champagne glasses { sin/nan }

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

The sun had started to set, painting the sky with hundreds of different colours, weaving themselves together to form something breath taking. Today had been tough. My heart had been pounding in the base of my throat as I had taken off towards the stairs, ignoring the burning in my quads, my calves, as I pushed myself up flight after flight. My mask had been slipping, my eyes shining with the start of tears.

I was overwhelmed, mentally drained from trying to fight off peoples curious gazes, from trying to create the facade of a girl who was ruthless and cold. I had wanted to break, to tear off my mask and to cry for my mum. Today had been the first time I had allowed myself to think of her. Today, just after lunch I had allowed myself a small glimpse, but the greedy fingers of my inner self had grabbed onto the image of my dying mother and taken flight.

And then so had I, forgetting the elevator desperate to feel the deep burn in my aching muscles, to try and distract me from my thoughts. I had only stopped long enough to snag a bottle of wine from an unsuspecting Peacekeeper.

A light breeze brushed its fingers threw the tangles of my golden locks as I tried desperately to catch my breath. Moving closer towards the edge I watch as the sun slips lower and lower and I wonder if my Mum was watching the dying light too. I wonder if she was thinking of me. If Callan was with her. The thought alone is enough to cause a choked sob to my lips, a sob which I try to force away, angrily wiping at the tears that had begun to surface.

I couldn't afford to show them my weaknesses, I couldn't afford to allow anyone see me vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath I rip off the cork from the wine bottle, a loud pop bursting through the air. The rush of air causes the contents to bubble spilling over the edge, I quickly try to catch it with my lips, the sharp yet sweet taste filling my mouth. Taking a seat, I watch as the city below begins to come to life, lights twinkling as the suns light fades. I felt so high, so far away from the gently hum of life below. I had often wondered what it might be like to live in the capitol but had always come to the conclusion that nothing could beat the sounds of the ocean signing, of the crashing of waves.

Taking a generous sip I reach the bottle high into the sky, "I'll see you soon, mum," I whisper, for the first time noticing the light haired boy. He was so skinny, no doubt from one of the lowest districts. "Hey, have a drink with me."

[gamemaker kelsier]

S I N .

When we all fall asleep, where do we go?

He hadn't meant to go to the roof but the elevator had gone up instead of down and Sin had stepped out of it before he'd noticed. Then the elevator had left again, leaving a gentle ding in its wake. He'd stood there for a moment, staring at the closed doors, but then the wind had moved through his hair.

The roof was quiet. So far away from the city below that, it was near silent. For the first all week, Sin felt that he was alone. He hadn't had that in a while, the last time had been in the woods back in twelve. Even then there'd been birdsong.

He sat down carefully on the safety wall and let his feet dangle over the edge. It was easy to let himself drift like that, brain turning all the thoughts in his head over to see what was underneath.

He'd already experienced so much in just a few short days, more than he ever had in his short life it seemed. Maybe he should have been sad to know that he would be dying soon, that he was weak, malnourished and mistreated.

Sin wasn't afraid though. He'd lived so far, it would take more than a few scrapes to take him down no matter how small he looked. He was a survivor, always had been. Years in the Mortuus hospital had twisted him in some ways. He'd seen wounds so grotesque it felt as if death was imminent only to watch as his sisters pulled the poor sod back from the brink.

Humans were far more resilient than they thought.

There'd never been any question for Sin, he knew what he was capable of, had been through enough to know what he could withstand. Scars littered his body, slight, long, clean and ragged. All of them had stories but that didn't mean he remembered them all.

In the end, that's all they were anyway, stories.

Memories washed up slow and Sin spent much of the evening there, eyes shut against the setting sun.

"Hey, have a drink with me."

He opened his eyes, gaze falling on a girl from one of the career districts. Higher districts tended to ignore him, thoughts only on what they considered their real competition. Maybe when there were no other choices, he was good enough.

