{Graceless Heart}---Open---

[Rosetta]

[B38481][25587E]

“Ms. Spinner, it’s time to get up…” The voice came softly and hesitate, drifting through Sabine’s mind, through the soft downy blankets she’d burrowed into. The mayor moaned, her eyelids barely fluttering, before rolling over, deeper into that warmth. “Ms. Spinner,” the girl’s voice came again, a little louder, but quivering now, “you’ve got to get up. You’re expected in the square in an hour.”

Irritated that she’d been thrust out of the sleep she’d so gratefully sunk into, Sabine growled out, “Oh, go away. And don’t wake me again or I won’t pay you.”

“Ms. Spinner!” the voice cried, horrified at the prospect, the girl knowing she needed those wages. “Please get up! There’s an execution today!”

“An execution?” Sabine’s eyes opened, meeting the dim light that had found its way through her blanket. An execution? It took a moment to work its way through the fuzz that clouded her mind. However, when it did come, with its anxious taste and pale faces, washed down with tears, Sabine’s heart gave a jolt. Rolling to her back, she threw the blanket away from her face to see her maid, a young girl named Marian, standing over her, shifting from one foot to the other. Caught in the awkward stages of her puberty, her face, screwed up in concern, sported even more pimples than it had yesterday. Soon, there wouldn’t be enough room on her face.

“I’ve laid out your clothes for you,” Marian pointed hastily at across the room where a blue dress was spread across a chintz armchair. Sabine made a noise of disgust out of the back of her throat as she threw her blankets away completely and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit up.

“Well, go get it for me and bring it over here!” she barked. Marian obediently scrambled across the room, retrieved the dress and brought it over. Without being asked, she began to help Sabine dress, having long since accepted Sabine’s excuse of, “I’m an older woman.” Once dressed, Sabine sent Marian out of the room to prepare her breakfast before standing up in the desolate room. Stretching her back, Sabine listened for the satisfying crack, though she knew it would do little to soothe the stress the execution would bring upon her. Her mind flitted to past executions. Each one was filled with sobbing families and friends, begging there something be done to stop it, their tears hitting their cheeks, just as their child’s or friend’s feet were relieved of the platform they stood on. Mothers were the worst. Falling to their knees, faces red and puffy, sobbing and pleading. Pleading with Sabine, even. As if she had any power of this. It always made her glad she didn’t have kids.

Jack had never wanted kids. “They just bring stress,” he had said, creasing his forehead. Yet, that still didn’t keep him from wanting to have fun with Sabine and it was after a few scares that he made her go on a certain medicine, sent from the Capitol, to avoid any accidents. She still had the leftover pills, not having needed them for many years. It seemed Jack didn’t want her to find anyone else either. On the off chance she managed to charm someone into her bedroom, they took one look at the ornate urn in the corner, carrying Jack’s ashes inside, mumbled they had to be elsewhere and were off.

Still, having to drag herself to the square, make some long speech then listen to the sobbing when it was all done was enough to make Sabine want to scream. She’d much rather someone else did it and she be able to stay nice and comfy in her spacious mansion. Yet, those were not the way of things. Besides, she had to make sure she was the best she could be today. Everyone would be present, even those who had the power to remove her from her position, someone much younger, more presentable, leaving her without the luxury of her home and even Marian, who did everything for her. And Sabine would not have it.

She descended the stairs into the kitchen where she gobbled the meal of eggs and toast Marian had put together with Sabine’s other servant, Will, an older man with such withered skin, he made Sabine sick to look at, although wrinkles adorned her own high cheeked-boned face. Afterwards, Sabine stood, smoothed her dress and announced that they should be on their way. Marian and Will stopped what they were doing at once and followed Sabine from the mansion. Outside, the air was cold and Marian draped shawl after shawl over Sabine’s shoulders even as they walked. The girl was as skittish as ever, as if she were the one to be hanged. Despite her apathy regarding the executions, Sabine knew she’d be dismayed if the girl had to leave her under such circumstances. Of course, Marian would never do something this stupid…Even little Marian, scared of her own shadow, was much smarter than that.

