body gold | {nova/petal}

nova.

Liberty smelled like cigarettes and wild berry perfume. She wanted the stench to follow her like a storm cloud of the senses, designating her as the opposite of a “proper lady” yet still feminine enough to be treated with some amount of respect. Her name was bigger and better than ever – or her surname, she should say. Whether or not the other careers recognized Nova as much as they did Nova Moreno was not a concern of hers, but it certainly was a nuisance knowing that there was no originality to her supposed background. The truth behind Nova was locked away in a cupboard within a folder titled “adoption papers.” There were pages and pages of documents, and her name was printed at the top of one of them. Her background was much more raw and exciting than the label Moreno, but she was stuck with it.

The house itself was its own sort of trap. Not like the ones tributes constructed like arts and crafts projects in the arena; this didn’t involve bear traps or wires or landmines, but it was a cage. Inside the cage were bloodthirsty children intermingled with the ones who simply wanted a way out. Nova was a member of the latter. Survival was not an instinct she should be forced to follow every day of her life. Life was not about slitting throats at bedsides and learning how to sleep with her eyes open. There was more to it, and she had known it since she was born. Cigarettes outranked knives. Friends towered above enemies and fake siblings. Booze was much more refreshing than the stench of blood. The sky was much prettier than the view of the graveyard in the back of their home; a gentle shade of blue to oppose the grey.

Today she planned to avoid the grey.

What better way than to pollute the harbor with cigarette smoke? Wind swept by water was stronger anyhow, meant to steal away every worry between her ears. The ice cream parlor on the corner tempted her as she crumpled her finished cigarette against the concrete ledge, legs dangling above calm waters. It was as boring a day as anyone could imagine, but boring could be nice. It meant no responsibilities. It meant she could actually afford to be bored, and find something exciting to do as a result. Fight club was an option. It had recently become one of her favorite pastimes. It reminded her of home, her original home, where people challenged her not with weapons but with fists and bone. There was no promise of death, just pain. She could handle that.

She didn’t quite have the energy for a fight, however. Today she would lounge because she deserved a damn vacation. Hell was taking its toll.

Sighing, she climbed to her feet and stretched until her bones popped. The ice cream parlor was calling her name – yet as she walked, so was something else.

”Nova?”

Typical. Someone would notice her at a time like this. It was a Shore; the one who reminded her of the color pink. She was the only person who could physically remind her of such an obnoxious color, though she wore it quite well. ”It’s been ages!”

There were so many pretty blonde bombshell careers that she was surprised she could actually recognize this one as a Shore. She often mixed up careers like Pillar Fray with everyone, although Pillar had a particularly plain face. Not in the bad way, just in the “easy to forget” way.

”Petalite,” she retorted, not particularly enthusiastic, yet she sat down beside the girl anyway. She didn’t look very different from when she had last seen her – whenever that was – unless she hadn’t been paying attention. Nova was always snipping her hair in different styles. She couldn’t decide if long was too risky, or if short was too ugly. It was a mundane struggle, but she didn’t mind mundane. She needed a break from all of the crazy shit.

”Whatever you’re doing looks boring,” she continued, eyeing the book. It didn’t look like much of a fiction novel, so it was probably a career book. That was even more boring than what she had planned to do; and that, so far, was nothing.