l is for liberation . novak & yury

[mat]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

Your head rests down upon the half-filled glass of whiskey on the bistro table. You have chosen to stay in the underground tonight, in one of the girl's hair salon basements. It's the first time that you've spent the night here before, and to your surprise, it's hospitable. It smells pleasant, if not a little overwhelming, due to the assortment of scents and products. But, to your pleasure, the seating arrangements are comfortable. The arms of each chair in the line of hairdryers go up, allowing your and at least one other person to sleep somewhat peacefully rather than upright in one of the other chairs or on the plush rug.

It's been three days of the bullshit campaigning. You covered eight streets today, hours of talking and walking lining up in double digits. The only thing preventing collapse were the few kind souls that let you take a seat in their home while they poured you a glass of lemonade. Perseverance reassures you that there are only a few more days until the election. Once you win, everything will be better, your problems will be solved, and then some. The torturous lengths that you go to in order to win are simply means to a greater end. You chose this path for your family and their growing eagerness to expedite a grab for more power.

The glass dances in circles as your head pulls itself down onto the pillow. Like a coin spinning on its side, the rattling sounds against the metal table slowly fade and silence takes its place. The dim lights overhead begin to blur into an array of vibrant blobs and dots under shut eyes.

But the door slides open and following footsteps alert you to someone else's presence. You pull yourself back up and send your hand to grab the whiskey again. You sit up while the person rounds the corner. "Hey, Yury. Grab a glass n' take a seat or a sleep." Your foot pats the other side of the line of chairs and your fingers point to the bottle across the room.

elegant

[Deleted]

yury              catastrophe //

"HEY, FUCK YOU- UGhuguh, what the world, putting your fucking hands on me," you don't wake a man up like that, bud. Not since the D.C., that's a lesson you learn on Day fucking TWO. Novak ain't touch him, but he got a lil too close. That guy's getting a little too comfortable for his own good, Yury ain't ever liked making friends. Partners- he collects his spit and shoots at the metal tin in the corner, landing somewhere between a Home Spirit 72 carton and a roach the size of Timbuctoo. 

"Hell, this'n's still good," good morning to you too, Adrien. Dumbass can't even smoke a joint 'cause he's scared of burnin' a thumb or some stupid shit like that. He's a weak one, I'll tell you, Yury won't say it but Adrien doesn't stand a chance against goddamn Kernie Emberstaf or however the fuck. Yury ain't never liked someone with a long name, Catastrophe's the exception - and don't you forget it, 'cause once we find you, woo! 

Done for. 

Over with.

ENTIRELY!

And so anyways, Adrien's no coward, he'll act like it but this boy's gut is telling you something and that's how you win a man over anyhow. Yury picks himself out of seclusion and comes over to Mr. Mayor-to-Not-Be for coffee, but he'll take a conversation for a cigarette.

"Whiskey'll do just fine." 

He says mostly to himself, the shot is smooth, cleaner than a menthol, he'd kill for a special select right now. A Blackberry & Mild - wine, wood tip, if you please. As easy as ordering breakfast, "you deliver?" He nods to the anklet with his patient number on it, "might be my last few days before they ship me back off to Cell 02C." Those kids last year were keeping it warm apparently - Anarchy & Cedric, fuckin' kids can't even wait to die these days.

"If I'm lucky."

- They got us again.

"So what's up. Got any m*rijuanna?" 

[mat]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

Yury is startled by your welcome. He swats at the space toward your hand, not sure what exactly he's on about. You're sitting up in the seat now as he wanders past one of the other boys in the cellar, still asleep despite the loud shuffling through the space. The old-fasioned train robber sizes you up as he sends his spit to the trash can with a thud. Yury Catastrophe has always been outlandish yet impressively fearless, and his demeanor stands as a reminding of why Elio's willing to take the risk on him. You follow your uncle's lead, twisting your golden rings round your finger.

Whiskey bottles empty quickly around Ten, but especially within the underground where there is a well-kept promise that when you're not working, you're having fun. Yury leaves just enough to top your own glass off for the time being until you call on Raymond to fetch you some more.

