greer-morgan

[greer-morgan]

"Yeah, I think I'd go crazy if I was stuck out here all the time," she told Cat. The high rise buildings, the noise of the city, the artificial gloss over everything-- it made her feel trapped. And they were trapped here, bound by obligations and threats to be complicit in things they'd never aimed to be.

Greer laughed at the mention of the chickens back in Ten. "The chickens are good," she nodded. "They're layin' eggs faster 'n' I can give 'em away." And she did try-- when she could-- to get the ones she knew they wouldn't eat into the hands of people that needed them. It was harder now with all the peacekeepers on patrol. "'Cept one of 'em who doesn't know how, or she's the wrong breed, or somethin'. Mahlon probably told you he's gonna cook her?" She asked with a knowing smile. "He swears up an' down that he will, even though she's clearly his favorite."

Cat tried to mask the cringe on her face at the other woman's surprise but found herself unable to. Was it that astonishing that she was putting the rebellion on the back burner, especially after the Inquisition on the tower? Cat didn't think so, but regardless it still stung – enough for her to wince.

"Heard," Cat laughed, thinking about how good life could've been for her if she simply had the ability to stay in Six, "Gets me all fucked sometimes like, y'know havin' t' be in the Capitol – bein' in the Capitol at all – everythin' good at home 'n' shit – chickens or whatever – Mahlon was tellin' me 'bout 'em a while back."

#cat #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

“When everythin’ ain’t so hectic,” she agreed, because that seemed to be the routine lately— offers to visit that came with caveat of eventually. “They got peacekeepers all over Ten right now, so it’s a real pain,” she explained, shaking her head.

“Oh, yeah? How was it? You ain’t been back to Nine for a little while, right?” Greer thought she remembered Abel saying as much. “Eh, nah, not a lot,” she shrugged. “Jus’ keepin’ myself busy with the usual. Spring’s always got a real long to-do list ‘round the farm,” Greer explained. “S’not even a big farm, but winter puts a lotta wear on all the fences, and the fields. The animals too, really. ”

"Hey" he smiled back, glad to see Greer after he'd been trapped with one of the older sponsors for way too long talking past arenas. "S'all good, things are weird right now, we'll get our trip soon" Abel offered.

"I went back to nine for a bit, brother duty" he laughed, because he could have killed Liz when he arrived home and she was in fact not sick at all. "But mostly here, yeah-- done anything fun over the break?"

#abel #135 #vb135

[greer-morgan]

"It'd really add insult to injury," she grimaced. Entering the Arena without even the dignity of getting your name said the way it was supposed to be. Hopefully, someone would care enough to figure it out by the time commentators were discussing training scores, but then, Capitolites weren't exactly known for being considerate of district folk. "'Less," Greer countered, an idea blooming. "You're jus' givin' somebody a loophole. If nobody technically said your name, can they still throw you in?" They could, but it was funny to think it could be that easy.

She snickered, shoulders bunching at the idea of some malicious compliance. For a moment, she could almost imagine it. herself, not able to read the words, and herself out of a job. but no, Greer was right. They wouldn't do her that favor. clearly, they didn't care about what she wanted here.

"If that happens, El and me'll be on the first train out to ten. we'll have a party to celebrate." It wouldn't, but it was a nice thought. "I just... getting reaped sucks. I can't imagine getting reaped by someone who can't even say your name right."

#linden #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

“Oh,” Greer answered, unable to mask the surprise in her voice. Cat had been so passionate about Eleven once that it was hard to picture her so removed from the fight now. But then, Cat was dating a gamemaker now after all. And, really, Greer didn't have a right to know what Cat was doing with her life these days... maybe she'd never actually known. "I get it," she added. "Holdin' on to your peace, I mean." It was taken from them every few months anyway. "I don't do shit outside'a Ten, if I can help it." Even if Mahlon was still trekking back and forth from Eleven when he could, Greer's roots were firmly planted.

