Middle District Bandits :: [Nocturne + Erebus]

The trainer's instructions echoed through Erebus' mind as his hands worked at the sticks in front of him trying to coax a fire from them. Despite spending most of the day in this corner of the gym he hadn't made much progress. Some smoke and baby sparks. Once he did manage to get a flame going only to have it extinguished by a breeze made by another tribute walking by. The fruitlessness of the situation would have frustrated many people, but Erebus kept at it intent on replicating the trainer's product. The Capitolite who stationed the fire table kept a steady flame going beside him, occasionally throwing a stick on it. Earlier in the day he was laughing with the trapping trainers and cooking meat over it. Erebus frowned at his own work, his sad looking bundle of sticks and tinder wouldn't cook anything. Still he tried at it again, more determined than before to get a fire going.

"Whatcha makin' over there?" a voice asked. Confused as to why anyone would be talking to him, Erebus slowly looked up his hands still on his sticks. The boy sitting near by was a strange one. He wore the training uniform like everyone else but the way it fell on his frame made it look different, as if he were a different species. A ridiculous thought, but one that made sense to the District Five tribute. Besides the other boy's odd appearance, his question was rather odd as well. What did it look like he was making?

"Uh... fire?" Erebus looked down as his work, not even a little bit of smoke. "Well, I'm trying..."

His words trailed off into nothing as he stared down at his worthless pile of sticks.

Erebus' acquaintance joked that he wasn't following the instructions correctly. A quick glance at the boy found that the only step he had followed was to grab a stick. Erebus snorted, letting a smile take over his lips for a moment before returning to his work. He hadn't laughed in quite some time and it felt weird to be giggling in the training room where the person who was going to kill him was most likely practicing killing him.

"You're that Turner kid, aren't you?" the tribute asked and Erebus' fingers froze for a second before continuing his work. The boy had found that people either had a very positive view of him because of his shared blood or an extremely negative opinion. However, something told him this kid wouldn't mind.

"Yeah... that's me," he said, dropping his sticks and watched as the other boy whittled at his stick. "What's your name? If you don't mind me asking. I mean... not that...."

It seems that his fire making and conversational skills were about the same level.

"Oh, I'm nobody." Erebus' mouth opened to question the boy's response only to close without speaking a word. Was he joking? Was he serious? The Turner boy wasn't sure how to respond to such an answer. Ever since the Reaping Erebus' name had been hammered into his temple over and over again. Erebus Turner, little brother of Lethe Turner. Erebus Turner, of the Turners in District Five. Erebus Turner future corpse. How could anyone possibly be no one at all?

Thankfully, the boy finished his sentence and Erebeus let out the breath he had not realize he'd been holding. Nocturne Vargas, what a name that was.

"Oh, I think Nocturne Vargas is a very interesting name," Erebus said, his sticks left forgotten on the training room floor. "And trust me, being a Turner right now isn't exactly desirable."

Erebus loved Lethe with all his heart, but their shared name was a burden. On the other hand, Vargas did have a nice ring to it.

The Turner boy could only watch as Nocturne grabbed his sticks and filled Erebus in one the life he would be living for the next hour. It was strange, but also fun. It took his mind off of training and for a few moments he even forgot where he was and what the future held in store for him.

Nocturne Vargas, a quirky boy from District Nine who didn't have a care in the world. Erebus could stand a little make believe right now.

Reaching over, he picked up Vargas' knife and wood and tried to figure out what exactly he had been whittling into it.

"Well, if I'm you then you're a Turner. You love your sister, even if she makes you go to too many fancy parties. Your mother can be kind of crazy and over bearing and she makes you wear itchy suits and ties. You don't like ties, for the record. You spend your days in the stables tending the horses- and you don't have that weird accent," a grin tugged at Erebus' lips as he shaved off as little wood as possible from Nocturne's sculpture. He felt lighter with another name, the Turner legacy having been lifted from his shoulders. Having only known Vargas for about five minutes, Erebus took an instant shine to him. Having lived in a house full of sisters, the boy was unsure of what it was like to have an older brother but something told him it must be a little like this.

"If ya have truuble with vow'ls then Er-ee-bus might not be the best of names," the boy said, trying to mock the other's accent. He was smiling so much his teeth were actually showing, a first in a long while. Then again he wasn't Erebus Turner, the sulky boy from Five- he was Nocturne Vargas. Now he had been filled in a little but there was so much of the Vargas kid he didn't know. He must be very brave, and adventurous. Good with words, despite that awful twang, and deaf to other's opinion of him. So, basically everything Erebus is not.

"You don't like parties because they aren't thrown for you, they're for your sister and for Capitol people to get drunk," Erebus said, fiddling with the knife more than carving the wood. "And the only nice part about a suit are the buttons."

Life as a Vargas, even if it was only for an hour, was liberating. A feeling Erebus wished he could carry with him forever.