High Stakes {OPEN}

[theredpyro]

Pain. My whole life is pain. Every movement sends pain coursing through my body. Cuts and bruises litter my body like spots on a leopard. Every bone in my body has been broken at least twice already in my very short life. My mind is haunted by pain. Family I've lost. Friends I've betrayed... Betrayed. The word sticks in my head, calls up unwanted memories. I try to justify it to myself. It wasn't a betrayal, it was an accident. But it was a betrayal, how could it be anything other than a betrayal. Petunia, the only friend I've ever had, the only good thing that has ever entered my miserable existence. She's gone now... and it's all my fault!

I open my eyes. It's morning, time I should be getting up. I get up and start to get dressed as the cold, spring sun starts to creep into my room through the gaps in the wooden slats that make up the roof of my room. Room, that's an exaggeration. What I live in, what I spend the vast majority of my free time in, is actually an attic. I converted it myself when I was younger because my father would never do anything for me. He hates me. I'm sure of it. He's even told me before.

Things between me and my father have always been strained. According to Petunia's mother, my father has been hostile towards me since the moment I was born. Understandable really, the first thing I ever did in this world was kill his one true love, his reason for living, my mother. Petunia's mother, Willow, was my mother's best friend and it was her who discovered me and my father that faithful night. She rescued me from my fathers indifference. And how did I repay her? I got her daughter sent away, to become an avox, or worse, executed.

I finish getting dressed. I don't wear anything fancy, I don't like to draw attention to myself. My greatest strength lies in remaining unnoticed. In fact, my survival depends on it. I keeps this in mind as I pull on a baggy, faded green jumpsuit. It is so faded that actually more closely resembles grey than its original green. A layer of grime coats it, further dulling the colour. I really should wash it, but I find that the muck helps me stay concealed during my favourite pass time... Theft.

I took up stealing shortly after realising that my father was an incompetent means of staying alive. Depending on him will only get me hurt and leave me with an empty stomach. I noticed that if you take but a small amount from a lot of people, they tend to chalk it up to something other than me. Mice, mis-counting, even one particular eccentric blamed fairies. That is how I've survived to this point, taking so little from the local merchants that they never suspect that they have been stolen from. It keeps me under the gaze of the peacekeepers, who would introduce me to a realm of pain I wish to never meet if they ever so much as got a hint of theft.

I climb down the ladder from my pathetic little loft in my father's house and down into the main room. It comprises of the front door, a fireplace and a single chair, which is positioned next to the fireplace and, more often than not, contains my father. This is again the case today. He sits there, looking at me but not really seeing me. Rather, he is looking through me, or so it seems. He sits there, rage contorting his face. He, like so many things in his house, it coated in a thin layer of grime. His beard is unkempt and matted, just like my own hair. His expression changes when he finally recognises me, and not for the better.

"YOU! BOY! COME HERE!"

Uh-oh! I'm in for a beating, I know I am. Delaying the inevitable will only make it worse though, only add to his rage. I approach him, like a good little zombie. I see the arm getting raised, the fist getting clenched, and I do nothing to stop t. I let him hit me. Let him bring pain into my world once more. I kind of like the pain... reminds me I'm alive. I hit the ground, and spit the blood from my mouth. I look up at him, indifferent, unflinching, and he returns my gaze with a look of sheer disgust.

"Get out my sight! I don't want to look at you!"

and with that, he reaches down and picks up a syringe. I don't even need to see its contents to know what's in it. Morphling. Sweet nectar of the gods. The only thing that makes me forget. Forget the pain. Forget the trauma. Forget her. My father takes the morphling syringe, and injects it in between his toes. Good, he's being smart, making puncture wounds places where people don't normally look. He won't be getting caught anytime soon, which means my supply of Morphling is safe. By the time I come home from school, he'll be passed out from the drug, and I'll steal a syringe or two for my own personal use. Not enough for him to notice that some has gone missing, I never break my rule... not even with my father.

I walk out the house and shut the door. I am almost instantly blinded by the sun. It is burning intensely bright, however not much heat is coming off it... It doesn't feel that much warmer than winter. I wait for my eyes to adjust, and set off for school. The one thing in my life (other than morphling) that makes my life seem bearable. I love to learn, a trait shared by most inhabitants of district 6. I begin to daydream about what lessons we'll get today, what gem of knowledge I will discover for the first time. I am about halfway through a favourite fantasy of mine, involving me discovering a hitherto unknown medicine that can cure heartache, when something snaps me back to reality. My stomach is rumbling. I'm starving! A quick survey of my surroundings tells me that I am in the merchant's part of town, just outside the local butchers. Perfect!

I sneak around to the back door, which is ajar, and peek inside. Just as I thought, the butcher is in the back room, having a nap. He always does at around this time in the morning. I noticed this months ago, a handy thing to know for someone with a hobby like mine. Crawling on all fours so I can't be seen through the shop window, I creep up to the back of the counter to see what is on offer. Instantly, my eye is drawn to a string of sausages. The butcher will never notice if one or two go missing. I reach out and grab one, just as the bell goes to signify a customer entering the shop. S**T! I quickly twist of a sausage and crawl as fast as I can to the backroom. It's no good, the butcher is awake and coming to see who has just entered the shop. I quickly move to the front of the shop again and crawl under a counter.

