at first blush | jansven

[mat]

january yorgos

An offer to get some fresh air outside was something that January Yorgos desperately needed. His body was rigid, as if he found himself encased in a terracotta coffin. He was squirming. With every inch he fidgeted, it was like he knocked on the tomb to escape, but the only response was hollowness. How long has it been like this? Months he thought, rising from his seat and wiping his lips with the napkin. He yelled at Momma again tonight. She was testing his patience, as usual, but this evening, he grabbed the knife and slammed it down onto the wooden table, stabbing it down at least a third of the way through the surface.

"Go on, take a walk. Get some steps in, some breaths in and out." Pops was trying his best to de-escalate the argument without being too stern (making January upset) or too careless (breaking his 'unified front' agreement with Momma.)

"Fine," January swept up his shoes from the hallway and put them on, lacing them tight enough to cut off circulation from the ankle down. As he opened the door, he heard Momma beginning to rant again.

"I don't see what good any fresh air could get him. Toxic air has a way of following him around." He growled, waiting for what back-handed insult she was going to say about him now that his back was turned. "Maybe he's the toxic air."

The screen door behind him clapped shut, letting him out to the cool air of Ten, and shattering his clay case around his lungs in the process.

In District Ten, walking around during the day puts oneself at danger of melting. Or drying up like a raisin, whichever came first. It made for late night strolls to be much more appealing. January hadn't been able to take the opportunity to recently, given his schoolwork and commitments to his home and family. Growing pains, as Pops told him millions of times when he was younger, bruised his body all around, but it stung his heart and soul.

The cool air was helping though. Low fifties, cool enough for his jacket to prove effective. January stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked. He didn't really know where, or for how long. Where his mind wandered, his feet followed, making a bit of distance on the winding gravel road before turning for the grass.

He regretted not bringing his Ukulele to help pass the time once he got to a comfortable and peaceful spot. It was the only thing that threw a wedge into his mind between the calm and chaos. To play those strings and tap the body of the instrument was like soaring high without any cares or concerns. All he had to do was play, and nothing else mattered after that. If only his preparation for adulthood would put time into its schedule for some relaxation.

If only.

Hours must have passed because by the time he saw another building, he couldn't tell if it was a dark red or some sort of blue. He walked over to get a closer look. Maybe, just maybe, he could sleep there for the night instead of making his way back home. Perhaps Momma would squirm if he missed his parents' curfew. Perhaps, but likely not.

It was a barn, red with chippings all over. Buckets of paint and lines of wooden boards were laid out across the hay bales out front. He heard the gentle squawks from inside. A farmhouse, no doubt.

He moved for just a second to see the progress on the paneling, but before he could even process what was happening, January found himself tripping and crashing into the hay and boards, knocking almost every one down on the ground. The noise must have startled the chickens to alertness too, as he heard them bawking like some sort of fire alarm.

January threw himself up onto his feet and started to back away, but by the time he could look up, a man already stood underneath the dim light from the barn.

"It wasn't me, I swear," words drenched half in his anxiety and half in his humor, Jan hoped it wasn't a big deal.

elegant

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

{ sven }

I know that the barn has had her better days. It may not look like she had ever had a good day, the bright red paint that used to cover the barn to make it look like a home for life has chipped away just like the lives. It was bruised like the fallen apple, rusted like the aged fire hydrant. It may be old, and it may very well be dead, but my only connection with the world is with the world that is dead. Ap' isn't here. Dad isn't here. All I have is this damn barn and a bunch of chickens.

I wish I could've housed more than just a few chickens, but I couldn't afford it. I could barely afford to go out and get my own shit. Luckily, I just feed off of what the Yorgos' clan gives me. The chickens feed off of whatever spare shit that I have.

I was spending my day relaxing inside of the barn because of the breeze. Not that I can't handle a chilly day, but I sure as hell won't spend my day out there. I had my little makeshift hay bed in the loft and I had this candle carving that was passed down from Dad. He got it from Ap', but I never got told what it was. Dad always said it was something from when Ap' was fighting in the war, so I just keep it. Cocks and wood are my only remnants of my true family.

I was getting cushioned by the light breeze moving the hay to make it rustle like the leaves of a tree, and felt myself lowering into a rest. However, that rest was interrupted by the alarm clock of screaming chickens and the clatter of tin and planks. Great. For all I know, it could be a set of peacekeepers inspecting the place. They're pretty clumsy for a bunch of gun-wielding men.

I don't think they care, though.

