Nor Ever A Drop To Drink {Light & K!ah}

[Loki]

BIO

I don't go home (not that it was ever much of a home) anymore; I pretty much live out of my uncle's boatwright shop; in his little office there is a cot with a thick wool blanket and a small heater for when it's cold - more or less everything I need, and a hundred times better than going where that evil bitch that calls herself my mother lives. I also work here, as Uncle Aryth's apprentice, which means he is teaching me all about boat repair and building. Uncle has no children (or wife) of his own, so someday, this business will be mine.

I take my work seriously, but I like my free time, too. Mainly, free time is after the boatwright's closes: at dark, or, on some nights, early because my uncle likes to have women over - he lives in the small apartment over the shop.

What I like to do is go go walking and just think. Being out after curfew means I have to be careful, but here is a fact about peacekeepers that most of District 4 knows: sand gets inside those tight white armored uniforms and turns into a real misery, so they avoid patrolling the beach unless there is a report of pirates or smugglers, or they have some other good reason. Walking under the pier, or along the shoreline is usually safe, and that is what I do at night. I can daydream about what I want my life to be like, or, what a perfect life would be like.

Sometimes I think about maybe being a pirate, or a smuggler, though, realistically, I wouldn't abandon my uncle like that. Other nights I take out the dinghy and float in the waves for hours under the twinkling stars far far above in the black midnight; it isn't the safest thing to do, that or my late-night swims, but I really do excel at both those things.

But tonight I am just walking, and refusing to think about my problems by fantasizing about being a great pirate king who leads District 4 and the rest of Panem in another, this time successful, rebellion. I am a great rebel, at least in my head. In the privacy of my own thoughts I call the Capitol, fishing quotas, peacekeepers, the Treaty, the Games, and the President the vilest words I know. Words I hardly use in my daily life, not unless I accidentally whack myself with a hammer or something. And, of course, I don't dare ever speak such treasonous things aloud, or I'd end up with my tongue cut out, or worse. I am free to think whatever I like, though.

Under the pier it's dark, and damp, and most folks would need a lantern or a flashlight, but me, I'm all right with just the moon shining in through the slats between the boards. I come out before one of the docks, and sit down with my back against a piling, looking up at the moon and stars.

[k!ah]

O R C A

No where to run. No where to hide. You will be found. You will be killed. Any last words?

No signature, no nothing. Just black words on white paper. My heart begins to race faster as I rip the white sheet in half, then in half again and then again and again and again until it was nothing but small squares no longer readable, no longer existing. A shaky breath escapes my lips as I look up into the quickly darkening sky, my eyes full of worry, concern and fear, take in the sky which was slowly filling with blinking light. Sometimes when I looked into the sky I found myself wandering if it was all just a dream, I found myself asking if it was all just a lie. Maybe I was safe and maybe I could go by the name miles once again...

But then things like this happen and I know that my dreams are empty because in this world I was never going to be safe. Every time I closed my eyes there was a large chance that I would never pen them again. Everytime I let my guard down for even a moment there was a chance that my enemy would paounce and I would be killed in instance. Eveytime I showed weakness there was a chance that the two people I was searching for could be getting further and further away from me. 

Sighing I walk over to the waters edge, my bare feet sinking into wet sand before begin doused in salty liquid. I lift a hand and watch as the small flakes of paper float into the air and towards the surging mass of liquid like little lanterns and for a moment I allow a smile to be painted across my lips, my eyes following the flying flakes of white until they land on the dancing surface and sink out of view. 

After a moment I turn to leave, my eyes searching the shore before I take off towards the jetty which I had been calling my home for the past couple of days. It wasn't much, the weather showed no reluctance, winds as cold as ice holding my body tight as I lay to sleep, but when you were on the run it was not like you had much of a choice. It was either sleep o the sand or risk getting caught on the streets and if you asked me on the beach there were more places to run and to escape. For months I have trained, running along the sand, preparing myself for if the time came to when I would need to run, sand wouldn't be so daunting then. 

I am only a few meters away when I see the figure. His pack is pressed up against one of the rotting planks of wood and instantly I am in a crouch and manoeuvring over to one of the old wooden canoes which have been ship wrecked on the abandoned shore. My eyes narrow as I study the figure, suspicious because for all i knew they could be waiting for me, a blade tucked away safety beneath there close, waiting for a chance to cut my throat. 

I study the faceless person for another moment before stepping out of the shadows, my fingers snaking to clutch the small blade which was hidden in my jeans. "Can I help you with something?"

[Loki]

As the figure steps out from the shadows, I stand up, not wanting to be caught by surprise by this stranger. I look him over, and he might be concealing something threatening with his hand held like that. I take a step, just one, and the moon comes out from behind the cloud and I realize I think I know this guy. Or I knew him, at least, from school when we were younger. My voice comes out quietly, trying to not startle him, "Miles? Is that you? What're you doing out here?" I try to project calm, and show my hands are empty, I don't want him to feel threatened.

I try to recall what happened to this kid, but it's a blank. I just know one day he wasn't there anymore. And now he's here, down by 'my' pier (of course its not really mine I just think of it that way..) and I study him under the moonlight. He looks thin and pale and lost..