I see the butchers feet approach the counter. his foot stops a mere inch away from my head. I try to hold my breath and resist the urge to scream as the butcher goes about his business.

"Ah! It's you, what can I do for you today my fine sir?"

A voice I only half recognise responds.

"I'll have a sirloin steak please"

"Uh... that's quite a rare request for here, and its quite expensive... are you sure that's what you want?"

I hear the noise of something being thrown onto the counter. The butcher seems to pick it up and examine it. He then reaches into the counter, picks up a package, and places it on the counter, A few seconds later, I hear the door bell ring again, signifying this the customer has now left. The butcher heads back to the back room, grumbling and twirling something in his hand. I allow myself a desperate gasp for air. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts my chest. I give it another minute or two until I can hear the butchers snores as he resumes his nap before I decide that it's safe enough to risk leaving. I creep out the backdoor, and take off at a sprint, wanting to put distance between me and the butcher's shop. I don't really pay any attention to where I'm going, just knowing that it must be better than where I've came from.

I run for a good 5 minutes before i collide headfirst with someone. We are both knocked off our feet. My sausage comes flying out of the little pouch I had sewn into my jumpsuit and rolls out onto the floor. I quickly scramble to grab it, to hide the evidence. My fingers clutch around it and I stuff it back into its pocket. That's when I turn my attention to who it was I ran into. They are just getting to their feet. One look tells me that this isn't going to end well...

...F**K...

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

“Miss Dahlman,” the lead chemist stands condescendingly next to my stool, “This is the third time you have sent results that have been less than satisfactory. If we cannot procure viable data then perhaps you require-”

I drop my hand too quickly onto the lab table and a noise far too loud for the quiet, focused research room echoes throughout the space. I grimace at the sound, yet another aspect of my day that I have ruined.

The chemist looks at me sharply before continuing, not pausing to even tuck a stray strand of hair back into her neat bun – mostly because she was so precise, even her hairstyle was perfection. “-require dismissal for the day.”

Cold rushes through my body and I grow angry. Angry that I was unable to meet expectations. Angry that I was not perfect. Angry that I had failed – yet again – because my eyes were failing me. Angry that I had not been born properly, born a normal human with a genetic disposition to NOT have albinism. Angry that I could not complete my job.

“No, doctor,” I reply quickly, “I would not require that. I am able to. . .” I grit my teeth as my vision blurs, but maintain a calm composure, “. . . I am able to continue.”

“Really?” she is adamant to my refusal. I sit in humility and feel blood rushing to my cheeks in what most people would call a 'blush'. For me, my skin was so translucent that I was sure that my face was now bright red. She stands there unyielding, waiting silently for me to give up. I know she is right, that I am unable to continue, but I am ashamed at the fact that I consistently fail time and time again.

I take a calming breath and say in a cool manner, “No, I am wrong. I am unfit to continue and must end my day in the lab. Please have my apologies, I will take my leave.”

A smirk almost appears on the chemist's face. I can't argue with a superior, no matter what I think. After all, they're always right.

Pushing my sunglasses further up my nose to protect my damned eyes from further damage, I walk quickly down the street. I stick to walking under shaded structures and alleyways since the sun is threateningly high in the sky. It was mid-morning, or perhaps early noon. My eyes had failed me even earlier today.
I mentally began cursing at my bad luck in the gene pool. Out of all the possible genetics I could have received, I had to miraculously end up with two lucky genes for albinism. And now I would never get a proper career.
On the other hand, it WAS early in the day. I had a whole free day to spend doing whatever I wanted, within reason of course. Perhaps I would go to the librar. . . No, I couldn't read now, not with my eyes unable to even focus on a bloody microscope. I couldn't do anything, really.

I turn down an alleyway that I know will be out of the way and shaded. Not many people walk down it, so I'll be free from stares over my white hair and assumptions that I'm a Capitol citizen. It is empty, or so it seems. I'm not even able to take four steps before something darts out of nowhere and slams right into my forehead, knocking my sunglasses askew. Just what I needed to make an already rotten day even worse.

Brightness streams into my eyes and I cringe. I wasn't momentarily blinded like I would have if I was out on the streets, thankfully, but this wasn't pleasant at all. In fact, I really didn't like it. Whoever did this was absolutely stupid to be running. Running from what, might I add?
I shut my eyes tightly as I get to my feet. My sunglasses were nowhere to be found. They had been expensive to buy and if they had been lost or broken, I have no idea how I would manage.
A rather panicked boy comes into my strained vision as I blink.

Panicked.
Good, I think.

I shoot him a look of absolute discontent as I analyze this boy. This boy, who appears ragged and thin to the point of starvation. It doesn't take me very long to realize he is probably one of the poorest in the district. Although he is young and nearly my age, I cannot help but assume he is up to no good. He's bigger than I am, taller that is, and he's holding his jacket as if it means the difference between life-and-death.
Whatever he is up to, I really should care more about; however, for the time being, I'm a bit torn between finding my sunglasses and figuring out what he's up to. Surely a peacekeeper would love to hear about whatever this boy is doing but my eyes can't be left to take in so much sunlight. I absolutely cannot afford for them to be damaged any further. It would be the end of me!

