Smell of Meat, Taste of Blood [Open]

[rook]

Jude Langmead

It's becoming increasingly apparent to me that I am not a Winter person. It's too cold to do anything as precise as rewiring the circuit box in a Capitol Hovercraft. It's hard enough to get feeling in my fingers during the active months, let alone in the Winter. Yet complaining is going to get me nowhere.

As I stand... Well, crouch by the old Hovercraft, I try to strip the red wire with a seemingly ancient pair of wire-strippers. The metal is rusty and the plastic handle is uncomfortable to hold. After trying numerous times to expose the copper wire from within, I finally get some success. I sigh at this, my breath forming a clear cloud in front of my face. Now I must begin the process of welding the two wires together to re-link the circuit.

The Capitol sends old, decommissioned Hovercrafts to us, to repair. Once fixed, they are usually used for patrols in poorer districts, or even simple work in the Capitol. They pay us, we eat. That's all I care about. I grab the welder, which is a small blowtorch instrument, attached to a canister of gas, no bigger than my arm.

No sooner have I lifted the tool when I know the canister is empty. Swearing viciously, I half-heartily kick a spanner. There is nothing I can do. Clearly I'll have to order some more gas, which is hard in Winter, gas is in high demand. I could tell my Father, but that would only add to his anxiety. He has enough on his hands with trying to get more Hovercrafts in. This is a hard time of the year for all of us, we have to hope the Capitol machines get Engine Freeze or something. Deciding there is little I can do in the workshop, I grab my gloves and hat, before heading outside.

Snow falls gently on the earth of District Six. There is already a thick layer from last night, yet there is still more to come. I rub my hands together, the fabric of my gloves prevents me from getting the desired effect of friction. I head down the path into the cobbled stone street. The crunch of snow under my boots is the only audible sound. That and the faint wail of a child.

Now I'm hungry, and my feet lead me towards the market. I have no money, and I'm not the type to steal, yet I find some comfort in being around food. I'd rather know it exists than have daydreams about it. Besides, it gives me something to do other than sit around the workshop waiting for someone to dismiss me. Lord knows what Ol' Pike would do if he caught me out of the workshop mid-shift, but for some reason, I don't care. He usually doses at around eleven, before waking at noon-ish, so this gives me an hour's escape.

The smell of meat entices me, draws me in like a moth to a flame. I have to be careful not to get burned. I find myself staring at the Butchers, knowing full-well that our family could never afford quality meat from there. We get by on scraps from those who hunt, or from small agricultural families who raise Groose or Hens. Other than that, we stick to broths and soups. It's simple, but it keeps the six of us going.

I walk past the butcher's, still staring. Heaven forbid, I'm not looking where I'm going. I turn, twist and slip on the ice. The solid ground rushes up from behind me, smacking the rear of my head and my back. The wind escapes me in a few seconds, before I lie there with a distinctive groan. I raise my hand to the back of my head; a warm sticky liquid is now on my fingers. I taste blood in my mouth. This should be fun to explain to Pike.

[LaRousse]

((I hope you don't mind if I join this one? ))

Pip Fennel

Pippali Lolot Fennel wanted to be a doctor. However, she was informed that in order to become a doctor, she would have to attend more school, something she thought she was over with now that she was living on her own (basically) and earning her own salary (sort of).

She had to meet with a counsellor every week to discuss her life plans. She dreaded these meetings, but secretly looked forward to them, because they meant that she got to see the people she grew up with. The other children who grew up with parents too strung out or too lazy to raise them. She got to see her friends, and her old caretakers, and people who in the back of her mind she thought maybe she would one day marry. But it was over now, because Pippali Lolot Fennel was old enough that the District thought that she was fine on her own.

So she visited her counsellor every week, put up with the inconvenience of having to walk back to the group home every Monday and talk to someone who she didn't know about her life.

It was on this particular Monday that Pip was telling her counsellor, a woman named Brassica, about her ambitions.

"I'm going to be a doctor." Pip said, pushing a lock of wavy, straw colored hair behind her ear. The plump, well off woman looked up from behind her clip board and tried to surpress a smile.

"A doctor? Well, it says here you only have six years of education."

"Yes."

"Well, you must have at least a formal elementary education followed by a four year secondary education. And that doesn't include the two year apprenticeship period."

"...Yes?"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm going to do that."

Brassica sighed a little, obviously amused at Pip's ambition, and shook her head, shuffling around some papers on her desk and picking one out of the sheets carefully, handing it over to Pip, who took it and studied it. On the top, in large, black printed letters, the words 'NIGHT CLASSES AVAILABLE' hung onto the page, cut off by the sloppy cutting job. Pip looked up and frowned.

Brassica smiled. “You can take night classes at the old schoolhouse. It’ll only take four years to get your secondary education.”

Pip frowned defiantly. “How hard can it be? All I have to learn is how to fix people.”

Brassica cleared her throat, and Pip could tell what she was thinking. ‘How can you fix people if you can’t even fix yourself?’

