Long time//Short time [Rade]

[sbeeg]

Long time short time
Any time, my dear
Cost a little extra if you want to take all year

Time becomes simply incapable of tracking. I lost it, the hours slipping through my fingers until I couldn't tell whether it had been a day or a week. My world was shrunk down, my perspective down to just four metal walls. I managed to keep myself occupied torturing my goody two shoes cell mate but one day two Keepers came in and dragged her out. She never came back after that and I don't know what scared me more- the fact that she was probably dead, or that I didn't care. While alone in the metal prison, you become in touch with yourself. Lying on the metal shelf that was a poor excuse for a bed, I'd stare up at the ceiling and run through all seventeen years of my life in my head from my earliest memory to my latest.

I saw every single face- every half shaved jaw, every eye bloodshot with drink and every rotten tooth hovering over me. Every single man that had ever paid me under a dim streetlamp and led me into some apartment. I counted them up, every gruff voice and calloused hand, and came up with sixty five give or take a few. Some nights stand out in my mind than others. The week where the only business I got was a gawky twenty something that smelled like tuna, that was fresh in my brain. Other nights, I can only remember bits and pieces. A patched up over coat. Green eyes. Just parts.

I remember sitting in the hallway outside my mother's room at the brothel I grew up in. There was a long moth eaten rug rolled out over the wood and I would run my fingers through it, ignoring the world around me.

My mother sending me out to buy her liquor.

The day there was heavy snow and I played it in until dark and caught a cold.

The night the madame kicked my mother out for not being pretty enough to keep business flowing. She had given me a slip of paper with the address and her name in case I wanted to come back and work for her when I was older. I threw it away.

Sitting in our drafty one room apartment while my mother made a deal with a skinny, grubby looking man who kept glancing over at me. I was fourteen at the time, sold for two bottles of spirits and some morphling.

Leaving my mother to her own slow death.

After that everything starts to melt together, the nights become so similar that I can't differentiate them. The weeks heading up to being arrested are clearer though. Meeting a young boy named Clyde who turned out to be something much different. Will I ever see that boy again? I hoped so, but never promised myself I would. That would be too cruel of a thing to do knowing I may die in this metal compound. The last night I worked slips into my head too- the Peacekeeper. Helmsby. He's probably the one who turned me in, the filthy snake. Threw me in here and did not even have the courtesy to come and visit.

In that drab cell, all alone with my thoughts I had come to terms with it all. With my miserable little life, with all the men who's money I had accepted. Everything. Death seemed so tangible then, but it never came.

A Peacekeeper I had never seen before stepped into my room, ordering me to my feet. It was the time, I knew it had to be. She'd lead me to some other identical room and send a bullet through my skull. I could see the whole thing in my mind, could feel it. However, the woman did not take me to my final resting place, but slipped handcuffs over my wrists and led me through multiple pairs of double doors until the sun hit my face. I hadn't seen outside since they threw me in the DC. It was blinding and my feet stumbled over the concrete path. Looking down at my hands locked together in front of me, I could see the bones under the pale skin that, in this harsh lighting, looking almost transparent.

We walked through a locked gate and then marched up to train stopped on the tracks. I could hear the engine rumbling further down the tracks. "Up," the woman ordered and followed without a qualm, amazed by this world I used to live in. "Arm, please," the woman said, her voice sharp and clinical. I brought my arms forward and she shoved a needle into the bend of elbow. I did not even have the strength to ask what it was before my vision blurred and the whole world went black.

~*~

I finally woke up as the train was pulling to a stop. The Keepers must have perfected the dosage of that stuff because right as the whole thing shuddered to a halt, a man grabbed my arm and hauled me to the door of the car. There it was- District Six. Just as the sun was setting to. My city was just beginning to set up in the streets and alleys. The man shoved a key in my cuffs, yanking them from my wrists.

And just like that I was discharged from the Detention Center and back on the streets. The man rambled on about official business, second offenses and other legal talk but I wasn't listening. It was not until he said the words "You're free to go" did I actually hear their meaning. Then we parted ways, the Keeper to the train and me to my streets.

I did not have a clue as to where to go. Everything looked foreign to me, too colorful and spaced out. My legs could barely stand my weight and after stumbling down a few blocks I had to sit on the side walk and lean against some grungy looking store front.

That's where I am now. This is not some weird dream I am having. I am home and I'm alive. Well, not home. I'm just wandering around right now, tryin' to figure out if I know any of the people walking passed me or if I live anywhere near the streets I'm on. It helps that is it nighttime. Even before I was arrested, sunlight seemed to distort everything. There is just one question I cannot answer.

What the hell do I do now?