“You,” I try my hardest to shoot daggers from my eyes, “get up. Whatever you're doing, get up.”
He is standing now, much taller than I am by at least six inches. My gaze falters now that I have to look up and focus on a face, which is hard already to do but sunlight from the sky doesn't help either.

“What were you thinking? What were you even doing here? What-?” I yell, then decide my eyes are more important than whatever this kid is up to, “Nevermind. You'd better find my glasses or. . . or we're both dead!”

I rub my eyes with my fingers before dropping to the ground in a search. If he has any decency, he would help me but I realize my threat is empty. I'm much smaller than he is and not very strong. Even though he's poor and probably malnourished I'm suddenly strikingly aware he could probably have his way with me if he wanted.
Then again, he was probably up to no good. I could report him later if I had to. For now, I needed my sunglasses. And if they were broken, I was done for.[/blockquote]

[theredpyro]

...Who is she? Who is this girl I've just run into? She seems strange, even by 6's standards. She's sticking to the shadows, but not for the reason that I do... It seems like a necessity for her. She's squinting too. I can't really get a good look at her eyes. Then I start to put two and two together. Translucent skin, white hair, aversion to sunlight... She's an albino! That explains a lot! I allow myself a moment of pride at having deduced this. Meanwhile, the girl is fumbling around on the floor, quite comically actually, hunting for her glasses.

That's when I realise it... This is my chance! The girl hasn't really had time to notice me! She can't see that well because of the sun! If she were to say anything about me to the peacekeepers, I could just deny it! Its just her word against mine, there's no proof! I'm pretty sure she didn't see my contraband too... My luck has taken a turn for the better. I could just leave, just run away from this girl and her glasses, no-one need ever know I was here! I can't tear my eyes away from the girl however, she looks so pitiful, searching for her glasses. I think its the air of desperation around her search that's making me feel guilty about considering leaving her. But that's ridiculous! Why should I feel guitly about leaving her? I'm sure she'd do the same if the roles were reversed! Its survival of the fittest! Dog eat dog! That kinda stuff! That's it, my minds made up!

I make about a whole two steps away from the girl, when I hear a sound that makes my heart stop. My stomach starts doing somersaults and I realise that things have just went from bad to much worse! The mid-morning silence has been interuppted by a deafening, heart-breaking CRRRRAAAAAACK!!! I check under my shoe, and feel like I could cry. Yup. There, under my left foot is the remains of what used to be the girl's glasses... F**K!

I turn around and face the girl, she has stopped searching, no doubt realising exactly what that noise meant. I apprach her, rather reluctantly. I can't just leave her there like this. I can't bring myself to do it, no matter how much I believe that she would do it to me!

"I'm so sorry!"

The girl looks at me, and for the first time I see her eyes. Wow! I've never seen eyes like them. They seem purple one minute, and yet pink the next. I feel like they aren't really looking at me, instead they seem to be looking inside me! I feel as if she can see my very soul, see everything I've ever done. She can see all my transgressions! I suddenly feel ashamed! Ashamed at what I've done, ashamed for the sausage in my jacket that I've stolen off the butcher, ashamed for what happened to Petunia and, strangely, ashamed for the way I look!

Why am I suddenly so self conscious? I've never felt ashamed for the way I look, in fact I usually take pride in how dirty and ragged I look, it guarantees me sympathy from people. But right now, in front of this girl, I feel ashamed. I want nothing more than to run away and hide, hide my disgusting self from her vision. But I stand there, frozen to the spot. I still can't leave her, not until I know she's okay. She's looking at me strangely though, I can't tell if she's angry or confused. I can't tell which I'd prefer!

I hold my hand out for her to take. She just stares at it, not taking it. I can tell she's going to need some convincing to let me help her. A plan starts to form in my head...

"I'm sorry, I'll get you another pair of glasses, I swear it... Just tell me where I can get them from..."

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

There are only a few stacked metal crates containing unknown substances and some tiny amounts of trash in the alleyway, relatively clean for District 6. Still, I am half-blind without them in the daylight and I hurriedly crawl amongst the concrete ground.
The boy, the boy who so desperately clings to himself for means of survival. . . he watches me hesitantly, as if deciding to flee or fight. I look up momentarily to catch him gazing at me, gazing with sunken blue eyes that so commonly make up our poorer populace. I wouldn't blame him for running if he did. I would do the same in his position, whatever he has been doing. In any other situation, I would have been on his case before you could say “President Snow.” His luck, not mine, that this turned out the way it did.
My face puckers as I sweep my eyes across the alleyway, blinking as I feel a headache blossoming from the strain. The Doctor had been right, I would never have lasted the entire day in the laboratory. Only, now I was here scrambling on the floor like a poor beggar. How embarrassing.

I hear the sharp intake of breath from above me, meaning I know he is sure to run away now. He is preparing, breathing in so he can run again. Typical poorman. He hadn't an ounce of manners in him to actually bother helping. I frown in frustration.
That's when I hear it.
He has barely made a move when an unmistakably loud cracking sound emits from his direction. The sound of crushed glass and plastic, my sunglasses.
I freeze in my position, letting the noise flow fully in one ear and out the other. I don't make a move. It's as if I don't want to believe I've heard that noise, yet I heard it loud and clear.

