violet. five. done.

"I'll be honest, Violet. I almost didn't invite you."

"Uhm.... thanks?"

Man, this guy really isn't beating around the bush huh? Just goes in for the stem, snap snap, whoops! Here's your dead flowers. Malcolm Nox was known to be a bit of an oddball, no wonder my parents were worried about this whole situation. I'm 16 and this was supposed to be a great opportunity and all, but... I don't know. Do I really wanna be living in this guy's house for a whole year?

"When I saw 'brews medicines,' I assumed you were just taking credit for someone else's work."

"Uhhhh.... okay?"

At least this furniture is comfortable. I've never had an arm-chair, or a... what was it called... otter man? Ottoman. Right. What a strange word. Doesn't look like an otter, nor a man. Huh. It's very well crafted, standing on three little oak legs - polished, like something one might see in the Capitol. I wonder if the wood came from District Seven? Probably.

"Are you paying attention, Violet?"

"Huh?! Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry. I was admiring your... ottoman."

He looks at me gruffly for a moment then goes back on his spiel. Did he talk to the others this long? None of them look particularly friendly. I think one of them already called me a Weed - maybe I was just overhearing things. That's okay, I'm not really into getting to know people. You try not to get attached when the wounded end up dead in your own home every other week. Just healer things!

"...but then I did the research and wow! I mean, botany and agriculture are two things I know very little about, but I'm not opposed to seeing my business expand more in those areas, should you be chosen."

"Right," I nod along, still not paying attention. I've never really met anyone as enthusiastic about plants as me. I mean I like flowers as much as anyone else but this guy doesn't seem to understand - I didn't have a choice in this. It was learn to tell the difference between what could kill you or what could save you, or guess and maybe die. 

"I guess..."

I do a lot of guessing in my life, but never about my life. My parents knew they had to teach me about plants and botany - because it's how we survive. Gotta grow our own vegetables and fruit to live, gotta grow the right herbs and learn the right recipes so we can fix up others and they pay us, gotta learn how to make fruit chutney to sell at the market so we can afford supplies to plant stuff so we can live.

I quite like living.

"...but it's already clear to even my ignorant eye that you're going to do far more than they ever did!"

I frown at that. Hardly-there eyebrows furrow together as I study him, me and my boring brown eyes the colour of dirt I dig up - most kids my age need glasses but I've got surprisingly good vision for someone who peers at everyone and everything. Mr. Nox is either stupid, arrogant, or too rich for his own good. I think all three. But he's nice, enough, I guess? It's hard to tell what a person is really like before you get to know him but he's got a large house and sent us letters in lavender-scented envelopes he definitely didn't write himself so I think I know all I need to know about him.

Lavender. He must have trouble sleeping on all this wealth.

He might be ignorant but at least he's self-aware.

"If you say so" I finish, swinging my pale legs as I sit on a far-too-big armchair and bite my lip - it's a habit, best not bite too hard. Don't want to bleed on the nice mans furniture. Don't want anyone to bleed on this nice mans furniture but from what I've seen of this place and the kids in it I wouldn't be surprised if someone swings a punch and breaks his nose. That's alright, guess it's what I'm here for. 

Cleaning up people's messes, making sure nobody dies. I can do that. I'm good at doing that.

I guess?