Rising like the sun, I found myself peering from the shadows of the barn. It was a boy. He must be pretty damn lost if he found himself here. "It wasn't me, I swear," his voice rang out just as quick as the chickens scream. Yes, because my chickens decided to pull a revolution of their own and the first step was taking a stack of planks down.

"Sure," I released the fox like grin that hid underneath my normal frown at the excuse, ""because the chickens want to fuck shit up." I looked over at him and back a the fallen planks. "It's nothing harmful, anyway. I don't see a barn in shambles, so you're fine. This old thing is bound to fall apart any day."

[mat]

january yorgos

The chickens weren't a proper alibi for the noisy destruction that January caused throughout the barn. A boy with dark, curled hair appears before him, a pale face illuminated by the night light's from above. He does not seem as concerned as January might have expected from all the slamming and chipping of the panels now motionless on the ground. "Sure," the boy says, and he can already sense that he'll bear the brunt of either immense sarcasm or piercing passive aggression. "because the chickens want to fuck shit up." Had he not made it seem like such a ridiculous possibility, January would've considered making that his excuse. "It's nothing harmful, anyway. I don't see a barn in shambles, so you're fine. This old thing is bound to fall apart any day."

January breathes an audible sigh of relief before letting his lips and brows escalate to a smile. If it were any of the grumpy older men of District Ten, they would probably have his head for the slightest bit of noise. But this guy, rather chipper and around his age, does not seem like the type to get that upset. He looks up at the barn, with most of the panels' paintjobs half chipped away and a roof that might collapse any day now. This boy was up to the task of fixing something. January knows how it feels; needing to hold onto something so tight and fix the slightest scratch or imperfection. Sure, maybe this one has a tendency to procrastinate on the matter, but the desire to rebuild something that matters is still there.

Surveying the damage of the new panels, which clearly have their own chipped pieces now, January nods his head. More of an inconvenience than a nuisance. That's been the way it's always been, people see him as the pain in the ass rather than a villain. Nothing intentional, the damage he creates is always accidental. "It's a real nice place, you know. I believe people tend to call this type of building a vintage one. Antique, even." He offers what support he can. His ukulele is years old, but he still treats it with the necessary care to make it appear like a precious child. And in many ways, it is. It's the reminder to January of the fun days, before insecurity raises its fist and comes crashing down on his chest.

"I mean it, though. You rarely see stuff like this these days. Everything feels so.. processed now. Most barns are just one foot by one foot cubes for chickens to live their lives in," he begins to pick up the fallen panels as he's talking. He doesn't quite understand why the place needs an entire restructure. Sure, some touch-ups might be nice, but January would never replace his ukulele for something new. Attachment, even to a pigsty, is very real. Why lose something you love to take something new and without a story. That very thought leads him to his question. "How'd you get into a place like this? Family legacy? Rich? Both?"

elegant

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

{ sven }

The boy speaks. "It's a real nice place, you know. I believe people tend to call this type of building a vintage one. Antique, even." Antique. Right. I let out a chuckle at the suppor. Kid has good intentions, but I'm doubtful he's in the right hands. "I mean it, though. You rarely see stuff like this these days. Everything feels so.. processed now. Most barns are just one foot by one foot cubes for chickens to live their lives in," This is true. I tend to like how freely the animals can roam. Like they have a life to live rather than sit trapped in the confinements of the world around them, forced into complying.

"How'd you get into a place like this? Family legacy? Rich? Both?" Rough. I don't really know how I can answer that one, personally. I don't know the guy, so I give a slight shrug and casually reply. "It was my dad's. And my dad's dad. They're both, uh," I had no clue how else to state it kindly, "dead". I grimace slightly, because I probably could have worded it better. "It's my way of still having a piece of them. I take care of the chickens and the horses, thinking about how they would have liked to see the animals live."

I give a light grin, trying to deflect the sad hints in the response. "Nobody knows I stay here though, so I'm keepin' it that way."

[mat]

january yorgos

The boy's sweet. Maybe it's January's heartwarming 'look for the best in someone' ability, or maybe he's willing to compliment him quickly because he's generous with the fact that January just damaged his property. Regardless, he's not angry with his words. Reserved might be a better way to put it. In January's world, everyone is loud and overconfident when they try to grab his attention. Here, though, there is calm.

The boy explains that it's a family place, passed down for quite a few generations. January nods along, smiling until the point where he reveals their deaths. Now it just feels awkward to keep a happy countenance. It fades when the boy shares that this barn is a memento to their lives, and he's keeping up their legacy.

