#she has no idea that jack baker truly cared about her

[thelostsisters]

just remembered that eveline canonically sees herself as useless and unlovable

[dapper-shipping-forever]

A birthday fic. Set before Muse is released from the Deck and they're reunited. Jacks is dork.

---

Jacks hated coming here. All these people, they filled him with hate. The temple district was full of them and this area particularly he couldn't stand; those who groveled before the fates and begged them for favors. 

When the fates were unbound and ran freely, he remembered the favors they'd bargain for and the arguments they spit to break them. Not that he never enjoyed making them writhe, but it got rather annoying sometimes when it wasn't his own doing.

Now those people only spoke to empty buildings who's masters were paper scraps. Except for himself, of course; but anyone stupid enough to visit his church wasn't anybody he wanted to actually associate with. He saw it now; empty, lonely, and cold, it held no light. Nobody, least of all himself, has spent any effort in its continued upkeep. But he wasn't there for his own temple. 

He rarely went to his temple. He was more interested in the place sat next door. It was colorful, its architecture spiraling and jutting in ways that should be completely ridiculous yet danced together to be a marvel, and it shouldn't have but it felt warm and it invited him inside. It wasn't meant for him, that warmth. It was for the Muse. Another scrap of paper collecting dust in the deck.

He pushed open the charming little door, he'd tell her it looked tacky. The inside was just as improbable as the exterior. There was no surface painted just a single color; each and everything here was a kaleidoscope. He knows this was designed by someone else, but he'd hand it to the creator that they captured the Muse's incessantly whimsical personality. 

He eyed a few individuals who gave no attention back to him spread throughout the room. Dedicated artistic talents often came here to work on their projects. They claim their ideas come quicker and better in this spot. Jacks claims that's ridiculous.

The centerpiece of all of it sits in the center of the whole layout. A statue of the Muse expertly constructed and made with precise detail, and it looked nothing like the real version.

Not the way he knew her, not truly. Physically, it was fairly accurate; except his sister was not cold stone and unmoving features. His sister was noise and mischief and expression, she was paint splattered on the kitchen table and animals snuck into their homes and hidden traps in his bedroom, she was his friend and his tormentor and his burden, and she was held now within a card in a deck he had yet to get and she wasn't that statue and she wasn't there.

Jacks straightened his posture, shoulders rolling back and chin held high. Useless circling.

The statue waited. Hands wrapped around a staff with a pen tip on the bottom and a gem on top. People say the real gem could show someone their greatest inspiration, their true loves, and whatever they want to view. He wouldn't confirm if that's truth or a fanciful story. He does know this gem isn't real. He couldn't see his sister there. He only saw her in cheap replications right now.

Standing on its platform, she'd tease him for the way he had to crane his neck back to look at the face. Where was his jabs about their height difference, or the like. She annoyed him always. A true thorn amidst the roses. 

She reminds him she thinks the exact same. Everything he does is a bother for her. From his voice to the day he was born. The day before her, she'd grumble, how incredibly selfish. She'd never quite forgiven him for that. He did point out he hadn't decided the day he'd been born but she wouldn't care in any fashion.

He reached inside his jacket, to a white bag with the delicate logo of a simple bakery. Not the royal kitchen, not a famous baker, she likes the lesser known spots; the cute little shops you'd have to step inside and actually try to know if it's at all tasteful. He draws out a sweet bun, it's glaze reflecting the soft light, and it's sweet vanilla smell filling the space. It wasn't from a place he'd choose to visit and it wasn't anything he'd want to eat, it isn't for himself.

He stares at the dessert. Then, he sets it gingerly on the platform sitting before her. "Happy birthday, Gillian."

[restlesscrybaby]

More food, Jack Horner community [ throws breadcrumbs at ].

As a Jack Horner simp myself I love writing these teehee :D!!

~ JACK HORNER X READER. ~

-- FORBIDDEN LOVE HEADCANONS. --

◇ CONTENT WARNING : NONE. ◇

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You met Jack once upon a dream. Well, not truly, but by fate, more of. You had traveled into his factory, not quite knowing what you were doing. You were supposed to get a pie, you surely do know that. But you had no idea where to get it from, but the place to get a pie quick and easy.

You slipped into the factory, as you heard the water wheels spit out the water, only to scoop it back up, to repeat its favorite routine, not even knowing how it helped the factory. Your shoes made a distinct tap sound, as you held a little bag infront of your belly, clasping it with one hand. Cute gloves hugged your hands, as you adorned a nice parasol that leaned back upon your shoulder. ( If you do not want this you can just daydream it out !! ^^,, ).

Your hair fell in tufts upon your face, that seemed to bring together your entire face.

However, a baker looked at you so strange. Ha. Maybe this wasn't the right place? It already seemed like some workers were rushing to tell the big man himself that some random person entered the factory.

You took delicate sways towards a baker, as you smiled towards them, trying to show you were there for something. You stopped, only a foot infront of them.

"Excuse me?" Your voice chimed out, almost like a church bell. You must've been of higher ranks. But, it didn't seem so. You did seem to stumble over your own feet at times, but you didn't care.

The worker lifted her head, her head raising up a bit more to peer better at you, looking through her tufts of teal-ish hair, it looked gray out anyway.

"Uhh," You glanced to the name tag, your eyes squinting to read it just a tiny bit better, "NutMegan? Where may I get a pie..?"

She wasn't even able to bring up a whisper from her lungs, before the distinct sound of clacking was heard.

He was aggravated. Who could be here? Gaaah!! No one was supposed to be here other than workers or people looking for a job or people with magic to give him! He took long strides, some bakers who told him struggling to keep up. Even having to book it to keep up with him.

Your head turned as he walked into the room, some workers seeming to tense up and some even wincing their heads down. Ah, so that was him, huh...

That wasn't no one that should've been here. He let out a displeased sigh, his face contorts into one of irritation. Ha. But, you needed the pies, they were sold out in the town, it was the best place.

He approached you, as he stood about three (3) feet away. He easily pushed back the drape of his coat that hung down his back, his brows furrowing towards you, some low life.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Horner, I was-" But, he interrupted you.

"Make with it. Why are you here?" He spoke, his head raised up high, his chest puffed out, practically proving he was higher up than you were.

".. Oh-," You muttered, but you cracked a smile at him, trying to keep a sweet demeanor. No need to be mean. "I was wondering if I could buy a pie..?"

Confusion tinged his brain, practically plaguing it like a filthy rash. What? You came.. To the factory to get it. A confused 'wha' escaped from his lips, as he rolled his eyes.

Some workers began to help, as you ordered two (2) pies. An apple pie and a cherry pie. They told you the price, as you easily reached down and clasped open the small little bag you totted around. The clicks made a... Satisfying click sound. Yep. Makes sense. You pulled out a small bag of coins, that were held in a velvety pouch with drawstrings. You dropped it into a bakers hand, but they right away handed it to their boss.

As you waited, you glanced to him, as you flashed a smile. But he rolled his eyes at you, blegh.

Oh..

Haha.

Okay...

But, you kept trying and trying to chat, but he just ignored it.

... Soon, two pies were brought out in two big boxes, that had the logo right on the top of the covers. You slid two hands underneath your freshly baked pies, as you took them into your arms.

You bid them farewell, bobbing a curtsy towards Jack, as you began to walk out. Your shoes making a rhythm as you stepped out the large doors.

...

He only went back to his office.

... Weirdly, he couldn't stop thinking of you .

And thinking.

And thinking.

You were so nice to him, but not because you were afraid, but just.. To be nice to him? Gah! You must've been some seducer, wanting to get his money, but.. You didn't even seem to care.

...

The next day, he decided to approach you again, asking around to see if anybody knew who you were. But, none did. What! What was he doing, he had a crystal ball! He picked up the ball, the hues of colors merging into a sickening fog, forming the figure of yours. You sat upon a cushioned seat, you were in a carriage. The cushions were red, little indents of buttons in the seats. The carriage came to a halt, as you gasped and made sure you didn't fall forward. You looked rather upset, but he kept watching. Oh, there you were! You were at a park! Perfect.

He slid the crystal ball back onto the shelf, the cushion sinking beneath it as it held the valuable magic he had. He set off, of course he ordered a carriage beforehand. He wasn't going to walk.

Unicorns yanked the carriage along, but only two. He had high pride, even if it wasn't the bakers dozen, he had to have unicorns pull it.

...

Soon, the carriage came to an easing halt, the poor baker who drove calling out to him that they were there.

He opened the door, the curtains fluttering as it opened up. He stepped out, his weight easing on the carriage, suddenly lifting and there was no longer a yanking amount of man in it. He stepped upon the floor, his head held up high as he glanced around. Pssh. Yeah, a pathetic park.

He began to enter, walking under the wired archway, that dangled beautiful hysteria and vines, which looked perfectly overgrown. He stepped upon gravel and dirt, his feet sinking in at every step he took, as he looked around for you. No sign of it.

He walked by bushes of roses, some were painted red and others were simply white, he walked by a croquet plain that resided in the park, some flamingos propped up on a stand. Poor things must've been the mallets that send the balls through wickets. Trees loomed over the pathway, that fluttered in the wind like a calming wave. Some flowers fluttered down upon the ground, so slowly yet so lightly. Soon, he spotted you. Aha!

You sat upon a bench, that resided below a magnolia tree. The flowers were bloomed, they smelt so perfect with how the flowers petals had spread open. Your head was turned, your eyes focused upon some fluttering blossoms that fell from another tree. You weren't paying much mind, but your head suddenly turned hearing leaves crunch in your direction .

Oh shit.

You smiled, more sheepishly as he gave a grin. More of a harsh one, but a grin nonetheless. But, a hiss escaped from his gritted teeth, questioning who you were.

Confused.. .Very confused. You were so confused. 'Who was I?' You could only think. With a small head tilt, you asked him what he meant. You couldn't help but feel confused.

He gritted his teeth more, his jaw locking with anger. He hissed out once more, his knuckles turning white as he clenched a hard fist.

"You must've been sent to get on my side. To try to get my trust, huh?" He bellowed, angry roaring in his chest like waves in a storm. He leaned down, looming over you in a cold shadow. "It's not that easy."

You couldn't help but feel confused. You snickered, as you placed a hand against your chest as you giggled. He got angrier, but you quickly built back up your voice. In a soft manner, your voice calmly swayed with your words. You told him,

"I'm not here to cause you anything, Mr. Horner. I just wanted two pies, they're my favorite," You swayed, your hand lowering back to your lap, resting calmly upon your legs.

What? Lies! He scowled at you. You were trying to trick him!

But, he caught your hand moving. Your hand gently patted the seat beside you, as you easily scooted yourself over just slightly.. An offer to sit down?

He took the chance, slamming himself onto the seat, but he turned his torso and faced you. Sneers coating his face.

But, you calmly talked...

It surprised him..

...

You soon left, but you asked him to meet you here again.

And he did.

And again.

And he did.

It became a routine.

Every day, every night.

...

It caused you both to feel so different. So... Much heart beating. So much blush, so much giggling, so much laughing, so much-- Love.

Without even knowing it.

Soon, he sat upon the bench, there before you. The magnolias had began to fall out the trees, their petals brushing in the wind as he sat and waited.

You approached, as you sat beside him, where you guys always sat, as you flashed him a smile.

He had to tell you how he felt. Then, he would win. This stupid feeling would make him feel like he finally won, how he finally won instead of losing and losing.

His heart beat quicker, but he didn't even feel ashamed. He opened up, rather quick and to the point, not stuttering. He exposed how he felt, his brain practically screaming and kicking him, like an angry toddler who didn't get what they wanted.

Oh...

But how delighted you were.

He returned those feelings!!

"Jack, I.. Like you too, but..." Your head had dropped, as you looked off to the side, almost ashamed

He became worried. What? But what? You liked him. Right?

"... I've been married off."

Pssh. What was stopping him?

An angry sneer crossed his face, as he rolled his eyes. He waved an angry hand, as he shook his head. His plump lips pulling into a pursed form.

"How's that stopping us?"

You paused. It flashed in your brain, ringing like some kind of church bell. What WAS stopping you? But, you stammered, you asked him what he meant.

He sighed. As he knew he'd have to explain it more, it made him agitated. He explained, you guys could be together behind closed doors. No need to worry.

You paused, as it clicked in your brain like a puzzle piece in place. A smile suddenly slammed upon your face, as you hugged onto him. Joyful, you squeezed him the best you could, heat pulling upon the tips of your ears to connect to your cheeks.

He was taken aback by your sudden display of affection, which he typically found disgusting. But no one was around, it was fine.

Every night, you snuck out to meet him. You guys did everything, even during the day if you could. You walked through the night streets, where stars splattered the sky like paint. You hung out at his home, even doing some chores with some workers, that he, of course, told you to stop.

You danced beneath the moon, in thst park that you two adored so very much, the waltz and the dip, and-- Many dances.

Yet, every morning, you rushed home. Only to repeat the same day. Over. And over.

He hated it.

Every last second you were gone.

He would make sure you could ve with him, don't worry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YIPPIEEEE!!

Some food.

Done during classes so some of it was rushed.

[rawwkfingers]

The Face of Evil

I have so so so many conflicting thoughts about this serial I don't even know where to begin

Is Leela a feminist icon showing the ways women can be strong too, introduced as being a warrior princess who can kick ass and take care of herself and killing two people in her very first episode? Or is she a misogynistic trope, dressed like the cover of a 20s pulp novel and still needing the Doctor to rescue her despite her being depicted as a badass fighter?

I mean, the thing about 70s feminism and the sexual revolution is that she's clearly both but where do we draw the line? Personally, I've always felt that so long as she's written well, I don't mind if a character is also meant to be sexy. We've got lots of examples of this in Nu Who: Rose, Amy, River, and Clara. Zoe's costuming in Classic Who was also fairly provocative for its time, and while less common we do have sexy men as well; Jack and Doctors 9-11 (and likely 15.) All have scenes where the point is to show off how attractive the actor is but all those characters are so well written, I truly feel that's okay. Sex is not a bad thing, so long as it's not all the character is valued for

This is only Leela's first serial and I have absolutely no idea how she'll grow or change from here, whether the writing will bring her down or lift her up. My concern is that Doctor Who has such a rollercoaster track record with its companions, simultaneously feminist ideas and also always a damsel and a yes girl, that she's going to end up being treated as an object rather than a person and that makes her costuming bad

Keeping in theme with Leela's character, the serial itself was both amazing and also had some concerning writing. I love these types of stories, where we see how human cultures evolve over time based on their surroundings and I'm a sucker for the whole "over time your language changed one word to another" trope. Survey team to Sevateem is such a fun little idea

And the idea of the Doctor having visited a planet in the past and accidentally causing them harm, with tons of set up before that reveal with things like the fuckin Tom Baker mountain face! What a great idea I love science fiction so much

BUT why did they have to use the term eugenics in this story? I like the idea of the warrior culture and the science culture joining up at the end, but even if the actual act of eugenics by the evil computer was criticized the way the story ends still sets up the belief that this is going to be good for them overall. Just take that stuff out and it would have been great

Also, why was Leela literally the entire woman in the cast? I think I know the behind-the-scenes answer (introducing the new companion meant they didn't want another actress to potentially overshadow her, although thats impossible with how charismatic and dynamic of an actress Jameson is) but it makes the civilizations feel like something written for a story rather than any realism

I honestly don't know how I feel about this story, I want to say I loved it but there's enough to it holding me back!

[smallblueandloud]

okay so it’s been about a week since i watched that recording of into the woods on broadway that’s on youtube and i have some Thoughts.

i always forget about cinderella having glasses and it’s my literal, actual favorite thing in the entire musical. every cinderella ever written is my favorite character ever, but especially ones that aren’t Perfect all the time. My Wife

i cannot BELIEVE they cut my FAVORITE stanza from the ENTIRE PLAY (that one from “a very nice prince” about “well how do you know what you want til you get what you want and you see if you like it”). i always forget that they cut it and i’m SO UPSET ABOUT IT. i guess it’s kind of slow but it’s SO IMPORTANT.

i forgot that the baker has a tiny little reprise of “maybe they’re really magic” and it’s so cute i love him.

the costuming department really looked at the wolf and said “we can make this creepier”, huh? delightful.

i always forget how convoluted act 1 is. lesbean described it as a sitcom and she’s right. it’s literally just all setup for act 2. every time i get to intermission i end up having a little crisis about why, exactly i’m so obsessed with this musical. literally the only song of act 1 that makes me FEEL THINGS is “it takes two”, because i have an odd obsession with the baker and his wife. they’re so cute. god. they kiss for the first time in that song and i literally SQUEAKED. lesbean was unimpressed. but the rest of act 1 is mostly just.... clever? which is fine, but it’s not much to write home about.

BUT THEN ACT 2 IS SO GOOD. every moment of act 2 is payoff from act 1, and it’s SO well done. you’re feeling things at every moment. i got teary at “lament” and just got weepier until i was well and truly crying at “no more”. and then “no one is alone” came along and punched me in the face. act 2 is so good, y’all.

i love how violent red is. it’s so good. she’s such a little monster, it’s so delightful. it takes a little longer than i remembered for her to build up to it but then jack tugs on her cape and she spins around holding a knife and it’s the BEST SHOT IN THE MUSICAL.

i wonder what happens to rapunzel’s twins.

i’m not sure the acted version of “agony (reprise)” portrays the quiet horror that the cast album version has so much of. it might be because i’m used to it by now, but for sure the harmony “”scream”” or whatever isn’t as good in this version and it’s my favorite part of the song, which is. sigh.

i was beginning to warm up to baker/cinderella but watching the musical again just reinforced my idea that she’s aroace and i’m really not ready to let go of that. i definitely think they coparent the kids, though.

oh, also, the scene between the mysterious man and the witch in act 1 was Actually Pretty Good. i really like the mysterious man and his storyline and i ADORE the double casting with the narrator there.

To Be Honest, I Would’ve Milked The Killing Of The Narrator So Much More. It Just Kind Of Happens. Whatever, The Rest Of Act 2 Is So Good That I’m Willing To Let It Slide.

EVERYTHING about “any moment” / “moments in the woods” / the baker’s wife’s death is SO GOOD. everything. i just love the baker’s wife so MUCH. (also lesbean kept saying “that’s Against The Rules” as the baker’s wife and the prince were kissing, and after “moments in the woods” i got to say “whelp. we all know what happens when you break the rules. It’s Punishment Time.” it was SO MUCH FUN.)

my personal theory that the narrative punishes the baker’s wife for her affair is still SUPPORTED and VALID. but the mysterious man lets milky white go after “a very nice prince”, i believe? i should probably rewatch but whatever. who cares about canon anyway.

uh. that was longer than i intended it to be. anyway, Into The Woods Is Really Good, etc etc, thank you for coming to my ted talk and watch it on youtube.

[everlarkficexchange]

A Father Figure

Written by: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 44: Their love was forbidden in more ways than the obvious one (older!Peeta). Their love conquers all even with revelations that destroys other person relationships. AU. Toast babies for extra cookies. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Betaed by: @jroseley

Warnings: Minor references to pedophilia, although there is none present in this story.

Rating: General. (If you’ve read the Hunger Games you can read this. lol)

A/N: This submission has four chapters and a little over 17k words. I have one more chapter and an epilogue, (with the extra-kudos toastbabies), left to write. However, I also have a couple other EFE fics to work on before the deadline, so I’m submitting this now. Hopefully I can compete this fic by April 7th, but if not, I should be able to finish it in the next month or two. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Guardian Angel

I have never felt lower in my life, never felt more desperate. You’d think it would be the day Dad died, but that was just the harbinger of ill tide. It’s amazing how quickly things change. You never see it coming, like a sucker punch, every plan you ever had, every thought you took for granted, gone with the ash. When Daddy died it was so hard to understand. The words, Daddy died. Daddy died. Daddy’s dead. echoed all through my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull, mere sounds which garnered no understanding. I remember holding Prim tight, like I might lose her too, and Momma held both of us as we all cried and cried. I remember nuzzling my head into my mother’s breast and breathing her scent in, comforted. At least we had each other. I clung to her, our only rock left, our refuge. The next morning came, and Momma wouldn’t get up. It was like thinking you were holding onto driftwood in a flood, only to realise it’s sinking metal. Your refuge is torn from you, was never a refuge at all. You flail, and choke on water, can’t even make a noise. There’s no air, only panic, and terror, such terror. It imprisons you like prey lured to a dead end, rushing this way and that, trying to bolt; the terror and panic in their eyes…my eyes…crippling them. Desperation. You swim or die. I tried to swim, while holding Prim above the powerful waves. It’s so hard to manage even yourself against the tide. So here I am, soaked to the bone, drowning, and the icy rain falling is still warmer than the chill in my soul, the desperate ache in my ribcage, as I scrounge for scraps in the garbage bins in town, but there is nothing. I am nothing. The mines took all of us.

  A raw, wrenching cry rises up in me. I keel over with it. There’s no food. We’re done. I failed. It’s like I can feel the severing of my life’s thread. I am dead. Soon everyone will know it. I’m only eleven, so close to tesserae, but I have no energy and no hope. The merchant’s trash was my last shot, but there’s not even trash for me. My knees buckle, but I can’t stay here, so I crawl through the mud to the meagre refuge of an apple tree by the bakery. I bet I look like those stragglers that lie down and die in the meadow. It’s a beautiful place to die. Maybe I’d go too if I had the energy. This apple tree will have to do. If only it had fruit.

  I sit here under it, too raw for tears, as the water drenches me, and my fingers and lips turn blue. I don’t dare look at the bakery. The smell of it is cruel enough, to look and see inside the warmth, the light, and the food–all the food, mountains of food–not for me, would be too much. It would be the final confirmation I am nothing, will never be anything, locked out, not worthy to even eat the scraps. No one cares about Katniss Everdeen; no one cares about the Everdeens at all. All the people Momma healed, and all the people Daddy stood up for, worked with, not one of them had a care to return the favour. No one. It hurts. I close my eyes, unable to get up and face my sister with her hollow cheeks, and cracked lips. Does she even understand how bad it is? Gentle Prim who still cleans Daddy’s shaving mirror everyday like that’ll somehow bring him home? Maybe they’ll send me to the Home, but hopefully I’ll die long before I have to face the failure embodied in a broken Prim. I was supposed to protect her.

  I’ve almost passed out from the hunger, fallen asleep from the cold, when I hear slushy footprints walking towards me. It’s probably peacekeepers, or maybe the baker is running me off, or someone’s going to drag me to the Community Home. I muster the energy to open my eyes, and turn my head over expecting to see a cruel face, a harsh twist of sneering lips, instead I am greeted with a smile. It is a gentle, kind smile. Not the kind that is fake, or is so peppy it ignores reality, or is just really forced, but the kind that comes at the end of a hard day when there’s really no joy to be had, except you see someone you love…and you smile. I can’t imagine why this man’d be smiling at me like that. I feel nervous.

  He kneels next to me in the mud, ruining his slacks. The rain is drenching him now too, plastering his blonde hair to his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks to be about mid-twenties, fair with blue eyes, like most people in town. He looks healthy, nothing like me. I just want to know what he wants. Get this over with.

  “You’re Katniss, right?” The man, Mr. Mellark I suppose, looks at me earnestly, and he seems sincere, concerned. How does he know my name? I tense and I nod vaguely.

  “Jack Everdeen’s daughter?”

  I nod again, and tears fill my eyes at the words, at what seems like the compassion behind them, at the recognition, the gentleness… at Daddy. His eyes seem unbearably tender. He sighs.  

  “I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head. “I should have visited, but…I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

  What he means by that, I couldn’t say.

  “How do you mean?” He hesitates a moment, and I worry he won’t answer, but he meets my tentative gaze.

  “I used to trade with him, bread for squirrels and the like. He was a good man. I liked him. We talked sometimes.”

  Yes, that makes sense. It would have been around the entire district if some townie walked up to our house. He’s right; it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d wonder what everyone else’s excuse was, but talking to someone, anyone at all, who seems to care is warming me in spite of myself.

  “Here.” He pulls a package out from under his jacket,  and presses it into my hands. It’s bread, I realise: Three loaves. The tears overflow. I am overwhelmed, shocked. No one just gives food away in Twelve. I look up for a catch, but he just smiles sadly. “For your father’s sake,” he says. I can accept that.

  With a sudden spurt of energy, I lean over, grasp him in a quick hug, mutter, “Thank you,” and dash off back home. I think I hear him say, “Anytime,” with remarkable sincerity, but I’m not sure. Either way, his kindness is unparalleled.

  When I wake up the next morning the world feels different, warmer, not quite so hopeless, not quite so alone. It’s like Mr. Mellark’s kindness has stayed with me, penetrated me. Still, I know something is going to have to change. I can’t just keep reacting, hoping for more people like Mr. Mellark, (if they even exist). My pride won’t take it anyway. You don’t sit back and let people hand you stuff. You work for it. In the back of my mind, I take pride in the words Mr. Mellark said, how he identified me: You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I am, I think, and Daddy wouldn’t want me to quit, lie down in the dirt. When I spy a dandelion on my way to school, I know how we’ll survive. The spring truly returns to my step. I look back at Prim who’s trailing behind me, holding my hand, and smile.