“I'm so sorry!” the boy blurts out and comes near me, as if apologising would make it okay. I unstick myself from the ground and get to my knees. I look at him, a piercing gaze and take in his appearance in full.
He is tall, quite taller than I am as I originally noticed. But he wasn't as strong as I had presumed. In fact, he was the epitome of poorness. Sunken eyes, yellowing skin, and cheeks barely noticeable. He was starving, obviously, and had no regards to physical appearance. His yellow hair was greasy, matted, and sticking in an odd direction. His clothes were worn and torn, as if he had never heard of a mending kit.
From his appearance, I deduced two things:
One: His poverty probably turned him to crime for survival – a person whom I would never want to associate with.
Two: There is absolutely no way I'm going to get another pair of sunglasses. He is far too poor.

He hugs his flimsy jacket, a poor excuse for clothing as it is nearly falling to pieces on his shoulders, and I barely notice an odd lump. Either a tumour or stolen goods. Probably the latter, from the likes of him.
I could turn him into the peacekeepers if I wanted, but that wouldn't do any good. And besides, strangely enough I had a sudden bout of curiosity. I'd never actually had the unfortunate circumstances to run into someone so poor. No doubt he was dirty and struggling for life, but at what cost? Why couldn't he just get a job?
I'm almost feeling sorry for him, with his yellowing skin that showed he was obviously in poor health, when I glance down at his hand that holds what remains of my sunglasses. The lenses have cracked and one is out, the frame is half-split. I can't use them now, and they were far too expensive. Even I hadn't the money. Would I turn to petty crime like a beggar?
No. No, I couldn't. Crime was for those who would dare defy the Capitol, the ones who provided us with the very air we breathe and life we live. Surely I was in trouble, but with my own self. . . and my parents, once they found out what had happened.

He offers me his hand and I stare at it as if it is from another planet. His hand, held out to me – a simple offer of assistance. I don't dare take it.

“I'm sorry, I'll get you another pair of glasses, I swear it. . . Just tell me where I can get them from!” he says in earnest, trying to convince me. Perhaps I am, for a moment, but I know he is too poor to buy them with his own money, and what money he has is probably stolen or made illegally.
“And why should I trust you?” I ask. I meet his eyes and suddenly realise he's not startled by them, not like others are. Most people would assume I'm from the Capitol.
“Obviously you've got no money, by your state,” I point with my eyes to his ragged clothing and back to his face and repeat myself. “Why should I trust you?”
He's silent for a moment and I see his eyes want desperately to dart around, but I've got them locked on mine, so I drop my gaze. He turns his head and I see his mouth forming words that make no noise, trying to find something to say that will work.

“I don't accept stolen goods, if that's what you're implying.”

I shut my eyes for a few moments to give them rest. Whatever he says, it had better be good. It would take a lot to persuade me to listen to this kid. Strangely enough, though, I feel as if I have no choice but to listen. I am in no position to get another pair and if I spent any money at all, my parents would have a fit. If I had no glasses, then surely I would be blind by the end of this month, or turned into a recluse.
I look back at the boy and he has placed his hand back at his side, and he is stammering.

I sigh and open my eyes.“What is it? Whatever it is, just tell me. I'm already dead walking, so hurry up.”[/blockquote]

[theredpyro]

O.K, now I'm in trouble! This girl is intimidating the hell out of me! She just mentioned stolen goods! How does she know about my hobby? I must have been right! She must be able to see my soul! That explains it! She's just sitting there, staring at me, waiting to hear some genius plan that I have to procure another pair of glasses. To be perfectly honest though, I WAS planning to steal another pair for her. She's flat out refused to accept anything that I liberate though, so I'm fresh out of ideas! I need a new plan to get a pair of glasses...

And then it comes to me! The thought appears, half-formed, at the back of my mind as I nervously rub my tongue against the fresh cut my father gave me this morning. My father! My poor, pathetic father! I left him in a drug-crazed state earlier, by now he must be unconsciouss. I can raid his supply of morphling and sell it to someone! That should give me enough money to buy a stupid pair of glasses! How expensive can they be anyway? I decide to not let this girl in on the entirety of my plan. That would invove telling her that my father is a morphling addict, and while that is quite common in district 6, its still illegal. If this girl were to turn my father in (which I expect she would) I would be sent to a children's home while he was dragged away for punishment. I definetly don't want that to happen, I like things as they are at the moment thank you very much!

"I-I-I..."

Why am I stuttering? What is it about this girl that makes me so nervous? It must be those eyes, those eyes that I can't seem to tear myself away from... Mainly because they are staring a hole right through me at the moment. How stupid must she think I am? I must just seem like a stuttering, revolting mess to her. Why can't I just be myself, why can't I be as cool, as amazing as I so desperately want to be right now? I'm desperate to make an impression on her, and I have no idea why! I just want to make as much of an impression on her as she's made on me, but I just can't seem to control myself! I take a deep breath to pull myself together and then address those beautiful, unforgiving eyes

"I have some things back in my house... Some valuable things. I can trade them for your glasses. It's the least I can do! I wouldn't have to steal anything, see? I'm not as pathetic as you think I am!"

