Hollow (open)

The reaping was always the most stressful day of the year. His mother was extremely unstable on this day, more fragile than usual. The morning greeted him like it would every other: Bright and sunny, but bitter, terribly bitter. He sat up in bed. He could already hear his mother sniffling downstairs as she prepared breakfast.

He shuffled into the bathroom, running cold water on his face, and staring into the slightly blurred mirror. His black hair was unruly, skin just waking up from sleep. He focused on his eyes. They appeared grey, but if you looked really closely, you could see the green. He focused on the green. It made him different. He inhaled, and exhaled, one deep cleansing breath before getting ready for the reaping. This could very well be his last day in District 12. Once you were picked from the ball, you were too far away gone to think of coming back.

The town square was packed, people nearly spilling from the seams. He stood with other boys his age. Other boys that looked like him, talked like him, ate like him. One of them would be picked. That was certain. It was all in the cards, he knew. Everything was on a flimsy, stupid little card.

As it ended up, he didn't get reaped. His mother burst into tears as soon as the name was released. Clare Tatterdem was getting more and more emotional as the years went by. Celadon worried that one year he would get reaped. What would his mother do then? No job, no other family. She'd starve, or die of sickness, or heartache. The notion of his mother committing suicide was repulsive enough for it to physically make him sick.

As the people cleared out, and the celebration begun save for two families, Clare wrapped her thin arms around him in a tight hug. He returned it. He was now taller than his mother by a few solid inches. She was so small. He told her to go home, rest, that he'd catch up in a bit. She nodded, leaving her son in the square.

It was still busy, but there was a few things out of place. For one, there was a girl, crouched where she had stood. People flitted around her, but Celadon was curious. He knew for a fact that this girl was not related in anyway to the tributes this year. His biggest tip off: the red hair. She was a rare breed in District 12, not holding any of the typical phenotypes of the area. Where ever she came from, it was sheer bad luck that she ended up here.

He approached slowly, whistling to himself as he stood over her, hands tucked into his pockets. His blue button-down was rolled up to the elbows, forearms toned from work. Packages got heavy around here. He watched the girl for a long while, not trying to be creepy or anything, Celadon didn't swing that way, but he just couldn't think of anything to say. There was a time to be funny, and a time to be snarky. This time was neither of those, this was a time to be serious, and dare I say it: comforting.

"Need some help?" he questioned, at last, wrapping a large steady hand gently around her forearm, pulling her softly to her feet. It was slightly unnerving how light she way. He should expect it, though. Nearly everyone was underweight.

A crooked grin crossed his face when she thanked him. She may sound like other girls, but hell's teeth her hair definitely was one of a kind. Maybe they had a bunch of redheads in other districts, but not here.

He couldn't help but chuckle. He knew that he was suppose to be comforting and all, but it was just too funny. She had blushed. He could see where it could be a bit embarrassing. The Games were nothing if not serious, and Cel knew that. Celadon didn't conform to suppose-to-be's, and he wasn't about to start now. At least, he didn't appear to conform. He wasn't nearly as rebellious as the general populace made him out to be.

"Everyone's a mess on Reaping day. Don't worry, you fit right in." He grinned, "Except for that hair a'yours." He really couldn't get over her hair. It was so different and pretty and really, that was the best combination there is.

He already knew her name. It was hard being post boy and not knowing the name of nearly everybody. But her name was easy to remember. He wasn't about to tell her that though.

"Name's Celadon. Celadon Tatterdem, that is." He shook her hand, running his fingers through his hair before putting his hands back in his pocket. "You wanna get a drink or something, or are you going to burst into tears? The Reapings are quite stressful an' all." He tried to lighten his voice, and it didn't come off as light as he had hoped. Of course the Reapings were stressful. It was almost tasteless to joke about it, and even less tasteless to joke about it with a girl.

Hell's teeth, comforting was like walking on thin ice with no sign of shore.

"I remember the pair of you." he said. The district square had cleared out, a few people still caught up in the bitterness of the Reaping before going off to celebrations. It really was a shame that the District survival rate was so low, and with two of their children getting killed every year for entertainment. It was something you had to live with, around here. "If everybody's going to be looking at you, at least it's because you're different and your brother isn't the town drunk. That would be something to blush about." he joked lightly, the previous heaviness seemingly gone.