[charade]

Time. A precious and sometimes rare commodity that Clyde always found he had more than enough of. When you've aged past the horror of the reaping, there is little else to fear in district six, except perhaps the Peacekeepers on the prowl and the rumored experiments going on at the labs. Many were the citizens that went in there under the cover of night; and many were the citizens that never came back out. But that was none of Clyde's concern. His concern was simply remaining a member of the seedy underbelly of the district without becoming a member of the incarcerated or the dead.

Or worse, the rich and powerful.

Clyde's run in with a peacekeeper named Nightlocke had taught him the value of patience and of double checking his marks before trying to take something. That had been almost a year ago and he had taken great pains since then to lay low and not spend too much time trying to relieve people of the contents of their pockets. What he did was an art form, but it was far under appreciated, and he had come to respect that view, even if he disagreed with it. Still, in the face of such strong animosity, he had to do something. With no one to rely upon but himself and no one to trust, he had stocked up on food and holed up in his little house, only venturing out to get more supplies and spending most of his time reading what history books he could find. They were quite dry and unnervingly droll, but it was something to do.

The months had begun to blur together for him; as his self-imposed exile began to assail him with boredom. There was no one to talk to, not since his failed attempt to hire a companion for just that. A conversationalist. But the blond who called herself Charolette was nowhere to be found. Inquiries had been made, but none of the girls he had talked to seemed to know anything. And none of them were as pleasing to his intellect as she had been; and so, he had opted to thank them for their words and stay away from that section of down from that point onward.

Earlier that week, his twentieth birthday had been celebrated in silence, his gift to himself a bottle of gin and a three-day holiday. It was simply a formality; since he worked for himself and set his own hours, and his work consisted of stealing things, there was really no reason to have a holiday, other than to change up the daily grind. It was a dreary time of it, but Clyde would have preferred not to wind up in a cell in the detention center. This was what it was all about was it not? The easy life, except when others decided to step in.

This particular day, Clyde decided to reward himself for good behavior and take a stroll farther away from his house than what he usually let himself. But to do so, he'd have to let himself be incognito. Perhaps it had been close to year since his run-in with Helmsby, but peacekeepers did not tend to forgive or forget that sort of thing, and Clyde was not anxious to run into anyone bearing a grudge; crazy citizens included. Like the kind that carried beef in their pockets and screamed at him to give it back. Now there was a fellow he hoped never to see again. It was people like that that made him wonder why he sought to find companionship in the first place. At least he never had to suffer the loss of a friend like so many others.

The annual games were proof enough of the lack of a need to grow close to someone. Both of his districts tributes had been eliminated this year, with a career and two lower district tributes left to duke it out. But that was to be expected. Six was a place of learning and healing. And crimes done in the dead of the night. There was little that could be done for training anyone to fight, and so it was that the singer named Theseus had perished during the bloodbath; ironically, after being stabbed in the throat. Naveen had lasted far longer than that, though her mind hadn't had the strength of her arms. She was terminated most graphically, with her head being cleanly separated from her body. It was around that time that he had stopped watching. It was not a thing that truly concerned him. Clyde had no children, no siblings, not a care in the world. And it took that to remind him that it was that way for a reason.

Carefully picking out a disguise, Clyde sauntered around for a while before he saw someone he liked. There was a girl, leaning by a door and looking all at sea. A little of the emaciated side, with not a speck of make-up to be seen on her face. The only color he could see was the dark of the circles beneath her eyes. She looked...weak. and not the general type of mark he went for. But she would have to do, his skills were a little rusty and a lost looking girl like her was probably going to waste her money on morphling or other such things, so Clyde had to remind himself that picking pockets was a public service meant to help those who didn't know that they were in harm's way.

Under the pretense of being drunk, his cup still clutched in his hand and a pair of dark glasses on his face, Clyde stumbled his way ahead for several feet before knocking into her with a mumbled apology. His hand moved deftly along her thigh, before a closer inspection revealed that she was wearing a skirt. Clyde cursed silently as his intention was not to look lecherous, but now he was stuck. Either he kept up with his faux drunken charade or he would have to make amends in some way. Even noe, she was sure to raise an objection. Clyde opted for the intelligent solution."My...deepest apologies miss. I appear to have lost my footing under the influence of this delectable substance."The cup full of Gin was swung her way for a moment as he let himself sway back and forth."Madam, I'll just be on my merry way, unless you have an objection to raise?"

[sbeeg]

Quick and cheap
is underneath the pier!

Why would the Peacekeepers just dump me on the streets to die when they could have done it so much faster at the detention center? A bullet would be so much faster than starvation and exposure. Night has fully overtaken the district and although some things look faintly familiar I cannot pick out the streets very well. Dressed in the clothes I was arrested in, I am in no way prepared for the weather. The wind sends a chill over my skin every time is rushes past and there are even snow flurries drifting through the air. Not exactly the best temperature to be baring so much skin. The only thing I'm thankful for right now are my boots so when I'm dying of hypothermia I can keep my toes from falling off.

