Raising Lions(Luna, Semper, Closed)

((I'm not sure where Defiance stole from, but this was the only way I could think of a way to get Gav (and maybe Zentaal?) involved. x3 ))



It was like any other day: wake up, go out into the hunting grounds and find some herbs, shoot some game, and take it all back to begin firing up the ancient stove in the tavern's kitchen to begin the day. Most of the money Gavroche's uncle made, however, went to the Capitol -- and how that worked, the boy hadn't the foggiest. But it kept them under the radar, so it wasn't anything to worry about.

The day had gone by smoothly. The tavern served people of all classes; the richest to the poorest, and for the poorest, depending on what the person had available, could either trade something for a meal or work it off by helping in the kitchen. So either way, they still got a hearty meal.

"Gavroche! Come 'ere a minute..."

Making sure the meat he had in a skillet wasn't to where it would burn, he asked another cook to keep an eye on it before heading out to where his uncle had called him.

"Do you see that girl leaving?"

Gavroche turned his gaze, spotting the said girl leaving the tavern.

"She stole from the bar. Now, you know our policies 'ere -- either get her to come back and work off what she stole, or get it back."

"Yessir."

Gavroche nodded, watching his uncle head back to behind the bar. The boy then looked around, picking up an apple off a pile of them in a basket, and headed out the front door.

He spotted the girl not too far away, and he tossed the apple in his hand a bit, debating whether or not to throw it. 'Might as well...' He thought, reeling back and hurling the apple at the thief girl. But as he watched the apple soar, it didn't hit the girl -- in fact, it veered off in another direction. Gavroche blinked.

"Well, damn...."

The situation was a mess. In actuality, when he kicked open the door, the black-haired man did not any intention to trip some girl to the floor, spilling provisions on boards that have been abandoned cleaning supplies - except maybe the broom, given that wood would absorb water and probably produce mold. Regardless, it was dirty; the nineteen-year old guy kept no real attention to that measly detail. His eyes scanned the scene: seemed like a ruckus; at least it had something to do with a thrown projectile of red roundness - an apple, in layman's terms.

A vessel was pulsing in the head, and he entered on in with a sour expression. "There better be a good reason for that." The tone drooled with coldness. The blood flowing in was hot, pumping to rage. Their little skirmish had brought in a third party, and he was quite angry.

So it had also increased tenfold when the clumsy girl started to shout behind him like some wannabee banshee and shove him, yelling about dropping food. Supposedly, by the guy's words, she had stolen the dropped rations. The older man furrowed brows and reciprocated the shove back, not caring if she bashed her head against the wall or else-wise. "Shut up. You got nothing to shout, thief. Earn your own than steal and blame others for your selfishness, stupid."

A simple apology was all that was given from the boy. The man shrugged, looking at at an angle where he could peripherally keep watch on the crazy girl. "Whatever." He gave up on being enraged for the apple attack; however, not the same could be said for the other party. "Fully apologize by dealing with your pest. We'll see from there."

"Shut up. You got nothing to shout, thief. Earn your own than steal and blame others for your selfishness, stupid."

Gavroche enjoyed the man's comments, smirking light at the girl, though it quickly faded as the man told him to take care of the thief.

"Fully apologize by dealing with your pest. We'll see from there."

He turned his attention back to the girl, who had suddenly taken on an attitude change. Just a moment earlier she had shoved the other man, yelling at him, and now she seemed... calm, he guessed.

"I'm sorry about stealing, but that's what I do to live, and really it's my job,"

"Then your 'living' is gonna get you killed."

The boy's tone was harsh, added to with an icy glare. He wasn't about to let this girl get away with stealing, especially since she could have just worked it off. 'She must think it makes you weak if you make an honest living.' He thought, giving a small snort as his narrowed eyes stayed on the girl.

"And it wasn't the nicest thing for you to do to just take my work wages and spoil them,"

"Work wages? More like -censorcensorcensor-."

