✨ live laugh love ✨ lu x sera

[Cait]

❦

It’s been a while since I’ve antagonised someone. Like, five hours, at least, and I’m getting antsy because of it. There’s only so long you can spend sulking around in silence before something gives. Especially here, where everything about the Capitol puts me on edge. Makes me want to lash out with a silver tongue just to fight the projection of perfection I’m swimming (see: drowning) within.

In saying that, it’s not like I’m seeking anything or anyone out in particular. But there’s a pull towards the new installation of the Library, knowing it’s likely to be inhabited by at least one curious tribute. That’s just how humans are programmed to function. You see something shiny and new, you wanna find out more about it. You follow your instincts the best you can in the quest for satisfaction; validation; knowledge.

Right now, approaching the room, my own instincts call me to the third floor of the library. They ask me to venture higher and higher up towards the unknown; so I stick to the ground level. Feels like a win to go against what my body wants to do – and I feel like a toddler for having that kind of attitude towards life. Georgie and D’Arcy must be rubbing off on me.

I pass by the shelves of books, laid out in rows that seem to go on forever. The room’s not as big as I’d initially thought; I’m able to travel its length in about twenty seconds. I guess it’s easier to simulate the feeling of being buried alive when the shelves are stacked to bursting. And it’s easier to cram them full when there’s less space altogether for shelves to be erected. Easier still when there’s massive oak tables taking up all the extra floor space.

And that’s when I see him.

A boy of shadows slumped over a table. Unmoving, for at least two minutes, until his hand flips the page of the book he’s cradling. He doesn’t even look up at me as I change course to shuffle towards him. I know he hears me, though. I know he sees and hears more than he wants most people to believe.

I know, because he reminds me of Izzy, and that’s how she used to be. They’ve both got that same kinda vibe of death and indifference. I don’t have to squint too hard to see the cloud of grey surrounding his aura.

I used to be like that, too. I wonder what my aura looks like now.

I should probably leave him alone.

I slide into the seat opposite him.

“You know, your interview might even have mine beat for ‘tribute least likely to give a fuck.’ But I guess you’re going for the sad boy loner vibe. Very cool. Very original.”

Truthfully, I think making a good impression is probably the last thing on his mind, given the fact he’s sat in the library all by himself, vulnerable to the ridicule of bored strays like me.

I get it. I respect it.

“That book sucks, by the way.”

I have no idea what it’s about.

FOX

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

❦

Eventually, Morgan got to go to school, in the month after their father passed. And Lucius was the one that made sure she went, slipping on a brand new backpack for her and tightening the straps. He walked her to the road where the truck came to drive into the village in shiny shoes that fit her. She's a bit older than the other kids in her class at nine years old.

None of them had gone to school, except for her. It was their mother that taught them letters. It was Evelyn after that.

But Evelyn died when Morgan was very little. And so she knew some words and not others. It was good enough to survive, it was good enough for Ten. What did they need to know how to read for.

She came home humming schoolyard rhymes. Little sweet songs about the plague. Only four, only hazy memories of the runoff from bodies, the stench on the road. Lived more of her small life without Ira, without Evelyn, than with them. Could she even remember Godric. Their mother.

Lu reads now, in the library, with more time than he's ever had. A very heavy book about a wandering knight in the war-torn countryside. This is a story about honour. Because the deaths are good and clean. He flips a page, sitting at the long length of the dark wood table, book thick and glossy between his fingers. This is a story about justice.

He doesn't look up until she pulls out the chair in front of him, until she sits down and starts speaking, reclining in the seat.

Sad boy loner vibe. His interview.

There were so many bright lights, the crowd was roaring, the dark blue suit stiff at the joints. Strange person in the seat, asking him questions about his life, his family. The man kept brushing his gaze over the puckered joint of his wrist, the very jagged red scar going up his arm.

The book sucks, by the way.

Lu flips it shut, the cover thumping with its weight. He stares for a minute.

"You're from six." Like a question.