The bottle in her hands seemed sticky from the overflow that she'd let fall over the roof's edge only moments ago. On a cloudless night, Sin wondered if there was someone below who thought it was raining anyway.

Drinking had never been part of his life in Twelve. Such things weren't meant for a person like him. He was too young for it anyway.

There were days left though, in his life.

He took the bottle carefully and sniffed it, a chemical smell filling his nose. It smelt like the cleaner he'd used to clean the floors every night in the hospital. It wasn't something he'd ever considered drinking before.

The girl seemed insistent though so he took a sip gingerly. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be but he still made a slight face at the mouth of the bottle before passing it back.

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

Taking the bottle he says nothing. He takes a sniff his lips curling in distaste. The look causes the corners of my lips to turn upwards. It was the same face I had made the first time I was offered a drink. I had been at a party, the end of the school year we had had a bomb fire down at the beach. Everyone from my year had been there, hair down morals loose as we indulged in the intoxicating liquid. We had danced all through the night, we had played games that had resulted in my kissing my high school crush.

Then once the moon was high in the sky I had stumbled home, mum greeting me at the door with a stern look, hands planted firmly on her hips. 'Nanette Carter,' she said with a calmness that reminded me of being in the eye of a storm. 'Got to bed. We'll talk in the morning.' I had quickly scrambled by her, refusing to look her in the eye. 'And if you throw up, or make a mess in the bathroom or your bedroom, you better clean it up quick smart or you'll be cleaning the whole god damn house first thing in the morning.'

But when I had retched into the toilet for the third time she had come in, running a hand through my hair as she handed me a glass of water. Tears had been in my eyes as I looked up at her. 'I'm sorry, mum,' I had whispered and she had smiled down at me, sitting on the edge of ledge of the bathtub as she continued her rhythmic strokes of my tangled hair. 'You'll be sorry in the morning,' and boy had she'd been right. My head had felt like a nail was burying itself in my brain. My throat burned from a night of throwing up, and my stomach felt like it had been through the wringer.

My mum didn't end up scolding me, saying that my hangover would hopefully be lesson enough.

Taking a sip he makes another face, handing the bottle back. I bring the lip of the bottle back to my mouth, tipping it back to take a large mouthful. It warms the back of my throat and I let out a large sigh, my mind holding onto the image of my mother before her illness had worn her down. She had deteriorated so quickly, I wondered what she would look like when I made it home- if I made it home.

"Do you have a name?" Maybe asking his name would be a mistake. I had already learnt too many.

Tuner. Revan. Flynn. Cassidy. Garrison. Benedict. Coach.

And had if of been another night, a night when my shields were solidly in place, I might have been content with silence and a bottle passing between our hands. But tonight I found my desire to hold back my words weak. "I'm Nanette, though I prefer Nan." I take another drink, before handing him back the bottle. "My mum's dying, you know. Back home. She's got cancer." I hadn't spoke about her since I'd gotten here, and I found that the moment the words started slipping I couldn't stop them, not caring what the boy might have thought of me.

"Maybe if I win I might be able to bring her to the Capitol, get her treated. Though I fear it might be too late for her." My eyes seek out his own, "I also fear how she might look at me if I made it home. She's always hated violence." I pause again, remembering how she how she had looked when I had said goodnight the night before the reaping. It felt so long ago, and I could remember how my confidence had settled her, how she had relaxed into her chair. "I was supposed to cook her dinner. A roast. I didn't get to say goodbye."

I wish I could have said goodbye.

I wish I could have told her that I loved her.

[gamemaker kelsier]

S I N .

When we all fall asleep, where do we go?

She didn't wait for a response, which was good. There'd been many times in the past week the other tributes had spoken to him where he'd stared back blankly for too long. Their cheeks had reddened, they'd said, "Oh yeah, sorry," but no one had ever apologized to Sin before then. They didn't know that it was precious to him and he wanted to open his mouth and say thank-you but he'd forgotten how.