He asks you if you deliver as the bracelet upon his ankle blimps forward with a spot of light. "Might be my last few days before they ship me back off to Cell 02C." You nod along, recalling that Catastrophe's always battling getting out on good behavior and going back on a bad one. A slice of the green pie from Uncle Elio keeps people coming back, even after they get caught once or twice. Your lips cup against your glass as the remainder of the bottle's contents leave it a little close to overflowing.

"So, what's up. Got any m*rijuana."

You shake your head while you finish the drink off. "Nope. Bunch of hair care shit, whiskey, s'about it." Truly, it's a damn shame. But this is a place of employment, after all. Too chancey to ask a new member to do something that might get them in trouble with the Peacekeepers before their boots touch the mud. You toss a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the table as if it might suffice.

You look down to Yury's anklet. "Y'know, when I'm mayor, maybe they'll let me take that thing off for real."

Loyal men don't deserve to be locked down like that. "I can't afford to lose a good guy like you."

elegant

[Deleted]

yury              catastrophe //

Yeah, twist them rings, baby! Round and round, woo-hoo. Yury's off in Yury-land, the rodeo's in his head and that's much better than here I'll tell you that. Back and forth, teeter-totter, it's hard not to rock in his seat with the amount of pent up energy he's got. He shouldn't be here, you know that don't you? Yury should be a free man, once he's out of here he's digging up that pistol and all the fat money bags and taking off to a better place than District Pen. 

He's a rooster in a small coop, cramped and irritated and "menthol? D'aww, you must really love me," should we sleep with him? Nah, nah, keep it cool. Ice cool baby, minty fresh. Yury's lit the cigarette and keeps his eye on the cherry as Novak starts up again. His clothes are clean but his boots aren't - what a hard worker! Truly, a good Samaritan, you can't pull the wool over his eyes. 

Novak ain't no damn mayor, no chance in hell.

But the words are sweet, and damn would it be nice knowing the mayor's on his side. Yury can't help doing a little jig with his left foot while Adrian's watching. Take a good luck, bud, and he can't help it either when he chuckles. Out of exhaustion mostly, he's been slammed a few times but the process gets so old. There's a pause in the conversation as Yury takes a deep drag of the cig, a good guy like me.

He got the right guy? Exhale, "you spot the inmate ID? 7811, jot that down in your little notes. If you need to contact a good guy like me, y'know," he's annoyingly bright-eyed. Hopeful in a stupid way, he's a good kid and he's never fooled Elio or Yury or anyone else watching, but ain't a chance in hell this guy wins. In a good guy race, Novak vs Emberstatt- yeah, good luck.

You'll need it, Adrian. 

"Want?" He offers the cigarette with a wink, better give it back, dumbass. 

[mat]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

The flame sparks and smoke pesters in the air. "Menthol? D'aww, you must really love me."

There's an unsettling factor you see in Mister Catastrophe. It leaves you careful with your words. Keep telling yourself that he's good for the objectives and you just might be able distract yourself from the offputting gestures. He laughs as you tell him about your plans. Yury doesn't believe that little Novak can be mayor, does he? Your eyebrows pull up. Taking the highest office in the domain ain't a child's game to you. Bloodshot tired eyes don't come from silly half-thought-through desires.

"You spot that inmate ID?" Your eyes wander down to the anklet while Yury continues. 7811. Is that how many they've got stashed away in those Detention Centers? Four digits, really? A few of your buddies from years back went down there for possession of a Peacekeeper's firearm. Haven't seen 'em since and you miss them a bit. Did they stay there, or were they shipped off on strings as the Capitol's puppet?

Funny, though, that Yury believes you won't have the agency in a few months time to haul his ass straight back here. If, no, when you're mayor, maybe you'll help him out with just a slap on the wrist and a snake bit promise of no silly rebellions. But even then, you have other options. Ten's a big place, with the middle of nowhere around just about every corner outside the city. Connections have offered you protection for a long time. How many times did you dangle a get-out-of-debt free card to a gambling addict who fed Elio's pockets to oblivion? You know your way around and you know who's the most stuck-in to hideaway with.

