the intricacies of greetings & prosthetics | [VT A&K]

a v r i e l .

"Won't you be a darling,
feel my rage"

Sunlight slants through the temperature controlled cabin of the train and Avriel holds a hand out in the darkness to catch it. It doesn't warm him, though it tries to. He's only been through one district and he already wants to go home again.

The first night on the train he couldn't sleep. The last time that he'd left Nine, he hadn't thought that he was coming back. It's still a little odd that he's still here and he forgets sometimes that he is. Avriel keeps expecting to wake up in the darkness to the screeching sound of the announcements, hungry and dying. He hasn't yet but he often wakes up raw voice and his covers on the ground.

Dreaming used to be so simple but now it's difficult to sort his memories from his nightmares. He's taken up knitting, fingers moving slowly over the knots as he watches the sunrise from his yard, a fire crackling at his feet and coffee brewing in a saucepan over the flame. It's better to think about the rows of stitches than how blood under his nails had felt, better to go back and fix a knot than think about Blade laying still on the beach.

He shakes his head, hands only shaking a little as the train slows to pull into Eleven. Av's gotten really good at not thinking over the past half-year. The more things he finds to busy his hands with, the easier it gets, but everything is starting to leak through that careful barrier. The things he's chosen to ignore have a way of getting through.

And the other day when Duke was baking, he got blackberry juice all over his sleeve and for a moment, Avriel smelled Iron and he smelled burning cherries and there was a spear in his shoulder, twisting.

He'd thought the biggest pain would be the stump where his right foot used to be but it's not. The scar in his shoulder, puckered, still angry after half a year is the thing that haunts him the most.

Sometimes he wakes up with Aspen's voice in his ear, her words fading away quicker than the stars in the early dawn.

So he's always tired now.

He leans against the wall of the train, eyes on the door. Scout's been nesting in the hood of his sweater for the last hour and the weight of his little friend is comforting. Twelve wasn't terrible, all he has to do is make it through ten other districts and then he can go home. With any luck, the victors in Eleven won't bother showing up to meet the quiet kid from Nine.

Av pushes himself off the wall and approaches the door. His stylists flutter around him, placing last touches and brushing hair out of his eyes. He's dressed warm, grey fur and sturdy boots, it's the most practical thing that Robbie's ever put him in.

When the train door opens, cold air rushes in and Avriel is immediately grateful for the warm clothes. He blinks a little at the fresh air and then steps forward after Gloria, his escort, digs a finger into his back. When he steps out, his right foot gives up a little. No matter how much he tinkers with the damn thing, it still glitches for a brief moment when the environment changes too drastically.

Avriel adjusts himself but he still stumbles as his foot dies and goes heavy as a brick for a quick moment, then boots up again in the same breath.

"G'damnnit," he mutters softly in annoyance. He rights himself carefully and then looks up, right into the glare of Kassandra Nerys.

Merde.

He stares at her for a long moment and then extends a hand. "I'm Avriel," he tells her, "You're Kassandra."

He can practically feel Gloria burying her face in her hand behind him.

"I mean, it's nice to meet you."

Not bad.

"I went to the station with my little brother on your tour 'cause the Murkavich's were selling mini donuts."