a guiding hand . kaplan

[cass]

T W E L V E

The slums of district twelve or a perilous danger as well as a safety net that has kept Twelve and Nine alive. He’s been lucky enough to be able to rely on the same skills that had forced him into this position in the first place. He was a library, an individual with the ability to memorize anything he read, an ability -or gift as the scientists had called it- that was the cause of their hiding. Twelve moved the book aside, crawling from his makeshift shelter on the side of the street.

Nine lay peacefully within the gloomy depths, he had fallen into the habit of sleeping most of the day away, lost to anything around him as he sunk further and further into darkness. Twelve couldn’t seem to pull him out of it, no matter how bright or cheerful he was, Nine never seemed to reciprocate. He didn’t eat, hardly drank and when he did move it was to find a new spot to sleep in.

Twelve paused for a moment longer, eyes lingering on his friend’s form, trying to shake off the chill that seemed to settle into his belly whenever he looked at him. There was a warning there, wrapped within the confines of those dirty blankets and lifeless eyes, and often times Twelve would try and shake him awake, part of him wondering if this would be the last time he’d stir. The hesitation welded him to the spot and after a long moment, he finally tore himself free, dropping the curtain as he stood and made his way towards the slums market.

He could make money here and there, fixing things for people or giving them the knowledge to do it themselves. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that his extensive knowledge of plants was a good way to earn a few extra coins. Illness or injuries could be treated with knowledge and people had started asking him for the best concoctions to treat their ailments. He could point to plants and name them without hesitation, he knew how to work machinery and pull things apart and put them back together. He was an encyclopedia, bred and designed to be a subject in a laboratory.

The small stall he had set up was empty, a table with a chair, simple enough that it was easy to miss. It left behind nothing that could be traced back to himself and Nine. He sat down, staring at the few people that walked by as they headed to their own stalls, the markets were a dangerous place to work, but they were safer than the prying eyes of the Peacekeepers. A young lady walked by, a bundle of plants in her arms, Twelve raised an eyebrow, standing quickly as he recognized a number of them.

“That’s Feverfew,” he said, nodding to the small white flowers with the yellow centers. He recognized the rest, mentally ticking off each of their uses as they flitted through his mind.

“Are you okay, miss?” He stopped, catching himself as he pulled back, rubbing the back of his neck with embarrassment. “My apologies, that was a bit rude of me, I just mean, that plant is traditionally used for migraines and inflammations. Forgive me for my rudeness.”

kaitlin

[kap]

Anika

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You hated the idea of being in what had been dubbed the 'slums market' of District Twelve. It wasn't like there was much for luxury in District Twelve. Coming here, however, would allow you to view the complete opposite of luxury. The shabby looking stalls that the poorer folks of the District had set up here kind-of sketched you out. Some of the things that they sold even made you feel a bit uncomfortable at times.

Today, however, it was necessary for you to come here. Your mother had fallen quite ill, and with your knowledge of plants and healing, she'd decided to send you to get what was necessary to make her feel better. Unfortunately, such goods were almost entirely sold out in the regular markets of the District. Therefore, you'd ventured to a place you didn't want to be, just because they had what you needed.

You stopped at a few different stalls that the individuals there had set up before finding one of the things that you needed. The first was Feverfew. It was a plant meant to help with those ailed with migraines, fevers or inflammation. Your mother had been struggling with a severe migraine for the past several days, as well as a high fever, among other things. Hopefully this would help.

After you purchased the Feverfew and gathered it into your arms, you proceeded to get the others that you needed, except for one that you couldn't recall the name of. That's when, as you were walking by another stall, a voice called out to you.

“That’s Feverfew,” the voice said. You turned and saw where the voice was coming from. It was a boy at his own stall that looked rather hastily put together.

“Are you okay, miss?” He asked you. What did this kid think he was doing, butting into your business? Then again, you supposed you didn't belong in this part of Twelve. You probably already looked quite out of place with your fancy clothes and vibrant makeup.

The boy spoke again.

“My apologies, that was a bit rude of me, I just mean, that plant is traditionally used for migraines and inflammations. Forgive me for my rudeness.”

At least he realized he'd been rude to you. For some reason, this made you decide that perhaps you should give him the time of day. He seemed knowledgeable, after all. Maybe he could help you find that last plant you couldn't recall the name of.

"I'm fine," you tell him, your voice snapping a bit as you say this. It's habit for you to talk to people of lower class this way, but perhaps it's not the best thing for you to do when you want help with something.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way," you apologize. "Er- this stuff is for my mother. She's very ill, and I can't seem to remember the name of the last plant she needed. Normally I'm pretty knowledgeable about that kind of stuff..." Your voice trails off at the end of what you're saying.

"Maybe you can help me?" You ask the boy. You're not normally one to ask for help, but when it comes to something as important as this, perhaps it's vital to get some assistance.

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word count: 537

[cass]

T W E L V E

She snapped and Twelve reflexively took a step back, hands coming up to create space between himself and the woman. It was instinctual, built into him through the trauma he had suffered from the scientists that had experimented on him and his brothers and sisters. The rapid beat of his heart in his chest echoed freely, thumping in his ears until he took a few deep breathes, easing the worry from the frowns on his face. That wasn’t him, he was the one known has sunshine, built from his ability to see good in anyone he met. It was easy enough to build reasoning into her actions, she could be having a bad day, she might have had a terrible sleep. We are not the sum of the words we speak, but rather the actions we take over a continuum.

Twelve’s intuition was right, the girl almost instantly apologizing for her behaviour as she turned to face him. Twelve blinked, a small smile dancing on his lips as he nodded his head, accepting the apology with his smile. Regardless of the choices others made, he would always try and build his assumptions of them from the ground up. To be swayed by who they were beyond the façade we all strung ourselves along with.

“I can help,” he said, the words tumbling from his lips quickly as he leaned onto the table. His smile stretched wider, eyes flashing with a moment of excitement as he glanced down once more at the plants resting in her arms. He knew the world of plants; he knew what she would need. It was all there, trapped within the walls of his skull, drilled into his head. The number of times he had been forced to sit and endure book after book even when his legs cramped, and his brain ached. The knowledge piling up in his mind only for them to spend the rest of the day as it turned to tomorrow testing him on question after question.

“Do you remember what you were trying to treat with it? Nausea? Vomiting? Constipation?” He listed off different symptoms, raising a hand and knocking down a finger as each of them fell from his lips. Nine said he had a tendency to talk too much, but he had grown used to balancing out his partner's sullen silence by filling it in with words that were too long for him to speak. Stories from novels he could remember word for word.

“Ginger is a classic,” he looked down at her arms, “but you’ve already got that one.” He pursed his lips, “ginseng is harder to come by but also valuable. If you need something else then perhaps it was grape seed extract or the oil of mentha spicta -that's spearmint.”

He stopped himself, dropping his hand as he sheepishly grinned at her once more, “sorry, Nine always tells me I have a bad habit when it comes to rambling. But whatever it is you’re looking for I can definitely help you find it.”

He reached out his hand, “I’m Twelve, it’s nice to meet you.”

kaitlin