Nothing's Sacred [Blac/Baz Blitz]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

Blackston Hope

The afternoon had brought a chill and a dusting of snow. Blackston had tucked away in his favorite red and yellow scarf, and made sure to dawn a few layers under his peacoat to keep out the chill. He decked his hands in mittens and threw his messenger bag over his shoulder, with a few pieces of literature he wanted to peruse for later.

Today was market day, which meant that Birdie would get a respite from his teachings, his cleaning of the house, and from his praying at the foot of the stairs. He’d take the long and winding road down through town toward the center, past the justice building, into the tents of the markets. Ratmas was in full swing, which meant the market was decorated in holly and green, and smelled sweet of all the holiday foods vendors were selling.

Market day was one of his favorite days, too, not only because he would get to search for new scraps of text to read, but because of all the people he got to see. And while he didn’t know them, and his conversations with vendors were never more than gentle pleasantries, it felt good to have people aware of his existence. They always treated him kindly, asked how he was doing, and what he liked. From time to time he got free samples. He’d make sure to show interest in their wares, even if he didn’t really, just to talk a bit more.

That said he found himself pouring over a few pages of a story about a man coming back in the form of a bird, and what he’d done to achieve it. He lifted his head from time to time, looking over at strangers as they passed, offering a smile. At one point, he braved a,

“It’s fascinating you know,” To a girl not far from him, before flushing and staring back down at the text.

[tick 12a / calla]

      

BAZIMA MOON

The markets seem cold without Cleo and her never ending warmth, her sunshine smile and the the sound of her laugh.

Cold, but not empty. Because I can brave the chill now, stronger than I was a year ago, two years ago, three. Our whole family seems to be shifting now. My mother even took up knitting, handed me a handmade scarf one morning, and it seems to be helping her.

Wandering through the market, here's a boy with a book standing near the stalls and I'm struck with such a sudden sense of nostalgia, a wave of something that feels like a physical blow. I think that maybe, he reminds me of myself. The person I used to be before everything.

"Careful with those," I walk up tell him softly, "Keepers are always watching and they've been itching to bust someone lately."

But if he's truly like me, he isn't very worried. I point him down one of the side streets, where I know there's a couple I'd always visit after C'rizz died, two men who seem older than Panem itself, who have boxes and boxes of contraband stories hidden away. "But if you're looking, The McCreary's have quite the selection."