"Good for 'em," Cat said, a smile quirking up on her face. A hollow feeling though bit at her chest – a part of Cat wished Six could be granted a taste of this freedom. A free Six would be a beautiful thing because then none of those kids back home would ever need to breathe a breath of worry about the Games. None of them would be reaped. Maybe that future was coming soon.

"But, uh, nah," She said with a small shrug, she'd heard some whispers of plans moving forward but had kept it at an arms length – she'd spent more of her time in the Capitol than anything. "Kinda like the radio silence if I'm bein' honest," Cat admitted, the feigned smile dropping slightly.

#cat #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

"Can you blame 'em?" Greer asked. Could they be blamed for fighting? Could they be blamed for pushing back? Their homes had been destroyed, their families, their communities. "They get bombed by the Capitol, and the Capitol still has the balls to send peacekeepers in to hassle 'em," she huffed. "Ain't sayin' you are, but not a whole lot'a peacekeepers are known for takin' it easy on people who need a little easy." In truth, she didn't know what Everett was like as a peacekeeper. She imagined he was better than the peacekeepers she'd grown up around, the ones harassing people in Ten right now, but she only knew Everett in a place where they were equals.

"Go figure," she chuckled dryly. She wouldn't put her life on the line for the Capitol. "Gotta feelin' these next reapin's are gonna be rough for y'all. You're gonna have a lotta people in the districts who ain't happy about bein' back in the bowl."

"There's plenty of people left, and they need extra watching, at least according to the boss." Yes, the population had been decimated; but that had only served to anger many of those who remained. "Some people seem to feel... they've lost so much, what does it matter losing a little more?" His tone was slightly distant. "Yeah, when push comes to shove people would rather stay home than die in a battle," he said dryly. "Who knew?"

#greer coming in hot with a big mouth and 0 self preservation #everett #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

Even through the darkness, Greer could see that it seemed like something was weighing on Mahlon’s mind. She watched the way he absorbed himself in loose threads— busying himself with movement, with something tactile. “Yeah,” she mused softly. A lot had changed, for better and for worse. They’d gained each other, but— in one way or another— they’d both lost people too. The entire landscape of the country had changed and was changing more every day. It was terrifying, and it is was hopeful, and to hope for something only added to the terror.

“You did say that, didn’t you?” Laughter bubbled. That conversation was even longer ago— a couple Julys back, over coffee. He’d accused her of pushing people away, and he’d claimed persistence in spite of it— which was, as it turned out, true. “Well, ya ain’t gotta be smug about it,” she conceded with mock indignation, like Mahlon had seen right through her then. Although, there’s no way he could’ve known where they would be two years later. “Y’know, I also remember you talkin’ a big game about meetin’ my parents that day too,” she pointed out. “Still feelin’ smug about all your great ideas?”

What had Mahlon thinking about it? The truth was, he didn't know. It had always been there, simmering, a memory left floating on the surface. It had been wrong of them, and he'd never owned up to it, never came clean about the ways he fell short in the keeping of Cat's heart. But it was more complicated than that. All of the timelines blurred, smudging at the edges. Cat bled into Sawyer who bled into Mahlon who bled into Greer who bled into Holland-- In the end, there was nothing left to bleed out, the corpse of the affair left hollow.

"Jus' thinkin' that a lot's changed since then, y'know?" Mahlon picked absently at the stitching on his jeans. Maybe he should have been thinking bigger than the two of them: to the politics of Panem, the fight for freedom, the lives that were lost in the pursuit of it. But he couldn't. He couldn't look beyond this singular moment. "Proved y'wrong though, didn't I? Told ya I'd make y'fall in love."

#shameless thread link #mahlon #ah135 #135

[greer-morgan]

"Oh, what a load'a shit," Greer laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea of Linden not sounding passionate enough before getting to deliver a death sentence. "'Least you get the worst of it over with right up front," she added, although she wasn't sure how much better it really was. Was it better to be the one to pull the names and send tributes in, or the one tributes were expecting to get them out again?

