legacies of death.— [alex/quinn]

Two days after her parents left for the Capitol, Mr. T.F. the cat fell asleep on the porch and never woke up.

Quinn had fallen asleep sobbing and woken up with tears stinging her eyes. Her grandma consoled her, dried her eyes and kissed her forehead, told her that T.F. had had a wonderful life with her. That he was in what they called cat heaven, with rolling fields and warm rocks to sleep on and all his kitty friends. Quinn had howled that it wasn't fair, that they had all of those things here at home in Ten, and screamed down the phone at her parents as they tried to console her from a thousand miles away.

"EVERYBODY LEAVES!" she had shrieked down the line, slamming the receiver onto its home on the wall. Even if she hadn't hung up, there wasn't much her mother or father could say to argue it. Because it was true. Myara. Emberly. Clementa. Enzo, to Four. Jacinta, to Seven, with her own baby to look after. Her parents, to the Capitol every year. Kieran and Paige and their children, to their own home. Aunt Reggie, to her own life. And now her constant companion was buried underneath the tree in her back yard, where he used to lounge as she rode the swing her Dad had made her.

She swung alone, half-hearted, throat sore from crying and cheeks red from grief, until her Grandmother dragged her back inside and insisted they made cookies. It was a nice distraction, if a small one, and she found glee in the act of delivering baked goods to the Pepperwoods. Caroline Lowe had sent her off with a basket and a plate wrapped in cling film, a small sympathy card attached, something Quinn's mother wouldn't normally allow. But her Mom wasn't here, she thought with a frown as she set off. She left. What was she going to do with all this space between her and her daughter?

Not a damn lot, Quinn decided, stealing a cookie or two from the plate for the journey. A twenty-five minute walk to see a friend, one of the only kids left in her class that didn't treat her like a freak. Half the children feared her, and half the children adored her, and she was becoming tired of all of them. Being a Victor's child was tough enough, but the child of two? As her classmates got older, it seemed apparent the concept wasn't as wonderful to them as it was to Quinn. As she got older, and the more the games seemed frightening than enticing, her status was starting to wear thin on her heart.

But Alex treated her all the same still. Her parents liked to remind her that they came from these parts, just two poor farm kids who learned how to survive from birth, and half the time Quinn elected to ignore that reality - but secretly she didn't mind it so much. It helped to fit in with the boys, her bold spirit finding an innate comfort in the dusty fields, her own act of rebellion by muddying up her expensive clothes.

'Be kind,' her grandmother had warned as Quinn left her house in the Victor's Village. 'His family's had a son reaped this year. You best not make his grief about your own.' Quinn pictured Alex on the stage instead of his brother and swallowed hard as she approached.

"Cookies" Quinn replied, electing to ignore the easily-openable gate and instead clamber over the wooden posts that surrounded Alex's home. "Me and my Grandma made 'em. They're good!"

To prove her point, she stomped up to the porch and grabbed one from the plate in her basket, shoving the whole thing in her mouth and grinning through the crumbs trickling from the corners of her mouth.

"Shoc-late shhhip!"