fin // twelve // pharaoh renault

pharaoh renault
eighteen
district twelve

"They'll never let you get away with it, you know."

Streaks of bright blue run down the inside of the basin like rivers, flowing backwards from the tributaries to the source as they snake towards the plughole. The same blue shines dazzlingly in Pharaoh's short, wet locks. Just hours ago, they were the same dark brown as her arching eyebrows and long eyelashes. Now, the shocking azure makes her pale skin look even paler, to the point of sickness. She looks up at her sister and smiles wisely, the corners of her dark-ringed eyes creasing into branching crows feet. She smiles a lot, and it will show there for her whole life. Her sister might only be one year her younger, but Pharaoh often still treats her like a child, someone who doesn't know the world as well as she does. Pharaoh is oblivious to the fact her sister resents this, as any older sister would be. It's Pharaoh's natural instinct to know best - she doesn't consider that they both look out the window and see the same noisy scrapyard, they both breathe in the air and taste the same bitterness of pollution, they both have matching muslin cloths hanging on the bathroom door, ready to be dampened and tied around their matching thick-lipped mouths if the ashy fumes of burning waste get too thick to inhale - all these similarities in experience shrink compared to all the things Pharaoh thinks she understands about her District that she thinks her sister doesn't.

Pharaoh imagines what Luther will say when he sees her new hairstyle later that day. Her sister's right, he probably won't be happy with it - but what could he do about it? Cut it off? Cut her off? It amuses Pharaoh to know that could never happen, considering how much more valuable she is to him than he is to her. He's never dared to lay a finger on her, nor any of his comrades, and he regards her with a persistent wariness that's almost fear at times. She relishes the power of her position, or rather, the power granted to her by her little scraps of notepaper, her secret audio-bites from the hidden recorder she wears in her necklace, and the grainy Polaroid photos she manages to get when she's feeling daring. The only protest Luther will be able to manage without the risk of upsetting his most precious asset is to stand far enough away from her that her newly dyed locks don't leave stains on his bright white uniform as they lean close to conspire.

She's been giving details and evidence of the worst criminals of the District for a number of years now, and one might suspect that it was a personal sense of justice that inspired her to start - perhaps a crime against herself that she wanted revenge for, but that's not the case. Pharaoh does it for two reasons. The first is the obvious point that there are certain benefits to having every Peacekeeper in the area know you're too valuable to them to punish, certain freedoms in her speech, actions and movement she wouldn't otherwise get. Especially considering Pharaoh has a habit of talking back, and does enjoy committing petty crimes just to see how far she can push her allies - she would probably be dead by now if it weren't for her special skill for getting into dangerous situations unsuspected and getting out of them alive. The second reason why she does it is simple, too, although perhaps a psychologist might say it's actually more complex. It's a combination of envy that she was never part of any of the gangs she convicts, is only ever a bystander "tagging along" when she follows them on some operation, and a simple desire to have secrets to keep; and people begging for them. She walks with her pointed chin turned up, her square-tipped nose facing the sky, delighting in the feeling of superiority she knows she has, even if no one else knows. She causes organised chaos - chaos she knows is going to come, and so can witness it with the security that there'll be nothing unexpected. For Pharaoh, it's always been important to be the surprising one, not the one who's surprised.

Her hair is certainly that - surprising - and the thought of people seeing it for the first time makes her giddy with excitement. While Luther will have to suppress his frustration, Pharaoh's parents will be able to make a fuss when they return home. They're both geologists, so will know exactly what Pharaoh must have put in the concoction she rubbed into her hair, and will certainly have words with the girl for taking their samples, again. But they've always been aware that out of the two daughters, Pharaoh was the wilder one, the one who got into trouble on her own just for the sake of getting caught. Ironic now, really, isn't it? With the thought, she smile she gives her sister grows into a grin, the wisdom on her face turning straight into an immature "I know something you don't know" expression. Wiping her hands on the towel, knowing there's not much she can give away - especially with the recorded around her neck sucking in every word, she replies to her sister cryptically.

"Somehow, I really doubt it."