Page One.:: // Cass

The word that comes to mind is simpering. Whereas I hadn't been paying attention because my mind was occupied with a whirlwind of thought, she appears to be empty-headed, sniveling and airy. Maybe she got her kicks off of inhaling paint fumes or something. The dirty blonde doesn't seem like she's paying attention to anything in her surroundings and if I was feeling really cruel I think I would tell her off fantastically. She moves methodically, like a wind-up doll whose crank has just been turned by a bored child, bending slowly, extending an arm and grasping at the ground before straightening up, offering it to me like a forgotten treasure; Which I suppose it is. My face twists into a wry and sarcastic smile as my free hand finds my hip."Of course I dropped it, you knocked into me you idiot. Earth to girly, you dumb or something??" I snatch the metal from her outstretched hand with a little too much gusto, because it scrapes over her palm and leaves a line of rapidly forming red, seeping out in droplets that are far too reminiscent of the crimson sands that trickled onto tributes heads three years ago.

Almost mechanically, I glance at the damaged hourglass nestled in the crook of my arm. No one knows how long I've been searching for one. But judging by the girls reaction, I doubt she'd care t hear it at all. I didn't mean to cut her obviously, but what's done is done and my dad always says that anyone that doesn't fix something that they broke, isn't the kind of person that can be trusted to ever do the right thing. And so though it pains me, I know that I now have to right the error that I made. I take a moment to study the girl in front of me and take in the grey eyes that regard my gaze with something that I can't quite place. I'd say that her eyes were hollow and that they bore into me like twin pools of gutter water that reflect the things that they've seen, but I don't scare easy and I force myself to keep a steady gaze at her face, the merest hint of a condescending smile gracing my lips and hopefully showing her that I really don't give a crap.

I find my voice with a slight cough. "My Da's Workshop ain't too far from here. There's a first aid kit If you want it." I've just given her a way out with my words whether she realizes it or not. Unsure of what else to do, I shrug and unapologetically push past her in the direction of the shop. If she's smart she'll follow me. Otherwise, she'll prove me right. In any case, i'm already bored and I want to think about things that aren't as taxing on my personality. I don't look behind me and I don't give her the satisfaction of a backwards glance. You can never tell with victor family types. There are always an odd bunch and my dad's always said they aren't to be trusted for any reason. Something about unpredictably. Sibling rivalry since they aren't the famous one. I'm an only child so I wouldn't know anything about that. And the only teen to share my last name burned out before I ever got a chance to meet him.

Sometimes, people can surprise you by not being as dumb as you already thought they were. Sometimes, they can read the drawl in your voice or actually manage to pick up on your dismissive body language. I hate it when people can't take a hint and yet it seems like most citizens have their heads stuck so far up their bums its a wonder they can see anything at all. At any rate, I find it hard to not let out a sigh of relief as the girl informs me that she doesn't want any help, taking the out I gave her instead of potentially turning the situation into an awkwardpalooza. I give her a small nod and keep walking towards my destination, ready to get on with my day before it gets too late. I don't like being outside at night, but I'll stay up until the sun rises tinkering away on projects. Da doesn't mind, since he gets home way later then I do and then just wants to get some sleep. And he is a man that won't be awakened for any reason other than he wants to be. Explosions, cursing, hammering, drilling. I've lost count of the noises coming from the workshop that don't ever bother him in his room above it. I think I'd even be able to throw a party without him waking up, but seeing as how I don't associate with anyone that idea doesn't have much merit at all.

I take several more steps before I realize that there is an odd trilling noise somewhere behind me. I wave at the air by my ears in annoyance, thinking it must be a mosquito or a horsefly. But insects don't keep a rhythm and so I glance over my shoulder to see that the girl is following me and humming an strange little ditty. My eyes snap forward and I narrow them in rising anger. So. Looks like she did want something for her hand and was just too much of a prick to say so out loud. She's an odd duck alright. I mentally chide myself for not paying more attention to the road, because otherwise I wouldn't be in this situation."We'll be there shortly." I say tight lipped. I measure my footsteps out carefully, making sure not to bump into anyone else, or drop my items again. And indeed we arrive soon. I draw the key out of my pocket and unlatch the door, hearing the tumblers groan in protest as I do so. If they were living things, I'd say that they could read my feelings and know that I have an unwanted and unwelcome visitor behind me. I shuffle inside, motioning for the girl to follow and hoping that she won't make things harder for either of us.