Of course not a single person walking past me on the streets wants anything to do with such a scrawny, half dressed girl. My eyes keep glancing down at my hands, seeing what they have become. I used to be soft and curved- one has to keep up looks in my line of work. Now, I'm barely standing. Months of lying on that stiff bed in my cell has completely wiped out any strength I had left.

I turn down a street and see a store window casting a dim glow over the damp sidewalk. A small television is propped up behind the glass showing the finale of the Hunger Games. I don't recognize any of the three tributes but then again they all start to mesh together. You see one kid beaten to a pulp you've seen them all. It is only when they cut away for commentary when a large logo flashes across the screen do I begin to worry.

The 62nd Hunger Games!

An entire year. I've been gone for a whole year. The thought is enough for my knees to threaten to spill me out onto the pavement. Tripping over myself, I fall into the next doorway, leaning against the frame and trying to organize my thoughts.

I could hear the scraping of feet against the concrete and my first thought went to a Peacekeeper's polished black boots. My eyes gazed down the street only to see some drunk dressed in a ratty trench coat stumbling down the path, drink still in hand. I let my eyes close, leaning my head against the door frame. Maybe finding a Peacekeeper wouldn't be so bad, I would either find a warm place to sleep tonight or get shipped back to the detention center. Either way I wouldn't be stuck out in the cold like this.

The man was more drunk than I thought because as far off the sidewalk as I was, he still managed to bump into me. A gruff voice mumbled an apology and I could feel his fingers grazing along my thigh. My eyes snapped open and I slapped a hand over his, pressing his warm hand to my chilled skin.

"You gotta pay to touch," I say not from actual urge to work but more from instinct. Some creep gets frisky, you give 'em a warning.

"My...deepest apologies miss." Something in my mind clicked when he spoke. His face was obscured by shadows and the dark glasses he wore over his eyes, but still I could see something there I recognized. Who wears sunglasses at night anyway?

"I appear to have lost my footing under the influence of this delectable substance." He swung his drink forward, sloshing some of it out and onto the ground. Influence? Delectable? Hell, I don't even know what that means.

"Madam, I'll just be on my merry way, unless you have an objection to raise?" Not a single man in my days of workin' the streets has ever talked like that- except one.

"Fuckin' hell- Clyde?" energy filled my limbs as I reached forward, pulling the coat collar away from his face and tearing the glasses from his eyes. They were not the bloodshot eyes of some lowly drunk, but the calculating clear blue of the pick pocket who picked her up one night.

Well, if it isn't Mr. Vocabulary himself.

I didn't hold back in that moment, but threw myself at him. My arms slipped around his neck, knocking his drink every which way. If there was one face I'd want to meet first after getting home from the slammer- it would be Clyde Duvall's.

[charade]

Her first words were a little snippy, reminiscent of a lady of the night. But Clyde would have thought that a girl in the profession would have taken the care to get dolled up, but the dim lighting of the moon and the streetlamps revealed no mascara, no lipstick to cover thin, bloodless lips. Clyde had trained himself to study peoples faces over the rim of his shades as wearing such a thing at night gave him the appearance of not being all there mentally. The only real downside was the inability to pick out finer details from a distance. He made ready to leave her presence when she uttered an expletive followed by his name. That gave him a little jolt, as he did not keep frequent enough company with anyone for them to have cause to remember his name. Perhaps it was an awkward coincidence. "Hm? What? Eh? No, you must be mistaken, I'd recall meeting you I think, and since I do not, I doubt that you have any business with me."

She stumbled forward with a surge, grasping at his face and taking one part of his disguise away. Clyde blinked, unsure of himself as the girl continued to stare at him. There was something familiar about the way her lips turned up at the corners, but he was unable to place it. But then her arms wrapped around him, destroying another part of his disguise as the cup clattered to the ground, spilling its contents all over the concrete. If ever there was a case of mistaken identity that was confusing yet as slightly humorous as this.Gently grabbing her arms by the wrists, he moved them off of his neck and smiled a small smile. "This is not the Clyde you are looking for." He took a step back and by chance, was reminded of a the last time he had done something under the light of a streetlight.

Perhaps it was the way her eyes were, or the fact that she appeared to know his name, but the sense of deja vu struck him more than it ever had before. He had to venture a guess, even if it meant making a fool of himself....Charlotte? Can it.. It is you isn't it. My, the months have not been...never mind. Where hast though vanished to; No no, that's entirely inappropriate."Clyde sucked at his teeth a moment before putting his sunglasses back on; a half dozen diatribes and partly formed plans taking shape in his mind,chief among them, a chance to offer her that job again."One can never tell when an unsavory type is eavesdropping. Follow my lead."Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he began to sway again, turning her around and walking forward.

