Insert Witty Title Here ; open

The bread was still warm in his hands as he pulled out the loaf, clutching it like it were precious. Which it was, of course. The day was warming, as the sun rose from the pearly veil of mist that clung to the streets. The sun always rose later, Quinn's father had joked, because of the mist. The mist of District 4, which never truly went away. They were so near the ocean, it was really inevitable. Most of the city was getting up, now; the raucous hubbub was reaching a shrill crescendo of voices. Quinn sat down serenely on the end of the dock, letting his bare, calloused feet in the water. It was biting cold, and the salt bit into the ever-present scratches on his toes, but at the same time, it felt good.

With a reluctant furrow of his brow, he realized that he should eat his bread quickly. People would know he had stolen it, if they saw him with it; a boy who couldn't afford shoes certainly couldn't afford something as trivial as fine, soft bread. But he was loathe to see it disappear. Still... eyes flicking around to make sure no one was watching, he began to scarf it down. The food made faint gurgling noises as they hit his stomach. He hadn't had proper food for so long... he practically stuffed the entire loaf into his mouth, unable to stop himself. It was so good. The bread was thick and nutty-tasting, with an almost smokey tang. Stuff he'd never be able to afford.

As he ripped off another hunk, a gentle voice sounded by his ear. "Hey, you. You know you don't have to hide that bread. I bought it for you." Quinn froze, stiffening and automatically shoving the loaf back underneath his jacket. The shapes of her words were nice; softer, more rounded than other peoples' speech, with more faded colours. His tawny eyes darted suspiciously up to her face. Was she trying to trick him? Or... maybe she thought he was poor. Which he was. Broke, in fact. The only money had made came from fishing, and he hadn't gone fishing this morning. He spent all of his money on food, anyhow.

Only a jar stood in the corner of his house, where he dropped his savings each day. It was because of those savings that he sometimes didn't even get dinner. After a few moments of deliberating whether or not he should run, kick her, or frostily ignore her, he decided on a mix between option C and another, improvised option. Talk to her. Thank her. But at the same time... how was he supposed to mix those two? He frowned, but rose to his feet anyway, remembering what little manners he had. "Thank you," he murmured, not quite trusting her. No one was that nice; not in the real world.

Quinn's feet were still wet from the cold water of the sea. He stared at them for a few seconds, avoiding her gaze. This was... charity. He hated charity. But then again, she was stopping him from becoming a thief, he reminded himself. He should be grateful. Without a word, he thrust out the last handful of bread. All that remained of his loaf. "Thanks," he muttered again, embarrassed that he was doing this. His gaze rose slightly, to gauge her reaction. She really was nice. She wasn't going to remain this uncorrupted and pure for long. The city did that to you.

Quinn's gaze darted to the proffered loaf, and saliva began to pool in his mouth. Even if he wasn't hungry now, it would be ideal for a tight situation. Still, he shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly to stop the wrong answer from coming out. Now that he trusted her more, he really had time to examine her. She was a tiny little thing, probably barely topping five feet, with a mass of dark chestnut hair. Her skin was an olive colour, with a tiny, snub nose and full lips. Her eyes, half-hidden under a lock of her hair, peered out at him with open curiosity; dark green. His own tawny eyes regarded her with a solemn expression for a few moments, and then he nodded. Her name was pretty; elegant, but simple.

"Kathrin it is, then," he agreed with a laugh, his trademark charismatic grin instantly back in place. He didn't know why, but she seemed okay. Maybe it was because something about her delicate build - those big, shiny dark eyes, the wide, full lips, the broad forehead - gave the impression that she couldn't be leading him on. Perhaps she was. But Quinn was willing to chance it. Her name was a slender, pale green oval, so she must be all right. His own name was a dark teal triangle shape. "District 11?" She was poor, then. Like him. How could she afford the bread? His eyes narrowed. There was something... off about it. Especially for a runaway. Perhaps she had stolen money from the Capitol.

