the kids aren't alright {squad!blitz}

It was supposed to be a normal Reaping day.

She met up with Garrett on the way to the Square, and they walked together, hands in her coat pockets as she commented on the weather and the tacky outfit their escort would surely be wearing. The whole process was ridiculous to her; standing like silent drones in a crowded area, listening to some weirdo talk about how the Games were about champions rather than dying, and then waiting an eternity for two names to be called so absolutely nobody could clap for their unfortunate “sacrifice.” Then they would all be sent home to watch the shit on TV.

She yawned at the escort’s speech and stretched her arms above her head. The name called wasn’t her own, so she didn’t care to act surprised or worry about whoever was walking to the stage. All she had to anticipate now was the boy’s name, and as long as it wasn’t Garrett’s – and she sincerely doubted it would be (the odds are low and we’ve got nothing but good luck) – everything would be peachy.

Then she heard a familiar voice volunteer, and that screwed it all up.

”What?” she exclaimed in a whisper, turning nearby heads in her direction. She ignored all of them because Margaret was marching up to that stage and she couldn’t figure out why. She blinked and tried to think of all the possible reasons until the escort reminded her that a boy's name still needed to be announced. Not Garrett, not Garrett, because that would be too much hell on her plate for one sitting.

She visibly relaxed when it wasn’t Garrett. The ceremony ended with its usual awkward last words of “honor,” and Rattiera pushed past the dispersing group of bodies to make a dash for the Justice Building. She didn’t bother to find Garrett; she knew he would catch up, probably distressed about their friend’s sudden death wish.

”Oi, what’s this all about, huh?” She burst through the doors and scanned the disheveled room. What had gotten into her? First she was volunteering, now she was making a mess of things like a raging storm. Then she noticed Draco making waterworks, and grabbed a box of tissues for him. ”Settle down there, big guy,” she said.

I wanted nothing more than to break the silence.

Ask and you shall receive.

For I’m standing amidst the broken ruins of a castle intangible, the walls crumbling with each following second until the doors burst open, and like the floodwaters unrestrained by a dam Draco completely shields me, protecting me while yet shooting cannon after each, questions in the form of ammo and I am without a weapon with which to fire back.

“Why are you going?” And truly I cannot answer, for the drive behind the death wish is nothing more than to put an end to what I have left, because under lock and key my sister truly was still truly the only treasure, and I was hardened rock, put under heat and pressure, only lacking the shine that was supposed to emit forth.

“It’s not because I want to leave, I just need—” But I cannot finish for Ratteria’s made an entrance, questioning either my actions in general or the scene that’s playing out now, and regardless of the original thought she does not give time to answer, for she’s allowing me air to breathe by giving Draco a chance to wipe the tears from his eyes that haven’t quite managed to fall upon my shirt or skin. She settles him with a word or two, keeping him composed to the point that we can hear the rise and fall of each other’s chests, of the hearts still beating and those that aren’t quite as lucky.

It seems fitting that we’re standing among the shambles.

But we’ve found that silence again, even among the chaos, and Garrett only solidifies it as he almost fills the doorframe, standing with heart and soul placed in the crown he holds in his palm.

It seems almost wrong that we’re standing among the ruins of a silence I only wished to break.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure enough, Garrett appeared in the doorway clutching a flower crown. It was tragically touching, but with Margaret’s evident unpredictability there was no telling whether she would appreciate the sentiment or not. Rattiera didn’t know what to make of it herself – there was too much shit going on at once, too many of their friends shoved into one room. Margaret volunteering like a madwoman, Draco leaking the waterworks like a broken pipe, Garrett standing heartbroken in the doorway, and then there was Quill’s strange absence.

They had about ten minutes together, maybe. Knowing them, it wouldn’t be a productive ten minutes.

Rattiera sighed. She hadn’t the slightest clue what her apology meant, but it sent Draco into a moody downward spiral. His blubbering sadness escalated into fury, as it often did, and he pounded his massive fist against the wall. Fissures migrated from the impact point. Normally she was all about destruction of Capitol property, but not now of all times, and not here. They were literally ten feet away from the nearest Peacekeeper. ”Hey hey, cut it out, would ya? Or they’re gonna fine all of us!”

She didn’t mean to disturb the quiet by raising her voice (like she always did), but Draco could be thick. He needed something loud to penetrate that head of his, especially when it was bursting with hot air and boiling blood. It was even worse when they went out drinking. Their adventures had often ended in arguments, and despite her short stature Rattiera was never hesitant to start a bar fight. Size-wise, he was superior in every department. That never stopped her.

The room was trashed. If they ended up forcing her to pay she would blame Draco for everything. She had to agree with his questions, though. His speech was always formal and over-pronounced but the ideas were shared, probably with Garrett as well. They all wanted to understand why.

”Yeah, I think we’d all like an explanation,” she said, arms folded.