  It takes some time, of course, to be sure I know all the edible plants off by heart, to know where and when to find them without Daddy watching over my shoulder, but soon the woods are

my refuge. I find food there, sustenance, comfort. As the seasons change, I spend hours upon hours in the summer practicing my shooting, making more arrows, storing food for winter. Between my poaching and my tesserae, we are managing. Prim brings my mother out into the sun more, and the return of meat to the house slowly seems to rouse her from her stupor. Prim gives her some kind of medicine that’s supposed to help. I guess it works. Momma’s not the same, but it’ll do. She’s functional. Prim is thrilled. Hugging Mom over and over, and smiling, like she’s back from the dead, which she may as well be. Me though, I hug mom stiffly, once, but I don’t know what else to do when she looks at me with sad eyes. The damage is done. I can no longer rely on her. Things have changed. They’ll never go back. Where’s the use in pretending? Her arms are no longer my refuge. There are the woods for that. That will have to be enough. It’s not that I hate her. It’s just that I can’t pretend to be younger than I was forced to grow to be. I don’t fit that niche anymore. I won’t nuzzle into her a chest again. I can’t need her, don’t know how to trust her. I’m glad Prim is happy. I keep my thoughts to myself.

  It is about five or six months after the incident with Mr. Mellark that I see him again. We, Gale, a boy I became poaching allies with over the last month, and I, have excitedly hauled up our first ever deer into the butcher’s, and are just leaving with the cash. I’ve never seen so much before, I can only imagine what more I would’ve gotten if the doe had been intact. Even better,  I now know I can trade with the butcher for currency if I need to, so it’s a good day when Mr. Mellark walks out from the back room.

  “Hi, Katniss,” he greets cheerfully. “Aunt Rooba just told me about that deer you and your buddy shot down.” He nods at Gale as he says this. “If you ever get a squirrel, feel free to come down to the bakery, or better yet, actually, just come to my place.” He rattles off an address I quickly try to memorise. “My brother’s not too keen on trading.” He winks, pats me firmly on the shoulder, says he’s glad to see I’m doing better, acknowledges Gale politely, and heads back to the bakery. He’s humming a cheery tune. All in all, it’s a short exchange, but I feel a sense of pride go through me that he didn’t make a mistake in giving me that bread. You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I can get him that squirrel.

  Gale doesn’t look nearly so pleased I notice as we head back to the Seam. His brow is furrowed, and his fists are buried so deep into his pockets they seem to bow his body forward. His breathing is strained.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, probably more defensively than I needed to.

  “He is my problem.” Gale huffs, and there’s no doubt to whom he’s referring. “It’s sick. His type. Worse than Cray.”

  “Worse than Cray?” I am utterly confused. Cray gives desperate women a pittance to warm his bed. How could Mr. Mellark ever be compared to such an odious man?

  “Haven’t you heard, Catnip?”

  “Heard what?” I’m getting mad now. Gale can be patronising at the best of times. It’s clear he thinks I’m just some little kid he had better put up with. Gale stops in is tracks, and pivots around to look at me intently. His rage matches mine.

  “They say he gives out food to starving kids, but in return he expects them to…stay over…at his place. You get what I mean? They say that’s why he’s never married. He has preferences.”

  Unfortunately, I know what he’s hinting at, and it taints the memory of Mr. Mellark giving me that bread right when I most needed it. Is this why he wants me to come to his place? Is he really worse than Cray? Does he expect something? It’s hard to believe. His smile, his warmth, had seemed so genuine. Now I worry I’ve been played for a fool.

  “I get what you mean, but we trade with Cray too, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a bargain that could help my family. Besides, my dad used to trade with him. He can’t be all that bad.”

  Gale shakes his head like I’m so naive, and it pisses me off. He presses forward against the cold wind. “Suit yourself, Catnip. I just don’t like it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I won’t!” I snarl. He’s reaching to touch a part of me that is far to vulnerable for such callous exposure. We part ways quickly after splitting our haul. My good mood killed.

  The next morning I rise before dawn and shoot a squirrel determined to know the truth for myself. I am absolutely dwarfed in my father’s leather hunting jacket I insist on wearing, no matter how pathetic it seems. I stomp into town gripping the handle of my knife in my pocket. I doubt I’ll need it, but still, I feel uptight. I draw in a quick breathe to fortify myself, and knock on the door.

  “Katniss!” Mr. Mellark exclaims looking thrilled to see me, his eyebrows comically risen on his forehead. “Wow! You came faster than I could have hoped. Why don’t you come in?” He opens the door wider and gestures grandly for me to enter. “I’ll just get something for you.” I’m tempted to say I’ll wait, but it seems rather rude to a man who has been so seemingly kind.

  His house is bright. I wonder if he’s decorated it himself. There are beautiful pictures, sketches, and paintings on the walls. Most look like they could be from Twelve. But some look like the scribbles of children which feels makes me feel like I’ve swallowed stones. He leads me into the kitchen and I can see breakfast is on the table. I have interrupted him, as well as two children I’m pretty sure are from the Community Home who are sitting there. I almost throw up.

  “How many squirrels have you got me? And how would you prefer I pay? Bread or coin?” He asks. I try to shake myself out of my horror. “Katniss?”  

  “Umm…Just the one squirrel, and, um, bread, please.” I am utterly unable to take my eyes off of the children in front of me. They look about five and six. I think I really might puke.

  Peeta just nods agreeably and goes to a bread box at the counter where he pulls out a loaf of sourdough which he places neatly in a paper bag and hands over at me.

  “Katniss?” He asks again. I must really look bad.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I panic. “I just…I’m not used to being up this early.” He chuckles at that.

  “Yes, the early mornings are hard to get used to.” He glances over at the children who are shyly pretending not to look at us. “You two done?” His voice is jovial.

  “Yes, Mr. Peeta.” The young boy mutters, and grabs the hand of the little girl I assume must be his sister. Peeta looks back at me, because somehow I haven’t been able to move myself out of there as quickly as possible. “I don’t suppose you mind walking them back to the Home? I’m running a bit late.”

  “Yes, of course.” I seize my chance, and grab the boy’s hand, and he pulls his younger sister behind him. I nod goodbye to Mr. Mellark, and dash out the door.

  Watching them though, they seem shy, but not…harmed in anyway, and I wonder if I’m overreacting. Mr. Mellark didn’t seem horrible, hadn’t propositioned me for anything, but then again not everyone who is awful looks like it. Yet I find it hard to believe though that my Dad would have traded with someone who was a pedophile. Cray is awful, but to use children…

  “Do you like Mr. Mellark?”

  “Uh, huh.” It’s the girl that answers. “He’s nice. He lets us eat until we’re full sometimes, and if someone stole our place, he gives us a bed.”

  “Does he ever…hurt you? Make you do…funny things?” How am I really supposed to phrase it? Does Mr. Mellark fondle you? Give you food and a roof over your head in exchange for satisfying his sexual perversions? I can’t even begin the process of saying it out loud.

  “No.” The boy stops walking and stares forcefully up at me. He seems intently serious, more than his age should be. “There are a lot of people like that, but not Mr. Mellark. He’s really nice.”

  “Sometimes he bakes cookies with us!” The little girl pipes in. The boy sighs at her optimism, and when his Seam grey eyes properly meet my own, I see an abject loss of innocence. I wonder what he’s seen. I wonder what he’s been through.

  “I know what you’re really asking, but he’s not like that, and don’t ever let noone say otherwise.”

  After that he won’t say another word, but his sister rambles on and on, about how Mr. Mellark had tucked her in at night, and told her a bedtime story, and how it was so warm, and they actually had enough blankets for once. I feel incredibly relieved, and also guilty for even doubting him: The Kind Man With the Bread.

I take to trading with Mr. Mellark–Peeta, he insists I can call him–about once a week or so. I keep an eye on him at other times too, and as the weeks pass I notice a variety of regular children who frequent his property. Mostly they are children from the Community Home, but there are others who are from truly broken homes who stay over at Mr. Mellark’s when they need a warm roof over their heads. The most he’ll ever ask is that they make their bed, or help him with breakfast. There’s a sixteen year old called Jude, Peeta’s known since he was about eleven, who runs errands for him. Peeta’s never even asked. Jude just looks up to him that much, or owes him that much, I suppose. Peeta’s become every stray’s older brother and father. I see him playing soccer with them in the backyard, or teaching them chess on the porch. Once he bought a young girl a new dress she was desperately in need of, and she proudly twirled it for me. I can easily see how he got such a terrible reputation. No one is going to think well of some Townie who hangs around with Seam children, giving them food and warmth, especially ones who are impoverished even by our standards. No one gives away food here, especially crossing the class lines. Clearly there has to be something salacious. No one’s that nice. Peeta is though, and he’s made a pariah for it.

  “Why do you do it?” I ask him one morning when he invites me in. It’s one of those rare mornings he offers to have breakfast with me and the Home kids aren’t there too. Maybe that’s why it’s also the first time I accept.

  “Do what?” He seems genuinely confused.

  “Help all those kids. Most people wouldn’t. And you must know what they say about you.”

  He laughs at this, and shakes his head.

  “Oh yeah, I know what they say. I didn’t plan it, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you did.” I mutter a bit annoyed at the idea that he might be laughing at me, but he just tugs on my braid good-naturedly and I feel my ire melt a bit.

  “It happened sort of gradually, I guess.” He shrugs and spoons up a bit more oatmeal. “I noticed that there were a lot of kids digging around the trash cans. Mom hated it, used to run them off, but I felt bad. Children were starving, and she would go and yell at them,and threaten to call the White Shirts, and I’d give food we had to the pigs.” He’s not laughing now. He’s looking far-off like he’s playing out a distant, painful memory in his head. “So I started to leave food out for them, and when I got older, got a place of my own–anything to get away from Mom, to be honest–I noticed a young boy on the street. It was winter, bitter cold, I knew he probably wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep out there, so I brought him in. That was Jude. He was the first. It all snowballed from there. They kept coming, I’d see them on the street, locked out of the Home, and I couldn’t turn them away. We’re supposed to protect children, take care of them, not hit them, not watch them starve and freeze to death” His words drag me back to when I was the one starving and freezing, and I am so lost in the echoes of despair and gratitude, I almost miss the words he whispers next. “Or get thrown into arenas.”

  “Is that why you never married?” The reference to the Games draws the question from my lips before I even have time to think. Having already decided myself never to love or marry for precisely that reason, if no other, I find myself quite sympathetic.

  “No, not really. I’m just picky.” He picks up his bowl and mine and goes to the sink where he starts washing them up. I stand and grab a towel to help dry. “In town, a lot of people marry for advantage. Oldest son inherits, others apprentice out, often marry the daughter inheriting another business, so on and so forth. My parents have a marriage like that.” I look at his profile and see a tensing in his jaw, and I can tell this topic is difficult for him. “They don’t like each other very much, and mother’s bitterness spills over everywhere. I swore that would never be me, even if it meant the mines.”

  “But it didn’t?” This seems intrinsically important to me. I would not want to see Peeta in the mines. I wouldn’t want to see anyone in the mines, but Peeta is the nicest man in my life now that Daddy’s gone, and that makes the image ten times worse.

  “No, Ryen hated the bakery so much he apprenticed out to become a blacksmith, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The bakery can support both me and my brother. Still, to be on the safe side, it would’ve been good for me to marry well. I just never met any woman who I thought I could be happy with. They either don’t approve of me or what I do, or we have nothing in common, or I’m not attracted to them, or as the youngest and least financially secure son, they want nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I say, and I am, because even though I never want to marry and never want to have kids, I am sad that such a nice man seems so alone. He flicks water up at me clearly unencumbered by such thoughts.

  “Don’t look so gloomy, Miss Sunshine,” he teases. “Do I look unhappy to you?”

  “No.” He drags a smile out of me, and gives me a loaf of bread to trade as I leave, telling me to drop by “anytime,”. The little girl I met when I first traded with him, I’ve learned her name is Sarai, runs up and gives him a hug.

  “Morning, Little Angel!” he greets, and I realise Mr. Mellark never needed to be a husband to be a father. When I hug Prim in my arms that night, I realise I’m not much different there.

  After our conversation that day, I do try to drop by every once in awhile. I tell myself it’s to make sure he’s okay. The truth is when I have my bad days, just walking by his house makes me feel better, reminds me that in the crushing grinder of life, there are people who will care. Someone who’ll listen. I’ve noticed I have an unfortunate weakness for kind people, but it is New Years Eve that ruins me.

  I go to visit Peeta and wish him a Happy New Year when he invites me in saying he has a present for me. Inside there seems to be a little party going on. There is music playing, and I glance into the living room to see Peeta has clearly tried to bring some holiday cheer into his kids’ lives, but it is not the living room he takes me too. He takes me to some kind of office or studio where he presents me with a picture frame deliberately turned upside down. I turn it over and there is a beautiful painting of my father. The expression captured is perfect. The woods look incredibly real. His eyes are shining as brightly as they did in life. I realise Peeta must have painted this, must have made all the pictures around here. I’m impressed at his talent but that is lost behind the well of emotions which have broken through the dam I have built around them. Mom looks at the picture of Dad all the time, but I haven’t been able to bear looking at his visage since the day he died. Now he is here in front of me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know how it happened, but Peeta’s arms are around me as I sob and sob and sob. I’ve been trying to be brave so long, I haven’t really cried.

  “Shh. Shh,” he whispers as he rubs my back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shudder and gasp as I try to find the words. I settle for shaking my head and snuggle deeper into his chest as his arms encircle me. I haven’t been held like this since the day my father died, and I feel safe. I feel small, not like a bug about to be crushed under your foot small, small like a chick under their mother’s wing. The thought makes me shake and cry harder. I’ve missed this. I’ve needed this.

  “It’s perfect, Peeta. Thank you.”

  I pull away reluctantly and through watery eyes I see blue eyes meet mine. Something flops and rises in my chest; I know now, I will never be able to claw this man out of my heart, the guardian angel my father sent from beyond the grave.

Chapter Two: Loneliness

About a year and a half later, not long after I turn fourteen, I discover Peeta has ambitions far beyond what I’m sure anyone else could have imagined. As always, I don’t see it coming. Not much has changed over the year and a half so much as it has grown. Gale trades with Peeta too now, although his disdain for anyone from Town remains uncomfortably evident. I drop by sometimes for breakfast or supper, bringing trophies from the woods like berries, or wild onions, here and there, so Peeta doesn’t feel like I’m using him. I share parts of my life. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to outside of school or hunting. Madge and I don’t really talk much. Gale and I are only just learning to. And it is this undeniable passage of time that spurs the conversation I never saw coming.

  “I have a proposition for you, Katniss, now it’s spring.”

  I have to swallow quickly before answering.

  “What sort of proposition?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking some of your time in the woods to look for some sizeable flood banks, or moist valleys, you know, places water accumulates, and the soil looks good?”

  I’m so surprised by the nature of his question my spoon is left suspended in the air.

  “Why?”

  He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, and draws himself up for what looks like a discussion he’s going to feel passionate about.

  “Jude’s aging out of the Reaping this year.”

  I nod.

  “And I obviously don’t want him going down the mines.”

  I nod again because I have no idea where he’s going with this.

  “I also rather hate the tesserae system, and how dependent we are on the Capitol for rations in general.”

  Oh, this is getting dangerous. I swallow.

  “Everyone in Town depends on the Capitol for supplies to continue their trade–that’s a huge part of the reason no one from the Seam can buy from us, the prices are too high–and it’s also what keeps us Town-folk at their mercy. It divides us completely, and still I know people starve everyday.”

  “Your point,” I say tilting my chin down for a stern look, because this topic of conversation is dangerous, and while I would expect it from Gale and his rants, I am not expecting it from Peeta, who prefers to talk about homework, or my relationships with my family, or other safer topics of conversation a man in his mid to late twenties might ask a young girl he looks out for.

  “My point is that I want to change that if I can. I’ve been planning this for years, actually. I want to see if maybe we can farm in the woods. Get our flour from our own sources. Then we could open a bakery at the Hob, and sell at prices people can afford, cut out the middleman. It might help a lot. Of course, no one from the Seam is going to want to buy from me, and while I think if the alternative were tesserae or starve, most would, I thought maybe Jude could do it? And that way I don’t have to worry about him either.”

  “You’re crazy.” The way I say it though sounds nothing short of awestruck. “You really could hang for this.”

  He gives this about a second’s thought which either proves he’s not thinking this through, or he’s thought this through so much he’s already made up his mind. Knowing him, both could somehow be true at the same time.

  “I could, but I’m one person. Children starve to death everyday.”

  “What about the children you’re already responsible for?” I note even as I am saying it that technically Peeta isn’t responsible for them. The Home is. The Capitol is. The District is. But they are so inadequate, Peeta has stepped in.

  “I know. I know. It is a risk. It’s a gamble. I just don’t see any other option I can live with in clear conscience. This is way bigger than that, and no matter what I do, there are risks we face.”

  I can’t say he’s wrong, and who am I to argue with him when I risk my life everyday to feed Prim? I could hang for it, be shot for it, and if that happens, what’ll happen to Prim? But if I don’t she might starve and still die, or take tesserae and be that much more likely to die. It’s like Peeta said. It’s a gamble. It’s a risk.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  I don’t mean to sound callous, but business is business, and this is risky business. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. A wide smile returns to his face. In truth it annoys me at times he seems to find my stern-negotiating-face adorable. I don’t want to be associated with adorable. I am not adorable. Regardless, he agrees to pay me a certain amount to find the land for him, and if they succeed in growing anything, he’ll give me enough grain to match my monthly tesserae rations. While it won’t mean I’ll be able to stop taking out tessera, since I split everything with Gale, it will mean decreasing the number of times I have to put my name in each year. I probably would have agreed to this scheme anyway, but there’s no way I could turn down a deal like that.

  As it turns out,  Peeta really has put a lot of thought into this farming scheme. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s part of being a  bakeer–the way he gets up at three every morning and methodically kneads dough–but deliberateness permeates his being. Peeta is as steady and solid as the earth he means to till. He’s been stockpiling barrels, and building airtight containers to store flour in. He’s been looking into long-term storage. He has a contact in Eleven, (how I dare not ask), who got him corn and wheat seed. He asked his blacksmith brother to make him several hoes, (and laments he couldn’t find a domesticated horse or ox even if it were possible to bring such a creature past the fence), and has even made arrangements with the Goat Man to shovel his manure which Peeta plans to use as fertiliser. Never has it been more obvious to me what a planner Peeta is. Since I usually react to things and don’t generally think past tomorrow, it’s rather mind-boggling to see the lengths to which one man can scheme. Peeta has even grilled Greasy Sae on what she can remember from before the Dark Days about farming in the area. Peeta’s decided to plant corn in the spring and summer, and then wheat in the fall and winter. Who knew wheat just sort of stayed packed under the snow and waited to be harvested come spring? I didn’t. Now I do.

  Peeta has this way of talking about things that keeps you interested. Like when he talked about why he convinced his Aunt to give him chickens. I didn’t know gluten is what made bread stick together, and any flour he might get from corn, or even acorns, would need something else to make it stick. Hence, the eggs which he got from his Aunt, the butcher, who can occasionally get animals into the district. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have little particular interest in the making of bread, and I had no idea there was so much to the subject of flour, oil, sugar, water, and yeast, but there is, and I listen, because he is interesting. Peeta asked if he was boring me, and I told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t really because what he was saying was interesting, but his eyes lit up, and his arms gestured, and his humour was on point. His entire countenance took on such an animated, light-giving quality, I’d dare anyone to not have been absorbed. It seemed too important to him. Peeta has tendency to wrap you up in his enthusiasm, and make you smile in spite of yourself. It’s infectious. I almost hate him for it.  

  He is truly pouring his all into this crazy scheme. He only works part-time at the bakery now. The rest of the day he is out in the woods, by the river, in the valley, hoeing the land. He’s crazy. He is. There’s no other word. It’s insanity. I worry all the time wild animals are going to savage him, but he carries several knives, and he has a hoe, and I’ve taught him how to scale a tree fast, (which was hilarious because he’s stocky and definitely wasn’t made to scale trees, so much as haul them home for fuel), so I tell myself he’ll be fine. For the first two weeks though, come schools end, I race into the woods to make sure he’s okay. He teases me when he notices.

  “Worried about me?” He chortles.

  I roll my eyes as he tugs my braid and splashes me with river water. I pretend I don’t care. I can sort of see the humour of a girl who barely reaches up to his chest crouching in trees to keep an eye on him, but it’s harder to not get aggravated when Prim joins in the teasing.

  “It’s alright,” she says one day when I meet her after school to tell her where I’m going. “I’d run into the woods with Peeta too.” I immediately tell her off as she giggles. She is ten; I don’t know where she gets all this from. I point out that Mr. Mellark will be thirty come November, but she keeps laughing and later has mom tell a story about how her first crush was on the carpenter who was an older guy too. I huff and storm outside. Don’t they know why I worry? What Peeta has done for us, and still does for us? Of course, I’m worried. Of course I keep tabs on him. Maybe it’s just that I know nothing good stays. It’s nothing to do with crushes on older, stronger men. The problem is they’ve got me so worked up, I question every natural observation I have that Peeta’s arms are strong, and look good when they flex, or the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he sweats, or the way his hair shines gold when the light hits it just right. It’s normal to see these things when you look at someone. It doesn’t mean anything, but I head home when my keeping tabs on him results in me seeing him strip off his shirt and pour cool water over his head. There were many trails of water to follow over his chest, droplets that cascaded down him and dazzled in the sun, and he didn’t know I was there so it wasn’t fair.

  On weekends, and everyday come summer, the rest of Peeta’s pseudo-family join him. There is Jude, who is the oldest, and Jet who I know from various conversations over the last year is seventeen, and lives with his mom who is an alcoholic. Then there is Colleen and her brother Cole, who are fourteen and twelve. They were orphaned in the blast that killed my father. Finally, there are the babies of this group, Sarai and her brother Elliot, who were the first of Peeta’s foster kids I met. They don’t help much with the plowing, but they’re up bright and early every morning when the time comes for planting the seeds. I dare say it keeps them out of trouble. I help out too when I can, which always earns me a huge smile from Peeta that makes it hard to maintain eye contact with him. I refuse any form of payment pointing out that this is an investment for me too. Truth is, I just wanted to. Seeing them all work so hard tugs my heartstrings. Contrary to popular belief, I do have them. The corn grows fast, and high, and waves in the wind.

  It sometimes takes me time to find where they are working since Peeta has divided the farming land into sections. He hopes that’ll reduce the likelihood of damage to his crop than if they’re all in one place, and of the Capitol clueing into what’s going on with the two or three acres or so of land they’re farming. I have to say I agree. It was only a few months previously Gale and I had seen two people fleeing the Capitol only to be captured by hovercraft. I hadn’t told anyone but Peeta. Prim I couldn’t tell for fear of worrying her, and the same went with my mother. I don’t want to risk her checking out again, but Peeta, he is the one person in the world today I would say I trust unconditionally. That’s why I told him about the cabin by the lake my father brought me, in case he wants to fix that up to store grain in. He seemed terribly touched I’d told him, and I was glad he’d understood what it meant to me. Sometimes I go to the lake and see the work done and while it saddens me that this place is no longer my own, I am glad that my knowledge, my life, might now sustain others. (You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter.)

  Gale cautions me about getting too involved in all this.

  “It’ll be great if it works out, Catnip, but if it doesn’t, don’t go wasting your time with it. We’ve got our own mouths to feed.” I hate he has a point, and reluctantly agree. It doesn’t end there though. Another time he points out, “And don’t go giving away our trade secrets either. We don’t need that kind of competition.”

  Again I agree with him, but a bakery isn’t going to compete with us, and I’ve known starvation too well not to help when I can, especially when I know what help has meant to me, and even more so when it is the person who helped me when I most needed it.

  “Stupid Townie,” Gale mutters. “If he wants to help out, fine, but the woods are ours. He’s stepping in where he doesn’t belong, trying to take advantage of us, thinks we can’t do better, but what else is new?”

  I get where Gale is coming from. I really do. We’ve been at the backdoors of people who will give us a pittance for our work, because they know we can’t really say no, especially when the law is on their side. It’s frustrating to say the very, very least, but I resent even more the notion that Peeta Mellark is like that when he is the one out here sweating under a hot sun, and working so hard I know I saw blood on the handle of his hoe. I also know that blood is there because he gave Jet his own gloves, and never let on a hint to his own pain. Peeta is staking a lot on this venture. I tell Gale so, and before I know it we’re in a flaming row. I generally try to avoid rows with Gale, or wait until we’re done hunting. They scare off the game, but I can’t help myself this time. There is a lot of huffing, arm-waving, and finger-pointing, and Gale calls me a naive child, again, and eventually we just stop unable to reach an accord. He’s only two years older, I wish he’d stop acting uppity. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I’ve been called a halfie a few times, and that’s one of the kinder words out there. It doesn’t matter how much my mother does as a healer in the Seam, and I am proud of her for that if nothing else, she is still from Town, and people still skirt around her. It’s no different for Peeta. Gale is sceptical. He always will be, I think. It exhausts me.

