All the Places (Rach)

[Skylar]

The art of smiling came easily to Apple Butterdean. She'd mastered it a young age, ever present just before eating, but not a strange sight to see at any other time. She had everything to frown at - pollution, calloused fingers, lack of a father, an uncomfortable bed, etc - but the sun consistently found a way to bounce of her teeth, albeit a bit weak. Enamel protection was not a priority of Apple Butterdean.

Needless to say, the day was no different for Apple. Her smile ever present, she pranced her way through the District's square in search for groceries. It was difficult to find vegetables that didn't look as grey as the buildings in the district, or fruit that weren't a little rough around the edges (although Apple never found the bruises on the apples to be of much worry, she ate them without abandon). However, it was of no big deal to find fabrics in the District. After all, it was the district industry and a little surplus went a long way for District 8. The houses in District 8, including Apple's, were some of the most decorative in all of Panem - especially for one of the lower districts. That was something that Apple held with much pride.

She'd stopped by many a stalls in search for a specific but routine batch of vegetables and meats. She'd gotten the bulk - beef, onions, tomatoes, bell peppers - but there was just one thing she was missing. CHICKEN. And no matter how hard she looked, she just couldn't find any. Chicken was a household staple for Apple and her mother. It was frequently enjoyed with sauteed vegetables and various spices, but what was a girl to do when she got home and she hadn't gotten the one thing that might have just been the most important?

Still, though, the sun remained high in the sky and thus the day was early, and with her red curls bouncing as she walked, she tapped a boy about her age that just so happened to also be in the District Square and asked, with that unique and omnipotent voice, "Excuse me, but... do you happen to have any chicken you're willing to sell?"

[rachalfredo]

Padget shifted his tote a little higher up on his shoulder as he trudged through the square. Already loaded down with a hearty supply of potatoes, it sat heavy on his neck and the canvas chaffed his skin with a vengeance. Although the potatoes were really the only essential item on his shopping list, aside from a little more salt and herbs, he still wanted to pick up something with a little more substance for his mother. She'd resigned to only potatoes until the next payday, but Padget thought he'd saved enough from the last one to afford something special. Maybe some goat cheese or fruit of some kind.

He strolled past stand after stand, perusing the glimmering produce. Used to, he and his sisters would eat mouthful after mouthful of grapes, apples, bananas, you name it. But that time had more delicious fruit to offer, and there were more family members to eat it.
Nowadays Padget's pallet had become accustomed to the mild and easily attainable starches often sold by the crate-full in the markets of District 8.

He gently lifted an orange to his nose, inhaling it's sweet citrus aroma. A delicacy for another day, perhaps.
As Padget reached out towards another, possibly a grapefruit or a cantaloupe of some kind, he heard a voice ring behind him.

"Excuse me, but... do you happen to have any chicken you're willing to sell?"

He turned, albeit a bit awkwardly, and glanced around their little cocoon within the thrum of the square. Seeing that no one else had spared the girl before him a thought, he could only assume that the question was meant for his ears.
Turning back to her, he pulled his tote from his side and began to rummage through it, as if searching for the poultry in question within it's tubor-filled depths.

"Chicken... chicken...."
He gave the sack one last jostle, just for show.

"No ma'am, it does not seem like any feathered beasts reside in my humble land of potatoes and salt. But if one had have happened to nestle itself inside unbeknownst to me, I would gladly consider selling it to you."
Padget readjusted the bag on his shoulder, attempting to shrug off the sting it caused with little more than a wince.

"But alas, chicken I have not."

[Skylar]

Once the boy had turned around, he was probably a bit surprised to see a girl as quirky as Apple Butterdean. It's hard to come by someone in Panem that carries a little bit of extra weight, let alone one that carries a tad bit of extra weight but also maintains such a playful air. She stood in front of him with a red dress on, adorned with slightly misshapen polka dots. It'd originally just been a some yards of fabric but her mother was a bit of a sewing prodigy and was able to whip out clothes like no other. For a district that's dedicated to the production of textiles, the citizens are always bit lacking when it comes to fashion.