Once in view of square, Sabine strained her spine to stand straighter and threw her shoulders back. She knew they were in the crowd watching her, looking for any fault they could find. She ignored Will’s offer to help her up the stairs, preferring to appear as though she could climb herself (although it hurt her aged back some). This proved to be a mistake, for the new shoes she was wearing caught on the top step and she went flying towards the ground, hitting with a loud thump, the jolt coming up through her thrown-down palms and through her entire body. She groaned softly, her heart beating wildly. Marian ran forward, but teeth grit, Sabine waved her away and gingerly pulled herself to her feet. Refusing to look out into the crowd, Sabine instead busied herself by getting to her podium and rifling through her speech, feeling the heat spread across her face.

Across the platform, she could see him, sitting in between two Peacekeepers, including the Head Peacekeeper, his head down, hands shackled. Unlike some others, he was neither screaming, crying or asking for some sort of re-thought on the matter. Like some others before him, he was quiet, a numb air passing over him. Sabine hadn’t been surprised when she heard of the crime this man had committed. He was drunk, severely, staggering up and down the street, hollering this and that and pinching women’s bottoms. When a Peacekeeper came over to attend to him, haul him away for causing a public disturbance, that’s when things got nasty. Too intoxicated to realize what he was doing, the man brandished a knife. The Peacekeeper could’ve easily taken him down right there, but was unable to before the knife stuck him in between the ribs, puncturing his lungs and drawing the light from his eyes. Drunk or not, murder, especially that of a Peacekeeper, was punishable by death.

“Not a surprise,” Sabine had muttered to Marian, who’d brought to message to her, “that’s what happens to men like that. Drunks. Can’t support a family. He tried to drink it away and look where it got him. Leaving five kids behind!” Sabine didn’t approve of anyone who didn’t have much money. It was their fault and she knew it. This man probably drank it all away, all of his money, and so, he was deserving of what he was getting. Upon hearing this, Marian had dropped her gaze away, bowed and hurried from the room. Probably to cry, delicate girl she was.

Soon the entire District was assembled. Sabine could feel all the accusing eyes upon her, some of them from those pining to replace her, the older woman she was, and the others awaiting the death of a guilty man. Sabine began reading her speech, speaking at a brisker pace than usual. She was not to be seen as slow. Her voice boomed out across the square, rebounding off of buildings and coming right back at her, loud and clear, the voice the woman of her size should bear, not a woman of her age. She could feel the strength in the otherwise meaningless speech and when she was finished, she could not hide the beaming smile on her face. This only brought more accusing looks, mostly from terrified friends and a woman who looked close to faint, as five young children pawed at her, but at that moment, Sabine didn’t care. The speech was over. Time to get to the next part of this awfully long, time-consuming ceremony over with.

As she motioned to the Peacekeepers on the stage, all Sabine could think about was what awaited her back home, not of the man who’d soon lose his life nor the woman who’d soon be widowed with children to be taken care of. On the long days like this one, when Sabine came home exhausted and irritated, Marian always served her famous meatloaf, which was better than is sounded and Will could make anything taste good. Already, Sabine’s mouth was watering.

Although a life of meatloaf, maids, downy pillows, and overall luxury meant watching a man be hanged, attending to boring meetings and listening to the petty issues of those of District 8, Sabine Spinner would never give it up. She loved everything about it, loved curling up under her warm covers, having someone else make her food and dress her, being able to attend fancy dinner parties every other weekend. She would never give it up. She would never return to the loom.

Which was why she was doing everything she could as to never lose her title as Mayor of District 8.

Sabine didn’t say a word as the Peacekeeper’s pulled the rope over the numb man’s head. She only slightly raised her arm. She’d been through this many times. On her arm’s downfall, the lever would be pushed, opening the trapdoor under the man’s feet. She paused for dramatic effect. At that moment, the expected sob rose up through the silent crowd. It was loud, drawn-out and ragged against the cool air. The soon-to-be widow had fallen down amongst her children, sobs spurting from her throat, tears running down her face. Shockingly though, to Sabine, no words came from her lips. Her hands balled into fists, just beat at her thighs, thrusting all her emotion at them. Out of the corner of her eye, Sabine could see that the man, previously watching his feet, had looked up, eyes darting through the crowd until he found his wife. Was she seeing things or was he giving her a small, reassuring smile?