Why did I say that? I couldn't help myself, I just got angry. Angry at her unforgiving stare, angry at how foolish she makes me feel, angry at the whole situation in general! I really shouldn't have said it, I can see her slightly taken back by the comment. I suddenly feel so guilty! I see the girls eyes drop to the bulge in my jacket. She's done that quite a few times already over the course of the conversation. I sigh, and pull out the sausage. She looks much better fed than me, but I've never known anyone to turn down free food in district 6. We may be better off than most of the other districts, but only the most well off ever go to bed with full stomachs. I hold out my precious contraband, and split it in half. I pop one half in my mouth and taste the greasy goodness. I hold the other half out for the girl as a peace offering.

"I'm Pilgrim. You hungry?"

And with that, I allow myself a slight smile as I await her response...

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

"I have some things back in my house... Some valuable things. I can trade them for your glasses. It's the least I can do! I wouldn't have to steal anything, see? I'm not as pathetic as you think I am!"

He is quickly making up for what I assume was my wrongful accusation, perhaps he wasn't a thief after all. Then again, how could I trust him? Whatever he was hiding, it was probably stolen. He seems nervous, anyways, so I'm probably right. That or he's just scared because I look so unnatural.

As if sensing my awareness of his hidden object, he clears his throat and makes a move to reveal it. Slipping out of his shabby coat comes a rather large pill-shaped object, pinkish-brown in colour. The boy tears it in half and takes a hungry bite. It's a sausage, squished from his jacket but still good. Wherever did he get it, I wonder?

"I'm Pilgrim,” says Pilgrim. Instead of offering me a hand this time, he offers me the other part of his sausage,“You hungry?"

He dangles the other half in front of my face, tantalisingly. I look at it suspiciously. Why is he offering me this? It's a peace offering, but why food? He's poor enough, and obviously malnourished. While I'm usually unyielding to others and couldn't care less, it's something of a surprise – No, it IS a surprise! He needs it more than I do and yet he is offering me his food. I can't take this, not from him. While I might not be rich, I get at least one satisfactory meal a day and that's more than he's probably ever gotten. It's tempting, but I really cannot accept this.

My widened eyes flick between his face – a face too thin to be healthy – and the piece of meat. This sudden kindness is shocking, I would never have expected it from someone like him.
“Pilgrim,” my tongue tastes the name. I rack my brain to see if I can form any connection to anyone else in the district, but I fail at recognising it.
“Don't do that. Eat it yourself, you need it more than I do.” It will be a few hours before I eat again, but I can manage. I get to my feet so I'm not kneeling anymore. Like I thought, Pilgrim is much taller than I am – I don't even reach his shoulders!
“You eat your food. I'll get mine when I'm supposed to. Besides, I need to worry about how I'm going to manage for the next few days, thanks to you.” I'm being mean, but I don't care. I'm still a bit upset over my glasses. “I really don't think you have enough to pay for one of those. It nearly cost me an arm and a leg and I'm well-off compared to. . . whatever you are.”
He stops chewing. I grab for my broken glasses and extract them from his palm. Analysing them, I can tell they're not usable. If I glued the glass together, it would have too many fractures to see properly.
Great. Might as well take up his offer.
“Look, if you can help me, then that would be great. It's the least you can do.”
I tuck the remains of my sunglasses into the pocket of my pants and wipe my palm on my leg, brushing off some dirt and any tiny bits of glass that might have stuck to it.
It occurs to me that I should at least give him my name, but I don't want to be tracked down if he's anything like what I think he is. Then again, if I don't, he probably won't know how to find me.
“Oh,” I mutter, “Right, I should get on with the name thing. My name is Whisper.”

I've never really gotten on with anyone before, not closely. This boy, Pilgrim, he's dirty and poor and probably a criminal. I can't trust him, not when I know what criminals are like. They cause trouble and disrupt things and the Capitol despises them, that's why we have Peacekeepers, to keep the peace. Though for a fleeting moment, I stupidly think that maybe I should be less cold to him. I've never actually known someone that was poor, as I usually don't associate with them. All I've ever been told is that poor people tend to be trouble, and he'd broken my glasses already. That was the beginning of trouble. But he'd also offered me food. Food from a beggar, food from a starving kid. A peace offering at risk of his own starvation.
I'll never understand it, I don't now and I probably won't later. The least I could do was, perhaps, try.
“So,” I begin, “What sort of items would you be getting rid of? Wait – I don't want to know. If you're selling, don't get rid of something you'll need. I don't want to cause your death.”
I watch him finish eating and notice he's saving the other half of the sausage. Saving it for later? At least he's got some sense.

Pilgrim wipes his face sloppily, smearing grease more than cleaning it off. I feel my stomach churn, half-hungry, half-disgusted at the lack of cleanliness. I might not be the richest person, but I like to keep myself remotely presentable at the very least. I look at his uneaten half of the sausage and think that, if he meant it as a peace offering, then accepting it would at least bring some of the tension from his side down, or at least not make him so nervous.