"Hm, yes. Quite Hysterical. Come along dear, we've imbibed far too many martinis this night."In a much lower tone he added a further statement."You look fifty percent malnourished to non-existence. If you don't terribly mind, we can find sustenance at my place. If you don't have anything better to do, perhaps we can as they say 'shoot the breeze.' The way you look speaks of a most trying ordeal and I...I can think of nothing better to alleviate he air of my boredom than listening to you." Stooping to retrieve his cup, he continued his facade until they had turned the corner, and then began to pick up speed. Running into other people was not something he intended to have come to pass. Not now, certainly not now.

There were too many people that wandered the district at night full of ill intent; or well-meaning intent that went horribly awry when they tried to implement their thoughts into action. As for Clyde? He ascribed to a simple, do what feels right, do what he intends to do policy. It had worked out well for him so far, save the night where he had mistakenly tried to take the wallet of a peacekeeper, and that had almost worked out, or so he told himself. Then again, there were a lot of things that had almost worked out, his deal with Charlotte being one of them. Perhaps he'd get a second round with that officer. As it was, he was getting another chance with her at the moment. Of course, he hadn't yet said anything about the job, but given her current condition, it didn't seem...

Appropriate.

[sbeeg]

Lovely lady!
Fastest on the street
Wasn't there three minutes
She was back up on her feet

He kept mumbling large words that I did not have a single clue as to what they might mean but still I hung on his neck as if it was the last thing holding me this earth. After living for so long, I never realized how tired I was. My skin was chilled blue and my knees too weak to support myself without leaning against Clyde for help. Yet I felt warmer knowing I had finally found someone who could help me. Oh how my luck had turned around- to find Clyde wandering the streets at just the right time.

Only he did not see it the same way. Taking a hold of my wrists and pushed me away, offering only a small smile as if warding off a deranged drunk on the street. "This is not the Clyde you are looking for."

My life has never been a cakewalk, I'll admit that. I've been through a hell of a lot of shit, but nothing has ever made me feel hopeless. Not working the streets or watching my mother waste away into nothing. Not even waiting for my death in a jail cell made me feel that way. I've felt numb, furious and even miserable but in that moment when I did not even see a spark of recognition in his eye I felt something completely new. A fresh crippling emotion that made me realize why people turn to drink and drugs. Why live sober when there's nothing to look forward to? When no friend is there to help you along.

That's the point where I began to babble. Panic and misery overtook any common sense I had left and I could do was hang on to Clyde's wrists to keep from keeling over and mumble a desperate chant of "No, no, no, no..."

"...Charlotte?" My head nodded furiously, my throat too tense to talk. The fact that I could have changed so much that Clyde wouldn't recognize me was shocking, but that realization was soon soothed by his arm wrapping itself around my shoulder. An entire year without casual human touches and I found that I was starving for it as much as I was for food. I sagged against him, letting him steer my legs in the right direction and my mind start to nod-off. Clyde was always a talker and that night was no exception. I wasn't really listening to his words, although occasionally he'd turn to whisper something in my ear and warm breath hit my skin. After a year of cold metal walls, it was nice to feel some warmth.

"Where are we going?" I mumble, staggering in step with Clyde's faux drunken stride. "Oh, and remind me later to punch you for not recognizing me."

[charade]

"You must forgive my inability to recognize you, I... well, it has been quite a lot of time since the last time we held a conversation. As well, physical violence is never the solution. Allow me to make it up to you with victuals and shelter."Stumbling in muted silence for several minutes, Clyde and the girl on his arm eventually made it to his doorstep. It was then that he snapped to alertness, studying the area before whipping out a key and ushering Charlotte into his house."Its a bit of a mess at the moment, but then again, I don't ever entertain company." Pulling a chair out, he made his way over to the fridge and found a pitcher of lemonade, the ice cubes sloshing quietly to themselves as he retrieved it.

"Hard to find lemons at this time of the year."He remarked noncommittally as he poured her a glass."Drink up, I find a refreshing blend of sour and sweet does wonders to clear the mind." As he had said, it wasn't often that he let people into his house for any reason. In actuality, the last time someone had been allowed to enter was when he had let Charlotte in the first time. Citizens tended to be a disagreeable sort and Clyde didn't much see the need for friends. Shaking his head, he made his way over to the stove and heated up the pot he had left on the top; it was full of his luncheon leftovers, a thin but salty lentil soup. Satisfied that it wouldn't stick to the spoon, he ladled some out into a bowl which he slid across the table in a swift motion, vanishing into the short hallway and rummaging through the hall closet.

"You really do look quite out of sorts you know."