"Mm, yeah," Greer nodded, knowing there was a much higher expectation when it came to being able to read in the Capitol than in the districts. "Eh, jus' go slow up there. I'm sure you'll be fine. What are they gonna do if you take too long spittin' out a name? Fire you?" She posed. "They wouldn't do ya that favor."

"it's hard!" she laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, actually. I can say that whole spiel in my sleep, now. and yet, I'm not impassioned enough, I guess. welcome to the reaping, district seven." she tried to put on her best performance voice, but it honestly just sounded forced. She felt stupid, and she only had three months to improve on any of it.

"a lot of that, and then working on my reading. I swear, If I knew reading was going to be this big a deal in my life, I would've figured out a way to learn sooner." it rarely came up in the districts, and never as often as it had since she'd been reaped. "I'm getting better. Just hope I don't freeze once I see the names."

#linden #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

Greer watched Mahlon, her eyes darting from the person in front of her to the person she wanted. Her brows furrowed, a cutting glance pierced the distance between them as Mahlon turned her own game against her. "Ha." Her laugh popped-- sharp and sardonic-- punctuated by a roll of her eyes. He was playing along, but in a way that only brought a simmering heat to the skin of her cheeks.

Greer steered her partner on the dance floor toward where Mahlon was entering, and she wondered briefly if she looked even half-interested in the person who was touching her now. Probably not. The man dipped to say something close to her ear where it could be heard over the music. She laughed, although she wasn't listening enough to know if it was funny.

The man's hand moved along Greer's waist, settling in the small of her back, and almost imperceptibly Greer stiffened, leaving just a bit too much space between their bodies to move comfortably. It seemed there was a line there that Greer would let him skirt but not cross. She wasn't interested in what happened on the other side. No, it was here, just up against that boundary where the fun was-- a battle of stubborn wills, a game of dares that only she and Mahlon knew they were playing.

Her hand, placed into his, held by a stranger-- It made his heartbeat spike, the blood coursing more quickly, though it drained inward toward his core. Or, maybe it just felt that way, his hands going cold. Expression soured, glare sharp. The man led Greer to the dancefloor. He stepped forward, as though to storm, but that wasn't the game at hand. To intercept would be to admit defeat, to confess for you I am helpless.

So Mahlon grabbed a stranger instead.

Capitolites were easy enough, pliant and eager for attention. An ounce of it would sate her. And it did, the implication that a victor was interested in her company seeming to shock and delight. Mahlon peered sidelong toward Greer, trying to counter, wanting to inch closer, to taunt her, to be nearer.

#wtf is wrong with them lol #mahlon #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

“Nah, she ain’t all bad,” Greer agreed, her tone bittersweet. That was the thing, wasn't it? Her childhood hadn’t been all bad. There were rare glimmers of good that stuck out, flecks of what could be love dotting the landscape of her life. They were rare, but she could see them when she looked. She understood that it was those moments that made it so hard for her siblings to leave. Sure, they’d allowed themselves to become financially dependent on their parents, but she knew they were clinging to something else too— the hope that those moments of love were genuine, that those bits of good were real. In the end, Greer knew that the bad outweighed the good— that image, conditions and control dictated any output of love, and that wasn’t really a way to love someone at all— but she couldn’t always blame her siblings for having glass hurled at them, seeing the sparkle, and thinking they were being gifted diamonds.

Mahlon’s question caught Greer made sip, the bottle of moonshine tipped back against her lips. “Mhmm,” she answered, eyebrow quirked as she swallowed the fire of alcohol. “I do,” she confirmed, offering him the bottle back. Greer was almost surprised that Mahlon had brought it up. Somewhere along the way it seemed they’d both grown content in not discussing it. It was so long ago, and there was so much history between now and that very first kiss. “Moonshine, bonfire, lots’a stars. It’s ringin’ a bell,” she smiled, because even if they’d opted to let it be a moment in time they left alone, it had been a nice moment. “What got you thinkin’ ‘bout that?”