“I think I might actually take that,” I gesture towards the meat. I might be more well-off, but I can't deny food. Especially when I'm not going to eat for a while. For a moment, I feel bad for taking his only food, but I'm selfish enough to want it and push my previous coldness out the door.
Pilgrim smirks at me and hands me the sausage. It's a simple gesture, sharing food, but it means peace between us. I hope I'm not making a mistake.[/blockquote]

[theredpyro]

Whisper. Her name is Whisper. I like it! It's elegant, simple and yet, makes me think of dark dealings and shady goings on. Just the perfect amount of danger. It suits her! But now I have to uphold my part of the bargain, my part in this peace treaty. She's trusting me for one reason and one reason only: I'm the only chance she has to get another pair of glasses. She knows it and I know it. I'm determined to not let her down. Now all I have to do is actually formulate a plan and carry it out.

So far, my plan involves selling some morphling for money, and using that to buy a pair of glasses. I'll need to be careful though, I can't risk anyone realising where I got the morphling from, and I can't afford to let my father notice that some has went missing. I'll need to play it smart and cover my tracks. And then there's the wildcard in my plan: Whisper. What will her reaction be if I let her in on the plan. I imagine she'd run away screaming for the peacekeepers! Okay, so she can't know what it is I'm selling, but other than that she shouldn't have any objections. The rest of my plan is above board. I look down at her, and wonder how I'm going to hide the morphling from her, perhaps in a box? And then I realise something.

I'm not even sure if she can walk, she seems to be struggling to see. I can't really blame her, her glasses seem really dark and the cold morning sun is shining unusually brightly today. She must be in agony! I suppose I could lead her, possibly even carry her if the situation became desperate enough. She seems far too proud to allow me to do anything like that though. Perhaps it would be best if she went home while I got the glasses? That is, of course, assuming that she can find her way home from here. I suppose it's really up to her how we continue, does she come with me and increase or chances of getting caught? Or does she go home and risk her neighbours and family knowing that she associates with a street rat like me? I give her the choice, but I word it much more simply:

"Can you walk? Would you rather come with me or go home and I'll bring you your glasses?"

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

[OOC: Sorry for the big gap of time between your last post and my post. I had a big concert to prepare for with a TON of rehearsals. I was dead tired! Anyways I hope you understand]

We stand alone in the alleyway in silence. Pilgrim is thinking over my actions and it seems he understands that I have accepted his offer. He turns away, smirking, probably out of some strange need to shield what he's thinking. Not like I care too much, I'm more concerned with getting what I need. Of course, curiosity for Pilgrim still lingered somewhere in the back of my mind. It was ridiculous, of course, to want to even be involved in the business of anyone of his kind. . . but if he knows so confidently that he can help me without crime, perhaps I'll be safe. I would never be able to bear it if I defied the Capitol, took for granted what they gave me: A life. A life I wouldn't have even had a chance at living out in the lower districts. I hear they're full of poverty and misery. It isn't anything fancy like One or Two, but I'm still lucky to live in Six.
I stare at the seam between the concrete and the wall forming a grey-blocked building. I'm hoping he makes up his mind or says something soon because my eyes are threatening me with some enzyme-action from the piercing sunlight. I blink quickly as they form a layer of water. It's not of my own choice that I cry like this. It tends to happen when things are too bright.

And then I catch him looking. It's brief, but I notice him sweep his eyes my way, analysing me. "Can you walk?” He offers me a choice, “Would you rather come with me or go home and I'll bring you your glasses?"

My back straightens and I try in vain to seem bigger than my meagre five-foot-four stature. I become as professional-looking as I can. “No. I am perfectly fine, thank you very much. If you don't mind, I would prefer to join you.”
. . .To keep an eye on any funny business, I add mentally.
“It is only logical. I assume your shanty house is closer to our location than my residence.” I don't add that I'm really not that far from here. I might be better off than Pilgrim – who probably has many tessarae out on his name – but my house is still only one-bedroom. Only the elite have multiple rooms.

Pilgrim nods and his greasy hair moves in a large clump. Disgusting. Had we been friends in another life, I would have reprimanded him then and there. Unfortunately, there was little I could do in this situation. He was probably dirt poor.
Speaking of which, how was he going to pay for a new pair of glasses with his own belongings? If he couldn't sell his possessions for food or maybe a decent pair of clothes and a bath, how in Snow's name did he expect to buy something even I had problems buying?
No. As much as I wanted to suspect the worst, I couldn't let myself think that way. It meant I would be doing something wrong, and Whisper Dahlman never does anything wrong. Pilgrim, whatever he meant to sell, must be worth a fortune. A family heirloom? Something, perhaps, from ages long past that belonged in the arms of the Capitol's historical preservation system? I know families tended to have odd items such as those. Whatever he was intending to sell, I felt a tinge of protest against him doing anything too drastic.

Pilgrim makes a move to walk and I hurry to follow him. I can't help but notice he moves with a strange gait, as if it hurts to walk. Did I want to ask? Probably not. Could be anything, he was too poor to see a doctor.
I found that a bit saddening, that he couldn't even afford to take care of himself. However he ended up in the situation, though, was probably more than enough to justify it.
“Poor people are poor for a reason”, my parents always say. “If they can't even get a job, it's because they messed up. Not even the Capitol wants their help.”
My head remains forwards, angled down to avoid the sunlight, and I steal another glance at Pilgrim. He is nothing like me, not at all. The only difference is that he seems young. What could someone his age have possibly done to live as he lives?