Clyde tossed her a woolen blanket and settled himself down into the chair across the table from her. She looked so much more fragile than she had the last time he had seen her, though her speech was still acidic, there was a haunted look to her eyes, and frailness in her actions. The hair on her head was dry, stick like; and her skin quite pallid and ashy. Whatever she had been through, it had affected her physically, if not affecting her demeanor. Clyde took a sip of lemonade from the pitcher and examined the bits of pulp floating in the bottom with an intense look."You may have full use of the facilities. The shower, clothing, food. I can tell that you've been through a trying ordeal, but I do think it proper to see the basic necessities of a business partner. That is...if you are still interested in that proposition; if you can even recall it."

Clyde fell silent, studying the drink with his eyebrows bunched together in thought. This was the way he had always done things. Plan ahead, but utilize those plans on impulse and hang the consequences. It had served him well thus far. He was not sure what the girl thought about this, but he was anxious to see how she took it. Things had been dreadfully boring for far too long, and the things he was saying had been so overly rehearsed during the times he had thought about what he would do should he ever run into her again. Which he had. Hopefully, she would be open to both negotiation and receptive to talking about herself.

[sbeeg]

Lovely lady!
What yer waiting for?
Doesn't take a lot of savvy
Just to be a whore

Words. Such big words. Did he always use such strange things when he talked? All the times I tried to remember our conversations I must have thought them up wrong. Victuals? What does that even mean? That can't be a word. He made that up. The little snake made it up. Maybe my mind is to occupied to try and understand the fancy language he was throwin' at me. All I could think of was "cold."

The second I stepped into his house I threw myself down into a chair and pulled my feet up onto the seat with me, hugging my legs to my chest. It had become my go to position in my cell and now it was a terrible habit. He was talking again. Clyde. What an interesting name. Clyde. All flowing and long and then BAM a d interrupts the flow. Clyde. Charlotte. Charlotte and Clyde. Both begin with Cs yet they make different sounds. I think they begin with Cs. Klyde? Oh no that's all wrong.

A drink. He sets one down in front of me and my parched tongue cracks at the side of it. Greedy fingers snake forward but the second they touch the glass they retreat back. Freezing. Ice cold. A shiver runs through my body and more goose bumps pop up on my skin, covering my legs and my skin.

"Cold. Too cold," he says something about the horrid drink clearing my mind but I don't know if that's possible. My head is too heavy, my brain too much of a jumbled mess to ever be cleaned out.

Lemonade. Lemons. Sour. Cold. Ice. Freezing. Clyde.

Clyde.

A blanket soars through the air and skinny fingers reach up to catch it. My fingers. I wrap it around my shoulders. Itchy. Warm.

My finger ventures out again to the drink, touching the foggy glass and drawing a line in it. Cold water on my skin. Chilling. Freezing. Talking. Someone's talking. Clyde's talking. He has a nice voice. Smooth, deep, full of words I don't understand. Nice, frilly words.

Shower. Clothing. Food. Yes?

That is...if you are still interested in that proposition; if you can even recall it." His eyes are down, looking at his own glass. How can he hold it? It's too cold. Freezing. Ice. Eyelids close, but I open them again.

Proposition. Business. Interested. Oh.

Streetlamp, laughter, big words for the first time.

I let my eyes close again, longer this time trying to fix my aching head into something that works. Too heavy, too weak- too damned cold.

Even though it sent a jolt through every joint in my body and sent my brain doing flip flops, I stood up. With the blanket held around my shoulders with one hand I took an unsteady step forward. A few more steps- a hand on the table to keep my legs from going on- and I'm at the other side. My hand peels Clyde's from his drink, wrapping fingers together. His palm is cold, but I hold onto it, letting the chill seep through my skin and blood until it hits the very bone sending a chill up my spine.

"Where's your shower?"

[charade]

Her fingers entwined around his and he raised an eyebrow, the poor girl was chilled half to death and looked as if she might pass out. Clyde smiled graciously and pointed to the door."You can find the washroom down at the end of the hall. Towels are in the hall closet on the shelf under the blankets, and you can find clothes in there as well. Shampoo and soap is in the medicine cabinet." Gently removing her hand from his, he downed his drink and went back to the fridge, grabbing a jar of grape jam and one of peanut butter. He would make her a sandwich while she refreshed herself, with none of that bother about who's role where was.

Why had he decided to do this? To tell the truth, Clyde wasn't entirely sure what his reasons were. It was enough to know that someone that had bothered to talk with him was in need of a service he was capable of giving was enough. It was hard to find people he could trust, and most of the people he did interact with had criminal records that suggested they might turn him in as well, which was why he never stayed in the same place for too long.

