b r e a t h e * [/flightofnight]

Yael tilted her head as her hand withdrew from him slightly. From his messy and scarred appearance it looked as though he could use medical supplies instead of chunks of food, that was true. Still, she didn't know many people who would refuse such an offer, especially if it was free. She shook her head, irises locking with his while pushing a dark lock behind her ear. No, she felt bad. He could have them, it was better than losing them to a squirrel. The boy didn't have to be polite, anyone in those parts who said that was either drunk or barely had enough. She wanted to say that, but instead opted to summerize those words with a persistant look while pursing her lips. Her brow raised curiously as she put a couple pieces of bread in her other hand for herself, offering the rest. Do I have cooties? I don't think I do... but you never know.

"Well, hi." The girl raised her other hand, waving it slightly in response to his greeting. He was certainly nice enough. Hello.

He held his hands out, causing her to look down at her own hands. Shake. Yael pocketed the bread she considered her own, her free hand meeting his in what felt like a pet training session at the Capitol or one of the wealthier districts. Again, mild concern danced through smoky orbs. Shoot. She had no clue as to whether she was squeezing his hand too tight, or whether her fingers were positioned correctly. Perhaps it wouldn't make a big deal, either way she tried to make it look as casual as possible to avoid unnerving Microloe more. When he asked about her family, Yael blinked a couple times before smiling in earnest. "...good. Thanks."

Yael's eyes stayed on the boy's hands, sheepish. Years had gone by since she'd actually shaken someone's hand, and it was no special event or anything she was just that deprived of human contact. Were hand-shakes even popular anymore? From the outside she didn't think he showed any signs that she had held his hand the wrong way, so far so good. Awkward silence filled their conversation as much as actual words did, but she was pretty used to that. It was just difficult to read someone she didn't know. He seemed just as shy as she was though, perhaps a bit kind. No one had ever asked about her family before.

She nodded, beginning to get used to staring at his face as he responded to her query regarding the factory. The dark-haired girl was sympathetic, she'd been where he was, having to work with such complicated structures that would probably confuse a child. Yet children were thrown into such places without safety equipment, only the higher-ranked workers recieved them as soon as they walked through the door. She had to regard him with some awe, it was impressive that someone with such large hands could handle framework that could sometimes screw itself over with the slightest tug.

Asking about his family seemed to only make the communication dim further, though. Yael's shoulders slouched. She should've seen that coming. No one wanted to talk about what went on at home, not really. For good reasons. It was like an unspoken rule talking to someone new. Don't ask, someone's sister could've been in the games or stolen away by the Capitol... right (oh Nissa). Bringing it up was asking for it. Then she didn't know what to speak of, until another idea that was plain as the scraps of metal underneath their shoes revealed itself.

Yael pointed to the factory again, mumbling something underneath her breath. Only someone with sharp hearing would be able to catch a few words. Moniters, input devices, labelling. If he needed advice on anything, she had a relatively good grip on those kinds of things. Even if it was a matter of doing the same things repeatedly, the odds were great that she could fix problems only expert managers could spot. That was... if he wanted her to. They could always do something else. She wasn't exactly good with this social planning event thing. For a brief moment her words clogged up her throat.

"... Want help?"

Yael gazed at him expectantly, but for some reason Microloe lingered. Three seconds, then four. Her lips formed a thin line. Did she say something wrong again? Honestly, she couldn't quite tell. Her sister used to be overly kind, even coddled her. It wasn't that she disliked the attention, but... but what..? She should've felt grateful. She did, it just bothered her that she knew she needed the extra help. She was surprised if someone didn't think of her as a liability. The Harlow smiled faintly when he hesitantly declined. Well, maybe some other time then.

"What do you work as? I could help." The girl's brows drew together. She looked around for a moment, then discovered what she was seeking about fourty-five degrees from the television factory. Index finger drawn out, she pointed at the building a good distance away, it was in the wealthier part of the district. Yael turned back to him, bobbing her head lightly. That was where she worked most of the time. Hands out, Yael imitated typing on one of the heat-sensitive keyboards. That was what she did these days. The computer industry knew her face rather well, though she couldn't say the same about the way they asked for her name every ten minutes.