  It works though. The corn grows, is harvested, dehydrated, and stored to be ground into cornmeal. I take Sarai and Elliot through the woods with massive buckets to get acorns to supplement that as well. One Sunday in October, Peeta invites me to join in a celebration in the woods. I am told I can bring my mother and Prim if I want to, but something in me hesitates and I seek them out alone. When I arrive I find a massive bonfire, and Jet playing something on some kind of wooden instrument. There are some cookies to snack on, and everyone is milling and dancing about the flames. I stop in the shadow of a tree just to watch them as the night grows darker. It’s strange this group of people. Seam colouring aside, they don’t look like a family, and Peeta doesn’t even have that. Jet is the only one that has anything merchant to him, blue eyes, because he’s the product of some Townie looking for fun without responsibility. Jude is lean and thin faced, but Jet is circular and short. Colleen and Cole look related of course, but their hair is blunt and straight, as are their noses. Then the youngest, Sarai and Eliot, well they have an impish look to them, even as serious as Eliot can be. Peeta sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet there is a harmony to this group, a joy, and a hope that unites them as they join hands and spin around and laugh together. They seem bound by something beyond anything I’ve experienced before. It makes something in me ache. I want to join in, but it feels dangerous to do so. I am not a part of this, and celebrating something scares me in a way I don’t fully understand. It seems risky, even as I wish it.

  “Katniss!” Elliot has spotted me. “Come on!” He runs forward and pulls me in. Jude hands me a cookie. It’s delicious, and I can’t help but smile. Soon Sarai who had been enjoying a piggy-back ride by Colleen runs over to get me to dance with her, and her joy drags all of us in as we spin and spin around. Half way through a twirl I lose my balance and Peeta catches me. All I notice is his warmth, his strong arms and chest, and then his blue eyes and his smile, and I forget to breathe. The urge to move forward is so overwhelming I shove him away.

  “I-I’m sorry. It’s getting late. My family’ll worry.”

  “Of course,” Peeta nods, apparently finding nothing the matter with my reaction. I suppose maybe I’m just that awkward. “Give them my regards.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I turn away to hug the youngest one’s goodbye and dash off trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that my mother and Prim were right.

  I avoid him after that. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he’d care, but I don’t know how to act. I trade with him as always, but insist that with winter here, I’m needed elsewhere so I don’t stay. Peeta looks concerned, but I brush him off and he lets it go. I encourage Gale to trade there more often. Gale notices and asks if Peeta has done anything wrong, but he really hasn’t. Gale doesn’t believe me, of course, but he lets it go for which I’m grateful.

  I am, however, kept up to date on everything that’s happening in Peeta’s life by Colleen. For whatever reason she has decided we are friends now we’ve been to a bonfire together. I discovered this when she decided to sit with Madge and I and lunch. I don’t discourage it though, it wouldn’t be particularly nice, and I also know Colleen, like me, doesn’t have many friends. Still, she’s a chatterbox which is an odd change since I think Madge and I are friends-of-a-sort, because we both don’t like to talk. Colleen isn’t shallow though, and her conversation does cover things that are at least relevant or interesting. I don’t think I could’ve bourne a gossip. Funnily enough, the injection of a talker to our group seems to have done Madge and I a bit of good allowing us to actually acknowledge that we are, in fact, friends. She drags us both to her house to teach us to play the piano, which is a huge laugh to say the least, and she talks us into bringing her to the woods. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything besides hunt and trade and work, I never realised how much I missed it. Short of some joking with Prim, or family time at New Years, I haven’t just had fun since my father died. It fills me with a deep ache in my heart. My father and I used to spend time together just singing with the mockingjays. Sometimes, he would seat me on his lap and teach me to sing in harmony with him. Silly songs. Folk songs. Love songs. I learned them all, and now waching Madge laugh as Colleen fudges up her part of Heart and Soul, I almost feel I could cry. For the first time, it doesn’t feel quite so much like death and loss, but life and growth. The cracking of a shell I’m out-growing.  I’ve never considered that new life comes in to the world to us with pain, so much as I have fixated on the losing of it.

  Gale and I stop trading with Peeta as of November. We split the grain he gives us between our families, and go straight to the new bakery in the Seam if we need bread. Greasy Sae has partnered with it to give it even more legitimacy, if such is a concern in a black market, and it is gaining popularity quickly. I am told there was a problem with the other bakery at the Hob. The system worked where children could sell there tesserae grain for coin, and that grain would be milled down and baked and sold at the Hob. Before Peeta, that was the best most people could hope for for a bakery in the Seam. With Jude selling now, fewer people were buying tesserae bread, or even having to sell as much tesserae grain for coin. Jude and Jet had almost come to blows with the other baker, I think his name was Mr. Salter, before people came to break it up before the Peacekeepers were forced to actually remember they were on duty. Peeta sorted it out by arranging to pay the Salter family help him mill down his grain, since it’s hard for them to farm, bake, and mill, all by themselves, and now they’ve settled into a reluctant sort of truce. Jude has not been condemned to the mines.

  But death comes anyway. It’s unstoppable. Colleen looks sombre come February.

  “Did something happen?” Madge asks, concerned.

  “Peeta’s mother died.”

  None of us say much after that, but after pacing around the woods guilty, I visit Peeta for the first time in four months. When he answers the door he looks dreadfully exhausted. His eyes have a haunted quality to them, and his hair seems simultaneously lank and uncombed. There is stubble where he is usually so clean shaven.

  “Hey, Katniss.” He mumbles and motions for me to enter.

  “I, um, heard about your mother.” I offer tentatively as I place several squirrels on the table for him.

  He sits down and sighs with weariness that is soul-deep.

  “Yeah, it’s no surprise really. She’s been sick for awhile, and had stroke a few years back besides.”

  I hadn’t known that she was sick. I should’ve known that. Guilt is rising steadily in me, as Peeta emotionally runs his hand through his hair which waves in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing that a lot today. I have never seen him sit with such a slump in his shoulders before. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to cook the squirrel. I remember how hard it can be to move when you lose a parent, how simple tasks can seem monumental. I’m not a brilliant cook; I’ve never had much opportunity to learn, but I think I can handle a stew. Something about the smell seems to wake Peeta up and he enters the kitchen as the stew is bubbling.

  “Thank you.”

  I just nod. Saying “You’re welcome,” seems trite somehow. This was the least that should be expected. I have been a poor friend to him.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he continues as he sits down, his voice has this hollow quality to it. “She and I were never close. I was her disgrace…but now that she’s gone. I guess, I don’t know, there’s no way to ever make it right. Not that it was ever going to be made right, of course. Ever. So what’s the use in–” he waves half-heartedly with his hand, unable to articulate himself for once. All I do is hand him over a bowl of soup. You can’t go wrong with feeding someone, right? I pass him a spoon, and I can tell something’s wrong by the way he stares at it, turning it back and forth before his eyes like it is the key to some kind of puzzle. He drops the spoon and covers his face with his hands. His sobs are mostly soundless, but I can tell they are there by the shaking of his shoulders. They wrack his whole body.

  After a time, I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, and start to rub his back. This seems to help a little. I’m half tempted to sing to him, like I would to Prim, but he’s a grown man and that feels strange so I restrain myself. It hurts to see him like this. I’ve never really registered how alone he is. He’s here, in this house, alone, even though he has a father, two married brothers, and several nieces and nephews. It is I who comforts him. I can feel my heart swell with the absurd need to cradle and protect a man so many years my senior. When he calms, he gently places a large, warm hand over my small one, and smiles. I smile gently back.

  “Sorry to do that in front of you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thanks for the soup. It helps. The kids’ll be in soon, and then I’ve got to go meet with my brothers and Dad about the arrangements.”

  “If you ever need anything, please just…let me know.” I say the words earnestly and hesitantly, because I’ve never considered before that I could be of any real help to Peeta Mellark. His face lights a slight amount anyway, and he seems more like himself. He tugs my braid lightly and musses my hair and says he’ll bear that in mind. The gesture squeezes my heart in a way that pains. I know what I’ve always known, that he sees me as a cute kid, the daughter of a good friend, but it’s better that way I think as I walk home. There’s no reason that should hurt me. If I ever had to be attracted to anybody, best to be attracted to someone way beyond me. Peeta is older, from Town. It could never work. He’d never notice me, so I have nothing to fear. I can, however, be a partner to him, and more than just in trade. Gale and I share the burdens of having to help support our households. It makes things easier. I can do the same with Peeta, and bringing him some of Prim’s old clothes for Sarai is a good start, because no one deserves to shoulder the burdens of a family alone. I mean to bridge that gap however I can.

  Chapter Three: Artless

“Why art?” I remember asking Peeta shortly after I’d first started trading with him.

  “What do you mean why art?”

  “I mean…no offence…but, isn’t it a waste of time, even money?”

  Peeta took his time in giving me a response. It was something I always appreciated about him. He never belittled me, and spoke to me with respect. When he answered he was still sort of staring into space.

  “You can starve physically, but your soul can starve too. You can survive, but have no reason to live. Art feeds the soul.” He pauses and looks over at me. “You know how when you’re tired you can sit down and not want to get up again? You can. But you don’t. You can give up.” Immediately I am brought back to the apple tree where I had sat lost, weak, and weary. I could have gotten up, as I proved when Peeta gave me the bread, but before the hope he gave me, I wouldn’t have believed I could at all. I had no defense. “Art gives rise to hope, and validation of pain. It’s important, Katniss.”

  I nodded, content to never bring the topic up again, but after a lull in the conversation I thought was over, Peeta added one final thought. “Your father used to sing all the time. I always loved to draw, but I dare say he taught me the power of it.”

  I still haven’t truly sang since my father died, not to anyone other than Prim. I once stood at the edge of the lake my father brought me, not long after that talk with Peeta, and considered opening my mouth and letting the song that flooded to the back of my teeth pour out, but when I saw the mockingjays, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sing and know they would take up the call and sing it again, and again after me for who knew how long. I knew singing again without my father would crack through some barrier that dammed the grief in me, and if I started, would I stop? And how could I bear the mockingjays carrying my pain onward and onward and onward, magnifying it for all to hear? I am too small for that. Too weak. So I don’t sing.

  It hadn’t stopped someone else from their own brand.

  It was In the spring, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I first noticed it. Graffiti on buildings depicting the faces of fallen tributes, or supporting the miners, or deriding the excesses of the Capitol. I’d never seen anything like it before. We usually try to forget the Reaping exists during the rest of the year, not like we ever do of course, but we tuck our heads down and move on. I’ve never seen anyone calling attention to it before, honouring those we’ve lost. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Gale loves it, of course.

  He thinks it’s great to stir people up, take down the Capitol. I want to point out that it’s useless if we’re all by ourselves, one tiny district, but know from experience he won’t listen. He says it would be great if some Townie got reaped so maybe they’d fight alongside us. In truth, I never dreamed he’d get his wish.

  I am a mess the 74th games. It is Prim’s first time, and even though the odds are most in your favour the first time, somehow it feels like the worst. I jerkily lead her up to the counter where peacekeepers are taking blood for their records, and guide her through the process. I hardly even noticed when they prick my finger. When I tell her I will find her immediately after the ceremony is done, I know I am reassuring her as much as myself. I love Prim like I love myself…more actually.

  Colleen is waiting for me in the area for sixteen year olds and she grasps my hand tightly. I know she is as worried for Cole as I am for Prim, but she’s been through this a couple of times already. I’m not used to this kind of fear. I squeeze her hand back in solidarity and appreciation. She offers me a tight smile I can’t bring myself to return. I stare fruitlessly at the bowl and beg it will not call my name, not Prim’s name, or Madge’s, or Colleen’s, or Cole’s, or Gale’s, and muse that in spite of my best efforts, I care far too much. I don’t want it to be anyone, but I can’t stop that, so I must protect my own. There is a tension in the air, as Effie Trinket quickly reads the name more intent on maintaining her tenuous grasp on her wig then appreciating what she’s doing.

  “Flouer Mellark!”

  And a fifteen year old girl from Town is reaped: Peeta’s niece.

  Colleen and I exchange looks. I can read in her eyes what must be in my own. Was the Reaping punitive? It must be even worse for her, because Mellark is her last name now too. Peeta had adopted them all a few months ago when Jude’s Bakery took off. Colleen grabs my hand even tighter, so much so I fear the circulation must be cut off, but I do the same to her. WIll it be Peeta’s nephew, or will it be Cole, who is the only other boy Peeta cares about who might be eligible? Or if it is about trading in the Hob, what is it’s Gale? My breathing loosens when it’s a boy from the Seam, Terrence Carter–but it’s still horrifying to see it is a twelve year old boy. Twelve year olds are seldom Reaped, but when they are, they come from the  very back of the crowd, a longer walk, a longer torment, as if the Capitol wants to rub it in our faces what they do.

Tears are streaming down Colleen’s face now, and the moment we are cleared to leave she runs to find her brother, as I run to find Prim. I clutch her in my arms, breath her scent in, run my fingers through her hair. I need to know she is here, real, in my arms.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she sobs, “how awful.” I can only imagine how this felt to her. I had tried to comfort her, comfort myself, saying her name was only in there once, but so had Terrence’s been. Besides, she knows who the Mellark’s are and that drives it home too. No one is safe. How can anyone choose to go through this?

  “Hush, Little Duck,” I say as I pull away and tuck in her shirt again. “How about we bring them some strawberries?”

  She nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. Mom is here now and she hugs Prim too and squeezes my shoulder with her free hand, a teary-eyed smile on her lips.

  Gale is waiting at the edge of the crowd, and I motion to my mother and Prim to go on home first. I give him a hug, the first we’ve ever shared.

  “Congratulations.” I whisper, trying to remind myself to also be grateful I’ll never have to worry about him being Reaped again.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about Rory who will be eligible next year. I know I am. “Who’d have thought it’d be someone from Town? Maybe now they’ll know what it’s like.”

  “Don’t joke like that Gale.” I glare at him. He doesn’t comment on it.

  “So,” he puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate with me?”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Yeah, everyone who’s aged out this year. We’re all meeting in the meadow. You want to come?”

  There’s an urgency in his eyes, and a nervousness in his tone that make me think this must be more important than I realise, but my mind is at the Mellark house, so I don’t think too much when I reply.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you after dinner.”

  “Great!” His eyes light up, and his smile is wider than I’ve seen in ages, and I am happy for him, so I try not to let my distractedness show as he walks me home and prattles on inanely. I nod and hum at appropriate intervals, a practice I am well-versed in given my conversational skills are nil at the best of times.

  When I knock on the door with the basket of strawberries in my hand, it is Jet who opens the door for me. He motions me in, and I don’t comment on the shadows under his eyes. Inside, Sarai is softly sobbing in Colleen’s arms; Cole, next to her, has his eyes closed and is leaning on her shoulder. Eliot is stiff as board on the sofa. Jet sits down next to them, and rests the strawberries on the table. No one eats them.

  “Is he still at the Justice Building?”

  “Yeah,” Jet’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jude and his wife’s with him. Or were. Family didn’t want the Seam there.” He sighs and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

  I stand there awkwardly until the door bursts open. My heart falls when it is Jude and Maria not Peeta.

  “He’ll be here in five minutes.” Jude explains awkwardly.

  “How bad was it?”

  “His brother punched him across the jaw.”

  “Shit.” Jet groans.

  “Language!” Colleen reprimands him pulling Sarai in closer. He ignores her and goes up to thump Jude on the back in masculine affirmation. Maria announces she’s going to make dinner and courteously thanks me for the strawberries. I feel out of place as Jude flops down next to Jet. I’m the only one standing, but this isn’t my house, and I doubt it would be polite to sit. Maybe I should go, but I don’t feel I can do that until I see Peeta.

  He walks in not long after, and already there is the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his left eye. His movements are slowed; his exhaustion is evident.

  “Dad,” Sarai rushes over to him, and he kneels to the floor to grasp her in a tight hug. He closes his eyes so tightly I think he must be hiding tears. As the others gather around, I slip out the door feeling like a voyeur.  

  I almost don’t remember I agreed to go to Gale’s celebration, but halfway through washing the dishes after a silent post-Reaping meal, I head off to the meadow.

  Gale is already there. A few people are playing some upbeat songs, and I can tell the Ripper’s liquor has already started to be passed around the large crowd of eighteen year olds.

  “Catnip!” Gale waves me over, and introduces me to his friends, Thom, Bristel, Jason, and Axel. “You all know who Katniss is, of course.” He gestures towards me proudly, but all can think is that of course they know who I am. I know my reputation. The surly, halfie, criminal who can kill you from a distance. Daughter of the the Townie healer, with the sister with the fair features. Other. Alien. Jack Everdeen’s daughter.

  I am deeply uncertain why Gale wants me here. I am useless with conversation, and I don’t know anyone here. Gale and I spend time together in the woods, but we’ve never done much outside of that. But then I realise maybe that’s the point. I won’t be able to see Gale terribly much after he enters the mines. He’ll only be free on Sundays, so I try to put my best foot forward which I think he appreciates.

  I don’t know how well I do, there’s only so much one can say about the weather, the seasons, and the coal. It’s an unwritten rule not to talk about the Reaping, but I still I detect a general sentiment that “at least it’s a Townie this time,” and “now they’ll know what it feels like” which makes me uncomfortable in it’s callousness. They’re all just children. I dance a few dances, and almost have fun, as much as one can at theses sorts of things where you’re never told what you have to do, and what’s expected of you, which leaves someone like me hanging awkwardly wondering how many gaffes they make a second. The only comfort I have is that initially, I can follow Gale’s lead as he drags me around everywhere to introduce me. Once I exhaust my sparse reserves of small talk I cautiously retreat to a corner while Gale takes swigs out of one of the several bottles of white liquor making its rounds. I wonder how long I’m obliged to stay here before I can go home politely. It has been a taxing day and all I want to do is sleep.

  As it gets colder and darker, I wrap my arms around myself and realise I forgot to grab a sweater before heading out. My Reaping dress is thin and short-sleeved. I decide I’m just going to go home when Gale notices my discomfort and slips his jacket around me saying he’ll walk me back. Behind him some boys who notice the interaction jeer and wolf-whistle. I’d shoot them a glare, but I am honestly too tired to care. We are just up at my doorstep when Gale grabs my arm.

  “Listen, Catnip, we’re both older now, and I’ll be in the mines soon.”

  I wearily lift my eyes up to his to hear him out when he grabs my cheeks and pulls my face up to kiss me. I can smell the liquor on him. I am so shocked it takes me a moment to respond. I shove him away with both hands and run inside, trying to ignore the dismayed look on his face. I feel like the ground is rocking under me, and I fall to the ground once I am inside. I wrap my arms around my knees and finally, finally give into my tears. How could he kiss me like that, when he knows how I feel about it, without even asking, and on a day like today when I see what could be all my worst fears realised?

  Prim is a sleep, but Momma comes to the front door. She must hear my crying.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she whispers sympathetically, and wraps her arms around me soothingly rocking me into her chest. It’s been years since I’ve allowed her to hold me like this, not since Dad died, and it turns a key in my chest that makes me sob all the harder. Somehow it feels good. Momma plants a kiss on my head.

  I drop Gale’s jacket on the Hawthorne’s doorsept early the next morning, and go squirrel hunting. Gale, fortunately, is not there. He’s probably still hungover. I work quickly, and soon I am at Peeta’s with fresh meat.

  “It’s not to trade.” I murmur when he opens the door. He nods me in and says I don’t have to do that. I already brought them strawberries. I decide to pretend I didn’t hear him since I don’t know what to say.

  “The kids are still asleep then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It is still quite early.”

  “It is.”

  The stuntedness is more than I can take, so I address the obvious issue.

  “You’re eye looks bad. Is it true your brother hit you?”

  “Yes. It is.” He looks away at the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Sure.” But I know he’s trying to change the subject.

  “Did your brother think it was punitive?”

  “Yeah.” His back is to me at the stove so all I can see are clenched muscles and slumped shoulders.

  “Do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. They could’ve reaped any of my children if they wanted to do that. Not my nieces. It could just be a coincidence, or maybe they just didn’t want to be too obvious. I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands still. “Either way it doesn’t matter. Over this last year, fewer people than ever have had to take tesserae, which means the odds were less in favour of the Merchants than ever. So either way….I suppose you could argue it’s my fault.”

  I frown, uncertain which side to take. “Are you going to stop?”

  “No,” he shakes his head firmly. It’s the strongest gesture he’s made since I arrived. “I knew the risks when I started this. More people starve everyday then are reaped every year. The bakery helps with that. I just never expected to have to face the consequences so…soon.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter so tightly now that I can see his knuckles whiten. I can’t help myself. I go up and wrap my arms around him, and he reciprocates. We stand there for a few moments until he extracts himself murmuring a thank you.

  “So, how are things for you?” He finally asks, and I grant him the reprieve. There’s nothing more to say in any case. Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.

  “Gale kissed me.” I blurt out. Against my will I scan his face for a reaction. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but all I get out of him is raised eyebrows.

  “And you didn’t like it?”

  “No!” I cross my arms. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want marriage or kids. I told him yesterday morning before he even tried. What’s wrong with him?”

  Peeta chuckles which contrasts to the stain of grief that remains on his face. I hate him for laughing at my plight.

  “He’s an eighteen year old boy, Katniss. He’s just survived his last Reaping. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and he wants to share it with a remarkable woman. He overstepped his bounds. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “I’m not remarkable.” I grumble. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him directly.

  “Yes, you are.” I pretend I can’t feel myself blush under his stare.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” He reassures me touching my cheek in a friendly manner. “Tell Gale how you feel, and if he’s as good a friend as you say he is, then he’ll come around, and accept it.”

  “I just hate all the presumptions!” I hate that I’m whining too, but it is so annoying. “Everyone assumes we’re together. I never thought he would just assume too! And now I’m getting older, and the mines are looming, all everyone seems to talk about is boys and marriage.”

  “I suppose they figure partnership makes it more bearable.”

  “Not me.” I scowl. He laughs lightly.

  “Don’t worry about it. Look at me!” He says as he flips eggs that have been frying in the pan too long. “I’ve never married, and I’m doing just fine.” I crook my lips at that one.

  “You’ve adopted a bunch of kids and have a terrible reputation.”

  “True!” He taps my nose with his index finger. “So don’t be like me.” Then the glint leaves his eyes, and he remembers what happened yesterday. I reach out and grasp his hand. We stay like that a long while as the eggs cool to rubber.

  Gale and I don’t talk again until the day after the bloodbath. It’s clear he’s been avoiding me. When we finally meet up again in the woods I rail at him for kissing me and not even having the guts to face me afterward. I hadn’t appreciated splitting my haul with a man who wasn’t there. He at least has the decency to pretend to look ashamed, but I know he isn’t because he says it was just because he had a bit too much to drink, and had originally planned to “ease me into it.” Whatever the Hell that means. I’m not known for being fickle.

  “I know you don’t like the idea, Katniss, but I also know you hate the mines. They might turn a blind eye to you poaching, but only if you’re working too. What are you going to say when you turn eighteen? Are you going to go down the mines?”

  “I could say I’m a healer like mom!”

  He laughs. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”

  “It might!”

  “Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.”

  I hate that he’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like being talked down too like that. It is a very tense hunt.

  Flouer Mellark dies in the bloodbath. Peeta leaves the bakery in Town.

  Every time I got to trade in Town I can feel the resentment. I can feel the glares at me, even worse than usual for being from the Seam. I can also feel anger towards the Capitol though. It’s palpable. The Mellarks, Peeta aside, are a respected family here.  Meanwhile, at the Hob, Sae starts up a fund to sponsor Terrence. He is killed by the Careers on the fourth day.

  No one knows what to do with the coin. We hadn’t had a chance to send it in yet, and Sae hadn’t exactly been keeping records of who gave what. It is Jude who suggests they send it to Rue. When we see there isn’t quite enough yet to get her something decent, he convinces Peeta to ask for donations in Town. I am deeply sceptical, but Peeta rallies his few friends and so angry are the people in Town at the Careers and the Capitol, they donate, and we send Rue some bread. When she receives the bread that is obviously not from her District and thanks us, and everyone in the crowd cheers. I notice the Peacekeepers grip their weapons tighter. I notice Gale is grinning.

  We all root for Rue to win, and she lasts longer than I think any twelve year old has before, but she dies when the Careers smoke her out of the tree she hides in. Her death is cruel, painful, sadistic, and brutal. Everyone looks traumatised for weeks. Mockingjays with Rue’s face are found in alleyways making everyone stew. I don’t know if it’s one artists or several that grafiti the District, but they stir us up. Our only consolation is that for once someone from an outlying District wins, someone we actually like: Thresh. If you can call it a consolation when it is a rallying point. There is a curling in my stomach that tells me I need to ask Peeta a few pointed questions, but I decide it’s better not to know.

  Chapter Four: Catching Fire

Summer break begins soon after the Games end, and I don’t see much of the Mellarks. All of them disappear into the woods from dawn until dusk to harvest the wheat. I keep an eye on them intermittently between my own prolific hunting. Summer is when you store up for Winter. Everytime I see them, they are hard at work. Jet and Peeta do the scything. Colleen and Cole bundle, and the youngest two rake. That’s just the beginning of course; they also have to thresh and winnow what they’ve gathered. After that, they’ll have to prepare the land to plant the corn. Whenever I catch them working, I invariably think of Thresh, and how skills like this had helped him survive. He knew how to handle a scythe; he knew how to survive in the forest of grain they provided for him. I wonder if the Gamemakers had planned to have an outlier win this year, to keep things from being too boring. It seemed a bit of an advantage for anyone with farming experience, like people from Eleven raised in fields of grain. I wonder if they’re regretting it.