He frowned, just slightly, but a frown nonetheless. Tessarae was something that Celadon never approved of. No person, no child should have to put their lives at stake to provide for their family. It was one of those things that all humans should have a right to. It made him angry, but he wasn't nearly stupid enough to try and get through a winter without it. The winters in District 12 could be particularly harsh. "Anyone could be picked though. You shouldn't get too confident that you won't," he glanced down at her, "but you shouldn't bank that you will get picked either." That's how emotional breakdown's happen. He's seen enough to last a lifetime. The letters were the worst. They were small, and thin. They claimed the mail system a few days after the games. They were tear stained, the letters shaky. "It's better that way."

"Brilliant. I don't know where you usually get your drinks, but I know this great place." He laughed lightly. There was really only one place to get drinks around here. Town, or the hob. The Hob would probably be packed to the gills, but Celadon was experienced enough to navigate it. Wolfy might be, too, considering the tessarae. "Come on. We'll never get anything at this rate. Maybe we should make a pitstop at a party or something. I think I have some mail to swindle some beverages from someone." A crooked smirk, and a raised brow down at his redheaded company. "Or we could just wait until everyone is too drunk to care and practically handing out drinks. That is, if there are any left."

He hoped his only slightly sarcastic jokes cheered the mood up some. It would be such a buzz kill if they didn't. He didn't want to seem completely tasteless. They started walking, and Cel kept his hands to himself, well he did until they reached the crowded party areas. Egad. There were always so many people, some drunk, some crying. It was treacherous waters. "You ready?" he asked lightly, before grabbing her hand and diving head first into the crowds. "Don't want you getting lost, yeah?" he joked, raising a brow, simultaneously worming his way through packs of people and glancing back over his shoulder at her. The red hair made her easier to spot.

They almost got bowled over by some kids playing around with an empty trash can. "Oi, watch it!" he said, pulling Wolfy towards him to avoid the rouge tin can. Kids these days. He did the same thing when he was younger through, always causing trouble, so he couldn't really hold it against them. He did have one trick up his sleeve. He knew all their mothers. Hah! Someone wasn't coming out to play in the morrrrrningggg.

He scrambled lightly when she tripped, being sure to steady her as she fell against him. Celadon was almost positive he stopped breathing for a minute there. "You alright?" he asked, as she collected herself, feeling the immediate moment she stepped away from him, even through dozens of people surged around them. Hells teeth, he's got it bad.

"Well, I was thinking we could go to Old Uncle Sam." He glanced down at her, uneasy. He knew the general perception of the geezer. He was harmless, really. Maybe a little sarcastic and gruff and rude.... She'd just have to trust him. "I, uh. Help him out sometimes. He sends a lot of.. letters." His eyebrows crinkled together, slightly. It was really a sad story. The old man lived all by himself, and nobody liked him very much. He had a real golden heart, though, Old Sam. He really did.

"I mean, unless you got to go celebrate with that brother of yours. I should really check in on my mother, but Old Sam'll let us have a drink. I promised you a drink, now didn't I? I did. Okay." He was rambling and he knew it like a bee had stung him on the tip of his nose. He quirked an eyebrow, dropping her hand when they broke from the crowds. The air was fresher here. Cold bordering on frigid, the temperature was steadily dropping at night, but the sun still came out to warm the days. It was still early in the season yet, but soon enough District 12 would be snow-locked and people will be dropping like flies.

Nobody was in this section of town, with the celebrations going on elsewhere. The street lights in the Seam were dirty and blinking, hardly a good light-source, but Cel knew the area well. He paused at an intersection. They were just going to leave the main road in favor for a smaller, more webbed section of the Seam. Here the roads were not built in a cross section, but winding, and weaving and interlocked. They say this is where the first settlers of District 12 lived, and the settlements got more organized and orderly as time went on and the District expanded. It was ironic how, now, this was one of the poorest, most excluded neighborhoods.

But that might also be because of the grumpy old man who seemed to have a solid grip on the neighborhood.

"I can walk you home if you need to. It's not a problem." he offered, half hoping she wouldn't back out because of Old Sam.

Oh, father/son time. Sometimes, he forgot other families had that. A bitter taste rested in his mouth, for a moment before she made by for it. He was laughing, the cold making his breath fog in front of his face. Well, she certainly was a firecracker, this one. If he wasn't careful, he had a feeling he'd get burnt. "Fine, fine, Snaps. Mind if I call ya Snaps? Anyways, Old Sam'll give us a drink, as sure as my nose is on my face."