Her face became more withdrawn, shaking her head in disappointment. Sorry. They couldn't go there, and she couldn't take anything out. Technology had become as important as researching genetics, there was a certain confidentiality about it to keep the public from knowing. Yael frowned, trying to think of something they could do together. Walking around was still an option, and when she was little she often drew in the dirt with the dull pieces of metal found all over the place. Actually.

Yael grabbed the nearest shard she could find, bent down on her knees, and started to draw. She managed a stick figure that slightly resembled Microloe (the head shape, barely). She slowly started scratched out the words nice to meet you, until a sharp twinge made her look down. A small amount of crimson dripped down her palm, so she quickly wiped it onto the side of her pants. Ick. Yet this way, talking would be a lot easier... because she wouldn't have to talk. Wasn't it clever? A subtle, almost goofy smile played at her lips. She was so used to following someone else's instruction, accomplishing something herself was a rare deal.

I program things. How old are you, she wrote out next, tilting her head back at him for a response.

Yael blinked, watching him pick up a scrap piece as well. She was a bit surprised he'd joined in, part of her really thought he would've just responded to her questions verbally. It wasn't like she was deaf-mute, after all. In fact that would be a better reason as to why she had to write out what she wanted to say. It would be a physical disability instead of some kind of chronic nervous twitching episode, just a whole lot easier to explain. Yael was impressed. She remembered watching her sister enviously when she worked on televisions. Maybe other people just made the job look cooler. She didn't make it look interesting at all.

The Harlow glanced at his face when he wrote that he was seventeen. Well... that was a bit awkward. It was probably just her. He looked like he had stuff figured out, at least moreso than the other kids she saw running around when the sun vanished over the horizon. At eighteen, her mom looked at her like she knew what she was doing. It was hard for Yael to mention the games, but to be honest she had no idea what her goal would be living the rest of her life. Spend the rest of her life under someone's heel, perhaps? No.

I'm eighteen. She paused, letting the metal dig into the dirt. Sounds like you're good at your job. Can't believe you haven't gotten picked up by a company yet. Well, a part of her could. People generally weren't passed up through any career that involved the Capitol unless it meant being ankles-over-neck obedient. It probably said something about her character. Yael continued to write, a bit of playfulness creeping into her dark eyes. I wonder which of us could fix a television faster.

You're eighteen? You look like your more mature than that! Hm, that's what he thought? Yael let out a small laugh, white fingertips playing at the ends of her wiry hair. Somehow she felt like Microloe was pulling her leg. She was used to seeing females with a womanly vibe, and knew the general qualifications of a sophisticated woman from listening to her male co-workers talk. They wanted a long body, silky legs, a gorgeous face, round breasts and lovely cheekbones wouldn't hurt either. Someone who could flash a smile and make everything okay. Everyone else seemed to fit just fine, she was like a caterpillar who stopped mid-transformation... ew. The girl chortled and wrote a quick reply. No way.

She nearly gawked at how easily he thought he could win. If it was his expertise, then yes he probably would. Easily. It didn't help the child inside of her that wanted to think she was still ahead of the game when she was miles behind. Yael's cheeks puffed out in immaturity as she scrawled out reluctantly Yeah, you would. Darn. It made her want to run back to the factory to continue working. However the words his utensil formed next made her frown. Didn't everyone think the same thing about it?

She couldn't find the words for it, exactly. Yael settled for drawing a frowning stick figure with its arms crossed, watching his reaction before she continued to write. It's scary. She paused, adding more. There's only two of us. You won't get drawn. There's this year and next year, then you're free. A bit dismissive, but the subject even made her fingers seize. In fact, she could recall two occasions where she had to be revived by the peacekeepers, after her lungs stopped and knees began to buckle. Needless to say, she got better.

Within seconds the letters were gone, her hand writing much faster than before. If you transfer, I might get to see you sometimes. I make deliveries. Ah, that sounded so corny. She wasn't some messenger, but there were rare instances were she got to run between the different factories working for the Capitol. Yael thought a moment, eyes flickering on either side of them to make sure there was no one patrolling. Bile colored clouds still rolled over their heads in steady waves. What about you? Do you like watching the games?