Wait. I can't think like that. Continue on that train of thought and I might as well throw myself out in front of the Mayor and scream “Death to the Capitol!”

“You're alright?” I try and make smalltalk, as the women and men at work sometimes do while on a break. I want to ask where we are going, but of course that is a stupid question. We are headed for his home – probably a shack – in some poor area where I probably wouldn't want to know where I was.
And then it occurs to me that he must have parents. Surely they would be working, if they had any self-worth. If Pilgrim was how he was, though, his mother and father probably weren't any better.

I wonder what they had done to live like this.

. . .

I probably shouldn't ask.[/blockquote]

[theredpyro]

Here we are... My hou... my FATHER'S house. it doesn't look like much from the outside, just a pile of wood held together by a couple of severely rusted nails. The interior isn't much better. It has one almost unique quality to it though.. it was built by hand. How many people can say they built their own house themselves? Especially these days! The Capitol normally assigns every new couple who are expecting a child a new, previously existing house (usually by evicting an old widow or widower and leaving them to live out the rest of their days on the streets). However, fifteen years ago there was a slight housing shortage and when my parents applied for a house, there were none available. Therefore, the Capitol gave my father a very rare piece of paper, signifying that he was permitted to build a new property within the confines of the district. If there is one thing I respect my father for, it's for building his own house. It's something I hope to one day be able to achieve. It's never going to happen, but that doesn't stop my fantasies.

We are standing outside my father's house in the unusually empty street. There aren't many houses out here, this close to the district borders. Not many reasons for people to come out this far either. The streets are completely deserted apart from me and Whisper. It's time to plan out how to do this.

"Whisper, I need you to stay here while I go and get my things, can you stay out of sight for me?"

The look she gives me is one of utter disgust. She still doesn't trust me. I don't blame her, but I'm doing this for her own protection. My father is most likely passed out on Morphling by now and he tends to be very angry when woken from his drug-induced stupor. Me and Willow have the bruises to prove it. I don't think that Whisper is going to agree to this, I can see an arguement brewing on her face, but I don't give her a chance to say anything as I set off for the house.

My palms are sweating. There is a huge chance that I will be caught because of this. There's just so much that could go wrong. WHY AM I DOING THIS?!? For a girl i just met no less! I could be throwing everything away, everything I've worked so hard for! Tonight i could be dragged in front of the entire district and flogged, or declared an official orphan and sent to a children's home. Hell, I could be dead by tonight! All for a pair of pretty eyes. I look down at my hands. They are saturated with sweat, and shaking uncontrollably. I wipe them on the back of my trousers and take a deep breath to steel myself. My stomach starts doing some sort of wicked flip, misses, and lands at an awkward angle somewhere in my chest, throwing my heart up into my throat. i find myself at my father's door, the same door that i left the house through this morning, back when my life makes sense. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open the door.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. the second I walked through the door, I could smell it. Well, perhaps smell is the wrong word. It was more as if the aroma assaulted my nostrils the second I opened the door. the smell was completely overpowering. Stomach churning. I started silently retching. it only takes a minute of searching to find the source of the travesty. My father, passed out in his chair, covered in dried-in, orange vomit. The sight absolutely disgusts me. I have never vomited while under the influence of Morphling, and don't understand when my father does it. For a split second, i think i should maybe check on him, to see if he is alright, but then I remember his indifference to me and head up to my loft. in a hidden compartment I built into the floor under my bed, lies an unvarnished pine box. It's this I'm here to retrieve. I open it, sit on my bed and take a look at its contents. Three syringes full of a slightly luminous blue liquid, and two empty ones.

Three shots of Morphling. That should be more than enough. These things fetch a huge price if you know the right buyers, and luckily I do. I rush as quietly as possible out the other door of the house which is on the opposite end of the room from my Father. Less chance of waking him up. Can't risk it now, with the box of Morphling tucked under my arm. I shut the door behind me and catch my reflection in a barrel next to the door which has filled with rain water.

I look an absolute mess. Hair stuck to me, dirt all over my face. I'm suddenly ashamed to show myself in public like this. no, not in public... I'm ashamed to go back to Whisper like this! I take a breath, and take the plunge....


F**K THAT'S COLD!!!

[Misery]

Whisper Dahlman, District 6

Pilgrim leads me down a weave of rundown streets, each more dirty than the last. I see an emaciated old man leaning against a broken streetlamp and look away. Where I live, starvation isn't very common. Here. . . here I expect it to happen everywhere. It's surprising how drastically the neighbourhoods can change here in District 6. We arrive at a sort of a shambled house that looks nothing like the surrounding shacks. It is made of wood instead of corrugated metals. I've truly reached the slums of District 6. I really hope nobody I know recognises me here.

“Whisper, I need you to stay here while I go and get my things. Can you stay out of sight for me?” asks Pilgrim solemnly. He keeps his voice lowered even though the street is vacant. He's being cautious, even in his own home. Even in the poorest areas he must be on his guard. Whatever it is he's getting, he's obviously wanting to hide it from everyone else. I'm suspicious, but I understand that in this place, everyone is out for themselves. It's probably best to be cautious.
Giving a questioning look to Pilgrim, I nod. I almost want to say something more, but he's shut the door in my face before I could get a word in.

