heard the silence as the Peace-Keeper held his mother back, the only sound his footsteps as he walked to the stage. Then came the announcer's saccharine tone. He didn't bother watching the rest of the broadcast. It didn't matter who was chosen, all that mattered was their scores. Who would be a formidable opponent? Who would be an ally in the trials to come?


Her net was impressive. Reed found himself staring at it, the intricate knots and woven threads shimmering in the fluorescent lighting. A cursory glance out the window revealed that he could no longer see the ocean; only trees and brick walls surrounding the train tracks. Their route had to be enclosed most of the way to prevent any sort of disturbances. The tributes had to get to their deaths quickly, after all.


"How old are you?" He questioned the girl, his gaze still centered on the window. Reed himself was seventeen. One more year until freedom. Not. He would die in these games, no matter the vows he had made to return home. By now, they were nothing more than empty promises. The truth had settled on him with the weight of an anvil. He wasn't going to make it back home. Not without some sort of help from the career pack. But the inevitable would come; eventually it would just be the careers against each other...and that never ended up with a peaceful death. He heaved a sigh.


[ooc; this one is a tad short, so sorry.]