With the sandwiches made, Clyde piled them neatly on a plate and sat with his back to the hall, the better the keep an eye on the windows and see if anyone was out and about. Those that made up district sixes nightlife were the most interesting of folks, present company included, but he couldn't shake a nagging doubt that something was wrong. Perhaps it was just that he could tell that Charlotte was out of sorts, that she was hurting or had been hurt. In any case, it gave him cause to brood, which is all he did as he heard the water begin to run.

[sbeeg]

Come on, lady
What's a lady for?

He will never cease to amaze me, this strange fellow named Clyde. My fingers are clenched so tightly around his my knuckles have turned completely white and yet he frees himself and points me down the hall. It seemed like such a long walk, the journey from Clyde's hand to the hallway. My feet seemed to be walking in an entirely different direction all together. Yet, some how I found myself leaning against the bathroom door and staring into the little mirror set up on the wall.

What a strange girl I saw there with skin so thin you could see the veins criss-crossing in her neck. Stringy blonde hair fell over her face, and bony shoulders poked through the shabby fabric of her shirt. The worst part were her eyes. Empty blue things, like staring into ice melting from the inside out. Tearing my gaze from the stranger I threw open the cabinet the glass was mounted on so I wouldn't have to look at her anymore than I had to.

Hot water. When was the last time I was able to treat myself with such a luxury? It was scalding but I stepped into it anyway, letting the water burn away all the dirt and grime and confusion that I have collected in my year away. An entire year of my life wasted away in that shit hole. Maybe another year standing under the shower head will make it right.

I will appreciate soap for as long as I live. Many people may take it for granted but soap has the power to cleanse. Not just the sweat but also the shame. It was true for this moment as well. Suds and bubbles can wash away every bad memory if you scrub hard enough. The thoughts of the cold, gray cell were set deep in my skin and required a lot of force. By the time I felt somewhat clean my skin was stinging from the abuse.

Until when the stream ran out of hot water I stood there, trying to rid myself of the lonely, gray nightmare. When the water began to cool I shut it off but not without some difficulty. I had no desire to leave the room's warmth, but it seem plausible now. My body no longer shivered and the feeling had returned to my toes and fingertips. I started to feel like myself- the one that I left in District Six.

Glancing at my clothes carelessly strewn across the floor I decided to leave them there. They were as dirty as I had been and covered only minimal skin. My eyes started to search for a towel when Clyde's voice echoed in my head. The hallway. Damn it.

Wet hair stuck to my back and water droplets ran down my nose as I pull the door open and a rush of chill air moved in to greet me. It wasn't nearly as bad as the icy daggers that had plagued me before but it was no where near pleasant. Eyes found the narrow door to the closet across the hall and I darted to it ready to put on something warm. Flinging the door open I grabbed at the first towel I saw and buried my face in it. Hot shower, clean towels- I must be dreaming.

Shaking my hair out with with the towel, I looked over the clothing options becoming a lot more choosy. Naturally, they were all male and too large but that's never stopped me before. Grabbing a knit sweater from a stack I pulled it over my head, and found it came to my mid thigh. The thing must even be big on him. It was a dark green thing with a row of white stitches where it should rest over the chest but on me it fell far below that. The sleeves flopped over my hands but it kept my fingers warm so I didn't even bother to push them up.

Still trying to dry my hair with the now soaking towel, I started back towards the kitchen my steps a lot steadier than they were when I was walking down it. Clyde's back was to me, two plates set on the table beside him. Coming up behind him I set my hands on his shoulders, leaning over his head to get a better look at the food.

"Did you make that for me?" I asked, but did no give him time to respond. There were two plates it wasn't like he was going to eat two sandwiches in front of me- that's just cruel. Resting my chin on his shoulder I hugged my arms around his neck."How sweet."

[charade]

Nothing.

If only that's what Clyde could think about. While he could care less what people thought about him as their perceptions had no real impact on who he was, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off kilter. But he hadn't seen anyone on their walk home. No Peacekeepers, no criminals, nothing. And that unsettled him. It was far too quiet, the silence in his small abode broken only by the sound of running water. Several minutes were spent looking forlornly out the window before he rose to pull the curtain down. Why had he left it open in the first place? At night, it was far easier to see into a window than out of it? Clearly, he was distracted. Or maybe he was still feeling the after effects of his birthday present. The remains of that bottle were still somewhere in the back of his fridge, but at the moment, he didn't feel it was a good idea to dull his senses. Not with a guest in the house.

But what did he really know about her? Nothing. There was that word again. The conversation they had a year ago was something at least, and since he didn't associate with...well, anyone, a general sense of his last words still managed to float around his head. He had wanted a companion, a friend. And if he had to pay for someone to talk to, then he was willing to do so. It meant that they had no other connection with him, that they were only in it to get paid and therefore couldn't have some kind of hidden societal agenda with which to play mind games with him. He had taken her in. Did that mean something? Was his line of thinking too rigid or did some vestige of care still haunt his conscience? Thieves had no honor. If that was the case, then what did he have? The thought caused him to pace for awhile, walking around his table and turning sharply at every corner to continue an unbroken stride.