"Well. Come in I guess. I'm...Jackie. Just wait here and don't touch anything!" I add emphasis on the last three words and leave her there as I move to deposit my things in the backroom. Where I left the girl is the counter where my father deals with people, fixing whatever they bring in as best he can. All around the shop are the gutted remains of mechanical things, bits and pieces littering the floor and piles of odds and ends in every corner. Grease stains painting an oily picture of sight and smell. I don't want her to see what's in the back room, which is why I told her to stay put. I doubt anyone would understand and I don't want anyone to make fun of me either. I drop the gears in the center of the backroom and bring the cracked hourglass over to a stool that I'm using as a pedestal, placing it in the center. There are nine stools of varying sizes in a small semi-circle near the back. Each holds a diorama of an arena finale. I've been building them since I was eight, improving my skills with every year that passes, but it was so hard to find a usable hourglass that it took me close to three years to find one.

I'll fill the hourglass with flour dyed red later, since I can't get sand anywhere in the district, and I take a moment to appraise the little mock ups on the stools on either side of the hourglass. To the left, there is a box I shaped to look like an iceberg and painted white. Atop of it are little metal figurines, one lying curled up on the ground and the other two trading blows. Off below the iceberg is a little walnut shell canoe with orange paper flames sticking up from the center. I've gotten better at making them as I've gotten older, because on the other side of the hourglass, the model ship I lucked out in finding has been made up to look much older, tiny facsimiles of Klaus and Fitz in battle on the deck. A tiny Mahlah propped up a little ways away from them. They are of a better grade of statue, pins and needles welded together with more precision than previous ones. I glance at some of the older finales, dried chicken bones instead of elephant skeletons, or the bowl full of saltwater and rusting figures on the stool labeled the fifty-fifth. I shrug and turn towards the cabinet, taking out some gauze and bandages and wondering what mischief the girl has gotten up to in my absence.

A sound startles me and I look in the direction of the backrooms door.

Clockwork.

I expect everything in my life to go like clockwork. I can count the seconds with my fingers, punch a time card with a closed fist, and let the sands of time slip through my grasp while counting every individual grain that falls away to be lost to eternity. People take time for granted more than anything else; they think that they are invincible. That the rules don't apply to them; but when you've added enough years to one side of the scale, they have a tendency to be reminded of their own mortality. Too many people take tomorrow for granted, focusing on yesterday instead and trying to fit the broken pieces together without the proper equipment. Which is why they are caught completely off guard when time runs out.

It can run out for any number of reasons. Getting reaped of course. Old age. Disease. A misstep, an accident. Simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Pissing the wrong person off. I think about this sort of thing often. Sometimes I like to think that time moves at a different rate for me than for the rest of the world; because I take the time to appreciate the little things. Because I choose to learn from the past instead of dwelling on it. I don't understand the preoccupation with reliving the past; especially because its never as good as you think you remember it. The things you ignored with childish ignorance come roaring back to the forefront of your mind when you get old enough to understand just exactly what you were witnessing.

Take my childhood for example. It wasn't until I was fourteen that I realized the reason my Da liked to take frequent 'naps' was because of the beverages he likes to drink. "Do as I say, not as I do." Yes, I remember the seven hundredth time he said those words, and their meaning remained as hollow as ever. I am my own person and I promised myself at a young age that I would not repeat his past, but forge my own. I'm still forging my past even now. When you take the time to micromanage time you come to realize that even an hour ago is now naught but a page in the annals of your personal history. I've made my mistakes sure, but its only now that I know that bringing that Goravich girl into the workshop was one of them.

