The Calm; Elegant

a v r i e l .

"It's not the same anymore
I lost the joy in my face
My life was simple before
I should be happy, of course"

Been a moment since he got his parents killed but Avriel hasn't forgotten about it mostly because he can't. Can't even look at a slice of cherry pie without gagging.

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy sigh. He's skipping class again but it doesn't really matter because there's no one but him for his teachers to report to about it. As the eldest Baptiste, he's in charge. He goes to school every morning, hands in his pockets and all broody as he walks with Duke and Bills. He heads in the old brick building like he's supposed to and then walks right by his classroom and out of a side exit.

"He's Greiving," his teachers say and they let him walk.

Because to the rest of the world, their parents are only missing but Avriel knows that they're dead because he's the one who found their dead bodies laid out all pretty on their marriage bed as a cherry pie burned in the oven.

He's barely keeping it together, he can feel Bill's eyes on him across the dinner table every night over the nice dinner that Duke's made them and he knows that she suspects something. Neither voice it, afraid to crush Duke's innocence and that's what he's living with daily, a fucking mess.

The gun shoved into the back of his pants every day is a quiet acceptance of his situation. His parents had gotten killed because of his refusal to run jobs for a certain gang and he wouldn't be responsible for his siblings too. So when he'd gotten the summons to appear before another gang he hadn't been stupid enough to refuse them and he's been working for the whole district since, head down.

Gotta pay the electricity bill somehow.

Today puts him in the backroom of a brothel. He should be in math right now, but whatever right? Math had never been a problem anyway and as long as he showed up for tests his teacher couldn't give less of a shit. Getting any kid to come to school in Nine was enough of a challenge, gang culture had only picked up in recent years and if you didn't pick up with it, you were just gonna get trampled.

Avriel has been in a staring contest with a big-looking guy behind a desk now for at least ten minutes. It's always intimidation first, then words. He could feel the knowledge that this guy could probably break his face with one punch being drilled into his skull from every pair of eyes in the room.

He gets the formalities, but in the end, Avriel will do the job. He and his siblings need the money and he isn't interested in getting on anyone's bad side again.

He listens to the big guy speak, eyes on the small sack of coin between them. Avriel knows a lot of people look at him and saw some green kid fresh from a sweet little house on the good side of the tracks and he can't blame them but he's anything but. "There's nothing that I can't take apart," he says, eyes not leaving the little sack, "There's no need for the threats, Mister, I'm a master of my trade and I don't talk." They're big words for a kid his age but he's earned them.

Carefully, he leans forward and pulls up an edge of the money sack with one finger to look at the coin within. Generous. It's probably more than what he would normally charge for his services but he isn't going to complain about it. With this payment, he won't have to buy tesserae this year.

"I'll do whatever, I just don't mess with Peacekeepers," he says, "So shoot I guess."

a v r i e l .

"It's not the same anymore
I lost the joy in my face
My life was simple before
I should be happy, of course"

The guy's a talker, Avriel can at least say that from the get-go. Good thing for him that he's always been a pretty good listener. A steady, cold gaze never really seemed to put anyone off of him and a smile is exhausting to maintain anyway so he rarely does those. People look for the signs he's listening, that's all they want.

So he leans forward in his chair a little, body slightly bent forward to give the impression that he's really hanging off of every single word and for a moment, he truly does. It's important to listen to a job description after all, but then his eyes fall on the communicators and he's immediately intrigued.

It never gets old for him, the minute a new piece of tech is placed into his hands, that's the minute you lose Avriel Baptiste's attention. "Been lots of rumours," he comments off-hand, eyes on the walkies, "Not a lot would make the Capitol clench their asshole this tight except the fear of a revolt, so I'm gonna go with bombs."

He's seen the walkie talkies plenty of times, of course, those are easier to get your hands on than the higher grade transceivers. Even more difficult though is a Peacekeeper's communicator, you'd literally have to kill to get one. Judging by the blood on the metal, these guys did. It occurs to him again how dangerous these people how and how badly he doesn't want to work for them.

He wants to ask him if he knows anything about who did in his parents but as it turns out, it's not easy to casually accuse someone of murder. He needs more evidence. That can come through trust and trust comes from getting a job done quickly and well.

Avriel reaches out and picks up the communicator. It's dead in his hands but when he turns it over, it feels solid, complete. He's certain that he can hack it, not because he's up himself but simply because he can. Some people are born athletes, Avriel is a born tinkerer.

Still, it's not going to be an easy job. The Capitol put safeguards on these things to make them harder to break into. "This is going to take me a bit," he says, "I'd say four days if I didn't have to sleep, but I have to go pick up my brother from school, I can come back after he and my sister go to bed and I'm not flexible on that. Good?"

Avriel's gaze flicks down to the man's big hand, offered in a shake, and up again. He's seen before how quickly a handshake can become a punch to the gut. His hand tightens around the communicator.