It seemed such a simple concept to push air up through his throat and catch the chiming of his vocal cords along the way. Sin hadn't made a sound in so long. When he used to walk to the market in twelve, kids would stand along the road and make barking sounds at him, just trying to get him to speak. It was fear at first that kept him silent, then it was just habit.

No one here seemed to mind but then, the less attached others were to him the easier it would be for them to kill him.

So he understood.

And he didn't mind being a sounding board.

Her story was sad, so he kept it, much like the whispers that sill followed him from the graves in twelve. Maybe that's what he could be, what he'd always been, some strange sort of keeper of the disappeared and gone.

But who was going to keep him when he was gone? If he had all those stories but couldn't tell them, they'd die with him. It'd be like he was killing them all over again.

Nanette was spilling everything to him, much in the same way that the dying always had. Secrets had a way of coming out, always, most people didn't get that but Sin did. It's why Eirlys had told him he wasn't allowed to talk and why he was still afraid to.

She was dead, but she wasn't.

Sin wished he could tell Nanette that he understood what it was like to lose a mother. It wasn't entirely true though. Eirlys hadn't been his mom and he could barely remember his birth mother. She'd sold him to Eirlys for morphling from the hospital stock.

Nanette's relationship with her mom was probably better than that though. She seemed genuinely sad. He didn't know what that was like, but Sin was beginning to understand that he didn't have to know exact details. Nanette's sadness existed with or without him.

If he did something, said anything, he didn't know if that would help lessen it. The old Sin wouldn't have tried, would have just kept on staring into the distance, and lived inside his own head.

But Nanette's voice broke in all the wrong places, and it wasn't fair that someone would actually miss her when she was gone.

He wanted someone to miss him too.

So he reached out carefully and placed a hand on hers, fingers always so cold to the touch as if he really were a warden of death.

Then he slipped the bottle from her grasp and dropped it over the edge of the building.

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

Words still ceased to escape his lips. Silently he listens as I speak, as I let my walls down brick by brick. I half expect him to start laughing. To start mocking me. Oh no, the career misses her mummy! As a career there are expectations, as a person from district four, a wealthy a district my problems might even seem minuscule compared to the issues that he would have faced in his day to day life.

But even though these problems were different. They were still issues, and that made them valid, right? Or was that arrogant of me to believe? Sighing I push the lip of the bottle to my mouth once again, allowing the alcohol to fill my mouth, swallowing it with another heavy sigh.

I turn my eyes to examine him once again and find him watching me, carefully he reaches for my hand, gently placing fingers, chilled from the night air, over my own. My mouth moves, but words do not come. I look at him, my eyes looking into his own and even though he says nothing I can see something dark and sorrowful inside the depths. His eyes seemed so old, too old for a boy of his age. It was as though he had seen more than I would ever know. That he had experienced more than I ever would.

Carefully he pulls the bottle from my grasp, I almost try and grab it back, but then its gone, slipping from his fingers off the edge of the building.

Again he says nothing.

But this time I felt like he didn't need to.

I think I understood. Looking down into the city a sad smile pulls back the corners of my lips. "You're right, I don't think I needed that anymore." I stare into the city below for another moment, enjoying the silence that seemed to wrap around us.

Slipping from the buildings ledge I move to take a seat on the ground, moving so that I was lying down, my back pressed into the cement floor. I look up into the sky. Back home I would often find myself lying in the sand, starting up into the night sky. The sound of crashing waves a lullaby as my body was rocked to sleep. I would examine the stars, they would be beautiful and only visible cause mum insisted that we lived away from the town, surrounded by nature.

But as I stared up into the sky tonight the light from the city below plucks the stars from the night sky, the moon standing alone with a few stray stars here and there.

"I hope there are stars in the arena," I whisper allowing my eyes to close, "and ocean.

I hope there is the ocean."