Pip walked down the street, her hands in her pockets, kicking a rock into the gutter. Oh sure, she was a sickly little girl. She had pallor skin, and her face had an odd looking web of veins. Her eyes were always bloodshot. She looked like a morphling addict.

Well, she wasn’t, and she was so riled up by her counselor that she was going to become the greatest doctor that District Six had ever known. Right after she made enough money to start going to night classes. She frowned. Well, at least the receptionist job had a steady income. Kind of.

She walked into the market to pick up some things for Brie and the others, maybe a loaf of bread and some fruit. She handed over a few coins to the merchant and slung the bag over her shoulder and turned at the exact moment a boy slipped and hit his head rather hard on the pavement in front of her.

Eyes widening, Pip rushed over and leaned down, the knees of her pants becoming wet with melted snow. “Are you alright?” She asked, noting a rather large puddle of blood beginning to spread from his head. She grimaced. “Er… can you stand, at least? I might be able to get you to the doctor from here.”

[rook]

Jude Langmead

The stinging sensation is overwhelming. I begin to feel light-headed, my vision turning white, as if I'm having a migraine. It must the blood loss... But it's not that bad, is it? I have another feel with the other hand, no it isn't too bad, but the cut has led me to lose a fair bit of blood. Then there's my back, I'm winded and breathing has become a struggle.

I calm myself, trying to not panic. Before I know what's happened, a girl is upon me, she asks if I'm alright... Evidently not... I give her a sarcastic look, but know she's only trying to help. She ushers me to try and stand, I don't want to get up too fast, or I really will pass out. Instead I slowly rise to a sitting position, my right hand pressing the back of my head.

"The Doctor? No, it's not that bad..." I say, at eye level with the girl. She's fairly attractive, about sixteen, maybe seventeen. She has a mousy blonde colored hair that's a bit of a mess. But then, who has the time to do their hair nowadays? I lean to the side, using my free hand to push myself to my feet, slowly standing to my full height, which isn't that tall. I'm about the same height as the girl, making me look less dangerous. This somehow annoys me, I like to appear in control.

I guess I threw all images of control out the window when I slipped on the ice, huh? I brush myself down, the freezing temperatures slow the bleeding process, so it's not as bad as I thought. I still press my hand to it, the stinging continues.

"...Erm, thanks, I guess..." I say, clearing my throat, standing awkwardly in front of the girl. I tell myself going to the doctor isn't an option for me. Quite frankly, they're overpriced and usually take several hours to stretch the price. I can't afford them, time wise or money wise.

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

I needed a break from reality – quickly. I had been forced to stare at the same slightly tattered textbook, through a microscope, and a DNA-synthesis observation session. Unsurprisingly, my eyes had finally given out, though they had lasted longer than usual. Ducking underneath a metal awning, I made sure to avoid the harsh rays of the sun. Even on such a dreary winter day such as this one, the sun was still my biggest enemy, attacking relentlessly through the clouds. My hand drifted up to my shrinking pair of sunglasses (they seemed to get smaller every day) and sighed.
There was no way I would be able to afford a new pair that fit, not even here in District 6. Food, drink, and basic supplies had gotten much more expensive recently, and my parents had begun to work less and less due to the mandatory viewing of the 60th Hunger Games. Of course, that was to be expected. While the Capitol reinforced its iron grip upon the Districts as it should, it was only sensible that some lesser form of punishment found its hand on Panem's citizens. Everyone had to pay for the crimes committed during the Dark Days, not just the tributes. It made perfect sense in context.

Walking on the path, I heard the snow slush around beneath my feet. It was nearly the same colour as my skin: pale, translucent white with no pigment at all. The only difference is that the snow on the ground had picked up a lot of the contaminants and had a grayish tinge to it. I glanced at my arms. Were they gray, too? Hmm.. I would have to inspect that later.
Out of nowhere, it occurred to me that I might be missed back in the laboratory. Yes, it would probably be wise to go back. I couldn't keep taking all these breaks just because my eyes so miserably failed me. How would I get a secure career in Biochemistry, then? I needed all the experience I could get, and time was running out before I turned eighteen – I had only two years left – if I avoid being reaped by then. I made up my mind to turn back and return to my work in the lab, when I became acutely aware of the presence of another boy and girl. There was a tall girl who was speaking to a boy, clutching his temple in a most obvious display of discomfort.
Interesting. I observe this unusual sight for a moment, deciding if it is worth my time to bother. I really must be getting back to work, but the boy seems to be in pain. The girl has a strange, mottled complexion that varied from dry, powdered-looking beige to a sickly blue-and-red blotchy mess. It reminded me of hypothermia, a condition that was once being studied at the lab. Some scientists were developing a chemical pill to treat it, and I remember the unfortunate accident that happened – one of the test subjects died from induced hypothermia during the drug trials. This situation in front of me looked grisly. I suppose I should step in.