  Thresh has been a difficult victor to say the least. His shout, “For Rue!” when he made his last kill has been taken by the District as something of a rallying cry. I’ve seen the phrase graffitied everywhere. During his victor interview, much like his tribute interview, he really made Caesar work for every word. There was seething resentment in him, and tears that shone hatred in his eyes when he saw Rue die. He made it clear he thought anyone who participated or enjoyed that kind of thing was monstrous. It didn’t matter how much the Capitol tried to edit his interview. There really was no salvaging it. I worry all the time about the consequences for him, but so far he’s still around. I can’t imagine what the Victory Tour will be like.

  Gale is thrilled by what he’s seen. Ever since he’s started down the mines, he’s been even more of a ticking bomb than ever. Resentment spills out of his every pore. He was made for more than back-breaking minework in unsafe conditions for which he gets a pittance.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip! This proves that the other Districts feel the same way we do!”

  “Maybe they do, Gale, but we’re all still trapped by fences.” I wish he would be rational. “Do you even know how you’d communicate with them? Let alone ally with them?”

  “Thresh is coming here on the tour, isn’t he? We can get him a message then.”

  “How? How are you going to get close enough to him?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “All we need is a signal. Someone to shout from the crowd we support him.”

  “And get us all killed.”

  “They can’t kill all of us, Catnip. Where would they get their coal?”

  “Didn’t save Thirteen.” I point out cynically.

  “Look, we’re all on camera. Maybe they’ll edit it out in post-production, but maybe other Districts will see what we did too.” He looks down at me in frustration. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Katniss.”

  “I’m not! But there’s no point in having this rebellion if it doesn’t work. I’m not risking my life, let along my sister’s and mother’s on some fool’s scheme!” My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. “When I’m sure you’ve thought this through, maybe I’ll consider joining.” He internalises this. His eyes are watching me in a manner that is calculating, and, for once, I can’t fathom what’s in the recesses of his mind. Do I know him as well as I think?

  “Alright, Catnip. I will. I’ll give you a plan. It’s simple. We get to Thresh. He gets word out to the other districts, other victors, maybe. We make bows, weapons, grab the tools from the mines, take the Peacekeepers. The miners are angry, Katniss. We’d do it. If we can coordinate that with the other districts, we could take the Capitol.”

  “They. Have. Bombs. Gale!” I spit through gritted teeth.

  “We have a victor who is an ally in the Capitol.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe he can cripple them somehow.”

  “It’s a bit much to hope.”

  “All at once, maybe, but if we plan this over a few years. It could work.”

  It might. I reluctantly concede to that. We spend the rest of out time in the woods in silence, but I can tell from the distant look in his eyes that Gale is scheming. Right before we leave, he shocks me with that he says.

  “Your friend, Madge, the mayor’s daughter.”

“What of her?” I ask cautiously. Gale’s never liked her.

  “She’ll be at the banquet when Thresh comes here, won’t she? She could get a message to him, discreetly. Could you talk to her about it?”

  I muse over it a bit, but Madge has mentioned her Aunt Maysilee a few times. I know she has a rebellious spirit in her, it’s evident if only in who she choose to befriend. And, in truth, as careful as I’ve learned to be, I want to end these Hunger Games. I want to rebel. I tell Gale I’ll talk to her about it. Something this simple is small, not likely to hurt anyone, but could have impact.

  I broach the subject with Madge when she joins me gathering in the woods. She looks intrigued.

  “I’ll need to be able to tell him what kind of support to expect.” She muses. “You’ll need to know how many miners are involved, how far they’re willing to go, but, yes, I’ll certainly do it. Actually,” she adds hesitantly, but I see pride in her eyes as she raises them to mine. “My family has been rebels for ages.” Then she bites her lip, before adding something that confounds me. “Just tell Gale to be careful about running his mouth in the mines. New shafts should be fine, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol bugs them to make sure there isn’t anything treasonous that might translate into action. I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard it speculated that that’s why there was that accident years ago. The one your father died in.”

  “You mean…?” Could it be possible? My father poached. He was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but I had never considered he might have been a rebel in the revolutionary sense. I suppose it could explain the lack of support we received afterwards. I still don’t doubt it was because my father’s marriage was so unpopular, because everyone was too wrapped up to care, but now there might be another reason as well.

  “Yeah.” Madge nods. “I don’t know much, but my aunt and your mother were friends. I think that’s what got your mother into it, when she saw Aunt Maysilee die.”

  My mother, a rebel? I can hardly imagine it, but then again, she did leave everything she’d ever known to marry me father. She’d been brave once, rebellious. I feel a stirring of desire to know her again burning up inside me warring with the urge to keep her at a distance to protect myself. A war that has been going on in earmest since she held me after Gale kissed me.

  I’m going to have to talk to her.

“Yes, it’s true.”

  “Seriously?” She says it so casually. Yes, it’s true. I feel my mind spinning, but at the same time it’s like it’s falling into place, being screwed on right, because it makes a bizarre sort of sense.

  “You were rebels?”

  “Yes,” my mother nods again. She sips her tea before she elaborates. We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is out with a friend. Despite the fact that we are talking about Dad, or perhaps because of it, Momma seems more animated than ever. “I grew up thinking, if not nasty things, than superior things about the Seam.” She explains. “I never imagined I would ever visit here, let alone live here. But one day, your father showed up, asking to trade meat for antibiotics. A boy had been horribly whipped, and needed help. My father refused him, but I admired his courage in coming there. There was something shining in his eyes. It was well-known that my family believed in doing business only with those who had the coin. Your father went on about how the young boy was the only child left to a widowed woman. Something about the entire scene touched me, so I followed your father out. I got him the medication. That started everything.”

  “You said you met when he came to trade plants with you?”

  “I did. The whippings back then were terrible. After Haymitch won, new peacekeepers were brought in, and the punishments were absolutely barbaric. My parents said we shouldn’t help; the people involved were criminal, and it would only cause trouble. The truth is, I wanted to cause trouble. I watched my best friend die a horrific death on live television. Haymitch tried to help her; they were allies. I thanked him for that once.” She quiets as she becomes lost in a distant memory. She shakes herself out of it. “I was angry at the Capitol for what they’d done, and I was sixteen so sneaking out to heal the backs of those who were whipped for defying them seemed a terribly grand idea.” I can see it now. My mother, before grief diminished her, sneaking out to help those in need. I’m proud of her, I realise. “I told your father I couldn’t help him with Capitol-grade medicines again, so I looked through the Plant Book, and told him which herbs to gather. I suppose I realised interacting with all these Seam families that they weren’t so different, the depth of the unfairness. It’s not often someone from Town is Reaped, but now that I knew how devastating it was…I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face that all the time.” She shrugs, takes another sip of her tea, and concludes. “So that’s how I fell in love with your father, and, yes, eventually, we joined organised rebellion.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I mumble. I twist my head trying to process what I’ve just heard. Momma reaches out to grasp my hand.

  “It was nothing I meant to hide from you,” she says softly, “but first you were too young, and then…”

  “And then…” I conclude, knowing exactly what she means.

  “When Jack died, I feared it was my fault,” she whispers. “Did I get him killed?”

  For the first time in years, I go up and wrap my arms around my mother. I love you, I think to myself, because I do. My mother has never turned anyone away, has always healed everybody, and I know, once she came back, she did all she knew how to do for us. Slowly, haltingly, those words cross my lips, and as we cry together, our tears intermingle.

  Afterwards she lifts a trembling hand and wipes my tears away.

  “I understand why you’re so reticent to have children, you know.” She says tremulously. “Your father and I waited years to have you, until things were safer. I knew better than most do how to avoid a pregnancy. But, sweetheart, I never regretted marrying your father, or having you and your sister. There’s things I wish I’d done differently, but I’ve never regretted it. And if I hadn’t done it, I know I would have always wondered, and that would have been worse. I don’t know what happened between you and Gale, but if he isn’t for you, then he isn’t. I rejected men too, but if you’re afraid…be honest, and consider if it’s worth the risk. I’d never take back what I had with your father for the pain of his loss. And you’re not alone, not like before. Prim and I will stand by you, if nothing else.” She closes her eyes and I touch her hand, the one that wiped my tears. “If you do want to talk to me about that, Katniss, I can listen.” Then she moves to wash up the dishes, and I help her dry. Momma’s like me that way. She says what she has to say, but she’s not wordy. The silence between us communicates what we cannot. It is not shards of ice that let in a chill wind, but a warm chord that hums between us.

  I warn Gale about talking in the mines, and about what Madge says, and it fires him up. In light of what I now know, I also try to corner Peeta to talk to him, but even past the harvesting and planting season, he’s hard to find. When I come over with some clothes Prim has outgrown, Colleen greets me at the door, and encourages Sarai to try them on. As she excitedly does, Colleen confides in me that Peeta has been distant ever since the Games. He throws himself into his work, and barely surfaces at the end of the day. He’s gone early in the morning.

  “It’s true,” Sarai confirms as she gathers up the clothes that don’t fit her anymore. They’ll likely one day be Posy’s. “He doesn’t tell stories like he used to.” Colleen brushed back her little sister’s hair comfortingly and something rends in my chest.

  I go home and stew for hours before marching into the woods to find Peeta. He’s there, sure enough, and I storm up to him hissing at him to come talk to me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I reprimand as soon as we are out of Jet’s earshot.

  “Farming.” He replies blandly, although I detect shock in his eyes at my dressing down. I suppose it’s true I’ve never dared talk to him like this, then again, have I ever had to?

  “I’ve barely seen a peep of you in weeks,” which hurt more than I want to admit, “and now I have to hear from Colleen and Sarai that you’ve been all checked out?” I fight the tears forming in my eyes, because it brings back uncomfortable memories. “I’m not your daughter, and even I haven’t appreciated not being able to talk to you, how do you think they feel?”

  “I’m sorry.” He stammers. “I-”

  “I really don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just stop. Do better.”

  I storm off, but he follows me, and grabs me by the left forearm twisting me around.

  “I am sorry,” he speaks earnestly. “I hadn’t realised I was hurting you or them. I just…I don’t know. Whenever I’m upset, I work.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I have ever since I was a boy, kneading bread is a good way to work out anger. It’s always worked before, and it means things get done that…appease people, I guess.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work now though. I hurt all the time. It never goes away, and now Maria’s pregnant, and-

“Maria’s pregnant?!”

  “Yes. And I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, and if maybe I’ve screwed up, and my brother won’t look me in the eye, or talk to me, or accept anything from me, and then I go home, and wonder if I haven’t condemned every single one of them. I just…” He looks skyward and blinks rapidly. I know he’s trying not to cry, and I don’t know what to say.

  “Is it true you’re part of the rebellion?” I blurt out instead. He looks gobsmacked again. It seems to be a day for it.

  “Yes. Did you figure out from the art?”

  “Partially,” I admit, “but Mom told me today about how she and Daddy were in with the rebels, and you said you knew him, and you said he taught you about art. You said he used to sing. It reminded me of the Hanging Tree, and how he used to sing that, but Momma would tell him to be careful. So, I just wondered if…”

  “If that’s how we met?”

  I nod.

  “No. We met because he traded with me, but he was the one who brought me into the Rebellion. I felt like I had to get involved.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Jude, I suppose, and the others when they came. So many children starving, I can’t feed them all. Even with the new bakery, I can’t feed them all. Then, I realised I was a father, and how could I be a good father, if I turned a blind eye to something threatening my kids?” He sighs and looks deflated. “My mom used to hit me. My dad did nothing. The Games are worse than being hit, and I couldn’t do nothing the way he did.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s how I got in.”

  “Just tell them that then.” I say. “They’ll understand that you’re fighting for them. You’re all in too deep now.”

  “Do you think they’ll forgive me?” He whispers, and in the curling of his torso I can see what it had cost him to admit this. The family he was born into turned against him. Does he expect the one he created will as well?

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I forgave.” I pause. “And I’m not always good at that.”

  He smiles. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  He laughs. “Yelling at me. I guess, I needed it.”

  I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and head home.

Rebellious sentiment spreads quickly. The idea of trying to make contact with other districts proves popular, and while not everyone is willing to join in actively now, they do say that if the Districts unite, they’ll fight. Our district is small so we’ll need a lot of the population to fight, but with the addition of Peeta’s farming, there’s more self-sufficiency, and that means more people who see hope. Which means there’s a shot. I tell Madge everything and she dutifully promises to relay the information. Gale’s ambitious and he hopes that maybe if they show something on camera, it’ll get through during the mandatory viewing, reach more than just Eleven. I don’t know who organises it, or how it’s decided, but when the Victory Tour finally comes, a recording goes off during Thresh’s clearly scripted speech of Rue’s four note tune, and someone shouts For Rue! And gets carted off. Thresh nods in solidarity. We are all put under curfew.

  Regardless, Madge is able to get her message to him, and Thresh tells her District Eleven had an uprising after Rue’s death, and are chomping at the bit for freedom. And having been on Tour, he can confirm that other Districts are angry too. Word is quickly spread through the mines, and soon people are whistling various four note tunes in solidarity.

  Gale is extremely eager.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip!” He exclaims. “It’s closer than ever!” He crows in the woods, and I let him. In spite of myself, I am excited too. “Maybe a couple more years, and we’ll have them. We’ll have them.” I smile at his enthusiasm, even if I think it’s a bit premature.  “And what about us, Catnip?” He turns around and looks at me with shining eyes.

  “What about us?” I hedge. All the delight in his exclamations dies.

  “I know you’re worried about having kids, Katniss, but if we built a whole, new, better world, it would be different.” He says it so hopefully, almost confidently that I can’t bring myself to crush him. Besides, I don’t know if he’s wrong. Without the Games, with access to food and Capitol-grade medicine, I really wouldn’t object to having kids, but the idea of opening my heart like that hurts. I do consider it though, I already care about Gale, care about a lot of people, maybe there’s no stopping it. Momma’s right too, we aren’t nearly so helpless now. So I say,

  “Maybe I can be different.”

  And maybe I can, but when I dare to dream, since I’m dreaming anyway, I dream of blonde hair and blue eyes. Even though I know it’s as likely to happen as pigs flying.

  It’s Peeta who first tells me about Thirteen. It is Madge who confirms it. It’s a game-changer really. Weapons are an issue for us. We don’t have a whole lot to fight with. Knowing someone could supply us with arms helps. If every district, or even of most districts, can take their Peacekeepers, we’ll have a shot at the Capitol. It’s sensitive knowledge though, and not something we can blast around which makes recruitment difficult. I don’t do much of any of it, but Gale rales in the mines, and Peeta is working on it in Town with a friend. I provide a listening ear to them both. One thing everyone is nervous about, riled up about, is the upcoming Quarter Quell, and both Gale and Peeta are using that to their advantage.

  But Winter is difficult, even more so than usual. Most people become so intent on heating their homes, and overcoming illness, we know we’ll have to wait until spring to really start the conversation up again.

  Eliot drags home another girl from the Community Home. She’s three years old, adorable, and her name is Crystal. She’s recently orphaned. After a couple months, she’s one of the many who fall ill. She’s still far from the last. Mom and Prim are gone all hours of the day and night for weeks trying to keep on top of it all, but there’s not much they can do. It drags on and on. There’s speculation it’s punishment, biological warfare from the Capitol, but we don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Either way, it changes nothing of our reality. I spend a lot of time at the Mellarks for support. Crystal coughs and sputters and tries to breath. We feed her as best we are able, and hold her head over steam to help her breath. We try to bring her fever down, and soothe her cough. Nothing works. Finally, I hold her and sing. It’s all I can do. Peeta stands in the doorway as she falls asleep. I see tears stream down his face.

  She is in the ground come March.

  “This is why I don’t want kids.” I mutter to Prim as we both cry in bed.

  “That’s stupid,” she mumbles. “You cared about Crystal; she wasn’t yours. If you stop caring, I don’t think you’ll like yourself very much.”

  I don’t know how to answer her, but I still feel a bit validated in my opinion when there is the Reading of the Card for the Quarter Quell.

  “As a reminder that they only endangered their most vulnerable by rebelling, this years tributes will be Reaped from only the twelve year old population.”

  My mother gasps. Prim cries. I stare.

  Gale storms up to me and tells me to meet at the Mellarks for an emergency meeting. There I see Gale and Thom, a couple of other miners I know by sight and not name, and Peeta and his friend Melissa Donner. I gather these must be various cell leaders.

  “We need to start the uprisings in May, before the Reaping.” Gale starts off the conversation, “People are furious about this. It’s perfect timing. They want to stomp us down, but we’ll rise up.” The conversation spirals from there. People are only just starting to recover from the harsh winter; we don’t have the numbers yet. It’s hard to organise a community of thousands. That’s why next year was more feasible. Just because Twelve was ready, didn’t mean all the other Districts were and so on. I agree to wait and Gale glares at me, but I don’t see and alternative.

  Things don’t really fall apart until Gale and Peeta get into an argument. Peeta makes a reference to offering the Peacekeepers the choice to surrender, and Gale says it would endanger lives.

  “Not all the Peacekeepers are bad, Gale.” He points out. I think of Darius and agree.

  “If the White Shirts want to join us, that’s fine by me.” Gale growls back. “But I’m not giving them another opportunity to get one over on me.” He is met by enthusiastic agreement. “It’s Us v. Them.”

  “How are they going to know to side with us, if we don’t offer them a chance?” I can see by the tenseness around Peeta’s eyes that he is angry, but his voice is carefully modulated and even. “We shouldn’t kill without mercy.”

  “It’s war. Sacrifices have to be made. They’ll shoot with us or against us. That’s their choice, but I’m not taking any kind of risk that loses this for us. Anyone who sides with the Capitol is the enemy.”

  “I’m so grateful to know, Gale, that anyone who even looks like something you don’t like is the enemy. It’s a wonder you’ll talk to us Townies at all. But, of course, it’s because you get something out of it, allies. I wonder what you’ll do when being allies with the Capitol benefits you more than not.”

  Gale swings a punch and the meeting is quickly ended as we break the two men up.

  “Are you alright?” I ask Peeta as he sits back down. He seems to need more from me than Gale.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You didn’t seem to be at your best.”

  “I think Dad’s sick.” He whispers and I walk over and hug him tightly where he sits. “It’s no surprise. Dad’s getting on anyway. He’s almost sixty. It was really only a matter of time.” Releasing my hold a bit, I card my fingers through his curls trying to soothe him. When I’m done I caress my hand down his jaw. He stops my hand and looks up at me. There’s a focus in his gaze that’s raw, even new, and I immediately become aware of how close he is, how fast my heart is beating, and how my breath started for just a second. I don’t know who does it. I think I do it. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to press my lips to his. Slowly, oh, so slowly, our lips move, part in a gasp of pleasure, so light and tentative, like dragging your finger against a flower petal. Then closer, I press closer, feeling his hands on my hips. I change the angle of my head, and he bursts away. Footsteps pad down the stairs.

  “Dad, is it over? Is everything okay?” Cole sidles up to us rubbing at his eyes, and we burst apart.

  “It’s fine, son.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. He bounces his eyes past me, and I know we won’t be talking about this today. “Just a disagreement in method. You should be in bed.”

  I take that as my cue and awkwardly say my goodbyes.

  Peeta doesn’t meet my eyes at the door, and I wonder if I’ve ruined everything.

TBC….

[sirveltic]

.:R6S:. Sledge/Lynx/Mute

Boy this really has been a while! I’ve been working on this for a while and hopefully this is good! Also yes, Andrea is in a polyamorous relationship. Fight me I just can’t choose between Mute or Sledge F. Also I’m not a doctor so if something is wrong, do tell me!

Word Count: 10173

Pairing: Sledge/Lynx(OC)/Mute

Warnings: Descriptions of injury, tooth rotting fluff, swearing, mild medical procedures

It hadn't been until recently that Romania had allowed for their special forces to group with team Rainbow. With White Mask attacks being at an all time high around the world, they had seen no reason to lend some of their elite marksmen to some organization. Until now, when things were calmer, more manageable.

It had been almost a year since two members of the SIAS had joined Rainbow. Their personalities were almost complete opposites, yet, as they said, they were attached at the hip.

Andrea 'Lynx' Christoff and Sergei 'Iron Bull' Ralu. A medic and a therapist- just what Rainbow needed. Though recently their dorms had experienced a form of 'team exercise' ; forcing the two to shelter in the bunks of other units. Sergei had gone to bunk with a friend he had made, Gilles. The mountain of a man was a gentle giant- Sergei possibly had a crush on him, as Andrea liked to tease.

Meanwhile the woman had no other choice but to bunk with the unit closest to her dorms; the SAS. She held a neutral attitude to them; most of the time the boys wouldn't bother her and would only really strike conversation because of James, seeing as he was the most nosy. 'For blackmail,' he had once told Seamus, 'she could try to kill us.' Odd, how the most unpredictable man thought a medic would kill people faster than he would.

However scarce may be the moments where the Romanian would come out of her office; all creatures needed social interaction. She was no different. It got... lonely, sometimes. Without her old squadron bothering her to death and duct-aping her bag to the ceiling, how else was she going to get entertainment? Newspaper could only do so much.

Thus, she found herself at the bar in the lounge. It wasn't often she would be driven to alcohol- but, alas, cigarettes and drugs could only do so much. She was alone- most were either too wary of her to strike up conversation or simply didn't trust her enough to approach. She did pull a pistol on Marius once for coming in her office with a mere cut on his arm. She hadn't shot him, but did give him the scare of his life.

Andrea's dull eyes gazed down at the opaque brown liquid in the glass, her natural expression never changing. She was thinking- deep where she dreaded to go, bringing back thoughts she had never wanted to think of. Idly, she sipped at the whiskey, the small ice cubes clinking against the glass cup, breaking the silence if only for a short second. Lowering the drink from her lips and setting it back down on the wooden counter, Andrea sighed. If only she had Sergei talking to her right now- he'd probably be telling some story about his time as a therapist.

Once more, she lifted the glass up to her lips and drank the rest of the liquid, emptying the glass swiftly. She still could feel her thoughts creeping up on her. So, another shot she poured herself, the bottle now almost halfway gone.

A noise caught her attention. Footsteps, almost completely silent had she not been trained to hear subtle sounds. Instinctively, the Romanian looked over her shoulder and saw the youngest member of the SAS approach her. Mark R. Chandar- mostly known as Mute since he seems to never talk outside of situations. Even in situations he rarely talked, only doing so to state something to his team.

Andrea waved a hand at him as he sat down on the stool next to her. Though she wouldn't admit it, the Brit intrigued her. Always communicating in sign language, always looking calm yet being the most protected in his unit. Never seeming to falter his analytics. He truly was the prodigy his file called him out to be.

Speaking of Mark, he waved at her in return and gestured to the bottle of whiskey.

"Knock yourself out." She shrugged, back to her own glass, her own thoughts. She didn't even notice the man get up to walk behind the bar and get himself a glass.

No, she thought purely about the mission that had gone South of what was planned. What had supposed to been a simple bio hazard defusing had almost turned into a full on bloodbath on both sides of the fight.

Her team had barely made it out alive. Had it not been for her skills in field medicine, she was sure they would have all been dead. Monika sported a fractured arm, Elizabeth was in Gustave's care after a bullet to the side, Seamus was dealing with cracked ribs and Emmanuelle had shrapnel wounds from a frag grenade. Andrea? An agonizing hip and a bullet to the shoulder. Nothing compared to the pain of her team. Luckily they had managed to secure and defuse the container before anyone could actually die though the guilt of having missed her enemy sweep was ever so present. Strong enough that not even her marijuana could help her take her mind off of it.

They should have been safe- she should have been the one in emergency care, not Eliza. The Romanian sighed deeply at her thoughts and brought the glass to her lips one last time, tilting her head back to drink the alcohol all in one go. A terrible idea, really. This time, she slammed the empty glass back down on the wood counter and reached up to rub at her eyes with her palm. Ugh. She felt so tired already.

A small tap on her shoulder brought her attention back to the Brit who had returned back to his spot besides her. Despite remaining silent in even the toughest of situations, she could still read the concern he felt for her.

The man pointed at her then held his right hand out flat open, his other hand also flat open on top of his right, hitting the palm gently.

*Are you okay?*

'Course he had heard of what happened- it was a miracle if no one had. Mark was glad to have gotten to Andrea before Mike did. Old bastard would be yelling at the woman, demanding her to tell him who gave her the rights to let Seamus get wounded under her leadership. Baker always did view of the SAS unit as his boys, after all.

Andrea huffed and looked back down at the empty glass, now somewhat stained with the last drops of whiskey,

"I've been better." She answered flatly, sliding the empty glass next to the bottle of whiskey and sighing deeply through her nose. Her brows were furrowed, her head concentrated on trying to distract itself from many different things at once. It clearly wasn't working, Mark noticed, her right foot was shaking and she was tapping her fingers against the counter. She was hurting; physically and mentally.

