Recruiting a Master

Why did Max always get handed the jobs that required sociability and people-person-ness?

Recruiting was usually the first glimpse of the Peacekeepers most people got, provided they hadn't found themselves on the wrong side of the law first; recruiters had to be a fine balance of teachers, salespeople and bullshitters to meet their quotas. So many recruits doing so many certain jobs in so much time.

Max was not recruiter material by any stretch of the imagination. He was antisocial and brutally honest, and had probably scared off as many potential recruits as some of his coworkers had managed to rake in. Not to mention the fact that he came from a non-Career district and wasn't exactly secretive about his contempt for the districts that held favor with the Capitol.

Which begged the question, why the ever-loving fuck he was here.

Because for some damn reason, they need an officer on hand all the time. He thought bitterly, sitting in the office with a book as he counted down the hours until he could get the hell out of here.

But then the door opened, and Max barely managed to suppress a sigh; if he got one more parent trying to grill him about the Peacekeepers for the spineless child being dragged behind them, so help him--

"What do I have to do to join the academy, cause I'm interested in joining."

Max looked up, coming face-to-face with a dark-haired girl holding quite possibly the most battered, pitiful excuse for a staff he'd ever seen in a white-knuckled grip. The girl in question barely seemed to breach 5 feet in height, probably didn't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet, and as far as Max could tell she didn't look a day over 13 years old.

"First of all," He started, "How old are you?"

The Academy occasionally allowed recruits to sign up as early as 16, but this girl was so tiny and young-looking that he would barely wager that she was even a teenager.

Max was immediately annoyed by this newcomer. Ignoring the fact that he had a new Cadet tailing him damn near everywhere and how much he despised being on recruitment duty, his first interaction of the day with a new prospect had him irritated.

This was gonna be super.

"How old do you think I am? Obviously, I'm old enough to be joining the ranks, right? I'm not twelve, therefore, ready to throw myself into the mix and serve the Capitol."

He stared at her a moment, his expression mildly incredulous at the number of words she'd used to not answer his question at all and annoyed that she couldn't just give a simple number. Apparently it took her until the end of her (long) sentence to figure out that the recruiter in front of her wasn't as enamored of her attitude as she was.

"I'll be sixteen in a month and a half."

Progress, finally.

There was a pregnant pause as Max sized her up; not that there was much to size up, god she was tiny.

"You do take youths, don't you or do we have to be eighteen or something? Cause I can't wait."

Max looked at Kaiser, who was curled up near his feet beside his desk; the dog looked back at him and cocked his head as if trying to decipher the meaning behind his master's raised eyebrow.

"We have a delayed entry program for prospects that aren't old enough to enter. Youngest you can be is probably 18."

He didn't actually know off the top of his head what the age limit was, but to be honest he wasn't too interested to find out; this girl was tiny, not even 16 yet, and what he supposed was a staff in her hands looked like it had been beaten, broken and repaired well past its intended lifespan. It was common, though, for recruiters to spar with potential recruits to see if they would make good Peacekeeper material; this girl was the first staff-wielder he had seen in the district, period.

"You a Career?"

Apparently, Max's answer had been far from what the teeny-bopper had been expecting; she looked like a pouting child as she turned her gaze downward. Her mouth twitched, and for the briefest moment Max wondered if she was going to cry.

"I've trained at the center mainly for the use of the staff, but otherwise no."

Great. So she was underage and under-trained by District 2 standards. But even if he refused to admit it, Max's interest was piqued by the prospect of another staff user; granted, she was a good 7 years younger than he was, but training from the Career Training Center was a luxury that --unfortunately-- many in the lower districts would have killed for. Max's own training had been pretty minimal; while the Peacekeeper he'd befriended had taught him as much about the staff as he could, most of what he still used and considered effective were moves chosen by trial-and-error in back-alley scraps. With any luck, he might get a glimpse of what a more formal fighting style looked like.

"So, what you're saying, is that for two years, I'm going to have to just be considered... a guinea pig or something? A nobody until I'm recognized as being old enough to matter?"