I rushed to where I had left her, almost as soon as I had heard the clatter crash tinkle of breakable items hitting the floor. The sight that awaited me was one that I had never expected to see. The girl was on her knees, surrounded by glittering shards of former snowglobes. Somehow, she had knocked an entire shelf loose and the orbs and the wooden plank they were on now decorated the ground with their pearly insides. That is, the globes, not the plank. But among the glass, the false silver and golds I could see the stain of crimson spreading in tiny rivulets that reached towards me like tongues of flame. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts; a thousand and one variations of various expletives come to mind, but all that comes out is a strangled hurk of disbelief.

I'm still clutching the gauze and bandages from the first wound that the girl suffered and I have to wonder if she's doing this sort of thing on purpose. Setting my mouth in a grim line I make my way over to the disheveled lass and help her to her feet, giving her a hard look as my eyes sweep up the damage. I'll have to get this cleaned up before Da finds out, but I doubt I'll be able to fix and/or replace them soon enough. I'm a tinkerer, not a glassblower. "Now you've gone and done it." I mutter the words through clenched teeth and pull her over to the counter. I unwind some of the gauze and dab it none too gently on her cuts and scrapes, before tying a bandage off around the worst of it.

"You're a real piece of work ya know that? I invite you in, offer to clean you up and you go and injure yourself and the shop. You got anything to say for yourself?" My eyes search her face for the answer; an answer I hope is forthcoming. It's not often that I find myself in a position like this. I avoid people. They aren't what I'm good at fixing. They aren't made up of gears and cranks and bells and whistles. No, they have emotions and feelings and thoughts and scars. It's not as clear cut with people as it is with clocks. Its not black and white. It's grey. I don't know what to do with grey. Grey is the color of the clocks metal insides, not the parts that make it work, but the parts that keep everything locked away so tight that the only thing that can be heard is the soft ticking of a heartbeat.

I don't know what my heartbeat is doing, but its nothing good. I'm stuck somewhere between a slow fiery anger that's building in intensity, and a cold fury that wants nothing more to let out all of the aggression I usually relegate to the occasional sarcastic remark. I can feel the telltale signs of caustic words starting to dance their way across my taste buds, acidic to the ears and venomous if done correctly. I almost have to bite down on the offending muscle to prevent their escape. I don't really want to vent of this girl, but she is doing a swell job of testing my patience. She has to know what she's done, and I want to know what she plans to do about it. Whatever the case, it had better involve some form of apology or she is really going to get it.

Now this is something peculiar. Generally when someone is in the wrong, I think the correct thing to do is to apologize, not tell the person they've offended to be nicer. I drop what I'm doing and glare at her, letting the bandage roll thump to the floor and roll away. Are you freakin kidding me right now? This girl not only destroyed a rack of snowglobes and created a huge mess, not only injured herself to the point where I have to waste precious supplies on her, but she has the audacity to tell me off as well? I'm so stunned I just stand still for a minute. She's a weird girl. But she doesn't take anyone's crap. Am I any different? I cup my chin in my hand and ruminate, letting my brow slowly travel up my face. I'm still mad, heck I'm was ready to bite her head off a moment ago but now I just don't know.

I grimace, taking a deep breath as I feel anger starting to boil in the back of my throat. But there's something about her continued silent defiance that reminds her of... me. A smirk creeps along my mouth and a small chuckle worms its way out of my lips. "You know something Goravich? You're alright. You made a huge mess of things and I'm still considering slapping you upside the head... but...I think we understand each other yeah?" I retrieve the roll of bandages from the floor and tear off another strip and wind it around her hand, a bit more gently this time, and end my gesture with a shrug. The glittery liquid from the globes is running in rivulets down the floorboards and creating gossamer patterns in the walk space, glinting as they spread. "I'll clean up this crap before my da gets home, so lucky for you." Her face remains unreadable, and not for the first time, I wonder if she's actually been listening.

"Anyway Goravich, this has taken enough time already. Just.. Clear out to the victor village. Maybe I'll knock into you again sometime." Its unceremonious, but I start to shove her towards the door. She's caused enough trouble already and I have to clean before da gets home. I'm not sure what this encounter will cause down the road. After all , time is fluid and ever changing. The one constant is that, like her time in my workshop, its going to run out. I don't know what she thinks about this, but there comes a time when you just want to get over the awkwardness and the emotions in the fastest way possible. Even if it means stepping away from the first person who might stand a chance at becoming a friend.