Had James been here, Mark was sure that the Brit would have mocked her to the point of earning another broken nose. Seamus had probably already forgiven Andrea- she was the medic, after all, she knew more than he did. Plus, he was bedridden until the worst of his ribs went away- around a week or two.

Really, the only thing the operator could do was scoot closer to her and wrap and set a hand on her shoulder in comfort. That, and he also deemed that he would rather have her sober than drunk, if only because he feared how she would be when intoxicated.

Andrea rose a brow and looked over at him with a questioning look, yet didn't protest against the action. It wasn't Sergei holding her and rocking her back into the real world after a night terror, but it was a gesture she appreciated none the less.

"Thanks." Was all she said, letting the silence bask them once again. It was thick, almost like it could be cut through with a knife- but it was welcome. Neither of them were very talkative, she supposed. Mark never talked and she never wanted conversations to last longer than they should.

In the silence of the room they sat, drinking and not saying a word other than a few quick glances.

Sharing the building with the Americans was truly an experience, though.

Jordan was the first to barge in, in his usual outspoken self- Miles and Jack not too far behind him. The only American missing was Eliza. Andrea turned her head away from them, guilt once more taking her away from a peaceful mindset.

It was a solemn day for the affected units. She was sure Monika was being pampered by the Germans in their own dorms.

"Hey~" came the sing song voice from Jordan, who plopped down on a stool next to the Romanian, "There's the dream girl! Holding up alright?"

No answer.

"Tough crowd today, huh." He mumbled to himself, furrowing his brows. The FBI SWAT team had also been shaken by the information given to them about Eliza's condition. Who thought that the most careful person in the team ended up with the worst wound? Jordan turned to face the bar and reached to the back of his neck, scratching the area awkwardly whilst he watched Jack take place behind the bar. Mark gazed over at Andrea again, now more concerned. There was a hint of pity in his eyes; she was suffering. This time, more physically than mentally. Curtly, (and rather rudely, as Jordan had once commented) the Brit stood up and left the bar, walking out of the room in a brisk pace. This left her alone with the Americans.

Great.

The SIAS operator reached into her pocket and took out her phone, unlocking it and beginning to browse whatever sites she usually looked at. Jack (commonly known as 'Pulse') took this as a liberty to speak.

"Any news on Eliza?" He asked while pouring Jordan and Miles their drinks, gazing up at Andrea with an expectant glint in his eyes. Said woman sighed and rubbed her eyes once more, forcing the answer out,

"Her condition is stable but she still lost a lot of blood. We aren't allowing any visitors until we deem her okay. We're looking at about two weeks from now." She answered, Jordan's hiss almost making her leave in itself.

"Doesn't sound to stable to me."

"Then I will gladly give my job to you, Trace." The snap was almost instant, silencing the Texan instantly. At least, until he whistled and turned his attention back to his teammates. Definitely a tough crowd today.

"I'm sure no one's holding their knives at your throat, Christoff." Spoke Jack, now leaning on the counter with a bottle of beer in hand. Heineken. Gross.

"Not at the moment."

"The operation was a success- we all know what we sign up for when we joined our units. Be glad no one actually died." He said in hopes of comforting her. His only answer was a scoff from the woman. His other answer was her getting up and leaving the bar without a word, moving to sit on one of the beanbags at the other side of the room, secluded from the others. This time, Jordan held himself from commenting on it.

The door to the common room opened yet again with Mark having returned from wherever he went. This time, he held a bottle of water in hand and a pill in the other. His eyes briefly scanned the room for the Romanian after noticing she was no longer at the bar. Spotting her in the beanbag area, the Brit walked over to her in a more relaxed pace than before, moving one of the beanbags with his foot to be closer in front of her. Andrea looked up from her phone at him in confusion. That is, until he sat down in front of her and offered her the pill and bottle.

Ah. Her meds. She forgot about those. No wonder her hip felt like it was exploding. With a curt thanking, Andrea took the pill and water bottle from him, popping the pill in her mouth and washing it down with water, to which she closed the bottle afterwards and set it down next to her. Andrea gave him a nod to signal her gratitude and leaned back into the beanbag, taking out her phone. After that, she spent the rest of the hour browsing her phone- going from texting her sister to browsing sites so she could buy more components to her sonar captor device.

Mark, also deeming the worst of the current situation dealt with, made himself comfortable on his own beanbag and crossed his legs; also taking out his phone to browse what he usually looked at.

The next hour was relatively silent aside from the chatting at the bar, to which Andrea kept a close ear to. Who knew that the Americans had some of the best gossip in all of Rainbow? She did now. Then again, she knew most, if not everything about all the other operators and people on base. Such was her job as a medic, after all. Having info about everyone was essential to her job, as Gustave had once told her.

The Romanian kept her eyes mostly glued to the screen of her device, occasionally glancing up whenever a loud sound erupted from anywhere within the common room. Nothing too bad, she deducted, only the Americans sharing a few jokes to try and lighten up their moods with  Eliza being in emergency care. It must be hard to know that a close friend of theirs was gravely wounded and it was nothing they could do. Was this how Sergei had felt after finding Andrea out in Afghanistan, her hip blown to shreds and pissing blood? Maybe. Maybe not. Who was she to care?

Yet again she was snapped out of her thoughts with an oh so familiar voice calling her out.

"Oye! Where's that hag?" Ah, James. His insults could only ever mean affection, she had found out. The woman sighed and rolled her eyes; way to go, life. You've ruined another good moment of hers.

Speaking of the devil, here he comes now, having spotted her seconds after entering the room. What she had expected, however, turned out to not happen. James Porter, the man as unpredictable as time itself, let himself drop down comfortably on the beanbag next to Mark and kicked off his army grades boots to free his feet from the warm.

Gross, but typical.

Almost as if on cue, his loud voice tore through the silence like a starving lion,

"I'll give ya this, Christoff, you've managed ta piss off Mike like I've never seen 'im before." He mused, crossing his arms behind his head as he let out a relaxed, barely interested sigh. Andrea grunted and rolled her eyes,

"I can hear him yelling from a mile away, Porter." A snort emitted from the Brit,

"Aye. Ya really knocked 'im off 'is knickers with that stunt ya pulled."

"Don't. Remind me about it." Andrea hid her face in her hands and sighed deeply, yet again rubbing at her tired eyes. A tick she had developed over the years, she only did it when stressed. Very much like now. Though James' silence threw her off. She knew exactly what he had done to garner such a relaxed and not so bothered attitude.

"You told him where I was."

"Yep." Oh this was just great. She was about to have her ears pulled out because of the rotten snitch she called a colleague. This was absolutely how she wanted to calm down after a mission gone South.

Mark furrowed his brows and looked up from the screen of his phone, glancing between James and Andrea with worry. He knew how angry Mike actually was about that the mission had gone so sour- poor bastard had left the punching bag in the gym to bits and pieces. Last time Mark had seen him, the man was ranting about what he would do to Andrea if she 'showed her bloody fucking face' around him ever again.

Alas, her work morals didn't allow her to skip patients  because of threats and Seamus was in need of a checkup. From an actual doctor and not an old man who hates laser sights. Andrea stood up with a wince and stretched her muscles, stuffing her phone back in her pocket.

"Great." She mumbled a few incoherent words in Romanian and limped away as she would do. Her hip would only let her walk so much without limping. James craned his neck to watch her leave the room, an oh so satisfied smile on his face. With a chuckle, he made himself nice and comfortable on the beanbag and swung his legs on the bag Andrea had once been on. Only when he felt eyes stare into his soul did he dare to look at Mark; who looked none too pleased about him.

"The fuck are ya glarin' at me for? She's the one who fucked up 'Mus' ribs!" This time Mark only rolled his eyes and stood up to follow after the woman, his pace fast in order to catch up.

"You're not actually ditchin' me for a fuckin- MARK!" Ah, he knew James was the most social out of all the SAS unit. If there was no one to bother then he would no doubt find some poor recruits to almost smoke to death with his 'toxic babes'.  Porter was quick to leave his oh so comfortable spot to join up with the younger man, punching him in the shoulder as he did so.

"Ya fuckin' wanker. If Mike snaps on us yer fuckin' as good as dead, mate." He growled, only earning a huff from his teammate. As they caught up with the Romanian, Mark reached over and set a hand on her shoulder,  if only to let her know that she had his support in case Mike really did try to kill her. Andrea glanced over her shoulder briefly and blinked, turning her eyes back to the hallway in front of her. Her office (temporary) was a few feet away and the three reached it in a matter of seconds.

"You two stay outside." As James was about to protest, the scent of some strong marijuana hit both men directly in the nose, causing them both to cover their noses. Mark's eyes watered due to the chemicals so he made quick work to try and rub the tears away.

"Jesus Christ that's some strong shit." Said James, looking away to try and suck in a breath of fresh air. He definitely knew who his new drug dealer was going to be.

Now that she was alone, Andrea sighed deeply to allow her mind to clear up before she'd walk in the middle of the storm. Still, it wasn't like she could avoid Mike any longer. Sure she could sleep in her office chair, but she still needed to keep Seamus in top condition to make sure he healed effectively and quickly. The Romanian reached over to the coat rack and grabbed her white coat from the rack, sliding it on with ease. She was glad to be wearing her typical  gray t-shirt and camo pants. No need to change clothing. Before she walked over to her desk, however, she made her way over to the window and opened it wide to clear out the drug smelling air of the office. She'd need to disinfect everything the moment the Scotsman's checkup was done. Now standing next to her desk, the Romanian reached up and untied her auburn hair from the tight bun, tilting her head back to redo the bun more securely.

Now that she looked at her desk more closely, she saw something on her desk. A letter. Most likely from Six or her sister; Laura always did write at the most inconvenient times, she thought as she flipped the letter over to determine who it was from. Ah, Laura. She'll have to read it later when she had time. Andrea tore open the envelope and tossed it aside while briefly running her eyes over the words of the letter, she huffed and set the paper back on her desk for later, grabbing her stethoscope from the corner of her desk before she made her way out of her office and closed the door with her right hand. Surprisingly,  Mark was still there. James, however, had most likely left to either go back to the common room or to the examination to get ready for the show that was about to happen.

"Good to know you're on my side, Chandar." She commented, motioning for him to follow her. He was apart of the SAS, he had every right to be there for Seamus' checkup. Be it by luck or misfortune , the examination room nearest to her was only two doors away. Now in front of the door to the room, she took in a deep breath and turned the doorknob and opened the door, letting Mark enter first and closed the door behind her before speaking,

"Alright. Before we get to the results I-" before she could finish, a force slammed into her she felt herself get lifted up a few centimeters off the ground by the collar of her shirt with a voice booming in her disoriented ears.

"Who the bloody Hell do ya think you are?" Mike growled, keeping Andrea pinned to the door. Unfortunately for him, her experience in situations like these had trained her well.

"Giving your teammate a checkup-"

"After lettin' 'im fuckin' snap his ribs in half? You better have a good fuckin' excuse before I rip yer fuckin' throat out." Again, more threats he wouldn't be able to keep.

"Mister Baker, I don't have time for your aggression.  Unhand me this instance or I will be forced to-"

"I'm waiting, Christoff." Damn him for being her superior. The Romanian glared at him and grasped his wrists tightly in an attempt to let him go. No use, he had an iron grip on her. Soon enough, the both of them had entered a pretty heated argument with Mark trying his hardest to actually separate them. Seamus, hunched over, looked over at James with pain in his eyes.

"Not gonnae stop 'em?" James pursed his lips and shook his head, looking more than entertained.

"Nah. This is gettin' good." He spoke lowly, his eyes never leaving the chaos in front of him that he, for once, hadn't started.

"OI! Leave the poor lass alone! Was'n'ike she could've seen what'dve fuckin' happen'!"

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, Mike let go of the medic after some thorough coaxing from the mute and the Scot's words. Mike's glare never left Andrea, even as she walked to approach their injured teammate. Mike always did treat the SAS as his boys, as funny as he tried to deny the fact.

"Yer on thin fuckin' ice, Christoff." Andrea looked over at Seamus with a cringe and rolled her shoulder, hoping that her wound hadn't been irritated.

"That bad, huh?" No answer. Once a few short seconds passed, she spoke up again,

"As I was saying, Agent Cowden I'll need to test a few things before going over the results with you." She explained, walking over to the counter running the water.

First, she washed her hands in the sink for extra measures. Despite not being too keen on her job, she was going to do it right. All the while she was drying her hands and putting on the medical gloves, she spoke up.

"Has anything felt out of place or have you been feeling any effects from the ribs?" She asked, now standing in front of Seamus.

"Agent Porter please get off of the examination table so I can proceed with the checkup." As expected,  he merely leaned back.

"Agent Porter." A few more seconds of a strong glare made James scoff and slid off the table. The woman made no motion to thank him, turning her attention back to Seamus.

"I'll keep it brief this time. Have you felt anything else other than pain? Nausea, headaches?" She asked, glancing up at him while setting a hand on the back of his shoulder to keep his back straight all the while applying pressure to his chest.

Oh, Seamus was in absolute agony. He practically forced himself to talk.

"Naye. Just some- FUCKIN'-" he took a deep breath, "- agony when I breathe." His accent got thicker,  she noticed, as a response to big amounts of pain.  Mike, though he wanted to act, knew better than to disturb a doctor from their work. Andrea gave a nod, pressing her index and middle finger to a more specific area right below his rib cage. Another hiss of pain. Most likely some bruising of something of the sort.

"Alright, lift up your shirt, Cowden. One of your teammates may help you if you find it too painful." She informed him, helping him lift up his shirt over his chest. Had she not seen worse, she would have winced at the bruising seen on his chest. It would take a long while to recover. Mike now jumped in to help, telling Seamus that he'd keep the shirt up for him. Once Andrea got her hands to the bruised flesh, the boys let the shirt fall back down to hide her gloved hands.

Blocking out the rest of the conversation between Mike, James and Mark, Andrea once again instructed the Scotsman what to do,

"Alright, I need you to take deep and calm breaths as best as you can." She said as she took the stethoscope from around her neck to put the ear tips in her ears. Once the ear tips were adjusted and the diaphragm was set to go, Andrea pressed the cold metal against his bruised skin, earning a hiss of both pain and discomfort. Looking over at Mike  briefly, she gave him a nod and let him lower the shirt back down.

"Deep breaths, Cowden." She was glad the man followed her instructions as best as he could. His breathing was limited, almost like it was blocked by his reflex. Wheezing and wincing, he would be needing more than just six weeks to fully heal.

What made her frown was the slight vibration when he breathed. That was concerning. Moving the diaphragm up his other pectoral, she spoke up,

"Deep breaths, Agent Cowden." His chest rattled with painful laughter.

"I'm tryin'." The Romanian only hummed and went back to her silent self, listening more closely. The rattling consisted here too. Definitely concerning. Now, she moved to his back to give him as much relief from the pain as possible. She did the same thing she had done to his chest, listening carefully (probably taking much more time than needed) in order to make a proper diagnosis. After a moment, she stood straight again and took the ear tips out of her ears, sliding the chest piece out of his shirt and setting the stethoscope back around her shoulders.

"So, your problems breathing indicate that you're in great deals of pain- obviously. There was some rattling in your chest and it may be something like a developing cold though you'll need to go to Doctor Kateb to get it confirmed." She paused, making sure he was listening to all of the information. All four of them were.

"Otherwise I'll give you some Acetaminophen to lessen the pain for a few hours. You'll need to go to Kateb again since until I can go back to my building, I won't have the medicine needed."

"How long 'til 'es back on the field?" Andrea hummed, furrowing her brows as she examined the group more closely.

"Judging by the severity of the ribs, I'm estimating between six to eight weeks before he'll have healed enough to ease back into training. That is, if he doesn't go against my instructions and trains while he's still wounded." Mark visibly winced at that, feeling a pang of pity in his heart for the breacher. Six to eight weeks of nothing but rest and pain. It absolutely would not be a good time for Seamus, he could tell.

"The Acetaminophen should help cope with the pain, though doing any physical activity will make it worse. Your best bet is to spend the first week or so in bed to give time for the bruises to start fading away and for the tears in the thorax to begin healing. Keep movement at a minimum and everything should go as planned." She explained, crossing her arms. Fuck, how she wished she had a cane. Seamus felt the need to speak up this time;

"So ye wan'me ta stae in me bed fer weeks wi' nuthin ta do?" He asked, back in his hunched over position. Fuck, everything hurt. Andrea nodded,

"I don't want you to. You have to if you want a swift recovery. I'll need one of your colleagues to deliver you meals every day and you can only get up to go to the bathroom or to go visit Doctor Kateb for the info and prescription." Tensions were still high in the room, making her feel somewhat awkward for not being able to do more to help, what with the limited equipment she had here. This wasn't a hospital, this was just as close as they could get to a hospital inside a building. No one there were only two separate buildings for the operators to dorm in.

Finally, Seamus accepted his fate with a low wheeze of a sigh. No need to fight nature, he was sure he could go right back to normal after those few weeks. He stood up from the examination table with a grunt and cringed when a surge of pain shot up his chest. Had Mike not been there, he definitely would have fallen to the ground and aggravated his ribs further. Mike frowned,

"No support whatsoever?"

"Putting braces would only hinder his recovery by limiting his breathing further," she informed, walking over to the trashcan next to the door, her foot pressing on the piston to lift the lid up, to which she threw the gloves in the bin and made her way back to the sink, "Which can and will lead him to developing Bronchitis or Pneumonia. We don't want that to happen." She said flatly, drying her hands on some paper towels, to which she threw them in the bin once she was done.

"Now, you four need to leave and bring Agent Cowden back to his bed so he can begin resting." James almost instantly took a step back in a bail from the responsibility. Of course he didn't want to be burdened with taking care of a 6'3 Scotsman. Mark now stood next to his teammate and slung his arm around his shoulder, offering Seamus extra support. Never mind that the breacher was in literal agony. Andrea watched them as they all left to go take care of the Scotsman, a sigh leaving once James closed the door. Good. Peace and quiet for hopefully longer than before so she could focus on her work. That she had to do back in her office.

Not as bad as she expected her day to go, honestly.

The Romanian quickly left the examination room, a hand rubbing at her aching hip. If only the medicine Gustave gave her actually worked properly, then she wouldn't be so slow and considered a speed level one. Then again, she did also wear a lot of gear so it was only fair she was slow on the field.

Her steps were quick to get her to her office, to which she grasped the doorknob and turned it to allow herself in. Alright, the smell of drugs was more faint now but still noticeable. Oh well, the only thing she could get in trouble for was smoking in her office. Nothing she should actually worry about. Walking over to behind her desk, she pulled her chair back and sat down on it with a huff, pulling out her phone and tossing it on the wooden desk, next to an empty coffee mug and some newspaper. Yes, she still read the newspaper. Leaning back in the chair for a moment to take a deep breath, Andrea sat back up with her back straight and muscles aching. Moving herself and the chair forwards, she pulled out a few papers from the drawer built next to the desk and began reading through them. Now to see who was in need of a quick checkup and who had already been covered by Gustave. Might as well text him to see if he had the list of those he was covering and those that had already been taken  care of by the other on base medics. Grabbing her phone  and unlocking it, Andrea selected the French man's number and texted him,

.: I'm looking at the files for my building and I need to know who hasn't been covered yet. Let me know when you're available.:.

With that, she put the phone on vibrate and slid it back to its previous spot, setting the files aside to take care of reports. There wasn't an awful lot she could do as a medic and God knows her hip was not going to let her move much for the next hours or so before she would need to get some food and maybe get a cup of coffee to skip sleep.  Andrea read through the words quickly, setting aside those she deemed to be priority- such as health updates on the ones that had been on her team or recently came back from situations. Speaking of situations, Maxim and his team were supposed to be back sometime tomorrow and she had heard that they all had some sort of wound that needed to be patched up more carefully.

As she kept herself focused on the papers in front of her, half of her mind drifted off into her thoughts once more- this time all related to her schedule for tomorrow. Alright, so, the helicopter would arrive at around ten in the morning, an hour after breakfast was done. Then, she thought, she would need to call over Maxim and his team so she could give them a look over and patch any wounds that wouldn't be too threatening. If there was an emergency to be taken care of, then she would do so to the best of her ability and limited tools. Has she mentioned how much she hated being in this building? Well, now she has.

The medic set down the papers and checked her phone for a reply- nothing. He was probably busy or forgot to turn his phone off of silent. Maybe he was fucking his wife- who knew. Andrea couldn't care less about what he was doing so long as it was related to paperwork-  the thing she despised with all of her heart. The thing she was doing right now.

Had she always been doomed to suffer in a chair, writing all day and dealing with morons?

The operator frowned and shook her head with a sigh, turning her gaze to the radio next to her. It was old, out of date and didn't work that well- but it had been her father's old radio and she'd be damned if she ever got rid of it. Pressing a button at the side to turn it on, she fiddled around with the antennas for a moment before rotating the widget to try and find a channel. Soon enough, she landed on a news station. Eh, better than nothing.

With some background noise active,  Andrea grabbed the ashtray at the edge of the desk and brought it closer to her, reaching in her back pockets to grab a lighter and a box of cigarettes. Once the box was open, she bounced it a little to get  the butt of a cigar poke out, to which she promptly grabbed and placed in between her lips while she closed the cigar box and put it back in her pocket. Now grabbing the lighter, her experience allowed her to almost instantly ignite the tobacco, setting the lighter aside after she had taken a puff to get it started.

Oh, that felt good. The rush of  smoke leaving her lungs through her nose, making her feel alive even though she very well knew that she was slowly killing herself. There. Now that she was ready, she might as well work on these reports to get them over with as quickly as possible. She leaned forwards, taking a pencil in hand to start her work, while listening to the radio and also smoking- talk about multitasking.

Caught up in her thoughts and demise, Andrea hadn't even noticed the fact that almost two hours had gone by and that she was currently missing lunch. Huh. No wonder her stomach growled once in a while.

Mark, on the other hand, had noticed the Romanian's absence from the mess hall and had made sure to get both himself and her something to eat. Looks like the SAS needed to be skipped today so the medic wouldn't skip a meal and end up more of a bitch than usual. Not that he would actively call her a bitch, but everyone thought it and he had to admit, Andrea was a bitch sometimes. Balancing the tray with both plates in his hand, Mark rapped his knuckles on the door, knocking in order to ask a wordless question. No more than second later, an oh so familiar voice rang out,

"Come in." Ah, so she was allowing people to walk in after the confrontation she had with Mike earlier. Good to know. The Brit didn't miss a second either, entering the office (now devoid of weed, but filled with a smokey smell) only to find the Romanian in the process of smoking a cigarette. Wasn't she supposed to be the health nut here? At least the window was open wide. Mark scrunched his nose yet joined her at her desk, moving one of the chairs to be diagonal of her, to which he sat down after placing the tray on a free spot on the desk.

Andrea, getting the cue, worked quickly to clear up her desk space. By that I mean she just moved everything to the side and  let a few things fall. Oh well, she would pick them up later.

"Thank you, Chandar." She hummed, almost feeling a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. But it would take a hell of a lot more to get her to smile, that she would make sure of. The Brit only offered her a friendly smile and took his own plate of food. Nothing too fancy, he had what was usually served on this day; a healthy amount of everything that was good.   Not restaurant quality, but it was better than military food. Poor people had to eat from  bags when they were deployed. No doubt Andrea had already done that before.

With the two once again plunging into silence in order to eat, Mark listened closely to the radio on her desk. It was somewhat old, it would static every once in a while and would stutter if the antennas moved even a smallest bit. He wondered why the Romanian didn't want to replace it with something more modern, that worked better. Plus, he couldn't understand the language being spoken- though he assumed it to be Romanian. Maybe a news channel  of some sorts, she seemed like the type of person to listen to that instead of music.

"Is Baker calm now?" The sudden question took him by surprise, as he had been about to take a bite. Lowering the fork and closing his mouth, the man began to gesture with his hands once more,

'A little more than before now that Seamus ate and went to bed.' Good, that was good. Maybe he would be easier to deal with tomorrow morning, when Maxim was supposed to come back. Andrea nodded at the information and took another bite of the food, her brows furrowed. Just how much could she think about bad things in a day? Even when she had been stranded in Afghanistan with her shredded hip bone poking out of her flesh she hadn't been able to think as much as she was now.  Eugh. Just thinking about that day made her scar ache even worse. Damn chronic pain and damn her memory for triggering phantom pains too. Now all of her scars hurt like the devil.

Soft tapping on the desk caught her attention- Mark was signing to her.

'How are your wounds?' He paused to allow her to answer. The woman glanced at him and then at her bandaged shoulder which had been covered  by the white coat for some time now.

"There's just an ache left. I'll be back to normal by the beginning of next week." While maybe the bullet wound wouldn't have  completely healed,  it was deemed safe enough to go back to usual training. Plus, it's not like she always followed the instructions she would give to patients. Talk about hypocrisy.

Mark frowned and turned his brown eyes over to his food, awkwardly going back to working on finishing his plate. Well. This had just gone awkward rather fast. The curse of being as antisocial as he was. Woe was him.

Soft vibrating caught his distracted self, his attention locking onto Andrea's phone; which she had picked up and opened. Andrea raised her brows; huh, Gustave had finally replied.

.:The GIGN, GSG-9 and CBRN have been covered by me. Mégane and Jackson are taking care of the recruits and you have the SAS, Spetsnaz, FBI and the newest Australian recruits.:.