He was surprised when she took his hand again. Maybe she was more nervous than she let on. Yeah, that was it. He didn't drop her hand, though. It was nice, ya know? Celadon guided them up to a door, at least a week's worth of milk bottles sitting on the stoop. The paint on the door was peeling, in desperate need of a new paint job. He knocked loudly on the door. There as a muffled answer from inside. He shrugged, turned to Wolfy, a grin sitting crookedly on his face. "Ready?" he asked, shouldering open the door. It got stuck sometimes for disuse. It stuck fast for a few moments, springing open quickly after the third attempt. "Hell's teeth old man, didn't I tell ya to fix that door?" He closed the door behind them before all the heat could escape.

Old Sam stared. He was a tall man, grey, closer to white, hair still thick on his head. He had dark, dark eyes, and horrible posture. Old people didn't really care about that sort of stuff. He was lounging on the couch, smoking a cigar, a half full bottle of whisky sitting on the table next to the couch. "Hey," he slurred lightly, drunk, but still coherent, "Hey, hey, Donny. Who's the girl? Mighty pretty one, hey, wanna drink, hey Donny Kid?"

"Don't scare her. I promised a drink, so I'm going to go get one."
"What I tell you about barging in here and taking all my drinks, ya hooligan, huh?"
"Hey now, play nice." He disappeared into the kitchen, feeling slightly guilty about leaving Snaps in there. He grabbed a couple cups, and then the mail sitting on the kitchen table. There were a couple stained white envelopes, reeking of whisky and cigar smoke. He could recite the addresses off the top of his head. They didn't exist in District 12, not anymore. He listened to the other room. It was silent, Old Sam probably staring the hell outta the girl.
Reappearing, he handed Wolfy a glass, holding up a few choices: soda, probably stale, water, and a beer. He didn't touch the hard liquor (not this year, anyhow). Old Sam'll lose his marbles.

"Sorry." he whispered to Wolfy, turning and sitting on the coffee table. "Pick one, whichever you want. Ey, Sam, this is Wolfy Morasco." He placed the different drinks on the the table, tucking the mail on the other side.
"You think I don't know that, Donny Kid? Course she's a Morasco kid. No other hair like that around here." He was being a little snappy, but he beckoned for the pair to find a seat. "She can speak for herself, now can't she?"

He was going to defend her, but he figured she could defend herself pretty well. Probably comes with the red hair.

"Good, 'cause I was going to call you Snaps, regardless." A cheeky grin. "You just try," he threatened lightly, quirking an eyebrow.

Old Uncle Sam watched the pair. And what a pair they made. If they ever got reaped, the stylists sure would have a fun time with them, that's for sure. Celadon's eyes were unique and the Capitolites would devour his charm and appeal. Wolfy, on the other hand, had the hair that would inspire fashion statements throughout the Capitol. What better from the District of Coal then a girl on fire? For this year they were safe, but there was no telling what the future could hold.
All Sam knew was: if Donny Kid was reaped, nobody would come around. Nobody would pick up his mail. He would drown in more loneliness than the old guy could handle.

Celadon glanced over at her, raising a brow, before taking the other half of the beer, and taking a swig straight from the bottle. He was only being polite and all bringing out the cups. "That the best you got, Snaps?" he responded, seemingly unaffected by her amusement at his nickname. Donny, hell's teeth. With his luck it would catch on and spread through the whole district.

"Oh," he scoffed lightly, "of course I know about you Morascos." he nodded solemnly. He sat up, his cigar between his teeth, as he reached for the bottle. "I sure know you alright. Pretty as your mom."

Sam's dark eyes looked over Snaps, and Celadon felt as if the tension was growing. He masked it with another sip of his beer, clearing his throat lightly. He disliked Old Sam when he was in these kind of moods. It was like he could see right through your blood and bones and straight into your soul. It unsettled him, not that he'd every let him show. No he was the man of the house: he was made of tougher stuff.

"I remember when your parents first got together. What a mess he was. She was radiant, though. Whatta star. Oh, yes. I remember. Hard to miss them in a crowd, if ya know what I mean." Smoke snaked around his head, tainting his lungs, the fumes staining the air. He took another swig of the whisky, clearing his throat. He placed the bottle down on the table between the two kids, loudly, a knowing smirk on his face.

Celadon didn't know what to make of it, the that smirk definitely wasn't something good. It was probably embarrassing and much too true.

"You could always tell when they were around. The sunlight followed them through the clouds."

It was definitely going to be a long night.