message in a bottle, mourn & shiv.

Despite the plague settling over nine, it's been a more joyous year for Mourn Adroxis than the last few years before. After the loss of Fleur and Nowles, family gatherings had felt too quiet and all anyone could feel was the absence of Fleur's quiet touch and Nowles' loud mouth. When Storm had volunteered, no one had truly expected that he would make it home, despite Mourn's stubborn pride and his children's quiet hope.

He was so young and all on his own in there. Fleur and Nowles had both been capable and as tributes had done their family name proud, but Storm, he was unexpected. He was written off, unaligned and working on his own in the shadows, like his family had for generations.

Storm had come home.

Mourn still wonders at it, watching his son across the breakfast table, waiting for the dream to break, to wake up to an empty seat, but he doesn't. Storm remains, their family whole and he knows he's lucky. He knows that his brothers haven't made out unscathed. So Mourn doesn't retract the promise that he made to Esther after Nowles died and losing the election didn't slow him either.

He just works quieter.

In the past year, Adroxis ammunitions has doubled its output by reclaiming legacy weapons from the various factions through Nine and breaking them down for materials. It's weekly now that a truckload of refurbished and brand new guns make their way out of the factory to be disbursed throughout Nine, ammo traded for a pledge of support. No more lockdowns, no more riots turned peacekeeper war. Next time, they'll stand as one against the Capitol's fist.

It's just his old friend Shiv, old thorn in his side, with her campaign of prosperity through peace. It seems to Mourn that they both want the same thing, they just different ideas on how to achieve it. Mourn learned at a young age that it doesn't matter how flowery your language is or what promises you make, it's what you actually achieve. When he was handed the factory and heir of the Adroxis gang that had been around for generations, starting as a revolutionary movement, he was an artist. He wanted nothing to do with his family's business, within the factory and out of it.

Now it's been years since he picked up a paintbrush. The boy that he was couldn't survive in Nine, a factory district that has never been known for its beauty, but its stubborn grit.

"Mourn."

Mourn turns to see Shiv and smiles, "Shiv, I was hoping you would make it tonight," he says, tone genuine, "You're looking well, but then again, power has always suited you."

Despite their difference in views, he's always had respect for her. It takes more than just a stranglehold on the district's gangs to run a district and whatever that is, Shiv has it. Her open expression and sometimes almost brutal honesty has earned her place as District mayor and like her name suggests, she's sharp as a knife. People trust her to have their best interests at heart, they trust her to fight for Nine. Mourn does too.

"Last I saw Storm, he left to give Baptiste a tour of the house." The boy reaped with his niece had declined his invitation, as he did yearly, but Storm had somehow managed to drag him along to the party anyway, a second feat that his son had accomplished this year. "I'm sure you'll spot him soon."

He guides them away to a spot near the window so that they can have a moment alone. "It's been some time since we last spoke," Mourn says and places his own flute of champagne on a small side table, "This certainly isn't unwelcome but I can't help but wonder what brought you here tonight."