.:Alright, I'll see to it. When do the SASR get here?:.

.:In a month from now.:.

.:Understood. Thank you, doctor Kateb.:.

.:Pas de problème.:. Andrea set her phone back down after the last text, closing it and now fully focusing on the food in front of her and the company besides her. She held back the urge to sigh. So many things to think about, so little time to ensure they were done.

This was going to be a tough month, she was sure about that. Not only that, it was her turn to count the supplies at the end of the week and that meant an extra hour to her shift if everything went smoothly.

With time passing by quickly and lunch being over, Mark supposed he would take his leave now that Andrea seemed to be focusing more on her work than him. Typical. Saying no other words, the Brit grabbed both empty plates and stood up, walking over to the door. Before he left, he sent one last glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed in concern. All he saw was the woman wasting her short life at the desk.

When would she see past her mistakes?

A click of the door signaled his departure.

Long after she had begun her work, Andrea glanced up at the clock over the door. Hm. She supposed she could take a break. The woman sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the back of her aching neck. Oh, she really needed a better chair. Maybe one that didn't feel stiff despite being made of leather. With a grunt, she leaned forwards and turned off the radio, picked up her phone and stood up, putting it in her back pocket. She resisted the urge to run a hand through her hair, in fright of disturbing it from the tight bun it sat in. The Romanian left her desk and walked over to door, her hand stopping just short of actually grabbing the doorknob. Her brows furrowed. And where would she go? Where could she be at peace from knowing that she had almost cost someone's life?

With a sigh, she opened the door and left, closing the door behind her and walking down the hall with the intent to leave the building to seek out the comfort of a close friend.

The outside wasn't much more peaceful either. The air cold, the sky gray and the surroundings humid, threatening for rain to start. Andrea's gaze left the sky and went back down to the asphalt road, sliding her hands in the pockets of her doctor's coat.

Luckily, the building was only a ten minute walk from hers, so she had gotten there in a matter of moments. She had also been left alone to her thoughts, left to lament in the knowledge of her recklessness.

After checking herself in, she rushed to the office of the one man who had been through hell and back with her.

Sergei. Her savior, really. The medic made her way up the stairs quickly, soon arriving to the floor his office resided in. There was an ache in her hip, annoying at best, frustrating at worst.

Finally, she stopped in front of  her teammate's temporary office. She had gone around ten minutes of a walk to get here, the ache in her hip ever so present. As she stopped in front of the door, Andrea paused, her hand on the handle. What could Sergei do about her lament other than tell her that it hadn't been her fault when it very much was a lie? With a sigh, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door, running a hand through her messy hair.

Sergei looked up from his clipboard, startled that someone had walked in without an appointment. This was supposed to be his break, dammit.

"Andrea. You're back." He hummed, watching her carefully with his honey colored eyes as she trudged over to the couch and let herself drop on it, now taking up all of the space. Hm. She definitely wasn't airing too well. The woman hid her face in a pillow on the couch.

"You don't usually act like a child." He commented. A muffled moan was his reply. Sergei rose a brow, idly petting the cat on his lap with a hand.

"What's this about?" This time, Andrea lifted her head up,

"Take a wild fucking guess."

"We've talked about the language, Andrea." Said woman only grumbled and pressed her head back into the pillow. The ex-therapist leaned back against his chair and sighed deeply, bringing his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Though after a moment, his brows knotted in concern. Oh, who was he to be mad at Andrea?

"Dea, you know that not telling me what the problem is isn't a good idea." He spoke softly- never having been one to raise his voice out of anger. Not even when he had caught his ex-wife cheating on him with a lawyer.  He was much too soft to show anger for more than a few moments.

Andrea sighed deeply and sat up, crossing her legs and looking down at the floor.

"There's nothing you could do to help me, Ralu. You and I both know that."

"That's what you told me back in Afghanistan. But look at where you are now, Andrea. Thinking that all things are impossible is simply not true." He paused,  the hand petting his cat also coming to a halt, making the Maine Coon chirp and look up in confusion.

"You're too close minded for your own good, Christoff. Every small mistake you do, you act as if it was the worst thing in the world. When was the last time you've had a good night of rest?"

Andrea paused.

"As I thought. Andrea, I'm speaking as a friend, " Sergei paused, standing up from his chair once he set the cat on the floor. He walked to the woman and sat down next to her, setting a hand of his on her back.

"You have to forgive yourself if you want to live." His voice was soft, worried. He knew the extent of how she could get if she delved too deep in her regrets. Andrea looked down at her hands, her eyes trailing the scars from her deployment. It was as if she could never escape the never ending loop playing inside her. Sergei's grip on her shoulder tightened.

He couldn't let her lose another hip.

It took no further coaxing for the operator to suddenly stand up and leave the room, exit the building and make the walk back to her temporary abode.

-/------\-

By the time it was night time, Andrea had already burned through all of her work and skipped supper.

Throwing the wrapper of the granola bar in the trashcan next to the door, she shrugged off her white coat and hung it on the coat hanger while opening the door, closing the lights before locking the door and walking off to the SAS dorms. It was early (in her standards) to be going to sleep, but so long as she went in before Mike did, she would escape a death glare and that was all that mattered.

Luckily for her, the dorms weren't too far from her office and allowed for her to arrive to her destination fairly quickly. Andrea ran a hand through her hair and wrapped a hand around the doorknob, twisting it in order to push open the door effortlessly.

Immediately, she was greeted with the loud snoring of none other than Seamus. Not to mention that the covers were halfway on the floor and that he hadn't touched the painkillers at all. Or even turned off the lamp. The medic sighed tiredly through her nose and walked over to the side of the man's bed, picking up the blankets and laying them down on him so she wouldn't have to stare at him half naked.

Not that she hadn't seen him naked before. Both sexually and professionally. Many would be surprised about the amount of people in Rainbow she had seen naked in order to do a medical exam.

Andrea shook those thoughts out of her head and looked back down at Seamus, inspecting him.

Once she made sure that he wouldn't kick off the blankets again, Andrea turned around and undid her belt, sliding it out of the loops with relative ease. Setting the leather belt aside on the nightstand, she reached up and pulled off her hair tie, allowing for her auburn red hair to fall loose on her shoulders. Tossing the tie away, the soldier walked over to the joint bathroom of the dorms and closed the door behind her. Man, she really needed a warm shower after a day like this.

Playing around with the shower for the right heat took some time, but eventually she found the perfect temperature and undressed, tossing all of her clothing into the nearby hamper and entering the shower, pulling the curtains to hide her naked form in case anyone came in unannounced.

Feeling every single water droplet drip down the crevasses of her scars felt weird, yet held a sense of familiarity to it.

She hated that.

Andrea tilted her head back and closed her eyes, relaxing within the steamy shower.

Around ten minutes or so, she turned off the water and pushed the curtain aside, stepping out and grabbing a towel to immediately wrap around herself. Taking in one last breath of the refreshing steam, Andrea exited the bathroom back into the shared bedroom, closing the light and door as she exited the room.

"Well aren't ye a sight for sore eyes." Hummed a thick accented voice, causing for her gaze to snap towards the source of the voice.

Ah, looks like Seamus had woken up. He must have heard her when she turned on the water from the shower.

"You should be resting, Cowden." She told him flatly, making her way over to her dresser to pick out some pajamas. Seamus merely whistled as he watched her pass by, mumbling curses while he sat up to get a better view of her (albeit covered) naked form. Ugh, men, is she right?

"Ah've done all me restin', lass." While not entirely true, he did get plenty of rest for the day and even if the pain he felt was absolutely agonizing, he could very well say that he had gone through worse in the past. Being an ex rugby player did come with its fair share of injuries, including past concussions. Andrea glanced over her shoulder with a blank face and a raised brow. She didn't believe him one bit. Turning back around so her back faced the breacher, she let go of the towel wrapped around her, letting it fall to her feet. Now, she was truly naked.

A wolf whistle was all she needed to hear to know that Seamus was enjoying the view. Such a sound made Andrea scoff and shake her head in an emotion he couldn't seem to detect.

"You're so immature."

"Cannae help it, lass."

"You've seen this all before. There's nothing to admire."

"There is if ye look hard 'nuff." Was everything sex related the only thing on the Scotsman's mind when it came to seeing her naked? She swore he gave her the same comment each time she would undress in front of him.

The Romanian put on her underwear and a shirt just the perfect size for her and turned back around, picking up the towel and throwing it to the other side of the room. Who cared if it was right next to the door? She was far too lazy to walk back into the bathroom.

Just as she was about to walk over to her bed, she felt a strong pair of hands grab her by the back of her shirt and pull her on top of their host. A small grunt escaped the soldier as she fell back against a body, barely having time to process it all before she was trapped on a bed, encased by a strong pair of arms with equally as strong man holding on to her.

"Cowden, you're only slowing down your recovery."

"Mmhm."

"Cowden. Let go."

"No." The denial was further enforced with a kiss to the crook of her neck.

"Seamus, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"You need your rest."

"Ye haven' slept in three days, Drea. Spoil an ol' soul like me jus' fer once?" Surprisingly, it was hard for her to resist Seamus when he used her own bad habits against herself.  However, she was as stubborn as a mule; as the others would say.

"No. Let me go, Seamus." The arms around her didn't budge despite her hearing his somewhat labored breathing. He was hurting, understandably so. Dammit.

Fucking hell, why did she have to be with the one person who made her regret her actions more than anything? She'd thought that she could just walk in and sleep on Mark's bed for the while Seamus was healing. But no. Life didn't want to give her a break.

"Fucking- I said let me go before I try to struggle out of your arms." Her tone was becoming strict; a hint of desperation lacing itself in it.

The same tone she had used while talking to Eliza's suffering body. Seamus again only grunted in reply, his grip tightening. Still, she began gently trying to pry his arms off of her, to no avail.

"Kintsugi." His voice tore through the stiff silence, making the attacker in his arms freeze. "Fixin' pott'ry wit' gold. Could apply tae ye too, 'Dea. Always gettin' banged up, blaemin' yesel' an' only makin' your situation worse Eliza's stable, no?"

"Barely. Eliza almost died, Monika is out of field for the next week as you are, Emannuelle had to get a blood transfusion and you are--"

"Fine. I'm fine. Nuthin' more than a few broken bones." Andrea, finding that his grip had loosened, sat up with the use of her arms as support.

"Seamus, you're on fucking bed rest for the next six weeks! Those are vital bones-- do you have any idea what could have happened if-" Again, the strong pair of arms pulled her back down on the bed effortlessly. This time, Seamus buried his face in the crook of her neck; the part that held all the scars from previous fights.

"Ye can't keep fightin' fights on yer own all the time. C'mon. Lae down for a moment an' stay wit me for the night. spoil a man some, why don't ye?" Andrea frowned and sighed, relaxing her muscles. Oh, to hell with everything.

"You're insufferable." She muttered under her breath, shifting around so she was facing his broad chest. Her only reply was the grip on her tightening protectively.

"Aye. Ye still lov' me though." He hummed, leaning down to place a soft, loving kiss to the woman's lips. He didn't mind the way the scars along her jawline sometimes cut through her otherwise soft lips, he never did. Yet Andrea continued to believe that her scars made him pity her.

Breaking off the kiss, Seamus placed his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes, his muscles loosening.

It wasn't long before the medic felt her eyelids grow heavy. No matter how much she tried to fight the drowsiness, they would simply droop back down for a few seconds before she forced them open again. Alas, she had never been good at fighting off sleep for longer than three days.

All it took was a simple kiss to the top of her head and she was out like a light, falling in a sleep deeper than any of her other slumbers before. Seamus too, soon joined her in her slumber.

Mark was startled, to say the least, when he walked in the dorms and found Seamus and Andrea cuddling on the same bed. He wasn't startled that the woman was in Seamus' arms, no, but rather that somehow she had been coaxed to even be near his bed at all. Shaking his head in amusement, the young adult went in for a short shower and came back out within five minutes, drying his hair with a spare towel before getting dressed in his usual pajamas.

It was late at night, no way was he going to stay awake any longer. The defender carefully squeezed himself on the shared bed on the other side of where Andrea lay, officially putting her in the middle of this cuddle sandwich. Sliding under the covers, Mark rolled over on his side to face the two sleeping people and wrapped an arm around the Romanian's waist, pulling himself closer. Hm, looks like Andrea forgot to turn off the lamp too. Reaching over, the Brit pulled on the short cord and laid back down once the room was engulfed in darkness, sighing deeply through his nose as his eyes closed.

The man leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, keeping his face pressed up against her bare skin, inhaling the sweet scent of the soap and shampoo she had as a guilty pleasure.

The smell of cinnamon sure was strong.

Mark settled his head back on one of the two pillows of the bed, shifting back into his thought for the last time of the day.

Tomorrow was another day, it could be boring or it could be filled with the best or worst things to ever happen in the world. They could be deployed all three at the same time or maybe even die. He could return to base all alone with no lover to greet him ever again.

But worrying on such things took too much energy out of him, made him feel more exhausted than he already was. Sure, he could stay with Andrea all day long, but Seamus also needed to be taken care of.

Exhaling deeply through his nose once again, Mark furrowed his brows and shifted closer to the woman, his muscles tightening ever so slightly.

Maybe tomorrow he could finally get her to eat with the others in the mess hall instead of the office. At least she allowed for him to stay this time!

It was a slow step towards recovery, but it was one he was going to welcome.

The Brit opened his eyes upon feeling the person in his arms roll over to rest on her back. In the midst of the dark night, his tired eyes only managed to capture the shadow of her form lay still once more, aside from the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Finally, he closes his eyes for good and sauntered off to sleep for some peace in quiet.

As strange as his life may be, he would never exchange it for anything else.

[acupmarley]

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE.

TAGGING: @acupmarley @dance-jackie-dance

LOCATION: Acup, around 4-6am, post-BOTB.

NOTES: HUMONGOUS YIKES.

MARLEY ROSE

Marley had chosen to duck out of the frisbee and nerf battle a little earlier than normal, to make her own camp at the Acup lounge so that she would be perfectly well rested to get up for her shift and bake a whole bunch of pastries for the weekend. By the time she’d emerged from her little cocoon, there were still some patrons lingering around in various forms of superhero dress. Marley held back a giggle as she made her way up through the building, but she stopped short as soon as one Jackie Puckerman came into her line of vision. Despite their rocky and turbulent history, they had been in a good place lately. In fact, Marley would consider Jackie to be one of her friends. Odd, probably unlikely, and very forgiving on her part, but she had come to love Jackie as a person and for the most part, let go of their past trauma with each other. “You okay, Jacks?” Marley asked softly, as she took a step closer to the young woman. “Have you been here since the battle?”

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

The last few weeks had been some of the best for Jackie. She was waking up before noon. She was running in the park. And she was eating vegetables. Freakin’ vegetables. Although she wished she could attribute the change to some self starting attitude, she couldn’t, not in the least. That thought alone made her feel queasy at the most inopportune times. The sole reason she had been feeling decent lately was one Marley Rose. She would never truly admit herself not matter how many times her subconscious attempted to make it known to her heart and brain. Jackie wouldn’t dare betray her own self like that. Sure she knew that her heart still felt things with Marley, but her heart still felt things with Kitty too. That didn’t mean that she was actively pursuing either avenue. She just felt like she would always have those feelings for those two girls.But now they were friends. And Jackie wasn’t one to ruin friendships, but she also couldn’t stand by and watch Kitty and Marley grow close while a bomb was ticking down between the three girls. She had never hung out with both girls at the same time, but Jackie had been watching them both at Battle of the Bands. After the traditional drink, Jackie made points of the interactions, the smiles, the laughs. She knew the ruse had to end. Both girls would be mad, yes. Both girls would hate her, maybe even each other, but Jackie couldn’t watch as both parts of her heart came together only to drastically tear apart later. Jackie had to make them hate her. Hell, maybe it would work out selfishly, maybe Jackie would get over them. The last few weeks though. Damn, they were good. Getting closer to Marley again. Taking her on adventures. It had to end, didn’t it? “Oh yeah, ha.” Jackie smiled sheepishly and rubbed her eyes before running a hand through her curly hair. Was that glitter on the palms of her hand? “Have you been here since the battle?” She laughed before poking Marley in the arm. A flutter escaped her stomach and entered her heart. She had to do this. It was a necessity.

MARLEY ROSE

Despite her better judgement, Marley smiled over as Jackie poked her arm. There was no harm in it, after all. It was nothing but friendly. Even the fact that she and Jackie could get to a friendly point was a major stepping stone for both of their maturities, she thought. And even though parts of Marley still dully ached from Jackie's betrayal in the worst possible way, this was okay. She could do this. When they'd been together, Marley had never felt safe. She'd never felt as if she could sit back and take a deep breath and know that Jackie would have her heart and her best intentions in it. Even through all the warning signs, Marley didn't think someone like Jackie would ever love her. And in a way, she was right. "Kind of!" Marley nodded, brushing her fingers across her apron. "I took a nap, but I have to go ahead and bake for the weekend. I'm only in for a few hours, then I'll be able to go home and take a big sleep." Quirking an eyebrow, she glanced at Jackie's haphazard appearance. "Are you okay?"

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

The smile. Jackie missed that more than she cared to admit. Sure, Jackie could take Marley places and do things for her and she would smile, but Jackie missed when that smile was all hers. Those were moments to hold on to when it was dreary out. Jackie knew that Marley and Fiona were together and perfect or whatever. She knew that okay. And of course Fiona was one of her best buds. Jackie would never do anything to betray that. The Jackie before, years prior, might have, but the girl had grown up. Slightly. “Little baker Marley. What’s on the menu for today?” Jackie tried to ease her own nerves with a chuckle, but the sound just didn’t seem to escape as it should of. It sounded forced as fuck. This wasn’t going well. “I’m yeah.” She shrugged. “How are you and Fi? Did you guys have fun last night?” This was a last attempt. She knew it was. But last ditch efforts sometimes worked right? Maybe she could steer the conversation or someone would walk in and ruin this altogether. Maybe she could be lucky.

MARLEY ROSE

"Um..." Marley racked her brain for the orders that had to be filled. "Croissants, scones, the usual. Lacey gave me this awesome blueberry lemon bar recipe that I'd like to try if I get some time. I normally just watch The Great British Baking Show while I'm working in the back and try to get some Mary Berry infused energy." Her smile was nervous, the air between them seemed inordinately tense. Still, Marley wasn't going to overthink it. Battles were always a night high in tension, maybe it had something to do with that. When she brought up Fiona, Marley instantly relaxed. "Yeah, she's good! We loved dressing up. Did you come to our nerf battle? It was so dark and chaotic, I didn't get to see everyone there." There was something about talking about her girlfriend that made everything that much better-- even though Fiona wasn't physically there, Marley could feel the safety net spread beneath her feet. Nothing bad could happen to her as long as Fiona was around. Perhaps that was the problem. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need water, or something? Breakfast?"(edited)

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

“Blueberry lemon bars. Damn that sounds amazing. Two things that I would never think would go together but just do.” She smiled fully this time, almost comparing the blueberry lemon bars to her and Marley. Two things that didn’t go together but somehow did. Well. Before. Before she fucked it all up. The thought made her stomach turn and she knew she just had to do it. Today. Now. Before it was too late. “Yeah I was there. I kinda felt weird about it I guess. My nerf gun is kinda huge.” She smirked slightly remembering how she felt to be surrounded by people that were happy, people that were in love and that were loved. Her heart hurt so badly that she couldn’t stand to be there anymore. She felt like a child again, begging her mother to bring her father home. “I kinda need to come clean about something. It’s been making me sick. Like, physically ill at times. I know that’s stupid, but I just.” Jackie stopped and looked into Marley’s eyes. For a moment she was lost. For a moment she was back to years before when the two dated and things were so much different. Those two people were no longer the same. That was evident. After this, things would never go back to how the use to be. And that scared her to death. Jackie ran her hand in her hair again, stalling. “I have to tell you because you’re friends with her and I don’t want this to come up any other time and it ruin things even further than it will.” Jackie stepped back away from Marley. “When I...” She took a deep breath, her heart beating faster. “When I cheated on you. I never told you who it was with.” She stopped and looked into Marley’s eyes again, searching for recognition. She didn’t know if she could continue. Her heart hurt in a way that was so familiar to her. You’ll never be good enough for her.

MARLEY ROSE

"Really?" Marley asked, tilting her head to the side in slight confusion. She'd thought it was a semi-popular flavor, but then again, Marley trolled enough baking blogs and Lacey's shop to ensure that she'd never run out of ideas. Every time she baked, it made her miss Millie more than she could ever say. Part of her wanted to make it big just so that she could buy Millie a nice place in Jersey, right by the ocean, and visit her whenever she wanted. "Well, I guess you'll have to be my first taste tester, right?" Come clean. Making me sick. You're friends with her. Ruin things even further. Cheated. Never told you who. There it was. The other shoe. Jackie was a dancer, surely she understood the significance of a ballerina hovering in a death-defying way on one foot. Despite all that Marley had been through, she steeled herself, wondering how much of her heart was left for Jackie to break. In all the years that it had been, Jackie hadn't told her. Honestly, Marley didn't want to know. There were so many souls living in New York City, it would have been easy for someone to capture Jackie's. Not when they were exciting. Not like freshman year Marley, still scared of her own shadow. Not like Iowa Marley, who hadn't found her voice yet. "You can tell me anything," Marley promises, and that much is true. Jackie can tell her anything, she's more than entitled to, and if Jackie wants to get this off of her chest, then that's fine with her. If it will make Jackie feel better, all the more reason to go gung ho with it. Marley has a sneaking suspicion in the pit of her stomach that this is going to make her feel worse, because if her oblivious, naive brain was working into enough overtime she might be able to put the pieces together that one of her friends had been the one who Jackie cheated on her with. Marley's painted-on smile is reassuring, and gives no indication of the storm brewing between her eyes.

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

“That’d be awesome. You always made my stomach happy.” Jackie smiled reassuringly, knowing Marley needed that sometimes. Jackie stopped, biting her lip slightly and switching her weight to her other foot. Jackie needed something to hold onto or she was gonna collapse. “I don’t think I told you initially because the wound was still too new, ya know? And it hurt you and it hurt me. Obviously not as much as you, I’m not dumb enough to say that. I just. I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, make it true.” She stopped. God she was an idiot. “I know it was true and it happened and I was stupid. I can say I’ve grown from it but I know that doesn’t help.” Jackie couldn’t meet Marley’s eyes now. She could feel the sting of tears begging to run down her face and give everything away. She sniffed hard, steeling herself for what was to come out of her mouth. “It was Kitty.” Jackie breathed out. Her voice almost above a whisper. “Like I said, you guys have gotten closer and I had to tell you so that it didn’t come out later and explode even further and decimate everything.” Jackie shook her head. “I know that I’m fucked up and that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything but I couldn’t let you just sit by and feel like an idiot down the road and think we were in on some sick joke against you cause I swear to G-d we weren’t.” She had to stop to breathe. But her breath didn’t come. Her heart pounded loud in her head. “I...don’t know what to say. I know that the last few weeks have been...nice between us and I hate that I had to ruin this again but you deserved to know. I...had to tell you.” Jackie almost stumbled as she switched her weight again. It was out. It was done. She should have felt better, but somehow she felt like that wound was reopened and spewing out putrid acid that would threaten to eat her alive.

MARLEY ROSE

It was Kitty. It was Kitty. It was Kitty. It's just like the movies, really. Marley doesn't even hear the rest of Jackie's explanation, and it doesn't make much sense to her. If it had come out later, then Marley would be even further removed from the situation. Maybe she and Kitty would laugh, maybe they'd have kids of their own, and laugh over the time they both were caught up in a tizzy over the same girl. The same three girls. As soon as all of the oxygen gets sucked out of the room, Marley panics. In a way it's a relief, because she's always known that Kitty hated her and couldn't understand why. How stupid had she been, to think that it was something trivial like a crush? How stupid had she been, that they'd held this secret together and let her make an absolute fool out of herself? Marley thought back to every single one of her sleepovers with Kitty, to the times they'd lay crying in bed together over Taylor Swift's latest song, and couldn't help but wonder why she just hadn't told her. Then again, it wasn't her secret to tell. It was Jackie's. Jackie didn't owe her this explanation. Jackie didn't have to tell Marley who it was-- that didn't matter. It could have been anyone. Jackie had still cheated, still decided that whatever she potentially had with Kitty was better than her relationship with Marley. Kitty was exciting, after all.Marley wants to scream. She wants to yell, she wants to give Jackie a piece of her mind, she wonders how she possibly could have listened to hours and hours of explanations of how it was a mistake and Jackie still loved her when clearly it wasn't. She hadn't. She's furious. Why not? Why hadn't they told her? Why had Jackie waited until Marley had been lured into a false sense of security, a safety net? Why hadn't Kitty bothered to clear the air? Were they really friends, or was this all some kind of delusion. No, a voice in her head argued back. Kitty loves you. You love her. You're past this. There's an explanation. You know it. Marley opens her mouth about three times to give Jackie some kind of final blow, something she could say to make Jackie hurt more than she does right now. "Excuse me, please." She turns on her heel and locks herself in the storage room for half an hour instead.

