Moonlight & Shadows // [Katelyn/Killian]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

KILLIAN

He'd spent the early part of the evening in the underground speakeasy. He almost always frequented the dark bar for information, but tonight, he needed a favor. At last he found someone upon which he could prevail and followed the merchant back to his lavish but empty home. Together they watched the recap of the Bachelorette Finale. He found himself confused - not by the mechanics or the glitter in Katelyn's dress or the outlandish antics of the host - but by the gift both Capitolite finalists bestowed upon Katelyn Persimmon: choice.

They genuinely seemed to like her (no math needed for that equation) and felt no hesitation over ceding someone from Eleven their power. For her part, Katelyn accepted their feelings gracefully and didn't murder Tinselton on live television. It was more restraint than he would have had. He found himself pacing by the end of the episode, stomach twisting and heart hardening.

She was it, the leader he'd been looking for, all along. And he'd already made his opening move, on the morning of the Reaping. That morning he'd stepped to the edge of a precipice. At his back, his long list of illegal activity, primarily smuggling, gathered like a storm. Before him, a new world opened and with it his demise, either in the black of a cell or in the black of a barrel. Now, he only had to jump.

He'd chosen his spot in the corner of Katelyn's kitchen because of the shaft of moonlight filtering through the nearest window. He had only to lean forward into it to reveal himself. He'd planned to step out slowly so as not to catch her off guard. But that, of course, was a ridiculous expectation when one confronted a victor. Before he even had a chance to introduce himself, the glint of a kitchen knife flickered in the pale grey light.

Killian came instantly to his knees, falling out of the shadows. He lifted his hands, his right thumb tucked to hold a scythe badge. It wasn't armor but it was the only protection he had. "I don't know if you've heard of me..."

"Should I have?" She asked, a warning coloring her tone.

He paused. Certainly he wanted Katelyn Persimmon to know of him. On the other hand... "If I've done my job well, no. But even though you don't know me, you have something of mine. It's why I'm here. When I gave it to you, I also may have made a slight alteration to the uniform I was wearing. It's why I'd prefer to keep the lights off because our local Peacekeeping force is none too happy with me at the moment."

He lowered his hands and offered her the matching badge.

"I'm Killian, and like so many others, I'm here to ask for your help."

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

A few months had passed since the end of the show, and Katelyn still didn’t know what would come of it. Maybe, just maybe, her actions had saved two families from further grief. Even if it cost her no end of it.She wanted to get away from everything. But it never left her. She dreaded going back to the Capitol, not just because of next year’s games, but the other people she’d inevitably run into. The people who’d never look at her the same way again. Bay. Ben. It’d be close to a year before she’d see any of them again. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Katelyn was still emotionally exhausted from the show, and sadly, she was no closer to figuring out what she wanted, what love was.  It kept her up more nights than it should have. With a sigh, Katelyn rolled out of her bed and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some water would help.

She trudged downstairs, mind whizzing with a million could haves, should haves and would haves, cursing the Capitol and their insistence on taking away any control she might have had over her own life and decisions. She poured herself a glass and stared out the window before she noticed something amiss.

Odd, she could have sworn that she’d locked everything before she went to bed.

There was a flicker of movement where none should have been.

Katelyn narrowed her eyes and grabbed the nearest knife and spun on her heel. There was a man in her kitchen. Wearing a uniform. She stood her ground, not moving forward or stepping back, ready to stab him the minute he tried something, only for him to put his hands up and start talking, asking if she had ever heard of him. She tried to think about any gossip she’d heard lately about stalkers, thieves and weirdos, but none matched his description.

“Should I have?” she responded testily, eyes darting around the room to see if anyone else was lurking in her kitchen. Even in my own home, I’m not safe. Katelyn cursed, feeling her face redden with anger, worry and embarrassment, wishing she was wearing more than a small nightgown for protection and wishing she could cover up her legs. She wondered briefly if this was the peacekeeper that had mailed her apron to the Capitol for the show. His job?

What could she possibly have that belonged to this…? She let him continue, never letting the knife waver, until he pulled out a badge with a familiar symbol on it, and asked, of all things, for her help.

Help?