"That about sums it up."

This was totally not the way to sell the image of the Peacekeepers, but her attitude was quickly wearing on Max's nerves. Did she expect for him to leap up from his desk when she walked in and greet her with a contract and a pen?

"Okay. I guess, in a few years, I'll be back if I can."

Max rolled his eyes at her.

"Did you hear anything I said? I just told you there's a program for prospects that aren't old enough to enter yet." He replied, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "If we decide you're worth the time, you'd have Peacekeepers tutoring you in the time before you go to the Academy."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"So far, I'm not impressed."

The girl's gender didn't bother him; though he wasn't much in contact with his sisters anymore, Max had never understood the idea that women weren't as good as men. His youngest sister, Mitzi, was one of the toughest people he knew; if Papa Heinrich hadn't thrown such an epic shit fit when Max expressed a desire to be a Peacekeeper, Mitzi probably could have joined right alongside him.

"Is that going to be your sparring weapon?" Max asked, nodding his head towards the very battered-looking staff in her hand.

Intrigued though he was by the fact that this tiny girl was the first staff-wielder he'd seen in a very long time, he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at the fact that she had named the thing; it was a weapon, certainly, but speaking pragmatically it was essentially a stick. Apparently her stick (calling it a staff was a hell of a stretch with how beaten up that thing was) was named Saba, which neither made sense to him in the sense of what it was supposed to mean or why she was attached enough to the thing to name it.

Max had picked up branches, pieces of pipe and various other implements to improvise a weapon; the idea of naming one was absolutely ludicrous to him; something only Careers did.

But, then, Careers had the luxury of being allowed to have weapons. Ones good enough to last long enough to probably form some weird sentimental attachment to the inanimate object.

"What? You wanna spar with me or something? If so, at least my walking down here won't be in vain. A bit of fun sparring with a peacekeeper does sound better than being told I'm too young to matter. What is your weapon of choice?"

Dear god you're wordy.

He didn't have time to answer; the other recruiters, a 2nd Lieutenant and a couple of Staff Sergeants, returned from whatever bullshit meeting they had been away for, seeming both surprised and alarmed that they had a potential candidate talking to him of all people. The 2nd Lt., a fresh-faced girl called Devereaux, Max never questioned her motives; she was booter as hell, but she was sharp as a whip. The Staff Sergeants, however, were arrogant from the amount of time they'd been in the service. It did nothing to compliment their already exaggerated self-esteem being Careers; couple of District 1 brats, both of them. Max hadn't fought them yet, but he was itching to the next time one of them starting talking about how awesome his swordsmanship or spearmanship skills were.

"Boss! Finally got one up your alley!" The Lt. smirked, putting her hands on her hips as she regarded the girl in front of her.

Max sighed; so much for the big reveal.

"So that makes two staff fighters in all of District 2." Justinian snarked, putting on his best innocent face when Max glared at him.

"Anyway." Max said, getting up from his chair, "Lets see what you're made of."

The recruiting office was attached to a full precinct building, and it was only a short walk down the hall to the gymnasium where the Peacekeepers on duty could exercise, spar or generally kill time. At this hour of the morning, only a couple other people were loitering around. If it were up to Max, he'd have liked to do this in proper physical training gear, but he'd not thought he'd actually have someone to spar with today. He was, mercifully, in his much looser working uniform (for once); he shrugged off his blouse and removed his boots and socks, standing barefoot on the mat in his white skivvy shirt and trousers. He'd selected a light bamboo staff from the weapons locker (one of only a handful of staffs available- they were a very uncommon weapon in these parts), and spun it leisurely in his hands to warm up.

"This is a spar, so I'm not actually allowed to whale on you." He commented to the prospective recruit (what the hell was her name? Did she even give her name?), "A touch equals a hit; normally we go first to five hits, I prefer to fight until I have a grasp of how well you know how to handle your weapon."

He opted to ignore Caius rolling his eyes at Max referring to a bo staff as a 'weapon'.

"Whenever you're ready."