For an odd, fleeting moment, Sabine wondered if perhaps this man did deserve this. Perhaps this was the first time he got drunk. Perhaps something really bad at happened. Perhaps he was a good worker, a good father, a good husband. Perhaps…no, she could feel their eyes on her. They had seen her hesitation. No, she would not hesitate. She was a good mayor.

And with that, she dropped her arm.

Later, while the woman and her children crowded around the cart that now held their father and husband’s body, wrapped in a clean white cloth, Sabine glanced at the widow. The woman’s eyes, sensing her eyes, glanced up to look. Her bright blue eyes met the woman’s red, bloodshot, dull-brown eyes and stared at one another for a moment, quivering with several different things at once. For Sabine, it was mere curiosity. But, the woman, it was resent. Deep, deep resent, falling just short of hatred. Shocked at this reaction, Sabine turned away. It wasn’t like she stabbed the Peacekeeper. She didn’t choose this!

With slightly ruffled feathers, Sabine turned on her heel and began to march away, an anxious Marian and an indifferent, old Will at her heels. She just wanted to get as far away from this as possible. Out of this dirty, desolate square and back to warm, clean luxury.

For that was where Sabine belonged.

[{danny}]

Society: the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community. District Eight was a society, if you're following that definition. The key words are more or less. We, District Eight, our society, is definitely less ordered. People are being killed in the arena out of chance, luck some would say. People are being killed in the Districts, because they break the rules, because they don't know how society works, because they don't want to listen to society. But to blame society is to blame yourself.

Sometimes, the only person you can blame is yourself.

Kelsey was already out somewhere; perhaps getting food from somewhere, or talking to people on the street; by the time Chloe woke up. She usually woke up early, but today was different. Today, Chloe didn't need to wake up early, and no one woke her, nothing woke her. Chloe's hair was falling all over her face; what little eye-liner and mascara she had on had faded into a gray, making her look more tired than she really was. Chloe used a washcloth - and although it wasn't wet, it still removed some of the make-up - and a comb to fix up her appearance. Chloe yawned and set out for an adventure. That sounded cliche, but there isn't many other ways you can do it.

As she entered the District, she could see a large crowd gathered around a women - the mayor - and a man. The rope told her where this is going. Although Kelsey should attend, Chloe was too lazy to go back and get her. Shaping herself in with the group, she could get close enough to hear the mayor talk without the other voices overpowering her voice. She suddenly stopped talking, the Peacekeepers looped the man's neck in a rope. The trap-door underneath him open.

The man would die soon.

His eyes were fleeting, finding. Chloe couldn't look at him. She had never saw a man die before. Perhaps he was a father, searching for his wife and kids. Perhaps he still lived with his mother. Nope, his eyes were on the mayor. Soon, the man was dead. The family crowded over his body. Chloe couldn't help but feel bad; that family's life would be different. Their dad could be the person who made the money. Now, it's up to the wife no matter what. What would she do? Sell her body for money? Have to work from the early morning to the late night, leaving her kids alone?

Sometimes, death was a reasonable punishment; an arm or an arm. But what exactly had that man done? Stole? Got in a fight? Killed a man? So many questions were bottled in her head, and like vomit in her throat, she wanted to let it all out. The tired Chloe was now wide-awake, she wanted to be sleepy, though. Wasn't that ironic? As the crowd started drifting apart, people going their separate ways, Chloe looked for the mayor. Chloe spotted her walking fast with two people on her heels.

Although it was never said, there was some sort of unspeakable rule. You can never approach the mayor rudely, and expect to get respect. It goes to anyone with a high position; Peacekeepers, past Victors, teachers; or anyone with respect in themselves. Personally, if anyone approached Chloe with rude words or an attitude, Chloe would never have respect for this person ever again.

So as she approached the mayor, she did it with class, with respect. "Ms. Mayor!" Chloe called, certain that the mayor was single - and if not, she would be corrected - in a higher more innocent voice than her average tone. More with pace, she approached the mayor in a lady-like way; not running, but fast-walking. "I have a question," Chloe started, "what did he do?"