Katelyn lowered the knife but didn’t put it away and regarded the man coolly. He seemed earnest, if he was going about things a strange way. While his features were half-hidden by the dark, she could tell that his eyes were alive. “Most people that want my help don’t break into my house into the middle of the night, so you’ll forgive me if I remain wary.” But alright, he wasn’t a peacekeeper. That much she was sure of. The Capitol’s foot soldiers had no reason to alter their uniforms.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

What does a man who breaks into a home for her help truly need? She wanted to find out, but she also wanted him out, and there was no one around to help her. “Killian,” She stated firmly. “There’s a cloth with that symbol in one of my bags.” She continued, pointing with the blade. “What does it mean, and why should I trust you?” She didn’t bother saying that she’d call the peacekeepers on him.

Katelyn wanted them in her house even less than the stranger in front of her.

"I'm a realist, and an optimist,

but I swear to you, I'm not getting over this."



table coding (c) ghosty

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

KILLIAN

Sometime between the flash of the knife and falling to his knees, the slow and terribly delayed realization that this may not have been an appropriate time to appeal to Katelyn Persimmon finally registered. She might have been asleep - had certainly intended to be. How many good decisions were made in the dead of night? But still he handed over the scythe badge, waited for her to pass judgment. Even if he had not thought through the timing of this meeting, he had some months ago decided to leave his fate in her hands. If she called the local force, he would not resist. If she agreed to help, he would be grateful.

But she was wary. He ducked his chin a little, cowed by the obvious flaw in his presentation.

"Killian."

She spoke his name. It was an alias and a promise, a sort of contract. The most famous person in Eleven now knew him and he could no longer live his life in the shadows. The name identified but also hid him; it was not his real name. If anything, it was his real crusade. But that was all too complex to explain at midnight in her tidy kitchen. But he had to explain something - the scythe, if nothing else.

"It's a calling card," he began, in response to her question about the badge. He illustrated his speech with elaborate hand movements, sometimes bordering on comedic animation. It was his first language. "Here, you see the scythe, enclosed in a circle. The symbols - the farmer's tool and the all encompassing circle - are black. I've stitched the thread to white cloth, to make it stand out further. This is me. This is my promise. I will toil and harvest and if there is injustice, I've a weapon ready in my hands. But I'd rather live inside the circle of society; I'd rather contribute to prosperity, if only I was allowed to do so."

He paused, admiring his own symbol for a moment, before lifting his dark eyes to hers. "I thought perhaps you might understand a little of my troubles. Freedom in our country comes at quite a price. And while I might be willing to pay it, there are so many too young or too old or too infirm to pay. I want to help them. But I can't on my own because I have too many transgressions to my name."

He flicked the badge up his sleeve, dropping both hands to his right knee, which rested at a ninety degree angle. "I haven't come to ask pardon for my sins, Katelyn. But I am looking for a new beginning - a better, more legitimate life. So yes, I want to help the people of our district, but I want to help myself too."

He wasn't sure at all that any of this speech was getting through to her. That was the wonderful thing about Katelyn; she kept her own counsel. "I want to build an orphanage, bearing your name, at the outskrits of the district."

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

“You can stand, you know.” She said quietly, crossing her legs defensively and leaning on the counter. He might have made a better first impression if his sight line had been somewhere else. Killian explained that it was his calling card, and the knife slowly came back up. It sounded slightly serial killer like, although she relaxed slightly when he started explaining the meaning. Grand ideals mixed with a bit of grandeur. She got the impression that he liked being dramatic. But what he talked about was good. He compared himself to a scythe, a reaper, and something tickled the back of her memory, there was something familiar about the phrasing but she couldn’t think of where she’d heard it before.

He declared that he’d rather be a farmer, but that there came a time when farming equipment had to beaten into tools of war, because there was no other option. It sounded like something a rebel would say, and Katelyn found herself intrigued, if a bit cautious. People just didn’t go around talking like this all willy-nilly. The only people that did tended to run away from the districts or wind up in the detention center. He thought she’d understand, that freedom came with a price, and she chuckled bitterly without meaning to. Do you understand what I’ve been through? The sacrifices I’ve made? She wanted to say, but held her tongue, letting him explain who he wanted to help.