"Yeah, well, Mayor Morgan ain't really a man of the people," Mahlon whistled, the tone low under his tongue. Redford was a force, to be sure, but it was hard to say what for. Destruction? Good? Greed? Louise obeyed the way wives did when they were taught that was their place: to soften the blows, to straighten flyaways back into place. Greer was one -- a loose end they couldn't tie up, a part of their family they couldn't control. Mahlon would never say it, but that made him love her more.

"She ain't all bad," he conceded on Leighton's behalf. After all, she'd gotten between them and Redford that night things went to shit. Maybe it was her upbringing, or maybe it was stubborn goodwill -- the hope for more, but she'd stayed behind for them to do damage control. "Y'paid your penance though," an easy smile, made loose and languid by the moonshine.

The bonfire crackled, kindle snapping and shifting in its core. A swell of cheering grew, harmonizing against it. "You, uh...remember the last one a' these we went to?"

#mahlon #ah135 #135

[greer-morgan]

"'Course," she nodded. Even now, sometimes she forgot what ordinary life was like for most people in the districts. She'd gone from a bassinet to a crib, to a bed in her own room, to her king-sized bed in her victor's mansion. She wasn't quite so naive to the struggles of those who didn't grow up with her same silver spoon, but it was the little differences that always seemed to sneak up on her. There was a stark difference between her life and those from the Capitol, but there was also a stark difference between her life and most people from the districts.

"Good to know," she added, having not even thought to ask about something like diapers. It was good, though-- no mess and Linden wouldn't have to worry about washing them while she traveled. Greer imagined it'd all be a real pain in the ass. "Well, nature we got in spades," she confirmed. "Fall's probably better anyway. It ain't as muggy," she reasoned, not wanting the kid to get stuck suffering in heat she wasn't used to.

"So, they got you takin' an escort class?" Greer doubled back. "What's that about? They just got you recitin' that stupid little speech they make you give before drawin' names over and over? Make sure they know you ain't about to go off script."

Linden also had a question about why Mahlon, a victor from twelve, would be going to ten. but it seemed normal to Greer, so whatever. she'd ask Lee or Alder about it later.

It was an offer, though. for both her and Ellie to come out, see ten, learn more about horses. It sounded nice. an escape or something. definitely something to look forward to. and after the next games, maybe travel would be easier. She knew that Alder was going through all sorts of perils to get to eleven, and she didn't want to draw any more attention to seven's traveling habits. "After it all cools down." Maybe by then she wouldn't need to be an escort, maybe the war would be over and the games along with it.

"no crib." Linden assured, smiling. "Could never afford one, so she's used to sleeping with me." Plus, linden didn't like sleeping far from her. "she's toilet trained too, if you were worried about that." it was pretty apparent greer didn't know much. "And I'll bring the toys and snacks. mostly, she's a big fan of nature walks back home. I'm sure she'd love the change of scenery."

#assuming cloth diapers are probably the standard for most districts? #linden #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

“Wouldn’t know a thing,” she answered, the response measured. It wasn’t hard to parse out where most people in the Tower stood on the issues most of the time, but talking about it openly was a whole other thing. Besides, it wasn’t entirely untrue. Her involvement in what was going in with Eleven was secondary at best. “Twelve?” Greer asked. “Hard to believe there’s anybody left up there to watch after.” The remark was cutting, but it wasn’t meant to be aimed at Everett. She couldn’t imagine there was much worth snuggling back and forth now, and anyone who wanted to defect to Eleven had probably done it months ago. Still, one thing Everett said piqued her interest. “They’re hurtin’ for numbers?” Greer echoed. “Explains why Snow’s pullin’ out some new tricks, huh?” The reaping twist. If they didn’t have the manpower to fight back against the rebellion, then they’d find some other sick and creative way to exhaust the people of Panem.

"Well, we wouldn't know much about that, would we?" Everett asked, knowing that Greer's loyalty could be bent, that his was heading in that same direction. "They've got me in Twelve. Don't want me in the line of fire, but it's good optics to have a Victor doing active duty right now, and they're struggling for numbers." The truth was that the Peacekeeping force was not prepared for an uprising like this. They'd fought small factions of rebels over the decades, but never anything that had grown to this proportion. People were getting nervous.