Surely the mayor would know who the sixteen-year old girl was talking about. Chloe wouldn't be surprised if it was "classified information" or was "announced in the speech", but Chloe didn't care and she barely listened. For all she knew, that could have been a child-hood friend's dad, could have been a friend of her parents. A new friend. Chloe hadn't seen her parents in a few years, she didn't miss them as much as she wanted herself to miss them. It was like sleeping over a friend's house for the first time; you're scared at first, your stomach hurts, but you do other things to keep your mind off of them, and it works. Part of Chloe feels guilty about this; how does a sixteen-year old girl not miss her parents?

And then she remembers; a girl who doesn't miss her parents is a girl with a mom who let her down when she was younger.

[Rosetta]

Walking had never been Sabine’s favorite thing. Actually, if she had it here way, she’d be carried everywhere, but she knew being carried everywhere would make it look like her age was getting her and she didn’t want that image scrawled upon her. As the old woman. No, she was not an old woman. She still had her youth. She just liked sitting, is all. The one thing Sabine hated more than walking was having to walk somewhere, perfectly content on that walk, knowing she’d eventually get there, but being interrupted and stopped in her tracks halfway there.

"Ms. Mayor!"

Like now. Sabine halted, grinding her teeth in irritation, catching the unnerved look the passed between Will and Marian. Turning towards the high, obnoxious voice, Sabine saw a young girl elegantly making her way towards her. The girl’s movements surprised her. Weren’t children and teenagers alike always running and stumbling about? The girl looked to be about Marian’s age and Sabine supposed seeing the girl stagger and clumsily trip around all day had imprinted that idea into her mind.

"I have a question. What did he do?"

Sabine almost asked, “who?” before remembering. Ah, the hanged man. Her mind was much too occupied by the rich odor of meatloaf in her nostrils, the sharp taste of sugar on her tongue and the soothing relief of pillows at her back. The hanged man had left her mind. Now, at the mention of him again, the images rushed back to her. Her eyes. The red, blood-shot, accusing eyes. The widow’s eyes. The hateful widow’s eyes. This stupid girl, bringing her back up. Well, rather, him, but she was in the equation. Her patience short, Sabine snapped out, “Didn’t you listen?” She’d surely said it. Said it strongly, clearly, head high, just as she did in every speech. This girl was deaf if she didn’t hear her. Sabine was perfectly capable of delivering speeches!

Out of the corner of her eye, Sabine saw Marian’s forehead crease in concern, as well as a little pity. Further irritated at this reaction, Sabine waved her hair dismissively as her servants, indicating they go on ahead, before turning her attention back to the girl. Though aggravated, Sabine knew it was her duty to answer her. She was a citizen of the District after all and who knew? Perhaps this was a test. Those who wanted to see her replaced obviously sent this girl to see if Sabine would shrug her off and answer the question, like a good mayor. They were lurking around in the crowd that moved around Sabine and the girl, weren’t they?

Suddenly, Sabine’s heart fluttered. Was one of them the older man who just nodded his head respectfully at her? Or the nearby young woman who was glancing over at Sabine, eyebrows knit, as she washed the window of her house? Could be anyone, Sabine realized…No, she wasn’t about to get bad points because of this stupid girl’s stupid question. No, she wanted that rich meatloaf, the sharp, sweet sugar and those comfortable pillows. She wanted it all.

Swallowing down her irritation, Sabine drew herself to full height. “He murdered a Peacekeeper. His punishment was only just.” She threw back her shoulders, which sent a stab of pain through her back, but she refused to wince. “That’s how we deal with criminals in District Eight.” Though she felt satisfied with this answer, the words brought on fresh images of her resentful, accusing eyes before Sabine. Blood-shot, but still strong, brave enough to challenge Sabine. Doesn’t the woman know Sabine had lost her husband too? That she understand the pain? Yet, it this was under slightly different circumstances. But, still, criminals must be punished. Karma.

Squinting at the girl, Sabine asked, “Who are you anyway? What’s your name?” Sabine had never seen the girl before. Mostly because she spent most of her time in her home, but she’d never seen the girl slip away amongst the other children of those of high ranks at dinner parties she had to attend. She obviously wasn’t very important. Just a meaningless, worthless girl. A faceless citizen of District Eight, who’s on purpose, as Sabine saw it, was to fuel the District by working in the textile industry. But, obviously, this girl didn’t share the same views if she was going up to Sabine as if they were friends, walking with such grace…And that was why Sabine was left with an uncertain question, gazing upon this girl: Who did she think she was?

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