Eventually, he sat back down in the same chair and folded his arms over his chest. The water stopped and he could hear sounds that he took to be Charlotte rummaging around for something to wear. Anything would be an improvement from the things she was wearing. Why, it looked as if she hadn't changed out of it in weeks. Clyde sucked at his teeth a little and chided himself. He didn't know where she had been, but it couldn't have been very nice. Neither was being judgmental, and so he discarded those thoughts and continued to wonder whether her absence was by choice or by another's design. There weren't many places for her to have vanished to. There was the Detention Center of course. The institute. Had she ventured over the fence and gotten lost in the woods at some point? Very few possibilities indeed.

Footsteps on the floor signaled that Charlotte felt herself presentable again. But what he hadn't expected was to feel her hands again, this time dropped loosely over his head like a noose. Or a ribbon. After all, Clyde wasn't always pessimistic."Hm? Ah. Yes. I don't know how an action can have a taste but yes, take one, or both. I'm not all that hungry." He turned his head to look at her and was surprised to see that she was wearing one of his sweaters, a large one, used for warmth but not good for much else."I see you found an article of clothing that was pleasing to you. Fantastic." She looked different too; lighter.There was the Charlotte he remembered. The shower had done her some good. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Sit. Make yourself at home."

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[sbeeg]

Lovely lady, come along and join us!
Lovely lady!

A giggle passes through my lips and I'm grateful that laughter can come easily once again- even if Clyde didn't mean it as a joke. Finger tips trail over the back of his neck and his shoulders as I walk around him. The nearest chair was on a completely other side of the large table. That just would not do. Grabbing the back, I dragged the wooden legs across the floor until they were next to Clyde's.

Throwing myself into the chair, I let my damp hair fall over my shoulders, my hands grabbing the sandwich eagerly.

"Gestures can be sweet," I say through a mouth of bread. I swallowed the first bite and could feel it hit my stomach. I hadn't had good, solid food like this in weeks. Leaning my elbows on the table, I looked over at Clyde, shooting him a small smirk. "Have you ever tasted one before?"

Old habits die hard.

[charade]

The word Clyde was looking for was pensive. But despite his gift for articulation it was hard for him to find that word as Charlotte starting eating a sandwich and asking him questions to which he did not know the answer. Personally, there was only one question to which he wanted to know the answer, but he thought he didn't very much want to the answer too."Well, I hardly think one can dine on a concept. That would be tantamount to devouring anger like a well done steak. Or topping a sundae off with love instead of a maraschino cherry." Abruptly standing to his feet, Clyde went back to the fridge to find her a drink. "Lemonade isn't for everyone. I have water, a little bit of birthday rum and...well that would appear to be everything." The water pitcher and the bottle were both retrieved and left on the tabletop as he resumed his post; drumming his fingers on the wood and before glancing in her general direction.

"My...apologies, I act a little frantic when I am nervous. Oh, it's nothing you've done." He admonished with a placating gesture. "I'm just rather wondering where you've been all this time. It is nice to know exactly who you're associating with. Especially when...when..." Clyde threw his hands up helplessly before grabbing the bottle of rum and taking a hasty swig." I don't associate with many people you see. So the ones I do choose to cavort with are generally ones that I've come to appreciate." The drumming began again. "It doesn't much help that I find you attractive, but I must say during the months you were vanished I found myself...caring." He gave her a pointed look and started chewing his bottom lip. And now I've gone and made this weird. I'm a pickpocket for crying out loud. I have no business doing this. He cracked the knuckles on one hand and started to rise out of his seat again." " Well, I am going to go lie down on the couch. You may take the bed in my room if you so wish. I don't wish to make this any odder for either of us, You don't owe me anything, least of all an answer to why you disappeared a few days after I approached you. I realize I can be overbearing and scary and I sincerely don't know when to stop talking... so goodnight." And with that, he turned to leave the table.

[sbeeg]

A heart full of love
A heart full of song

I honestly thought he might faint. All the words kept spilling out and no air was sucked it, I expected the man to turn blue and pass out. One second he was sitting, next he was across the room, and then right after that he was taking a swig from a bottle and his words only became greater. Clyde always spoke so fancifully, using words I had never heard of before and now his entire vocabulary was being stuttered out onto the kitchen table.

"I've come to appreciate." That might be the most genuine complement I have ever received from a man. Usually they just go "nice tits" or something along those lines. To be appreciated made me grin a little through the bites of peanut butter sandwich. Long, slender fingers rapt against the table nervously as he charged on through a flurry of words most of which I did know the meaning of.