#everett #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

Greer’s eyebrows knit at the mention of the peacekeeper’s insisting. It all seemed too coincidental to be true, but Greer pushed past it. What good would it do now to harp on it? To stop the Victory Tour in Eleven would’ve surely invited violence anyway, so she let it drop.

“Luckily, doin' the tours are pretty few and far between,” Greer answered grimly, even if she was aiming for comfort. "Once ya get through the first couple months, ya kinda settle into it." The routine of showing up, losing, and going home again.

“S’an offer,” she nodded. “But yeah, travelin’ out to Ten’s a nightmare right now. They even gave Mahlon a hard time askin’ about why he was comin’ here from Ten 'stead’a Twelve. It was a whole thing,” she huffed, waving her hand through the air as if dismissing the whole encounter from her mind. The annoyance lingered, though, considering he'd lived there for nearly a year now. Besides, how could you bomb a man’s home and then give him a hard time about settling somewhere else? “So, when things ease up a little,” she agreed. Although, it was hard to picture what things would look like even after 136– if the peacekeepers in Ten would be called back, or if they’d only crack down harder.

“Ellie too,” she added. It wasn't like she was expecting Linden to leave the kid behind, but it did give Greer pause. She didn’t know anything about hosting a little kid, and it wasn't like her house was exactly set up for it. “She won’t need a crib or anythin’, right? ‘Cause I ain’t got any’a that.” Or kids' books, or toys, or those little covers that kept kids from sticking forks in the walls. "Hopefully she won't be bored outta her mind out there, but there's lots'a animals and space for runnin' around." Greer could probably survive a few days of that, right?

"One of your peacekeepers was really excited that the tour train had stocks of it from four. Said he didn't usually get to eat it. Grabbed me a plate too." it had been fine. she didn't actually mind fish. She'd eat whatever she had the privilege of being handed. She was just a bit tired of fish after living off it almost exclusively for three weeks, not to mention that mishap to top it off.

"It was. but everything has been, recently." All of it, moving too fast. being reaped, the capitol, the arena, the after, coming home, her mother's funeral, a job as an escort, alder leaving, alder back, the tour, and now whatever this was. this party, that would be over soon too. "every time I start to get in the groove, it's like they change the song on me." it was worse than parenthood.

"Is that an offer?" she asked, checking before she took it as one. "It's just me and El, you'd have to be inviting us both. but... I mean, I hear travel's hard right now, and I have to finish my escort class before 136." because that felt better than figure out how to read. "But maybe after? I'd love to see it properly. so would she, I'm sure."

#linden #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

"Fish from Ten?" She asked, surprised for a few reasons. It seemed like such an odd and unappealing choice to serve the victor considering Ten was a district known for its food. Sure, the higher quality cuts of meat were shipped out to the Capitol, but on a Victory Tour, they were always prepared for the guest of honor. It wasn't lost on Greer that Linden had been served bad fish in the district that preceded Eleven, and that hardly seemed like it could be chalked up to coincidence. "Weird," she noted flatly.

The glimmer of a smile tugged at Greer's lips. Leave it to a kid to be oblivious to every horror a Victory Tour entailed, and to get to be simply enamored by seeing the ocean or fields full of cows. "Yeah, I hear a good chunk'a your tour was pretty rushed through," Greer answered, resisting a quip about why that might be. "But I promise you didn't miss out on anythin'. Ten ain't worth seein' on the tour. You gotta come on your own time and see it for real." Everything about the tours were exhausting and artificial. It was all Capitol veneer. She chuckled at the mention of Ellie's one thousand questions. "If she can still remember any of 'em, I'll try to answer what I can."

The hug took Greer by surprise. She wasn't someone who invited a lot of hugs, but after the last few months that Linden had had? Greer accepted it as naturally as she could manage. "Ain't nothin' I did," she answered. Her going over splints with Linden hadn't made the difference between life and death. "The winnin' s'all you."