He went on to say words which I cannot type, his voice dripping with anger. Gavroche knew he wasn't all that good at fighting -- both verbally and physically -- but he tried. And if worse came to worse, he certainly would try fighting her, but he really hoped things wouldn't go that far. Not only that, but he didn't want to say or do anything to provoke the other man, who seemed like he could take them both down with a single sweep of his arm. He absentmindedly took a hesitant step back away from the older boy.

The black-haired man just kept on glaring and scowling as the 'ladyship' went on talking with such fake amiable sweetness laced hostility that he lowered his eyes to a sharper, cutting piercing stare. Her high-and-mighty accent had put an urge to the fist, to thrust and force air out of her body. It was his bee's drone, the sound that did not make on go off sanity's edge but forced animosity out of a heart - more than the usual hatred. His lips twitched a frown glossed in dazzling resentment. The nineteen-year old did not move his position even a centimeter, standing there, arms crossed and apparent dissatisfaction tripled in prominence.

The other male had given his take on her words, and it basically summed up what he had - minus the extreme harshness and violently brutal honesty. He expounded his opinion, however: "Idiot. Stupid. You're just plain retarded." The man had straightened his back, readying feet in preparation for anything. "I don't care for 'acquaintances'; people are merely puppets; honest work keeps my head on my shoulders. Try finding out who you are arguing with if you want to give valid opinions, stupid girl."

Every human being in Panem had their reasons. He had his own justifications to not be with others; yet, this female, whoever this girl was, jumped to conclusions and connected honesty to friendship. It would be minimal to say he was crossed; the man was truly enraged, with its own conservative nature. Slitting the eyes to a narrow glare, he added, "Trying to prove us wrong will get you nowhere. You're done."

Plopped on more to his testimony was the other man's words, another helping of dearest sentimentality dumped on with frank intention. Deeply, they had struck somewhat on the funny bone. The feeling, however, was slathered on with annoyance; it sounded just like himself, and that was not amusing. Still, though, that type of nature was better than other individuals he had encountered time and time again during travels and wanderings of District 9. The behavior was homely, at least in his eyes, perhaps only because it was akin to his own; and, at this stage, the mentality of subtle arrogance versus the musical of brotherly kindness had a fairly unbalanced bias: the minor superiority complex, though also unbearable at times, won out that match, for the sweetness irked him to the point of wanting to just leave immediately, should those circumstances had not happened.

As her tone suddenly dropped to a calm, menacing tone, Gavroche's facial expression changed from one of mocking to one with eyes narrowed with an icy glare and tight jaw. Her words were beginning to sound like nails on a chalkboard -- annoying to the point where he wanted to get her to be quiet. However, once again, her comments made him chuckle.

"You got whipped because you're dishonest. Your friendship or whatever didn't work out because you're dishonest and horribly untrustworthy. Do you see a trend?"

The boy's tone remained one of harsh sneering, though this time he meant it. This girl was getting onto his last nerves, being blinded by her own stupidity. How could she not realize that? His teeth ground against each other as the frustration mounted up inside of him -- and he snapped.

Gavroche had never been taught how to fight; it had literally been beaten into him for about fourteen years that he was to be submissive and surrender himself to others without question. Never once, while being held captive in that small room with his mother, had he ever fought back when his despicable father came in for "play time", scarring him both mentally and physically for life. As Gavroche clenched his fist tightly, he aimed a harsh punch at her, knowing that he didn't quite have a good chance of actually hitting her. Of course, if he missed, he knew the rotten thief girl would only rub it in his face and proclaim -- or at least show it through facial expressions -- that she was superior to him in terms of fighting. The boy, however, frankly did not care what she thought about him; she was getting on his last nerves, and for the first time in his seventeen years of life, he was finally striking back physically. Even if he missed, he had broken a boundary that had held him in for so long, and it felt good to retaliate.