welcome home (goravich house/blitz)

[clover ❁]

Klaus Goravich

(Sixteen days before the 97th reaping.)

Klaus stood on the doorstep with the baby in his arms. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of what Atticus or Daisy had to say about it, but he had never had it in himself to say no. 

This time, he had said yes to a squalling, pink-faced infant. Three days old. That's what they'd told him. And with nobody else to take him. Of course, when he had restored the mansion and readied it to change the world, his intention had been to take in older children; those fated to show up to the reaping underfed and underloved.

They were inside, now, all of them, waking up and making breakfast; filling their bowls with cereal and drinking warm mugs of tea. There was nothing he loved more than the hum of the kitchen in the morning, as they emerged bleary-eyed from their rooms, one by one. He liked the rhythm of it, the slow, meandering way the night turned back to the thrum of day.

Klaus swallowed, and turned the key in the door. It creaked as it swung open; there were some things no amount of polishing and oiling could get out of an old house. The foundation still found ways to tell on itself.

"I'd like you all to meet someone," Klaus said. "He doesn't have a name yet, but I'm hoping you can all help me with that." 

He held the baby out to them. An offering. An apology. A deviation from the plan who slept soundly, and did not yet know about the sort of things a child should fear. 

[sucy 🌷]

ADA MAHADEVA-GORAVICH

Ada loves mornings. She gets up much earlier than a lot of the other kids in the house. That is a fact she ascribes to them being capital K Kids, unlike her. Sixteen is plenty old in Panem, Ada's seen the conditions on the streets. But she's not about to give up room, board, and the company (comrades, family, angels, friends; Ada has many kind words for the people she's met here and they all remain unspoken) that came with them here at Goravich House.

But this is the best part. Being warm in the mornings, warm and dry, holding the cup of black tea she drinks habitually, watching everybody else do the same. The rest know not to bother her; this is her brain's only quiet window.

Babies don't understand that sort of thing though. And nobody else does too, consequentially, as soon as a baby enters the mix. When Klaus comes in, the little bundle in his arms, everybody gets excited. Ada does too, despite herself. She doesn't like babies, but only because she hasn't interacted with any. As a rule Ada does not like things she doesn't know for herself.

With research on the brain, Ada downs the last of her tea. It was nearly gone anyways; she does everything so urgently, even drinking her tea, even relaxing. She approaches the baby Klaus holds out to them with apprehension. It's such a tiny thing, flushed all over. Too small, too soft to be real.

"Can I?" She asks, holding out her arms to receive the sleeping little blanket worm.  

There's only sixteen days left until she might be tossed into a fight for her life, fighting other kids who she considers her peers. Living under the looming yearly threat, and living on the streets before, it's easy for Ada to forget just how fragile all of them here are; this little thing most of all.

"How old is he?"

ELEGANT

[Bella 🌻]

f e l i x

Felix’s mug of chamomile tea sits abandoned on the kitchen table as soon as Klaus holds out the baby, its tiny pink face peeking out through the bulk of the blanket. The baby draws everyone’s attention like he has his own little field of gravity, all eyes enraptured by the tiny bundle. Felix stands from her seat at the table, mouth agape, balancing on tiptoe to get a better look.

The infant is floated carefully into Ada’s arms. ”How does she know how to do that? Felix wonders, peering over Ada’s shoulder at the round, wrinkled face, the eyes that haven’t quite opened. Maybe Ada had a baby sibling from before. Felix’s parents always used to say she was plenty of excitement for them, but sometimes she’d wished, selfishly, that they’d given her a sister or a brother so maybe she wouldn’t be the only one left.

”How old is he?” Ada asks.

”Not old enough!” Felix butts in, a little too loudly, reaching over Ada’s arm to touch the baby’s cheek with her index finger. It felt soft and squishy, like a water balloon, and suddenly she felt a twinge of nausea in the pit of her stomach, worried that he might break.

”Is he gonna be ok? I think he needed to cook longer," she says in the self-assured tone of a true problem-solver.