"Greer!" Linden greeted, a genuine smile pushing it's way onto her face when she recognized someone friendly and familiar. "I'm not big on fish either. ate some in ten that really didn't sit right with me, been avoiding it since." but maybe she shouldn't have trusted fish in ten, when there was so much fresher meat. maybe that illness was her own fault.

"Ellie's alright. hasn't had a reliable nap in almost three weeks, but you should've seen her seeing the districts. we went swimming in four..." and that had been the peak of it all. to see the ocean and watch her daughter delight in the waves and the shelves, to spot crabs in their little homes. In ten, they'd spent far less time, with far less access. peacekeepers had been on her heels the whole time. She wondered, now, if it was the proximity to eleven that had prompted that. "I wish I got to see you in ten. El's got big questions about horses and cows, I didn't know nearly half the answers you would. but we were there so quickly. It's all a blur." Linden was glad, at least, to talk now. "Come here." she held out one arm, a friendly side-hug. "thank you. I never got to. for everything before."

#linden #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

"Hey," she greeted Abel warmly. "Sorry it didn't work out with comin' out to Ten," Greer acknowledged. They'd talked a little about him making a trip out to get away from the Capitol for a bit, but the recently imposed travel restrictions had made it nearly impossibly. Especially, when it came to Ten, given how close it was to Eleven. Peacekeepers were hassling everybody everywhere, but they seemed especially hellbent on hassling anyone getting even near Ten. Now, Greer understood just how much the Capitol had been worried about losing control. "Have you been stuck holed up in the Capitol?"

@abel-evans

#abel #135 #vb135

[greer-morgan]

The president’s announcement still hung thick in the air. Some people seemed to be buzzing with it— Capitolites excited about the change, Careers anticipating more competition among volunteers than ever before. The rest of them were dampened by worry of who was now eligible again. Talk of anti-rebel and whispers of pro-rebel sentiment hummed through the mansion. When Greer spotted Cat she glanced around, making sure they were alone. "They actually did it, huh?" She mused of Free Eleven. "A whole ass district out from under the Capitol." Greer was under no delusions that war would be easy or fast, but the idea of a district freed from Capitol control was hopeful too. "Have you been keepin' up with what's goin' on out there much?" She asked quietly, wondering if Cat was still spending time there or running the radio with Nano.

@catmillers

#cat #135 #vb135

[greer-morgan]

Greer was biding time until Mahlon was done making his rounds. She'd never much minded killing a little time by herself, but it was so much more obvious to her how much everyone in the room deserved to be made fun of when there was no one to make fun of them with. These balls were fucking boring when he was busy, and besides, she wanted to find out how well the new product had moved. Cosmo was not only new, but it was new and limited, since it was more difficult than ever to get their hands on everything they needed to make it.

While Greer waited, she struck up a conversation with some artist-- a photographer with friends in high places who'd been invited to do the tribute portraits for the next Games. As it turned out, he had family in the districts-- Eight-- he was close with, which made him much more grounded than Greer had assumed he'd be at first glance. It had been a good talk with a few well-timed one liners worth laughing at, and that was all.

There was no intention of accepting the outstretched hand that invited her to the dance floor. Greer opened her mouth to tell him "thank you, but no thank you," but her eyes flitted to where Mahlon had appeared. His stony expression had gears turning in her head. Was it unfair to tease him? Maybe. To work him up just a little? It could be fun. Could she make him squirm-- a bit of harmless payback for her own jealousy at District Zero? Greer's lip quirked, mischief flickering across her expression as she placed her hand in the other's.

The pickings were slim and the vibes were shit, but none of that stopped Mahlon from having a damn good time. He'd make his own if he had too, and with Greer's help, cooking something up had never been so fun. People wanted different kinds of drugs for different Balls. Midway through an arena, people wanted something to ease their stress. Something to loosen up a sponsor, or make them more charming and sociable, to help stomach the evening's festivities. But now? When there was a Victor? Most guests -- excluding the honoree -- wanted purely to party.