[a-lily-briscoe]

CTM CS 2017 Thoughts (aka me getting on my soapbox for a lil bit about all things plot- and character-development-related, regarding all storylines, relationships, and sexualities)

Hi loves -

I know there are lots of opinions on the Christmas Special floating around the wonderful world of tumblr, and I respect all of them, and I’d like to add mine to the mix. They are quite long, as you’ll probably notice. Feel free to agree, disagree, or ignore them completely!

First off, my general impression: it was a lovely episode, but with a little less substance than usual. I think they tried to do too much in one ep, and I didn’t feel as connected to the individual storylines of Linda and Mabel - however heartbreaking and impactful they may have been at certain parts. Also, we’ve seen the Christmas-pageant-gone-to-ruins-and-miraculously-resurrected plot one too many times, I believe, and though the final part of the episode was fun, I felt there was a missed opportunity to do something a little different.

Regarding Linda’s story, I thought Vanessa Kirby did a fantastic job displaying the rollercoaster of emotions that that birth involved - both before and after the baby was born. I’m really excited to see what’s in store for Val this season - as we still haven’t learned what her secret is (my guess is she might have had an abortion or a baby out of wedlock that she had to give up, but that’s just wild speculation), and I think Vanessa will do wonderfully well with whatever Heidi gives her. The actress playing Linda was also brilliant, and I had a huge lump in my throat during the whole stillbirth process. I absolutely lost it when the baby started crying in Val’s bag. It was well done for the most part, but as I mentioned before, it was a little difficult to get as invested in Linda’s character because the episode seemed so all over the place in terms of focusing on the recurring characters’ personal lives and rescuing the ill-fated Christmas fête. 

Mabel’s plot also somewhat fell victim to this phenomenon, and I wasn’t particularly convinced that Sister J’s handling of the situation was the right thing. Let me preface this by saying that, thankfully, I have never experienced physical or emotional abuse, and I have never been in a situation of support for someone who has, so I am no authority on how to be the best source of support to someone who has suffered something like Mabel and Anthea did. That being said, I found Sister J’s treatment of Anthea to be less than helpful, in that she pushed her to face the demons of her past with such immediacy in an already emotional time. While the reunion of mother and daughter was one that I was glad to see happen, it seemed like Sister J tried to push it on Anthea too soon, and her last remark about Anthea’s family seemed almost to guilt her into seeing her mother again. I don’t believe Anthea was given enough time to process the death of her father and the emotions that brought up again for her, and I think Sister J could have given her more of that time and not used guilt as a tactic to promote her own idea of what reconciliation looked like. As ever, though, I admire CTM’s willingness not to sugarcoat the horrors of domestic abuse and other all-too-common nightmares that people endure in their daily lives, especially in a culture that has become so inured to the existence and impact of sexual assault - something that is rightfully and courageously being challenged by so many people of all genders, and I hope will continue to be so.

The Turners were just a joy (other than Patrick being a bit of a shit who can’t do much without the women in his life). The kids are growing up beautifully, and watching Shelagh with Teddy was like a dream come true. (Watching Shelagh trying to get that girdle on, on the other hand, was a nightmare, but a raucously hilarious one. Laura Main deserves a BAFTA for those twenty seconds alone.)

As for Babs and Tom, I think they’re lovely together, and I just adored Babs’ little hat. She is such a gem. She spreads sunshine wherever she goes, and she makes a great vicar’s wife. Do I sometimes wish she’d branched out a bit and had some more single adventures? Sure I do. But she and Tom seem happy, and I’ll miss her terribly (if not him - I’ve always found him very blah personality-wise, if somewhat pleasant to look at) during her time away.

Trixie is a lovely Nonnatus stalwart, as always, but I fear Christopher is just another Tom - lovely face, but not much beyond handsomeness and chivalry. Am I happy that the female characters in this show are more nuanced than the male ones? Of course I am; that’s as it should be in a show about female power, strength, and love, and I’ve always considered it a point of pride that this show passes the Bechdel test with flying colors. Still, I wonder what this relationship adds to the series if it’s not an escape route for Helen, should she want to take time off - whether to care for her and Jack’s new adorable baby, or to do other projects. Additionally - and this may be overthinking it - I was a little concerned about how much Trix was talking about her own appearance relative to what she thought Christopher wanted. It called to mind the episode with Cathleen Baker, the gal with varicose veins, and I don’t want Trix to dissolve into self-consciousness like that when she’s always been a woman who’s found her looks a source of confidence and independence rather than the sole sign of her worth. That was just a knee-jerk thing in a couple of scenes, but I was happy she was such a great support for Val - as was Sister MJ (of whom I wish we could have seen a little more).

Phyllis Crane. God bless the woman. She was essential as always, and I loved her fingerless gloves. So comfy and stylin’. My snobby ass thought her cop adversary was a bit too much of a caricature, but I was glad to see she’s heading the rota/appointments - not to mention the Cubs - in as fine a fettle as she ever has. Fred and Reggie made for fantastic helpers (especially Reggie in his fabulous hat). Four for you, Phyllis; you go, Phyllis.

Now for the big one - the issue of the missing characters. I’d like to start with Sister Mary Cynthia, whom I missed dearly. With all the buzz about Emerald and Kate (which I’ll get to later, believe me - if you’ve made it this far, I applaud and thank you for dealing with my ramblings), I wasn’t sure if Bryony would be returning this season or if she’d moved onto other projects. For those who might not know, the BBC offers three-year contracts, so the end of the sixth series provided an opportunity for people to take other gigs if they wished to do so. Whether or not Sister MC will be back in this series, I would have liked to have heard a mention of her progress at Northfield, since Heidi and the other writers - not to mention Bryony herself - did such an incredible job of portraying her mental illness and giving that kind of visibility onscreen last season. I think it is important to give some sort of update on her recovery while recognizing that one never truly recovers from the scars that mental illness leaves, though much healing is possible.

In the same vein, we come to Pats and Deels. My darling, darling lesbians. Though I knew that both Emerald and Kate had moved on to other projects - and bully for them - it still came as a blow not to see them in the CS. As with Sister MC, there was a strange gap (not to mention that we haven’t heard hide nor hare from Chummy in donkey’s years), and I was truly disappointed that there was no mention made of where their characters had gone. However, I do not hold with the idea that CTM is being homophobic or participating in queer-baiting. As a queer woman who began watching this series as an unconsciously questioning high-schooler in 2013 - during series two when there was no whiff of gayness to be had - I recognize the value of this show beyond its representation of queer visibility; yet I also acknowledge that, when that visibility did appear, it was instrumental to my understanding of my own sexuality and my ability to come to terms with and to celebrate it as something beautiful, right, and true - even when people I love in my life may not have done so. (Never mind the fact that Emerald - in combination with Dana Scully - finally hit me over the head re my penchant for redheads with perfect skin, cut-glass cheekbones, and an appreciation for a well-tapered pair of slacks). 

Please take those rambling sentences to mean that, while I adored Pats’ and Deels’ onscreen relationship and will miss it terribly, the show communicates many messages beyond those sent by that relationship. This program offers beautifully told and righteously argued forms of social commentary, and above all, it is an ensemble show. There is no one central character or relationship, and the writers do their best to balance all of the storylines equally - regarding characters’ personal and professional lives. Would I have liked to have seen more than a kiss from Pats and Deels? Of course I would have, because I’m a deviant heathen who loves a little lady-lovin’ where I can get it. However, do I recognize that it was the 60s and that this show’s primary demographic is fairly geriatric, so representation had to be limited to a certain degree? Of course I do. I think both Pats and Deels were wonderful and nuanced characters - both together and apart - and the writers and actresses did a wonderful job in terms of queer visibility onscreen, even if they could have given us a bit more closure on where the characters had moved on to in the CS.

Which brings me to the question of Val as “the new gay one.” Do I think it would be fabulous if Val turned out to be gay? Absolutely I do. Everything is better when it’s gayer (though every form of relationship and sexuality is valid!). However, do I believe she’s a nuanced character in and of herself who provides an opportunity to bring more visibility of underrepresented forms of identity and background to the fore? Absolutely I do. I don’t feel that queer visibility is an obligation, a chore to be carried out and dispensed with once it’s filled its quota, or brought in just to fill a gap. It should be something that arises as organically as possible because it is something natural, something ever-present no matter the time period, and it should be represented in an honest, true, and - when possible - celebratory way. I do not think Val should simply “replace” the queer element in the show for the sake of filling a perceived void. I’m excited to see what happens with her character this season, irrespective of her sexual proclivities. I’m also excited to meet our new midwife, as she might provide a more regular perspective from a woman of color on the show and remind us of even more ways we can learn from our history and take action to ensure its darkest moments find no repetition in the light of today.

Okay - getting off my soapbox now. I had a lot of feelings about this episode, so thank you for listening (if you, by some miracle, made it down to the bottom, for which I adore you). Would love to hear your thoughts about any of this, and looking forward to seeing what pops up in the tag from all of you. Love to everyone, and excited for the rest of the series to come!

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY AND THE GENERATION GAP

S2;E12 ~ December 8, 1969

Directed by Jack Baker ~ Written by Fred S. Fox and Seaman Jacobs

Synopsis

Kim and Craig are in charge of producing the school play.  At a loss for ideas, they recruit Lucy and Harry to be in a musical about the generation gap.  

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter), Desi Arnaz Jr. (Craig Carter)

Guest Cast

Cecil Gold (Fred) danced in one more episode of the series; the same episode directed by Jack Baker. Lesley Evans (Janet) was a dancer on the Dick Clark series “Where the Action Is” and also played nurses on several episodes of “M*A*S*H.”  

Victor Sen Yung (Murphy Irving Fong) was best known for playing the cook Hop Sing on “Bonanza.”  He was previously seen as the Waiter in “Lucy's Birthday” (S1;E8).  

The 'Slave Girls’ are played by:

Sheila Denher was also glimpsed in the background of the film musicals Bye Bye Birdie (1963) and Hello, Dolly (1969).  

Fran Lee was the sister-in-law of Jack Gilford, who appeared in “Lucy Helps Craig Get a Driver's License” (S1;E24).  She appeared on radio and television under the names Mrs. Fix-It, Mrs. Consumer, and Granny Franny, to give advice on consumer issues and public health and safety. Lee led a successful consumer campaign that helped passed the "Pooper Scooper Law" in New York City, which made residents responsible for cleaning up after their pets. This is her only appearance with Lucille Ball.

Leslie McRae was Miss Hawaii in 1968. She was also second runner up to Miss World in 1968. This led to a film career that included producing a documentary film about the events of 9/11.  

Tara Glynn, Joanie Webster and Martiz Ko all make their only screen appearances with this episode.

The “Card Girl” and the diners at Murphy's Pizza Parlor are all uncredited background performers.

This is the first of two episodes directed by Jack Baker, who was the choreographer for all of the Desilu series' since the last season of “I Love Lucy.”  

The final draft of this script was submitted on May 14, 1969.  Cate Blanchett was born on this date in Australia and is currently slated to play Lucille Ball in an upcoming biopic.

“Here's Lucy” musical director Marl Young introduces the episode on the DVD.  

It is rumored that Lucille Ball's voice was dubbed in the songs, which were all pre-recorded and mouthed by the cast for the filming.  Since Lucy has no solo singing, it is difficult to tell if it is actually her voice or not on the soundtrack.  

Craig jokes that he knows a Mormon, so he might be able to get the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for their school show.  The choir was previously mentioned in “Guess Who Owes Lucy $23.50” (S1;E11).  

When Lucy avoids eating pizza to preserve her figure, Craig says “Look what it did for Sofia Loren.” Lucy digs in.  Sofia Loren is an Italian-born film actress of great beauty who won an Oscar for Best Actress in 1960.  

Putting a quarter in the juke box, the music immediately plays the instrumental version of “I Know A Place” by Tony Hatch. The song was made popular in 1965 by Petula Clark. This is the fourth time the song has been heard on “Here’s Lucy.”

Craig uses the expression “Chinaman's Chance” in front of Murphy (Victor Sen Yung), who says “Don't apologize to me!  I'm Irish!” In reality, Victor Sen Yung was born in San Francisco but to Chinese immigrants.  

Craig says that Harry is their only uncle, a fact that will be challenged when Lucy’s brother Herb is introduced in February 1972.    

Harry says that he was in Romeo and Juliet in college.  Because it was an all-men's college, he played Juliet.  He stands up in the middle of Murphy's and delivers Juliet's monologue. This is the same part that Lucy Ricardo played in high school.  Like Harry, she delivered the monologue at the drop of a hat in “Lucy Meets Orson Welles” (ILL S6;E3).  

At the start of the first segment of the musical, Gale Gordon (and later Lucille Ball) is reading a magazine called 'Roman Scandals.'  Roman Scandals is also the title of Lucille Ball's uncredited film debut in 1933.

In the Greek section of the school play, Lucy plays Calpurnia and Harry is Caesar. Holding a bowl of fruit, she asks “Would you care for an orange, Julius?”  Orange Julius is a chain of fruit drink stores that grew out of a single orange juice stand operated by Julius Freed in Los Angeles in 1926. The Orange Julius was named the official drink of the 1964 New York World's Fair. The business is currently owned by Dairy Queen.  

Kim is named Kimea and she wears a mini-toga. Craig is called Craigius and has long hair (thanks to his barber Delilah).   When Caesar (Harry) asks the weather, Calpurnia (Lucy) replies, “Hail, Caesar!” 

“Kids Are Bugged About Parents” is the first song of the play sung to the tune of “I'm Just Wild About Harry, ” a song written in 1921 by Eubie Blake for the Broadway show Shuffle Along. Like all the songs in the episode, it has special lyrics suited to the theme.  

In the Gay 90s segment, Harry plays Ambrose, the father.  Lucy and the kids don't get different names in this segment.

Craig wants to date Mary Lou. Kim wants to date Georgie Marshall. George Marshall was the name of the director who staged the first eleven episodes of season two of “Here's Lucy.”  

The foursome sing “We'll Just Cut the Old House in Two” which is sung to the tune of “Bicycle Built for Two” aka “Daisy Bell” written in 1892 by Harry Dacre.

In a nod to Desilu's series “Star Trek”, at the opening of the space age segment, Craig (with the help of the Desilu special effects department) materializes in a transporter tube.  

Kim wants to go to Jupiter with Spencer.  When Lucy refuses because it is an overnight trip, Lucie reasons that Helen's mother lets her go. Harry points out that Helen's mother is a robot – and always “well-oiled.”  They sing “Kids” a song written by Lee Adams and Charles Strouse for the 1960 Broadway musical Bye Bye Birdie. The musical was filmed in 1963.  This song is originally about the generation gap, so it requires the least lyrical changes.

A pink phonograph used as a prop in the Gay '90s segment was previously seen (somewhat incongruously) in the Navajo hogan in “Lucy and the Indian Chief” (S2;E3).  

Gay '90's musical segments were seen on “I Love Lucy” in “Lucy's Show Biz Swan Song” (ILL S2;E12) and “Mertz and Kurtz” (ILL S4;E2).  

Shut the Front Door!  The front door of Murphy's Pizzeria is wide open in the second scene. This was common on “Lucy” sitcoms.  When the camera pans out to show the juke box, the cement stage floor is visible.

Wardrobe Malfunction!  During the dance break in “Kids Are Bugged About Parents” Lucy's long hair momentarily gets snagged on Gale Gordon's gold metal laurel.  Ouch!

Lip Synch for Your Life!  When the stage separates at the end of the Gay 90s segment, Lucie Arnaz stops mouthing the words to the song when others are holding out the last note.  

Sitcom Logic Alert!  A few months earlier, Kim and Craig's school had to raise money just to afford a gymnasium.  The costumes and scenery here are far too lavish for any high school to afford.  

“Lucy and the Generation Gap” rates 4 Paper Hearts out of 5 

This is by far one of the best of the musical episodes. Desilu must have broke the bank on costumes and scenery for this episode. The theme of 'generation gap' is truly what the show was supposed to be about so it is nice to see it played out again in a musical theatre format. For all its lavish production values, the show has a neat symmetry: three segments from history, each one with one song, sung by all four cast members.  There is also far more clever 'scene work' here than in most musical episodes.  

[the-inept-mistweaver]

- sweet pea: what would you like to call your significant other? - sea lavender: can you swim? which strokes can you do? - windflower: list 5 of your favorite blogs and explain why i like them. - golden rod: are you more of a baker or a cook? - bloom: what is something that you would like to tell your children? -peony: what is something that you wish your parents could’ve told you?

((THIS BECAME WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT. IMSOSORRY.))

It wasn’t often Aki could be found loitering around Dalaran,Silvermoon or any place for that matter where there happened to be an abundanceof other bodies roaming around, but it seemed as though today would be anexception.

Sitting upon the top rail of one of the wooden pieces offencing at the end of the Walk of Elders, Aki had been enjoying his quiet timeto himself as he freshened up his people watching skills. Like anything when itcame to the monk though, it didn’t seem as if it was meant to last.

Setting his sights on one female in particular who seemed tobe heading in his direction, Aki could already feel the corners of his mouthcurling in slight displeasure as his ears fell back against matted platinumblonde locks.

Aki couldn’t even begin to guess as to what this womanwanted with him, but taking her pensive stride into account as she the distancebetween them, it didn’t seem as if it was going to result in anythingfavorable.

Slow to trace his tongue along in backs of his teeth beneathshrouded features in preparation verbally lash back at the woman the moment shedecided to open her mouth, the words soon filtering into his ears has Akichoking for a brief second on his now garbled speech.

After doing his best to stifle the grotesque sound emittingfrom his throat, Aki’s brows are left to dip in clear puzzlement.

“What?”

“What would you like to call your significant other?”

So he had heard it right. He heard and understood what wasbeing asked, but he had no idea as to -why- he was being asked such a questionwithout any context. It wasn’t as if the monk hadn’t been interviewed before,but he believed this to be an oddly personally question even for something likethat. Then again, what did he know?

Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to play along, Aki hummed a fewnotes while he pondered over how to best respond. “What would I like to callhim..? I… honestly have not thought of calling him anything aside from his nameor simply referring to him as my partner. I do not believe he minds beingcalled either of those things as he has never stated as such, but there isnothing else I really call him. Perhaps I should think on that more often,though, as he seems to have found a few things he seems to enjoy calling me.”

Pleased with his answer for once, Aki offered a parting nodtoward his curious new friend. Or, so he thought he’d be leaving after that butyet again he seemed to be wrong. Barely allowing her to finish the first partof her next question, Aki’s ears are once again wilting back in a defensivemanner before words are rolling off his tongue in a curt tone. “I cannot swimand I do not plan on learning how to any time soon.”

Straight to the point as ever and making a note to possiblyoffer some form of apology later to whoever this woman was given she lookedjust as surprised as he was by his last response, thankfully the next one wasfar more light-hearted.

“That entirely depends on which category heavily charred androck-solid pieces of cuisine fall under. In terms of which I prefer… I enjoyeating the goods bakers tend to make. That being said, I enjoy most all formsof food.”

And then all once Aki’s world is once more crashing down.Why was it that everyone he encountered always had to bring up a questionregarding question. Did he have any? Did he like them? Did he want them? Theynever bloody well ceased and each and every time they managed to through Akiinto a downward spiral. If only they knew.

Parting with a heavy sign from his lungs as his ears tucked theirway beneath a few strands of hair, Aki averted his gaze away from his interrogatorbefore daring to answer. “I would tell him I am sorry for not trying to do morefor him. I would apologize to him for not being able to be there in his time ofneed as a father should be. That even to this day not a moment goes by where Iam not missing him and that I hope he is still saving a spot for me in the nextlife.”

Deflating on the spot, Aki was rapidly approaching the pointof being completely done with the questionnaire. Sun help them all though, asthere seemed to be yet another question that continued to hit all the wrongbuttons when it came to the monk.

“I wish they would have told me they were proud of me andthe things I had done as a child even if I paled in comparison to my siblings.Simply being recognized as something more than an extra mouth to feed wouldhave been nice. I also wish they would have apologized for what they said thatday.”

With his mood having been thoroughly dampened with newfoundguilt and generally unpleasant emotions, Aki wasn’t going to give the woman anymore chances to pick away at his mind. He felt the answers he had given weremore than enough, and if she had a problem with it? He didn’t give a damn as hepushed himself free from the fence and roughly shoved his way past her.

Sun help him, he hated those of the opposite gender.

((I spent so long trying to figure out how I wanted to answer these, and it seems to have turned into a wall. Sorry! ANYWAY, now for the OOC ask.))

Windflower: list 5 of your favorite blogs and explain why i like them.

I honestly like every blog I follow. I mean, I wouldn’t be following them if I didn’t after all! However, in terms of my favourite blogs, those would have to be the ones owned by those I interact the most with. That isn’t to say I don’t appreciate all those who interact with me and are interested in my characters, because I

@hamathiel-sunsheer - Why? Grumpy elves, first of all. Not going to lie and I’ve told you this a few times, but I mean it. You intimidated me to no ends the first time you asked me to RP. I was so nervous to have someone ask me to RP, let alone someone who writes as well as you do. I’m glad you turned out to not be as spooky as I thought xD! I love reading your posts about the dorks and your interpretations/side of their interactions. Your writing is simply amazing and beautiful and you are honestly one of the best RP partners I’ve had over the years and one of the best friends i’ve ever had

@kelzthalassunwhisper - YOU KNEW YOU’D BE ON HERE, YOOUU. I love how much you post on your blog, whether it fits with your characters or just how random and completely out there it is. I love reading about your dragons as you do a grand job at writing for all them. I am so happy you threw those random Anon’s at me all those months back as you become one of my closest friends in that time. I love seeing at the random posts, photos, videos, anime references– EVERYTHING you manage to tag me it. Seeing and talking with you brightens my day, you nub. You’ve also helped me to become far more comfortable with openly derping around and just being myself

@hippocratic-malediction - I know we haven’t exactly talked. At all. Ever.  Aside from random comments back and forth sometimes, but my gods I cannot express how much I enjoy and how happy I am to find another person playing a medic character. A competent medic who actually takes the time to, go through the steps, takes care to assess the situation and how to best handle it and understands that while, yes, magical healing is a thing, that not all injuries or problems can be fixed with a flick of ones wrist. Seeing people fixing bones and the more severe injuries in a matter of seconds, only to see the once injured character back on the field ten minutes later with no repercussions or any hindrance on their abilities is a huge pet peeve of mine. Rarely do I ever see a healer character doing anything aside from flinging magic around, so to be able to read your excellent writing and about your character? I’m truly happy I stumbled upon your blog. I hope we can maybe plot someday!

@zookeeper-cielya - Yet another person I haven’t really got a chance to talk with too much, but you have been sending me asks for a long while now and I’m so sorry I still haven’t answered some from gods know many months back. I’m terrible at keeping up with tumblr. Either way, I love you blog and everything you do on it. I love sitting down to read through all the posts you do about the different animals and how much detail and actual research you put into them, and how you make references to the actual animal/at least try to find something that resembles the creature IRL. They are truly amazing and fun to read and I need to catch up on reading all these newer ones. They are extremely useful as well when it comes to RPing and I know a friend of mine who lacks a tumblr enjoys reading them to, as they play a hunter :P You are also extremely kind! You didn’t have to do that drawing of Aki, but the fact you took the time to do that even despite the fact we haven’t really ever spoken? I was blown away when I saw it. I love it, so thank you! I also hope I’ll get the chance to RP more with you.

@jackarychaoti - This nerd. We don’t tend to interact too much on tumblr these days, but I can say I laugh every time I get a random Bnet message from you with the sad face saying I ran over you xD However, I do enjoy reading about Jack and his adventures. Becuase gdi

@hippocratic-malediction thank you for the asks

[riannagalvez]

Hello, dolls! Hello, April! We all survived March, I think we all deserve a pat on the back. The past month seems like a blur to me. It’s astonishing how things have turned out because of COVID-19 for the entire world. Months ago, I would always look forward to getting an extra day off from work so I can pick up Little A from school. Now, we are still unsure if he will be able to go back to school anytime soon.

Baby C is turning one next month and I know we are not going to be able to throw a party for her. I have decided to postpone it since I know things are not going to be easy for most of our friends and families once this COVID19 situation is all over. Luckily, I am kind of a pro when it comes to simple celebrations at home so I know we can make it scrapbook worthy for her still.

If you are like us who have to cancel party planning and settle for a more intimate at-home party, here are a couple of tips I learned over the years.

Growing up, my parents put emphasis on celebrating as a family more than gifts. We were given the birthday presents that we wanted but it was never over the top that we had to have a big party every year. Birthdays are more than presents. I learned that growing up and honestly I think it helped me value family time even more.

Balloons

For me, a birthday is not complete without balloons. Little A finds it fascinating too so we always get him one. Over the years I have gotten him whatever he is currently into like Lightning McQueen.

Foil balloons are great because they last a long time and you can reuse them if deflated properly.

Birthday Specialties

One thing I look forward to the most on my birthday is the food I’ll eat especially for dinner. My parents always cooked my favorites on my birthday and I remember feeling so special!