The young. The old. Those who couldn’t help themselves.

There were two ways she could have taken it. The first was blackmail. It almost sounded as if he was planning on getting money out of her, but what he said next curtailed that, turned it into a plea for help.

“An orphanage?”

Of all the requests he could have made, this was took her by surprise.

“An orphanage.” She repeated, cocking her head to one side. “With all that you said before, I have the feeling that this place wouldn’t be exactly…ordinary.“ Her eyes bored into him, searching his face for any hint of deception. She couldn’t afford to be weak right now, had no reason to play any games for any cameras. But why her? Why now? Like this? Well, she could answer the third question herself, if he really was in trouble with the Capitol, then clandestine meetings were the only kind he could have. But what did he stand to gain from this?

“Let’s say I believe you. Explain why my name and how you intend to do this, and if I like what I hear, I’ll consider it.”

There hadn’t been any signs of hostility from him. Yet.

She preferred to keep it that way.

For her own sake.

"I'm a realist, and an optimist,

but I swear to you, I'm not getting over this."



table coding (c) ghosty

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

KILLIAN

“You can stand, you know.”

And like that he came to his feet, finding a balance between his hips. Without meaning to he stood as he'd been taught outside the bounds of Eleven: straight back, shoulders squared, hands clasped below his belly button. He stood as a soldier before a commanding officer which, had he realized it, would not have been far from the truth. When he realized how rigid his stance had become, he relaxed by centimeters. First he unfurrowed his brow, then smoothed his shoulders and finally lowered his chin so that he was not quite saluting Katelyn. It was hard enough, at this full height, to see much but the top of her head. He'd much rather have the weather of her eyes to measure.

He'd surprised her, and still she recovered quickly. He smiled at the suggestion that it would not be ordinary. "I'm not sure I know the meaning of the word, Miss Persimmon." His life - whether directed by his parents of that commanding officer or by himself - had always been qualified by extra. He'd often thought that was why he'd never been able to settle into one home in Eleven. He simply didn't know how to live a life without a threat looming.

Now was not the time to learn how to sit home and watch the world pass him by. Now was the time to learn how to follow.

“Let’s say I believe you. Explain why my name and how you intend to do this, and if I like what I hear, I’ll consider it.”

He nodded along, relief palpable in his slowed heart rate. This question he'd been prepared for. "Your name is legitimacy and honor all in one. I cannot build this orphanage myself without arousing suspicion, but you could. I've seen it done, in the way Victor Emberstatt bestows his fortune in Ten. It would be no different - and yet entirely different - here. I can lay out the structural plans for you in detail. I've an architect who is sympathetic to our cause and I would serve as your general contractor. We'd build the orphanage at the edge of the Sachdeva orchard," he paused here for effect. Unlike many of his contacts, he had not been in the confidence of the Sachdevas long, but they were key to this plan. His smile turned a little grim. He knew what he asked of them, the risks they took in being associated with this orphanage. And yet he pressed on. "The orphanage will house any children willing to sleep under its roof. There must be some volunteer teenagers who will be in residence full time. And the rest..."

Here he paused, but no longer than he had when considering the Sachdevas' sacrifice: because now he prepared to sacrifice himself. His gaze had wandered to the walls, as though he could see the plans for building there already. Now, his gaze snapped back to Katelyn's. "I mentioned my resume, filled with transgressions. I'm a smuggler of sorts, Katelyn. In my time I've helped nearly one hundred children escape over the border of Eleven into the wilderness during the summers, saving them the agony of the Reaping. I don't know for sure that I've saved anyone from the arena, as you have, but I like to think I have. This orphanage would allow me to help more children make new lives for themselves, regardless of the weather. We would at the very least offer the homeless shelter and food. If possible, we might also offer them passage... elsewhere."

The blade of the knife no longer glinted and he no longer had anywhere to run. He'd finally admitted his work for the last decade and he felt a little thrill of pride, alongside the bite of fear. He shook it off, visibly, and came to rest with his hands twisting over the back of a kitchen chair. "I simply don't know how to stand by and watch the culling of our teenagers, Katelyn. I think the orphanage could help, given time to flourish. What do you think?"