"Nobody knows I stay here, though, so I'm keepin' it that way."

It takes him back to hear that he's hesitant to share his family's story with anyone other than those who pry. January blushes once more, taking his nails to the back of his neck nervously. "I feel a bit sorry for intruding then." He looks around at the animals, happy and enjoying their time. Red hot, January isn't sure what else to say. He's not embarrassed, but the District Ten heat keeps him pulling at his thin button-down shirt. "Simple place, though, and sweet. I hope someday you share it with some more people."

"I'm January, by the way. Yorgos."

elegant

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

{ sven }

The boy starts expressing some sympathy, real or not I don't really care, and shares more affection for the barn. It's a barn, dude. I've watched horses give birth in here. It's not that pre-

"I'm January, by the way. Yorgos."

Our grandparents fucked.

This dudes' grandpa is the reason my grandparent died. A flame of anger lit in my eyes at the sound of the name. Of course he was a fucking Yorgos. I should've known by the first name. Who else names their kids after the goddamn calendar? I can't believe it. The Yorgos' kid had a flushed face and was pulling at his shirt, as if it was hot outside. The thought of heat suddenly made my body feel warm. Scalding. Raging. Every emotion I felt for my name. The feeling of grace I try to cloak myself with whenever one of his relatives would bring spare baked goods and dairy, gone.

"I'm Sven. Katsaros." The name is grunted, and I felt my body tense up. "As in September." At this point, I had my arms folded. I didn't know what this kid wanted. Did he know that I was here? Did Octavia's kids send him here? What did he want from me? He has to have some sort of intent.

Right?

[mat]

january yorgos

Charm seems to die out the moment that January reveals his name. Was he being a bit too forward with a boy he'd only met a few moments ago? The boy's stare heats up the place as if Jan uncovered a sore wound and released its tension across the entire barn. His interest in the place erodes with the tightness of the environment.

"I'm Sven. Katsaros."

January feels like it should, but it doesn't ring a bell. Nice name nonetheless.

"As in September." His arms are crossed as he speaks to Jan as if he's expecting him to follow along like it was a legendary story January was supposed to recite word for word. But he couldn't.

He blinks instead, scratching the back of his fresh-cut hair rather awkwardly. "Nice play on words, there, Sven!" January pauses for a moment, surveying the field around. It might just be easier to get out now before it begins to look as if he's just fiddling with the boy's story. It's clearly deeper than he's letting on. "Well, not really I guess because I don't really get what you mean!"

January keeps back a chuckle by guarding his teeth.

elegant

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

{ sven }

The poor kid was clueless. It made me confused, really, because the Yorgos family exuberated pride for their fucked up kid. That's what I remember being told at least. They loved him and praised him like he was a God, but Gods don't get killed.

Mortals get killed.

They acted as if he was the invention of the Yogurt company that makes them so well off today. As if he were Demeter in a new body. Demeter didn't kill. Demeter grew crops. She did what she knew she could do, unlike September, who did what he couldn't. He fought. September never came from a family of fighters. He came from a family of protectors. Sure, he had no choice. But I wouldn't have been the selfish cunt to give my family back home a thought, a belief, a wish that he'd be coming home. No. He was never going to win.

My anger turned the air bitter and prickly, as if the entire atmosphere had turned into the thorns of a cactus. You know that feeling? Where it crawls up your arm like a spider crawling up the side of a wall. It tickles, but it's an uncomfortable tickle. It makes you want to shake it off and move along. "Nice play on words, there, Sven!" January was scratching the back of his neck - he probably had that prickly feeling all around. There was a part of me that felt bad. "Well, not really I guess because I don't really get what you mean!"

But also, how does he not know his own damn family? It's like the entire damn Yorgos legacy didn't give a shit about the people at home. God, maybe that one August kid that they always talked about wasn't the only stupid one in the family. Though I felt awkward now because he had no idea who I was talking about. So now I was both mad, and sorry for the dude. Even though Ap' and Pabu are gone now, they're super important to who I am today.

I guess I'll be the one to talk about it.

"Uh, I was named after your... great uncle?" I try and think of how the line would go. It has to be great uncle, the last name is Yorgos. "Something like that. September Yorgos. I'm named after him." I give a sheepish smile now that I feel weird explaining it. "He dated my grandparent." A hoot and a shiver from a chicken in the background, probably spooked by the grass moving the wrong way, added to the awkward vibe.

I still have every right to be mad though. Don't fight if you can't fight.