Well.
Even though there's nobody around, I feel uncomfortable here. I have made a point to never set foot in the ghettos of District 6 simply because I was well aware of what went on in them. Stories from old schoolmates, passing tales from in the market, and warnings from my parents and peacekeepers were enough to deter me from snooping around. . . until now. If anyone saw me here, their impoverished minds would probably think I was a Capitol citizen and start a riot over me. I knew how the people here had something against the Capitol. Looking around, I see a few boards of wood propped against a concrete wall and I slip between them, keeping my eyes lowered.
Layers of dirt and grime coat the ground and I almost cringe when I touch the wall. Black dust sticks to my grey sweater and I try to brush it off, unsuccessfully. Lovely.
I'm not absolutely positive that I'm hidden well, but I feel it is good enough. I rest my head against my arms and shut my eyes. A headache is brewing and I can't let that happen now. It's shaded here, so hopefully I can give my eyes a rest.

I lay in that position for a few minutes, long enough for Pilgrim to have gotten what he needed already, unless of course he had it hidden somewhere. Or what if. . . what if he hadn't gotten anything at all and had tricked me into coming here for some nefarious plan? Worry builds in my mind until I jump at the sound of something moving behind me. Something falling, an old tin can or bottle, strikes a crate and tumbles to the ground. I freeze.
Fear prickles at the back of my neck and I strain my ears to hear anything else. Shifting my body slightly, I try to turn my head so that I might see behind me.
Then I see it: something long, skinny, and twitching darts behind my head. I nearly scream if it weren't for my hand clamping down on my mouth at the last second. Whiskers emerge from between two cardboard boxes and the black, beady eyes of a rat stare out at me. It squeaks.
I dart out of my hiding spot in a flash. The wooden board that concealed me tumbles against the wall, scraping and making a noise. My heart pounds with adrenaline as I momentarily panic silently.
Shading my eyes, I look around to see if anyone has heard my commotion. There is nobody who has peeped out of their house or even bothered to care. Here, people must not care about the well-being of others as much. I take deep breaths as I attempt to calm myself.
It was just a rat. It wasn't going to bite me. I brush myself off and try to soothe my jumpy nerves. I've almost succeeded when I hear a sudden splash, something being submerged in water, and a loud swearing from inside Pilgrim's house.

“PILGRIM!” I shout in surprise. OH MUTTS! I can't handle it here anymore, not alone anyways! For all I knew, someone could come bursting out and kill me right here in the streets! It wouldn't be the first time that has happened to someone who was wandering where they shouldn't be.
Throwing all caution to the wind, I throw myself at the door and fall inside onto the dirty ground. I pick myself up and back into the door again, shutting it effectively. I can barely catch my breath before the smell hits my nostrils and I gag.
Something absolutely horrid fills my nose. It smells of bile and acid mixed with curdled milk.
“What on earth, yech!” I make a face and cough several times. Now I want to be outside again. It smelled bad there, too, but at least it was better than THIS!
I reach for the door handle with my left hand while covering my mouth and nose with my right. I can't even see where I'm grabbing because my eyes are watering! It's absolutely sickening in here – no, it smells like sick! Someone's been sick in this room and it can't have been Pilgrim. He didn't look like he was ready to be sick when we got here!
Unless. . . oh dear! I blink through tears and make out the stirring figure of a man on a chair. He grunts and looks my direction, mumbling something I can't make out.
I make a strange squeaking noise and scramble to get to my feet. This was a trap, I knew it. Pilgrim lead me here and ran off, hoping I would come looking for him and then set someone else on me. I'd be dead or held ransom for my parents or turned into some sort of sick plaything. I knew I was in for it. I never should have come in the first place! I should have just dragged his sorry behind to a peacekeeper in the first place!

“Who the hell are you?” the man slurs. He towers over me, reeking of the stench. I barely make out the half-dazed, half-crazed look in his eyes. The man is disturbed and I can hardly see. My eyes are watering from the smell and everything is already blurry to start with, so it doesn't help at all.

“I. . . I. . .” I whisper. I can't find my words! They have been trapped in my mouth, trapped under the disgusting stench that I can almost taste now! It's coming off of the man standing over me, a sickly orange substance that cakes his front.

“Whatdya think you're doing in my,” he stumbles over his words, bleary from napping or something, “my house? ANSWER ME!”
He's standing over me now because I failed to get up. It was like my limbs gave out and froze up. I couldn't do anything except stare as fixedly as I could manage up into the face of this man. While I was terrified, I was in the wrong. I was trespassing. I couldn't do anything to justify myself being here.
I was at the mercy of this angry man who had just had a rude awakening to someone breaking into his house.
There's nothing I can do. Whatever he does to me, it's perfectly fine in the eyes of a Peacekeeper. He'll probably kill me before he'd report me, though!

“GIRL!” the man spits in my face. I smell the scent of his own vomit intensify and I can't think. Then, miraculously, my throat unsticks and I let loose the only word I can remember.

“PILGRIM! PILGRIM!” I screech desperately. Then I shut up because the vomit-covered man strikes something across my cheek. It stings and I gasp out loud in surprise before crumpling against the wooden door from the force of the slap.[/blockquote]