Sure, maybe someone was mourning a lost tribute, or their own loss of humanity, but those were a niche audience compared to the horde of Capitolites who came to gawk up close. Mahlon spent the first bit of the night dealing to them, until he could hang his coat up and turn his attention to Greer.

Except when he found her, she was already taken, occupied with a stranger who made her laugh. Mahlon paused, two deep lines forming between his brow as he watched the partygoer offer a hand, their head tilting toward the dancefloor.

@greer-morgan

#mahlon #vb135 #135

[greer-morgan]

Much like last fall, Mahlon had spent this off-season back and forth between Ten and Eleven. As the months grew warmer, the situation in Eleven grew more precarious until the district managed to break from Capitol control entirely. There was a palpable relief every time he made it back again-- every time he showed back up alive-- with stories about how Joe was doing and some smuggled fruit, if he could manage the space in his bag for a box that wouldn't get crushed. Peaches were her favorite, but they bruised so easily it was hard to get them back to Ten in decent shape. But he always tried his best to bring something.

Now that Mahlon had been back for a while, they settled into their usual routine. The thick, impending summer heat had made them and all the animals ease into a slow laziness, except for the chickens who were at their most productive. Edi in particular had still never laid an egg, but she was determined to brood over everyone else's, and so, daily egg collection had become a battle in itself.

Despite the changes in Eleven, summer started like it always did-- with a party. There were peacekeepers there in droves, but they seemed willing enough to let people celebrate as long as they were openly celebrating what good the summer would allow Ten to give to the Capitol. Greer wondered how long this tentative peace would last before an off the cuff comment incited a riot, but for now, she was glad to be tucked up next to Mahlon as the large bonfire crackled.

“Officially or unofficially?” Greer asked, accepting the bottle of moonshine by its neck. “‘Cause officially we weren’t ever allowed to go, and my parents wouldn’t be caught dead out here themselves,” she snorted. “I mean, they know it’s goin’ on obviously, and they ain’t ever felt the need to stop it, but this’d be their worst nightmare,” she explained. It was political strategy cloaked in artificial care for the people of Ten. People worked better, caused less trouble if there were a few key times in the year where they could blow off some steam. And a bonfire didn’t disrupt the work day, so it just wasn’t worth the man power it’d take to break up. “But unofficially, Cal and I used to sneak out. I think knowin’ about it and not rattin’ us out was the thing to give Leighton her first gray hair.” Of course, as the oldest, Leighton always knew. She was too responsible to join them, but not quite scornful enough to tell. “Feel like she knew we were punishin’ ourselves by havin’ to pretend we weren’t hungover the day after.” Greer hoped her younger sisters had gotten the chance to do the same after she’d left. She hoped they were brave enough to peak out of their gilded cage from time to time.

The days grew longer, light lingering at the edges with a stubbornness, the sun refusing to be dragged down beneath the horizon's line. Mahlon preferred it this way. Sky bright when he rose, early enough that Greer stayed sleeping, and that dusk ran until after supper, so there was room after the day's chores to lounge on the porch swing. But he also loved the rich tradition of Ten, the superstition of the outer districts that bonded them in ways Capitolites -- and even Careers -- couldn't comprehend.

Here, at summer's peak, it was the solstice, and though the harvest's bounty had yet to be counted, the celebration of the final yield still month's out, it was a joyous occasion. The livestock had survived harsh winter and given birth in the safety of Spring. The grain reached up, praising the sky. And the citizen of Ten gathered as late darkness bloomed to celebrate the year's longest day.

But they were not alone.

As Eleven declared independence, cleaving itself free, peacekeeper presence escalated in surrounding districts, including Ten. Still, the bonfire was lit, and the moonshine flowed freely, and some of the officers were loosened up enough with hooch to let them celebrate. Mahlon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, throat searing, and thought of Nettle, of the moonshine she used to make.

"The Morgans ever make it out to this?" Mahlon asked, offering up the bottle. The air was stained with woodsmoke, and even against a blazing backdrop, the threat of violence, and the rising tensions of war, Greer looked beautiful. "Can't imagine they do."

@greer-morgan

#mahlon #ah135 #135