“Excuse me,” I speak in an authoritative manner, keeping in mind that these two may be up to no good, “Is there a problem here? Shall I call a Peacekeeper?”
Looking over them again, I notice that the boy is struggling to stand and a small amount of blood is visibly leaking from his head.
I correct myself, “..Or perhaps a doctor? What exactly happened here?”[/blockquote]

[rook]

Jude Langmead

I press my hand firmly to the blinding pain. Maybe it's because it's so cold that the pain feels worse than it probably is. I still refuse to go to a doctor, shaking my head at any suggestions that the girl who helped me makes. The bleeding sure doesn't stop, my initial thoughts that the cold had helped the wound were wrong, it's somehow made things worse.

Another girl of similar age joins us. I look up at her from my sitting/lying position on the cold ground. She asks what's wrong, suggesting that she should call a Peacekeeper, or a Doctor. Is she mad? The Peacekeepers are pretty tight here, mainly because we produce such high quality goods in District Six. If they were called over because some snot-nosed kid fell over, they'd be less than understanding.

I try to shake my head at her suggestion, but it's probably too slight for anyone to notice. I let out a small whimper as I remember that Ol' Pike will be awake and looking for me by now. Yet I can't work with a wound like this, I'll probably need a week or so to recover. I'm pretty sure I'm concussed as my vision is blurred and I'm struggling to speak.

The newcomer asks what happened, as I can't speak too well I simply point to the jagged ice where my head collided with the ice and let out a groan.

I imagine what Pike will do. He's been working with our family for decades. Originally, he was my father's partner in the business, but after the retirement of my old man, Pike has somewhat taken over with me and Firo working under him. Eventually Firo would have become head of the workshop, but since his disability that responsibility has been put on my shoulders. I'm some five years off that yet, though.

Pike's an alright guy. He has a big bushy beard and wears an old pre-war hat from some ancient civilization. I think it might have been a helmet for war, as it has an eagle engraved on it with a spike on top. Further examination reveals it used to be navy. He looks somewhat menacing wearing it, but it know that he only does so because it's a family heirloom of his.

I manage to get some words out.
"Just... Get me home..." I mutter, pointing with a bloody finger down a pathway that I think is the direction of my house.

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

At first glance, the injured boy seemed quite annoyed at my presence. Then I realised I may have offended him with my comment. His ragged work clothes indicated he worked in a sort of mechanics position. He was not what I had assumed. Looking from the boy to the girl, I immediately dropped my previous premise that he had attacked the girl. The poorer class in District 6 tended to, unfortunately, rely on such tactics. However, that was no excuse for the girl to look so sickly.

“Just... get me home...” the boy muttered, his words slurring slightly. Though I wasn't too professed in the medical career, I noted his head wound, the ice, and the fact that he was having difficulty speaking and standing. He had struggled to stand at full attention, as any normal person would, and instead slumped more than even the poorest of street urchins would. Quickly and silently putting two-and-two together, I decided he must have received quite a nasty blow. Possibly what I have heard medical students calling a “concussion”.

As for the girl, her blotchy skin may have been simply from the cold. That, or my eyesight was failing me again. The reflected sunlight refracting off of the icy ground was hurting them, even though I wore sunglasses.

“Sir,” I asserted myself with a professional tone, hoping to maintain some manner of formality, “I imagine your injury may be much worse than you think. And, Miss, was there any problem here with you?”

I was aware that this may have been exactly what I thought it was before, and the girl acted out of self-defense. Then again, any sort of physical attack would warrant punishment. However, I decided – just this once – to consider the fact that it may have been a simple accident. After all, that wasn't unheard of. Somehow, though, the fact that every public punishment undertaken by the Peacekeepers involved no such thing (though most of the people forced to watch claimed otherwise) made me wonder.

I came out of my thoughts and addressed the boy, “I hope your home isn't too far away. You might have a problem walking there.”
The girl looked at me with regards, and I anticipated that she wanted to say something. Whatever it is, out with it. I really must be getting back to work, but this “accident” is not something that happened nearly every day.[/blockquote]

[rook]

Jude Langmead

The girl exclaims that I'm in worse condition than I think I am. Strange, I think I'm in a pretty bad way, so according to her, I'm in a lot of danger. She's probably right, blood loss can be serious, then there's infection, plus the knock could have caused internal bleeding. There's a whole range of problems that I don't even know about, but I'm sure I'm at risk.

At least I can think straight about one thing.

I decide that she's right. I need a doctor. Pike or no Pike, this could be pretty serious. Forget my house, forget work. I need medical assistance. The girl seems to be able to provide me with that, she seems willing to help, so I'm all for asking for a hand to the nearest medic. Hell, for all I know, she could be a trained Doctor.

"You're right, I-I'm in no fit state..." I stutter, still clutching the side of my head, fearing that if I let go, blood will comically pour out like a bottle emptying.
"Do you know where... I can get a doctor... Fast?" I ask as politely as I can midst wincing.