It is a tradition for my family to eat spaghetti (for long life according to Chinese proverb) and fried chicken. What’s not to love about these two dishes as a kid? Now that it is my turn to do special things for Little A on his birthday, I make sure we have his favorites on his birthday too! Of course, as a one-year-old, he did not have any favorites yet so these are dishes that he will like in the future — and if he decides that he doesn’t like them, it is completely okay.

Grandparents

If you can, include your little one’s grandparents. The look on Little A’s face is priceless when he is around his. I feel blessed that my Mom has been around since he was born because I honestly don’t know how I could have survived being a new Mom if she wasn’t.

They give the sweetest surprises too! My Mom gifted Little A a convertible bike for his first birthday and I like how it can grow with him.

Stay Connected

Little A loves talking to his Aunts and Uncles. We make sure they are also present during his birthday even when they are miles away. Lucky for us, it is very easy to stay connected because of Facetime.

Gift Ideas

When a friend asked me what she can give Little A for his first birthday, I could’ve sent her a list of toys little boys would go crazy for, but I did not. He will be getting a lot of toys over the years and not a lot of friends or family actually ask what they can give as a gift so whenever I get the chance, I say “necessities” would be great.

Trust me, with the pool of gifts he will be opening, I know he will only care about the first two toys he’ll open and the rest will be forgotten. To minimize my headache in the future and be a practical parent as well, I stick to items that I know Little A would actually use.

I LOVE this gift set my friend Buen gave him. It has everything that he needs from body wash to sanitizers.

My guilty pleasure as a parent is splurging on clothes for my little ones. I truly understand the saying “they grow up too fast” very well because they do! However, shopping for baby/kid clothes gives me joy! Seriously, I am obsessed with planning their outfits! I sometimes feel like I spend more on them than myself now lol

Here are some of my brands if you want to treat your little one with special clothes 😛

Ralph Lauren and Janie and Jack

RL and JJ are staples in Little A’s closet, you can never go wrong with these brands. I love the classic style of Ralph Lauren from casual to formal. Janie and Jack stay seasonal with their designs and my all-time favorite is their nautical collection (because it goes with Little A’s room :P).

Birthdays are special so I sometimes go on an “I-am-such-an-extra-Mom” shopping sprees and get something more upscale. Burberry stays classy with their collection. It’s nice to have something for special occasions.

Gap is a cool brand to add to your little one’s closet too. They have everything that can complete your baby’s wardrobe.

I am also obsessed with Zara. I love how I can shop for the entire family in one trip. The styles are to die for and I look forward to every collection.

Keeping it casual

Babies stay home at least 80% of the time so comfy loungewear like pajamas or cute sets are great gifts because you know they will be able to use it more than any cute outfit from one of the brands I mentioned above.

Accessories

I am a sucker for socks. We have a “no shoe policy” around the house so we all have our indoor slippers. Little A prefers to wear socks so I stock up on them because he could easily wear two pairs in a day.

I always feel guilty when the kids get cold during brr months. As a parent, it is my responsibility to dress them appropriately for the weather. I love getting mittens and hats for the babies because I know these are things that we often forget when shopping for clothes. Keep them in the drawer because you’ll never know when you’ll need them!

Theme

To make planning easier, think of a theme that your baby will love. I still like to decorate even though we are not going to have company over to set up the atmosphere for the celebrant. Babies are home most of the time and I am pretty sure they get bored of the same little corner they see.

Quality Time

The best gift you can give your baby is to be present. Little A loves to read books so we had several storytimes on his birthday. He may not remember everything that we did for him but I know he felt extra loved — which makes this Mama’s heart full.

Cake

A birthday is not complete without a cake. If you want to be safe, bake! It makes it even more special with this simple gesture. I am not the best cake baker but I do it every year for A and Little A.

Don’t feel pressured to make it yourself though, it’s totally okay to buy a delicious cake from your favorite bakery or grocery.

No matter what you do, your baby will only need you ❤

xx

R ❤

    FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTY (AT HOME) + GIFT IDEAS Hello, dolls! Hello, April! We all survived March, I think we all deserve a pat on the back.

[reikisessions]

The 3 Most Important Questions to Ask Yourself Every Day

The 3 Most Important Questions to Ask Yourself Every Day

“At the end of life, our questions are very simple: Did I live fully? Did I love well?” ~Jack Kornfield

When I was seven years old, I almost died.

My family and I were at Central Station in Sydney, Australia to celebrate the last steam train to ever depart the station.

It was about eight at night, and I remember it so clearly.

The train was stationary at the platform, about to depart. I heard the whistle from the engine as the wheels started to chug and move ever so slowly.

My older brother and I were excited and we decided that it would be a great idea to race the train. We told mum and dad, and they mentioned that they would meet us at the car outside afterward.

The train started picking up some speed and so my brother and I started to jog beside it. Before we knew it, we were running. Shortly after that, we were sprinting.

I remember ever so clearly watching the train as I was running along the platform. The carriages were a dark brown wooden color, and some of the windows were open. I remember one of the doors at the end of a carriage clanging open and shut with each jolt of the train.

Then, I was out.

The next thing I knew, I was huddled up in a crouched position with the wheels of the train literally centimeters from my face. I noticed that I was leaning hard against something firm. Then I realized it was the platform.

I had somehow fallen in the gap between the platform and the train.

I thought to myself, “How did I end up here?”

The wheels continued to roll past me, and I could feel the breeze like it was trying to suck me in. I crouched there, staring at the end of the train, waiting for it to finally pass me by.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the train finally moved past me and I was left there, crouching in the open with everything around me starting to go quiet.

I quickly stood up and turned to the platform to see an older lady sitting on a bench, hands cupped around her mouth and eyes wide open. She was completely in shock.

Before I knew it, my brother was with me and he pulled me up from the tracks onto the platform.

He put his arm around me as started to move hastily back to my parents. However, he quickly removed his arm from around me and I noticed it had blood all over it. I realized I was bleeding heavily from the head.

My parents were back at the car, and as we raced toward them they looked a little confused, not sure why I was crying and why my brother looked shocked. My brother started speaking really fast:

“We were racing the train, and I was ahead of Brendan. I was getting toward the end of the platform so I stopped, and Brendan just ran into me! He went rolling along the platform and hit his head on the train and fell next to the tracks!”

We rushed to hospital and got everything sorted. I was extremely lucky. The doctor mentioned that if it were an electric train I would have most likely died.

As I went through this experience, I had a number of thoughts running through my head. Am I going to die? Do I have brain damage? Am I still going to be able to do the things I want to do?

I then had some more thoughts that really hit me harder. What have I done in my life? Have I told everyone how much I love them? Has my life even mattered?

I was only seven years old, but these thoughts and this experience had a profound impact on the way I conducted my life from then onward.

I realized that I was blessed to have a second chance at life. I wanted to make sure that my life did matter. I wanted to make sure that I did achieve something and that I did tell those closest to me that I love them.

I started focusing on my own personal development. Throughout school I was determined to get good grades and perform well at sports, as to me, this was success. I was always fascinated by the mind and throughout these years had a dream of running my own business, training people on human behavior and performance.

However, I took on the advice of my parents and of society in general and ended up taking a safe job in the corporate world.

There were so many days while working in the organization where I asked myself, “Am I really making a difference?” and “Am I living fully?” And you know what? I wasn’t happy with my answer.

As the days went by and I asked myself these questions, I realized that I needed to make a change and make good on the promise I made to myself when I was seven years old.

Although not an easy step, I have since left the corporate world and have a feeling of living more fully, making more of a difference, and loving more openly in this world. I’m proud of that.

These are questions I still live by today and they guide me in everything I do. I believe they are the questions that everyone will ask when they are near the end of their time, and I encourage you to consider these questions today and regularly moving forward.

Have you loved fully?

I believe that the people in your life are the most important thing to your happiness, well-being, and your ability to cope through change in life. It is the people in your life that have made you who you are today.

Don’t be afraid to tell those closest to you how much they mean to you. The more love and appreciation you show to others, the more love and appreciation you will get in return, compounding its positive effect on your life and on those around you.

Have you lived fully?

I believe that we all have the strength and ability to do the things that matter most to us, every single day.

Don’t be afraid to do the things that you want to do. Take risks and live your life how you have always dreamed it to be.

It can be challenging to do so, but with careful planning, support, and some steps in the right direction, you will be able to live more fully in the way you desire. Experience life in all it has to offer. Take challenges, expand your comfort zone, and be the best you can be in this world.

Have you made a difference?

I believe that we are all here to make a difference in this world.

I believe that we all have something—be it wisdom, wealth, or love—that we can share with those around us.

Don’t be afraid to stand up for what you believe in and don’t be afraid to make yourself vulnerable. It’s this vulnerability that enables you to be who you truly are and demonstrate to the world what you believe in. There are others in this world that can benefit from what you can do or what you have to say.

Life is an amazing journey in which we are here to make a difference and support one another.

You don’t need to wait for a near-death experience to realize this. You can ask yourself these questions now. I can certainly say it’s worth it.

—

This week only, you can get Brendan’s eCourse, Launch Your Life Academy, for 95% off in Tiny Buddha’s Best You, Best Life Bundle, which includes 20 powerful online tools on purpose, love, self-care and more. The Launch Your Life Academy is jam-packed with expert training, exercises, tools, guides, and resources to help you create more passion, happiness, and success in your life. You can learn more here.

About

Brendan Baker

Brendan Baker helps people who feel stuck doing work they don’t like start to make a difference and an income doing what they love. He writes over at The Start of Happiness and has created the Launch Your Life Academy to support people take action to live the life they have always desired to live.

[cleancutpage]

CRE Tech Virgin, No More!

Michael, Andy, Jeremy, Lewis, Brad, Max

Yes, I am so ashamed to admit it, but I was a CRE Tech virgin. I had not had the chance to attend a CRE // Tech event until now! Now that I live in Las Vegas, it was a no-brainer for me to jump in the car with my amazing husband and go on a neat mini road trip to Los Angeles. I knew that there were so many people I wanted to meet in real life (#IRL) and I was determined to make sure that I did.

Mad Greek Cafe – Baker, California

Our road trip was filled with sites and food you can only find on this road! Yes, we stopped at the Mad Greek Cafe which is literally an authentic Greek restaurant with every delectable item imaginable, including the amazing Greek desserts. The views are always amazing to me coming from the midwest, including the gigantic solar farm and the beautiful mountain scenery and desert vistas.

But once in Los Angeles I was just bubbling with excitement to meet so many people that I feel like I work with day in and day out, but have never met. The CRE // Tech people I got to rub elbows with include, in order by appearance:

Nina Steiner (Bailes & Associates – Icon of tenant representation in Los Angeles and someone gracious and kind and an excellent mentor to anyone starting out in that market. I connected her with Christina and hope they become lifelong pals.)

Christina Perez (EGA Commercial – Amazing networker and driven broker who is going to make it big. Christina is a natural. She is also a fan of Digsy AI.)

Andrew Bermudez (Digsy AI – Met Andrew before, but want to give him a shout out. Love Andrew and his humor and admire his passion.)

Kateri Osborne (The News Funnel, etal. – Powerhouse event guru and nicest person around.)

Howard F. Kline (Howard F. Kline Law and host of CRERadio.com – Have met Howard so many times, but call him Uncle Howard when he is not looking and enjoy him so much.)

Michael Beckerman (The News Funnel, etal. – Thought I knew him all my life. Such a wonderful soul.)

Duke Long (Duke Long – Gave him a hug, even though he did not seem to want it! He is much more handsome than his famous sunglass photo lets on.)

Ian Whitman (Rosano Partners – Biggest surprise as I sat down next to him and did not know it until we looked at each other in shock! How fun to finally meet Ian who has been such a huge supporter of tBL!)

Jeremy Neuer (CBRE Capital Markets – So sweet and kind and thrilled to finally meet him.)

Max Crowley (Uber – Chicago born native and superstar at Uber, employee #26. So generous and kind and down to earth.)

Mario Torres (Toferman – Los Angeles real estate broker with an eye to multi-family. Great conversation and warm person.)

Jason Kahn (Ten-X Commercial – Director of Special Situations and so enthusiastic about what Ten-X is doing. I am pumped up.)

Lindsay Baker (Comfy – Yes, you heard that right, Comfy! Lindsay is a sweetheart in all ways and is a super smart scientist too! Wow, she can whip a building’s hvac into shape for you in no time flat! Love to meet female startup founders!)

Jack Buck ( RE Meter – Another Chicago pal and mover and shaker doing some amazing stuff for those leasing commercial real estate! Think credit checks for commercial tenants. Have met Jack before and he is a real gentleman and very driven.)

Pierce Neinken (AirBnB – Finally after so many phone calls and emails and organizing efforts, I met Pierce. Fabulously kind and cares tremendously about CRE // Tech, heck it is his baby too! So glad to finally get that reunion to happen.

Kateri, Linda and Michael

Business Cards are Still Relevant!

If I met you and you did not give me a business card, you are out of luck. My brain cannot retain it all. I know I met many more people and shook hands and viewed the various companies in attendance, but if I did not get your card it will be impossible for my to pull that out of my cobwebs of my mind. I truly apologize to you if I met you and failed to list you. Please call to refresh my memory and I will update this post!

But the bottom line is that it was worth the road trip and offered an outstanding educational opportunity to listen to the speakers and tour the space with an icon of the industry Lewis Horne of CBRE. Lewis was the host and a dynamo. Very driven to make the CBRE workplace the office of the future.

CBRE Offices of the future, hosted the event.

Topics and Speakers

The main focus or theme was around the future of transportation with speakers focused quite a bit on driverless cars and the changes occurring in retail. Those are the 2 big hot topics du jour! With Uber as a speaker they spoke of the Uber Enterprise platform which is a genius idea for companies looking to organize and streamline the need to move their employees around and have accountability.

Overall the entire event was very eye opening to me as I really did not realize how close to reality some of this “future” talk is. And some of it is really here already.

Big thanks to the CRE // Tech Los Angeles team for putting together a great event.

CRE // Tech New York

Now for the best part of the blog! You have to consider attending CRE // Tech New York on December 7th. Now that the west coast has gotten a taste of these amazing events, it is time you east coasters jump on board. To register to attend this incredibly affordable opportunity to learn and mingle click here.

Other Stories About CRE // Tech Los Angeles you will find of interest:

With A Little Help from My Friends

MY FIVE TAKEAWAYS FROM OUR CRE // TECH EVENT IN LOS ANGELES LAST WEEK

Random Thoughts And Observations From CRE//TECH Intersect Los Angeles, Where Narcissism Is Not Only Encouraged It’s Rewarded.

RSS Feed provided by theBrokerList Blog - Are you on theBrokerList for commercial real estate (cre)? and CRE Tech Virgin, No More! was written by Linda Day Harrison.

CRE Tech Virgin, No More! published first on http://ift.tt/2hkHhkP

[cleancutpage]

CRE Tech Virgin, No More!

Michael, Andy, Jeremy, Lewis, Brad, Max

Yes, I am so ashamed to admit it, but I was a CRE Tech virgin. I had not had the chance to attend a CRE // Tech event until now! Now that I live in Las Vegas, it was a no-brainer for me to jump in the car with my amazing husband and go on a neat mini road trip to Los Angeles. I knew that there were so many people I wanted to meet in real life (#IRL) and I was determined to make sure that I did.

Mad Greek Cafe – Baker, California

Our road trip was filled with sites and food you can only find on this road! Yes, we stopped at the Mad Greek Cafe which is literally an authentic Greek restaurant with every delectable item imaginable, including the amazing Greek desserts. The views are always amazing to me coming from the midwest, including the gigantic solar farm and the beautiful mountain scenery and desert vistas.

But once in Los Angeles I was just bubbling with excitement to meet so many people that I feel like I work with day in and day out, but have never met. The CRE // Tech people I got to rub elbows with include, in order by appearance:

Nina Steiner (Bailes & Associates – Icon of tenant representation in Los Angeles and someone gracious and kind and an excellent mentor to anyone starting out in that market. I connected her with Christina and hope they become lifelong pals.)

Christina Perez (EGA Commercial – Amazing networker and driven broker who is going to make it big. Christina is a natural. She is also a fan of Digsy AI.)

Andrew Bermudez (Digsy AI – Met Andrew before, but want to give him a shout out. Love Andrew and his humor and admire his passion.)

Kateri Osborne (The News Funnel, etal. – Powerhouse event guru and nicest person around.)

Howard F. Kline (Howard F. Kline Law and host of CRERadio.com – Have met Howard so many times, but call him Uncle Howard when he is not looking and enjoy him so much.)

Michael Beckerman (The News Funnel, etal. – Thought I knew him all my life. Such a wonderful soul.)

Duke Long (Duke Long – Gave him a hug, even though he did not seem to want it! He is much more handsome than his famous sunglass photo lets on.)

Ian Whitman (Rosano Partners – Biggest surprise as I sat down next to him and did not know it until we looked at each other in shock! How fun to finally meet Ian who has been such a huge supporter of tBL!)

Jeremy Neuer (CBRE Capital Markets – So sweet and kind and thrilled to finally meet him.)

Max Crowley (Uber – Chicago born native and superstar at Uber, employee #26. So generous and kind and down to earth.)

Mario Torres (Toferman – Los Angeles real estate broker with an eye to multi-family. Great conversation and warm person.)

Jason Kahn (Ten-X Commercial – Director of Special Situations and so enthusiastic about what Ten-X is doing. I am pumped up.)

Lindsay Baker (Comfy – Yes, you heard that right, Comfy! Lindsay is a sweetheart in all ways and is a super smart scientist too! Wow, she can whip a building’s hvac into shape for you in no time flat! Love to meet female startup founders!)

Jack Buck ( RE Meter – Another Chicago pal and mover and shaker doing some amazing stuff for those leasing commercial real estate! Think credit checks for commercial tenants. Have met Jack before and he is a real gentleman and very driven.)

Pierce Neinken (AirBnB – Finally after so many phone calls and emails and organizing efforts, I met Pierce. Fabulously kind and cares tremendously about CRE // Tech, heck it is his baby too! So glad to finally get that reunion to happen.

Kateri, Linda and Michael

Business Cards are Still Relevant!

If I met you and you did not give me a business card, you are out of luck. My brain cannot retain it all. I know I met many more people and shook hands and viewed the various companies in attendance, but if I did not get your card it will be impossible for my to pull that out of my cobwebs of my mind. I truly apologize to you if I met you and failed to list you. Please call to refresh my memory and I will update this post!

But the bottom line is that it was worth the road trip and offered an outstanding educational opportunity to listen to the speakers and tour the space with an icon of the industry Lewis Horne of CBRE. Lewis was the host and a dynamo. Very driven to make the CBRE workplace the office of the future.

CBRE Offices of the future, hosted the event.

Topics and Speakers

The main focus or theme was around the future of transportation with speakers focused quite a bit on driverless cars and the changes occurring in retail. Those are the 2 big hot topics du jour! With Uber as a speaker they spoke of the Uber Enterprise platform which is a genius idea for companies looking to organize and streamline the need to move their employees around and have accountability.

Overall the entire event was very eye opening to me as I really did not realize how close to reality some of this “future” talk is. And some of it is really here already.

Big thanks to the CRE // Tech Los Angeles team for putting together a great event.

CRE // Tech New York

Now for the best part of the blog! You have to consider attending CRE // Tech New York on December 7th. Now that the west coast has gotten a taste of these amazing events, it is time you east coasters jump on board. To register to attend this incredibly affordable opportunity to learn and mingle click here.

Other Stories About CRE // Tech Los Angeles you will find of interest:

With A Little Help from My Friends

MY FIVE TAKEAWAYS FROM OUR CRE // TECH EVENT IN LOS ANGELES LAST WEEK

Random Thoughts And Observations From CRE//TECH Intersect Los Angeles, Where Narcissism Is Not Only Encouraged It’s Rewarded.

RSS Feed provided by theBrokerList Blog - Are you on theBrokerList for commercial real estate (cre)? and CRE Tech Virgin, No More! was written by Linda Day Harrison.

CRE Tech Virgin, No More! published first on http://ift.tt/2hkHhkP

[cleancutpage]

CRE Tech Virgin, No More!

Michael, Andy, Jeremy, Lewis, Brad, Max

Yes, I am so ashamed to admit it, but I was a CRE Tech virgin. I had not had the chance to attend a CRE // Tech event until now! Now that I live in Las Vegas, it was a no-brainer for me to jump in the car with my amazing husband and go on a neat mini road trip to Los Angeles. I knew that there were so many people I wanted to meet in real life (#IRL) and I was determined to make sure that I did.

Mad Greek Cafe – Baker, California

Our road trip was filled with sites and food you can only find on this road! Yes, we stopped at the Mad Greek Cafe which is literally an authentic Greek restaurant with every delectable item imaginable, including the amazing Greek desserts. The views are always amazing to me coming from the midwest, including the gigantic solar farm and the beautiful mountain scenery and desert vistas.

But once in Los Angeles I was just bubbling with excitement to meet so many people that I feel like I work with day in and day out, but have never met. The CRE // Tech people I got to rub elbows with include, in order by appearance:

Nina Steiner (Bailes & Associates – Icon of tenant representation in Los Angeles and someone gracious and kind and an excellent mentor to anyone starting out in that market. I connected her with Christina and hope they become lifelong pals.)

Christina Perez (EGA Commercial – Amazing networker and driven broker who is going to make it big. Christina is a natural. She is also a fan of Digsy AI.)

Andrew Bermudez (Digsy AI – Met Andrew before, but want to give him a shout out. Love Andrew and his humor and admire his passion.)

Kateri Osborne (The News Funnel, etal. – Powerhouse event guru and nicest person around.)

Howard F. Kline (Howard F. Kline Law and host of CRERadio.com – Have met Howard so many times, but call him Uncle Howard when he is not looking and enjoy him so much.)

Michael Beckerman (The News Funnel, etal. – Thought I knew him all my life. Such a wonderful soul.)

Duke Long (Duke Long – Gave him a hug, even though he did not seem to want it! He is much more handsome than his famous sunglass photo lets on.)

Ian Whitman (Rosano Partners – Biggest surprise as I sat down next to him and did not know it until we looked at each other in shock! How fun to finally meet Ian who has been such a huge supporter of tBL!)

Jeremy Neuer (CBRE Capital Markets – So sweet and kind and thrilled to finally meet him.)

Max Crowley (Uber – Chicago born native and superstar at Uber, employee #26. So generous and kind and down to earth.)

Mario Torres (Toferman – Los Angeles real estate broker with an eye to multi-family. Great conversation and warm person.)

Jason Kahn (Ten-X Commercial – Director of Special Situations and so enthusiastic about what Ten-X is doing. I am pumped up.)

Lindsay Baker (Comfy – Yes, you heard that right, Comfy! Lindsay is a sweetheart in all ways and is a super smart scientist too! Wow, she can whip a building’s hvac into shape for you in no time flat! Love to meet female startup founders!)

Jack Buck ( RE Meter – Another Chicago pal and mover and shaker doing some amazing stuff for those leasing commercial real estate! Think credit checks for commercial tenants. Have met Jack before and he is a real gentleman and very driven.)

Pierce Neinken (AirBnB – Finally after so many phone calls and emails and organizing efforts, I met Pierce. Fabulously kind and cares tremendously about CRE // Tech, heck it is his baby too! So glad to finally get that reunion to happen.

Kateri, Linda and Michael

Business Cards are Still Relevant!

If I met you and you did not give me a business card, you are out of luck. My brain cannot retain it all. I know I met many more people and shook hands and viewed the various companies in attendance, but if I did not get your card it will be impossible for my to pull that out of my cobwebs of my mind. I truly apologize to you if I met you and failed to list you. Please call to refresh my memory and I will update this post!

But the bottom line is that it was worth the road trip and offered an outstanding educational opportunity to listen to the speakers and tour the space with an icon of the industry Lewis Horne of CBRE. Lewis was the host and a dynamo. Very driven to make the CBRE workplace the office of the future.

CBRE Offices of the future, hosted the event.

Topics and Speakers

The main focus or theme was around the future of transportation with speakers focused quite a bit on driverless cars and the changes occurring in retail. Those are the 2 big hot topics du jour! With Uber as a speaker they spoke of the Uber Enterprise platform which is a genius idea for companies looking to organize and streamline the need to move their employees around and have accountability.

Overall the entire event was very eye opening to me as I really did not realize how close to reality some of this “future” talk is. And some of it is really here already.

Big thanks to the CRE // Tech Los Angeles team for putting together a great event.

CRE // Tech New York

Now for the best part of the blog! You have to consider attending CRE // Tech New York on December 7th. Now that the west coast has gotten a taste of these amazing events, it is time you east coasters jump on board. To register to attend this incredibly affordable opportunity to learn and mingle click here.

Other Stories About CRE // Tech Los Angeles you will find of interest:

With A Little Help from My Friends

MY FIVE TAKEAWAYS FROM OUR CRE // TECH EVENT IN LOS ANGELES LAST WEEK

Random Thoughts And Observations From CRE//TECH Intersect Los Angeles, Where Narcissism Is Not Only Encouraged It’s Rewarded.

RSS Feed provided by theBrokerList Blog - Are you on theBrokerList for commercial real estate (cre)? and CRE Tech Virgin, No More! was written by Linda Day Harrison.

CRE Tech Virgin, No More! published first on http://ift.tt/2hkHhkP