Break Room (Luna)

Pystan Jam

Blond shined dimly under fluorescent, dull lights rowed throughout a factory. Many workers, sweating, working all day to stay alive, green eyes perceived. They were lifting numerous items off a moving belt and packaging them in boxes, sending merchandise to the Capitol and buyers within the country. Everything were gray, depressing and sluggish. In an upper district, people were still breaking sweat to earn pay.

A girl with pink wrenches for earrings frowned at the workers. She thought they were quite miserable or content of what they do, which seemed awful. Frays of a blue short skirt nut-printed moved along with the legs, up and down. The blond adorned a black corset over a cream-white blouse, multiple fabric strings stitching each other.

She sighed. She found this depressing while making her way down the steps, a dainty hand caressing cold, long rail. A whistle blew, and the girl knew the time had come for break. Break time meant the break room, bound to have individuals mingling, something she did best.

Emerald-ish eyes peeked into the break room. The first person found made her cringe mentally. A sandy-haired male that could easily tower over her did not have entirely smooth skin, scars disrupting perfect softness. He was muscled, she gave credit to, but presented himself as being scary to the girl.

The blond took her chance, stepping out into the open, walking to the person, her hands behind her back. A bright smile popped on her face when she approached. "My, you have adult taste." She was referring to the coffee. "It's quite lonely to be just sitting there, isn't it? Eating at your break but not talking, it's something I can't understand."

The girl blinked, then she smiled bigger. "Sure!" The blond loudly pulled a chair out, garnering any attention around the room, and sat. She rested her head on intertwined hands, her elbows propped on the table. The green-eyed one did like sweets.

She watched as he wiped his face with a dirt rag, thinking that it would only smear oil on his skin. "Well, I've only seen adults drink coffee, really. And the occasional teen, like you. I didn't think that young people would need energy."Asked for her name, the girl replied, "I'm Pystan Jam. You are?"

"Garrett's a nice name, Pystan sweetly said. Her eyes blinked in confusion. "They're from here. My parents were successful Careers, and I'm one myself." She began thinking. "I was named after the metal part, piston. They just changed a couple letters, becoming 'Pystan'. I guess that does make it weird, but they like it."

Pystan bit a couple squares off her chocolate, chewing small bites. "The chocolate's good. Thank you."

Green eyes cast themselves onto his arm, probably scarred gradually through time. A frown traced on Pystan's lips. "Why do have so many scars? Do you get into a lot of fights?"

Pystan gaped her mouth a little, in awe. She was thinking the scars must have been painful, every one of them. Her eyes concentrated onto the saw scar. "Three years old! Did you cry? Children cry easily, for sure. Especially at the age of three!"

She bit into another sweet square when Garrett handed her another. "So much!" Pystan exclaimed, though joyfully. "Thank you!" Her hand slid the bar closer, the smile present full of mirth. "You say you're not that friendly, yet you give me chocolate freely."