Six :: [Scout + Justice + Lucy + Daniel + Bailey + Weaver]

[L△LIA]

Justice Fray.

Lucrezia Eckhart.

Daniel Tate.

Bailey Truus.

Weaver Rhodes.

Five notes for five families sacrificing more than their fair share. Each one is the size and weight of a business card, heavier in their hands than they should be. Maybe it's the weight of the ink Scout wrote their names in — cursive gleaming gold in the light. The letters curve sweetly, prettily, and with swagger. There are tiny hearts dotting each lower case i and every y is an opportunity for the grandest of flourishes, yet the message is simple. A name on one side and the same five words on the other.

The training center at midnight.

The cards were secretively slipped into pockets, under doors, hand delivered by avoxes... consideration put into each small detail of creation and delivery because she cares. Oh fuck, oh Ripred, oh holy mother of cake and daisies and Saturdays —

Scout Krigel cares because with them — Fray, Eckhart, Tate, Truus, Rhodes — she's not alone. There is comfort in this, despite the terror curled in her gut and the way she keeps waking up crying, sometimes hysterically and sometimes completely still except for the tears connecting the dots of her freckles as they roll down her cheeks, but always crying. Roger makes sure her cheeks are dry before she leaves their suite in the mornings and the way he checks her face over before allowing her out the door gives her enough time to finish blinking away any stray evidence. It makes her smile and that's when, each new day, she remembers that's something she knows how to do. She almost wishes he were named Libertine or La Torre, but instead he's left behind because midnight in the training center isn't for him, it's for her, for them.

A name like Krigel is worth more than the gold her notes were written in and more than the bribe given to leave the door unlocked, but it wasn't enough to save her. For years she has used it as currency and only now is she realizing she was paying for everything with little pieces of her future, making people feel like they have a right to her. So they took her. They brought her here because she's a Krigel... and he's a Fray and she's an Eckhart and he's a Tate and she's a Truus and he's a Rhodes and otherwise no one would have cared about any of them. They wouldn't be wanted here. Maybe they'd be free.

It's dark in the training center except for a makeshift bonfire she's started at the fire making station, almost like the ones she used to party around on the beaches back home. She hums and spins in circles, dancing aimlessly around the brightness with her eyes closed, trying to forget where she is. Every now and then she pauses to scribble something on a scrap of paper from her pocket and tosses it into the flames. There is a bottle in her hand filled with liquid as gold as each of their names. It sets her freckles on fire and she bubbles with laughter as the first confused face finds her. "Six of us," she whispers as if binding them together in secrecy before bursting into a shout of wild frustration, "what a fucking conspiracy!"

[Knuckles]

W E A V E R

The training center at midnight.

Dark eyes scanned the five words over and over allowing his mind to explore the endless possibilities. Weaver didn't give it much thought when the Avox handed him the note, but now that he was alone, his mind raced pondering the many solutions. But he never showed the handwritten note to the mentors, or Iona because none of them needed to know. Yet he found himself wondering if any of them received one. Based on the secrecy behind the note, Weaver wasn't sure what to expect. But he had to go, and nobody would stop him.

Time moved at the pace of a turtle. Seconds turned into hours. Perhaps it was due to Weaver staring at the clock watching time count down until it was time to sneak away. When the clock struck eleven, he turned his light out, and shut the door before looking around making sure nobody was sitting in the lounge. It hadn't been long since Kate talked to him on the couch. But he didn't plan on waking her tonight.

Sneaking away without waking everyone else was almost impossible because his gait wasn't soft, and his unsteady knee. Weaver turned in every direction, and was grateful for solid floors that didn't squeal with each step like the ones he had back home.

One hand wrapped around the folded parchment making sure he had the time right. Weaver sat on the couch staring at the blank tv for another thirty minutes before beginning his journey to the training center. He still found it odd. A note with such secrecy. Curiosity crawled across his skin as he stepped foot into the elevator.

Emotions ran high as he strutted off the elevator and into the training center. The lights were off, and part of him wondered if it was some sort of trap, but the fire in the middle caught his eye. Weaver froze in place remembering the fire Elidor had started for a fun night that quickly turned wrong as Weaver fell into the fire. He cringed at the thought. The palm of his hands became sweaty. His eyes were wide. Pupils dilated. Every hair stood on end. But he could blame it on the dark.

He took a deep breath before moving forward doing the best he could to hide the fear lingering inside. And he saw the girl dancing around.

He stopped just shy of her and the flames. The last of her words filled with rage buzz through his ears making him want to turn around and walk away, but he didn't.

"Hello." He sighed while watching the flames dance before his eyes, but he never said another word as he crossed him arms and stood quietly.

Made by Frankel