"I find you attractive..." the bite of sandwich I had just swallowed became stuck in my throat as he rushed through his confessions. I've been told many things by men. "Doll face" "Pretty little thing" even "Gorgeous" but always in the same cocky, drunk tone. They're men who have paid the price and know for sure that they'll be able to win the prize at the end of the game no matter what card they play. The way Clyde says it, it's like he's a little schoolboy admitting he has a crush. It's something I have never been exposed to, nothing I've never felt before. My stomach tingles and I feel heat on my cheeks. What could that possibly be? Whores don't blush at compliments.

"...caring." The word hits me right in the gut as if some bulky tribute from District One had punched me in the ribs. When was the last time someone gave a crap about my well being? Sure, my customers may care if I come to work and Cillian would care if I didn't make as much money as I had the week before but when has anyone ever shown any concern for Charlotte Blair the person? I find that my usually tough emotional armor is completely useless in this line of attack. Maybe it was the Detention Center that weakened my resolve, or maybe I'm just delusional from exhaustion but I find myself feeling bare in front of him which, obviously, shouldn't be an unfamiliar feeling. Yet it is.

Clyde's entire body fidgets in the chair, his knuckles popping, his teeth gnawing on his lips, and his eyes seem unable to stick in one place. However, I am frozen in place. My dinner left abandoned on the clean white plate. His words are flying around so fast now I barely have time to catch them and process what he's saying.

Overbearing? Scary? Has he ever looked around the District before? Does he not see what the true meaning of those words are? I have dealt with many overbearing people and I have entertained my fair share of terrifying individuals but never would I place Clyde in either of those categories. Suddenly, he's ended the conversation and risen from the table, making a run for it out of the kitchen. I'm jump out of my chair and race after him, fingers wrapping around his hand to keep him in place. Now I'm not sure why I ran after him in the first place and my stomach feels like I've swallowed fireworks.

So I do the only thing I can do- I hug him. It sounds completely stupid but after a year of solitary confinement and sixteen shitty years before that, I haven't exactly hugged a whole lot of people. In fact, I don't think I've hugged anybody. Yeah, I've kissed many men and I've gone much farther than that with many more but no customer pays me just to embrace them. With my arms wrapped around his waist and my cheek pressed against his chest I feel closer to Clyde than I have to any man I've ever made love to. It's backwards and foolish, but it's true.

"Oh, you are so stupid," the words are breathy and I am not even sure what they mean but they come from me so I must know something. My head is fuzzy as the carousel of words takes another round in my mind. Appreciate. Attractive. Caring. Words.

I adore his words. I adore him.

[charade]

In his line of work, Clyde had been called many things; A sneak, ne'er do well, crook, "hey you come back here", and dozens of variations of the word idiot, some of which he was sure couldn't actually be found in a dictionary. Imbecile was one of his favorites. It sounded like an idiot that still had some sense of class. It was also an adjective he often used to mentally chide himself for perceived slip-ups on jobs that hadn't gone as smoothly as they should have. Perhaps a good word to describe his daily mindset would be a cultured sense of paranoia, finely tuned and crafted in certain ways. But what was the cause of his outlook? The simple answer was fear. Fear of relationships and a guarded lack of confidence. The type of fear that routinely stopped him in his tracks and kept him from succeeding or in some cases from trying in the first place.

Fear of letting someone in lest he get hurt. To say that Clyde was a shut-in wasn't true, but neither was it entirely untrue. He got out of the house often enough, but when he was, it was to pilfer pockets, whisk away wallets and escape unnoticed into the distance. Did he interact with any of these people otherwise? No. Clyde had been on his own since the time he was thirteen years old. Seven years since his parents had vanished altogether; whether they were alive or dead was a mystery to him even as a young adult. Five years haunting the streets until he had amassed enough to start renting a small house. Seven years of wandering the streets and wondering what he had done wrong and why they had left him. One year contemplating why the first girl he had approached in months had done the same thing.

Companionship was a strange notion to Clyde. The district was a cold place and he had long since learned not to trust anyone and to only look out for himself. But like many things, he had begun to tire of it. Where was the substance? Only looking out for himself meant no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Not a single person with which something could be shared; If he even had anything worth sharing. The touch of her arms on his was foreign to him; the sudden embrace causing him to lift his arms and jerk them around like a marionette whose strings had just been severed. They hovered awkwardly by her shoulders before hesitantly dropping to return the gesture and hold her close."Well...I...suppose...I'd rather be stupid and here holding you....than intelligent and alone." Clyde honestly didn't know what to say. It was rare that an occasion like this happened. That two lost souls could find a moment full of meaning. Together. But rarer still was it for Clyde to be at a loss for words.

Yes, rare was the occasion that Clyde could say...
Words failed him.