"What if…" You pause. Is a man like Catastrophe gonna accept being tied down for who knows how long? You bite the bullet. "What if I find you a place to lay low?" You hold your hands gingerly in the air. "No questions asked, all expenses paid vacation."

He'd be wise to be curious of your offer.

elegant

[Deleted]

yury              catastrophe //

"What if…"

"if, if, if-!"

He signs along like a kid- oops! Actually ashed out of excitement, god he hates to make a mess of things. Just kidding, he takes a long drag to distract his mouth as Novak picks up from his pause. Flicking ash onto the slab floor, it rubs it in with his boot, smearing it across. "What if I find you a place to lay low?" Novak presents, and judge, Yury and execution fumbles with it in their head.

Well?

It sounds good, hmm.

Too good, too good too good too good, worse case scenario? Oh- it could be a trap. Or a test, god Yury always fails though. The guards test his patience every chance they get because they know a quick fire like him is used to shooting on sight - he slips up, oops would you look at that, another year as 7811. No dice, no luck, no sir-eee. "Well that's cute, but I've got my own questions." He lies, shit what are the questions? 

It felt better than agreeing, he takes a long drag again to distract from his pause. Collect himself, one deep breath and the exhale's darker in this lighting. "If you get me out of here though, remind me to show you my parlor tricks," smoke rings, another inmate taught him a few of her own too. Still, he has no answer to what his questions are. Fumble and fumbling, "I don't know if I'd risk that if I were you though, Mr. E-lect-tore-iol. Aren't I high risk anyhow?" He says, the question with a mouthful of smoke. 

Still, he offers Novak a drag, "swap spit?" He laughs, "you won't catch nothin', I think," nothing you ain't lookin' for anyhow, anyways. Yury's free hand is shaking - it's freezing in here, he thought he was going crazy but they ice out the prisoners. Chill out - laugh out loud. There's one thing for sure, if he gets outta here now, there won't be another get-out-of-jail free card in the future. It's still so tempting though. 

Hmm. 

"And if you move me out there, what, you expect my help?" Can I help? 

Are those the same questions? 

Fuck it, I'm taking my cigarette back. 

[mat]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

You can tell that he doesn't trust you. It's a tell in his eyes as your hands gesture through the offer. He puzzles you, this Mister Catastrophe. He tells you of his troubles and you offer a solution that's met only with furthering skepticism. "Well that's cute, but I've got my own questions." You perk up with a smile. You've been answering questions for weeks, often with little to no substantive responses. Still, you've provided enough comfort to the people of District Ten to make you a real competitor.

He drags on his cigarette while you wait for the question. He changes the subject, though, blowing smoke about some sort of parlor trick. You gesture your openness to it, but he continues on. "I don't know if I'd risk that if I were you, though, Mr Electorial." Doesn't he get it by now? You take risks naturally. Little Novak did not find his power and his recognition by being obedient. You got there by being smart, weighing your options, and offering yourself up to the king dressed in the queen's clothing on the board. Move swiftly, take risks, and be bold. "Aren't I high risk, anyhow?"

You take Yury's cigarette as your own and take it in. You ponder on his words and he continues to come up with some more. "And if you move me out there, what, you expect my help?"

Well duh, Yury. He should know by now that you wield dual intentions. Everyone in your circle is a cog for your machine, lifting the weight of your burdens so it is a little lighter. That doesn't mean you don't care about them. You let the cigarette out of your mouth and blow the smoke playfully in Catastrophe's direction. Blowing smoke and blowing smoke. You walk and chew gum at the same time.

"Hell yeah. High risk. Most people wouldn't take a chance on you here. Some people are even warnin' Elio not to." You lie, but for now, all Yury needs to know is that you'll save him. "High risk, high reward, though. You're a prize guy."

He should trust you, not be skeptical. "As for help, well, I wouldn't turn it down. You're good at that stuff, helping. Don't do it with desperation like most of the others."

You would rather have Yury Catastrophe on your side than in the hands of someone you can only half-trust like the Capitol and their Peacekeepers. That's for damn sure.

elegant