His expression cleared as he considered that prospect. Yes, that sounded good. He would have liked anyone to steal money from the Capitol; the Capitol deserved to burn. He gritted his teeth, and rearranged his expression when he next looked at Kathrin. "I like it, too," he agreed with another of his easy laughs. He laughed a lot, when he was with someone he knew. "I do live here." He snorted. He was so much more like an adult than a child; it was hard to believe he was 14. He carried himself more like a 20-year old. Her feet were tiny next to his own, in the water. He splashed around, an unconscious smile tugging his cheek upward as he imagined splashing her. Splashing anyone, for that matter.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," he barked mock-militantly, sitting down abruptly and saluting teasingly to her. "Any other orders you'd like to carry out, O High One?" Quinn briefly considered giving a scathing comment about the Capitol, but bit his lip as he remembered Jonas - his father - who had been arrested for doing nothing more than fishing in District 5 land. Probably killed, too. Saying a single bad word about the Capitol could endanger Quinn's own life, and freedom of speech wasn't worth giving up freedom of breathing. He paused before giving her his name. He didn't usually, but then again... "I'm Quinn," he introduced himself with a wide smile, careful not to give away his last name. He didn't know why, but he felt... uneasy about his identity. Like the Capitol would give any excuse to have it.

Quinn rolled his eyes theatrically. "Sure you're not, Kathy," he laughed, playful sarcasm dripping off of every word. He tended to, seemingly unconsciously, slip into some kind of mode where he acted like he knew people forever. A bystander wouldn't think that Quinn had only just encountered Kathrin a few minutes ago; gods, he had even shortened her name! He didn't seem to even notice, though, and concentrated on ripping up the bread. Although his stomach still yearned for more, he knew he should save it. He wouldn't get any food but fish for who-knows-how-long, and he should savor this. Indeed, it was delicious; thick and nutty and warm, with a smokey tang. Not even burnt.

This was high class stuff, reserved normally for the richer type. And even if he wasn't the "richer type", he could certainly eat their fare, he decided with a determined set of his jaw. The tall, man-like boy watched with guarded eyes as Kathrin removed a tiny hip flask from her side. That was the thing about him; Quinn acted so easy, so natural, while all the time he was gleaning new morsels of information and just watching. Watching and learning. It had gotten him far, after all. The hip flask she carried was small and delicately built - rather similar to Kathrin herself - and filled to the brim with something white and frothy. Quinn frowned. A drink from the Capitol? What was it? He sniffed it inconspicuously as she took a sip, and his eyes widened. Milk. That was milk.

Quinn hadn't drank milk since he was a young boy. His parents, although fishermen, kept the occasional goat or horse around {although horses were very expensive and difficult to upkeep. They usually paid off, though, and their lives were long, not to mention the transportation they offered. Quinn had learned to ride at a young age, but his family had only owned two horses because of their price. Their meat really was succulent, though.} to milk and, eventually, kill, to supplement his mother's kitchen-like shop. The nostalgia flooded into him as he remembered clambering up onto the goat, gripping it in a deathlock, and tackling it down while he tried to milk it. The goats and him had been bitter enemies, he recalled with a wistful smile.

Biting his lip, he shook his head, keeping his smile on. "No, thanks," he said, even though if he closed his eyes, he could just imagine the creamy, silky taste of the milk on his tongue. "I don't want to steal all your food," he joked, avoiding the truth. Well, that technically was the truth. It was part of the truth. Mainly, he didn't want the memories to come. Then he would be helpless, surrounded by a sea of his past, like one of those nostalgic old beggars who assembled sometimes in the corners of the marketplace, shrieking out their life story. Ugh. He would never sink that low.

Quinn grinned as he registered the vaguely surprised look on her face. He had a way of making others talk. "Naw, really. I don't need it," he reassured her with an easy smile. The smell reminded him of his mother, really. It clung to her like a blanket; a milky, floral scent, like home. Unlike his dad, who always smelled of fish and saltwater. He grinned to himself. Not in a bad way, though. In District 4, large quantities of fish was a sign of prosperity. He blinked, watching her as she thought. "You sing? Really?" Gods. He never would have guessed. You learn new things every day, though, he told himself with a grin. She had led a hard life, then. Like him.

"Well, go on," he encouraged her, as he dropped the last hunk of his bread into his mouth. He chewed energetically. Well, that was a waste, he couldn't help thinking. He really had to work on his self control. It could have lasted him days, if he had preserved it. He sighed, watching her. District 11... wasn't that the farming District? One of the poor ones, too. He noticed how slender she was; wasn't she into agriculture? Surely she should be better fed. But then again, she was carrying around bread and milk and, well, who knew what else she had up her sleeve?

As there was no response from her, he prompted. "Well? How about a song?"