Of course, in Panem, it's hard to care about the clothes you're wearing.

No matter, Apple Butterdean stood in front of this boy - a bit taller than her but much more scrawny and not nearly as bright - and looked onward with her wide eyes, beaming smile, and bushy hair with hope. Hope for chicken. What followed, though, was a bit of charm and a dollop of bad luck. "No ma'am, it does not seem like any feathered beasts reside in my humble land of potatoes and salt. But if one had have happened to nestle itself inside unbeknownst to me, I would gladly consider selling it to you."

Apple Butterdean was a bit taken aback by the boy's diction. It was hard to come by someone so intelligent (at least, seemingly) in the districts, especially in somewhere as casual as the District Square.

It did not take long for the smile on Apple's face to diminish, though. She needed her chicken, and there'd never been a time where it wasn't available. In fact, the vendor she normally bought it from wasn't to be found at all. She'd asked different vendors to see if they knew where he'd went and apparently he was just a bit under the weather. This was not too much of an unusual occurrence - the factories in District 8 did little to prevent problems with lungs.

With dramatized worry, Apple Butterdean spoke once more, "Are you sure? I need chicken. Do you know where to get any? It's just that my mom insists that I get everything on this list," she held it in her hand and shook it for emphasis, "and it's the only thing I need."

[rachalfredo]

Padget gave a halfhearted shake to his tote once more. And once again, was only greeted by the familiar sound of rustling russets.
If only there actually was a chicken nestled down in there. A nice plump one. Like the ones sold from the vendor with the bushy mustache near the edge of the square. Children and adults alike snickered when his bushy upper lip caught their eye, which it very rarely didn't. Despite the lack of hair on the man's head, his mustache still managed to grow to be a luscious, burgundy... thing.
Padget never quite understood the appeal of excessive facial hair, it was itchy and scratchy and was usually found in a very unkempt shape.
The chicken vendor could sooner shave it off and replace it with an eccentric caterpillar. At least then it would come complete with bright patterns and colors, and at the same time could provide a home for a needy creation of nature. A better looking creation of nature than the one currently occupying the envied real estate of the his upper lip.

Though questionable in his choices regarding facial hair and the like, no one could deny that he raised the best chickens in the market. Maybe even the best in the district. Very few vendors even sold chicken anymore, it seemed moot when there was someone holding nearly all the demand. Many had simply moved on to selling different poultry or small game instead.
Such a development in the economy of the town square proved very profitable for the lucky monopoly holder, but proved very unlucky for any looking to purchase his product on days when he felt under the weather.

Thus was the dilemma faced by the frantic girl before him, it seemed. Shaking her list with a crazed look in her eye. (Okay, maybe not crazed, but there was a look, there was no denying it)
One could not come between a woman and her lists, so Padget had discovered time and time again. Be it a list written by the hand of his mother, coworker, neighbor, neighbors mother, neighbors goat, or coworkers goat's mother; do not come between a woman and her lists. Padget knows this quite well, and this girl seems to be no exception.

"Hold on, let me see that" he grunts, nimbly plucking the page from her pudgy fingers.
She seemed like the type who would be to have chicken at every meal, the protein showed in her sturdy build and voluminous tussled hair. Whereas Padget was sufficiently fed, but his muscles remained relatively doughy where they settled around his lanky frame. A side effect of a diet consisting mainly of starch, you could suppose.

As he scanned the list, which quite a long list actually, a few other items caught his eye. Mainly those towards the top of the list, crudely scratched out, but written in neat scrawl underneath: eggs, butter, sugar

Just what Padget had been contemplating for the latter half of the hour. His mother would giddily accept the extra stock to the pantry, especially if they were to somehow have been acquired for free.

He hums under his breath for a few moments, before cramming the paper back into the girl's hands.
"If I help you get a chicken, will you give me some of these things?"
He points to the items in question, and looks at her with raised eyebrows.