tigs//d9

[Hafen d4 ⚓︎ minie]

a n t i g o n e j a y

15 - Daughter of Mist Jay - Sister to Icarus
Looks like could kill you - is a cinnamon roll

\\Start a riot!

[Hafen d4 ⚓︎ minie]

t i g s j a y

”Tigs, it’s five am”, your brother mummers as you do your best to quietly sneak into your shared bedroom.

”Sorry, work went a little later than expected” you apologize even though you have nothing to apologize for. You both knew that mom has been unable to hold down a job in years. Sometimes she picked up a few shifts working in some run-down bar until she got fired for either not showing up, drinking her body weight in alcohol, an angry outburst towards a client or just being plain old hurricane Mist. Someone had to make sure the three of you had something to eat since dad left.

”I’m worried about you, you need to be up for school in two hours. How are you ever going to become a doctor if you are falling asleep in class.”

You knew that Icarus had a point. The dream of being accepted into a medical school in district six and being amongst the lucky ones to get the fuck out of the slums of nine became further adrift every day. Sure, you had the experience. All those sleepless nights were spent in a makeshift hospital at the edge of your neighborhood.

You were never rich; you never had a lot. With the industry change, came a new level of poverty. Those, just like your family, already struggling to make ends meet were pushed further into exile with the incoming peacekeepers. You were lucky that you resided in a house that was falling apart instead of one of the many tents that populated the neighborhood. The best healthcare that nine could offer was reserved for those deep into the peacekeeper industry, it was a struggle for anyone who did not conform to the new standards.

”I’ll be fine, I promise. There are people who actually need my help. Worry about them, I’ll manage.” you climb into your bed that is only a few feet apart from where your brother lays. You cannot make out what he says next as you fall asleep the second your blond head of hair hits the pillow.

***

Your mom was upset. You stood there unable to move as she spewed hateful words out of her mouth. Poisonous sentences that no longer had an effect on you. Over the years you learned to let her words in one ear and directly out the other. She did not really mean any of it. In a days’ time, or maybe even in an hour she would be boasting about her incredibly gifted daughter Tigs. Her praise meant just as little as her condemnation. Between you and your brother, two kids from a rough neighborhood with extraordinary brains, you still could not figure out if your mom has ever uttered an honest word out of her mouth.

Uncle Mick and Uncle Baptist would tell stories about your mother growing up. It was almost hard to believe that the girl they would tell tales of was the same woman who raised you. As a kid all you wanted to do was bring back the girl from the stories. Help her find herself again. Icarus built up anger and resentment. You built up pity and sorrow. Longing for the mother that could have been before her mind was consumed. You were not alone, many of the kids you resided with were in a similar position. All of you ended up in the backwoods for a reason, usually the illness of parent that rendered them unable to work.

Across the mud from you, lived a girl whose dad lost a leg in a factory. She was the one who taught you how to stitch up a wound and which plants would speed up the healing process. You were the one who taught her how recognize the signs of a depressive episode and that there was little you could actually do about it. Anti-depressants and antipsychotic medication were reserved for the rich and wealthy, not the ones society deemed undesirable. You heard whispers of ways to obtain the medicine illegally. That the gangs of nine were not long gone as the government portrayed them to be. You knew of people who were affiliated, you treated them in your hospital. The only place that seemed not to discriminate. You helped them, they helped you.

***

Being able to want the best for everyone is a luxury few can afford.

You wanted to live in a world where everyone had the right to a life worth living. A world where everyone had access to the medicine to ensure they had two healthy parents. A world where little girls and little boys were able to be little girls and little boys. A world where daughters were not raising their mothers. You were convinced that you had to be the change you wanted to see in the world.

Life does not just hand you lemons, you had to go a pluck them from the tree with your very own hands. You had to learn to not only help yourself but help the others around you. Isolated and alone, no one would ever get far in the backwoods. However, a neighbor willing to give even a single band aid would make all the worlds a difference. Community and compassion were what separated you lot from the those who sold out to the new industry. The ones still fighting the fight against an unjust life. That is what the kids at your school never understood.

The moment your teachers realized the gift you possessed; you were fawned over by the academics. Teachers attempted to arrange visits with your parents in order for you to attend a prestigious new academy reserved for those who would make the finest of peacekeepers in the capitol. The ones with an actual education, the desired. Your dad was long gone by then and of course your mom never managed to show up to any of the meetings despite promising over and over that she would and how proud she was of you.

She never kept any of her promises. Fourteen-year-old Icarus had to accompany you and help explain the situation. Of course, your misery made you all more appealing to the ones in charge. You would make the perfect poster child for the peacekeeper dream. Pretty little blond girl from a notoriously poor neighborhood riddled with crime becomes a top tier level peacekeeper. They fucking wished.

Instead, you drew rings around your eyes with charcoal, and dressed all in black. The kids bullied you because of where you came from. You wore your poverty with pride. You may not have much, but you had a whole village of people that loved you and wanted you to succeed. How many of them could say that about themselves?

***

Tuesday afternoons you met in the makeshift community center. Two large white tents built next to each other housing a small collection of plastic chairs, a foldup table and some books that were donated over the years. Amongst those books was one filled with home remedies. Everyone in the community would contribute whatever knowledge they had so in time of need anyone could access it with hope of finding a cure. This was just one of the ongoing projects your group had started.

A few months after you started working in the hospital, you started making home visits. They were always filled with too many questions to answer and some you should have never been asked in the first place. In the end of the day, you were a 15-year-old volunteer nurse. You were able to convince some of the doctors to hold a Q and A in the tents and that was just the beginning. Others in your position, children taking care of adults came forward. Each with their own story to tell and their own ghosts haunting them. You found a community in those who thought they did not have anyone looking out for them.

Your brother always kidded that he need not to look out for you. You were as tough as they come, you were ready to start your own uprising through knowledge. The more you know the less they can control you. You started a riot that no one ever saw coming, a movement not founded in violence but in love and compassion.

You were going to make it out, if you did not burn out first

ELEGANT

[Hafen d4 ⚓︎ minie]

knuckles I really do love subjecting my characters to misery

[knuckles]

Love Tigs, and I can't wait to see her in action.