Patchwork || The Hunger Games

1 - The Scraps

The loud bell signaling shift change can be heard loudly as it rings all throughout the factory, bouncing off the equipment, metal sheet ceilings and concrete walls. The moment the bell stops, there's a sudden quietness in noise, tools are returned to belts, hand looms are stopped, maintenance is paused, the only consistency was the loud thrum of the machines that never stopped running, something easily ignored by those who worked everyday there.

On a rafter, tucked in the tight spot under some broken machinery clearing some caught fabric and replacing a loose bolt to fix it was Oria. Having worked under this bit of machinery for a little while the noise of the bell caused her to jolt, hitting her head on the metal above her. With a groan she shuffled out of the gap rubbing her head when her hands were free from the tight confounds, and returning the tools she had to her belt before climbing her way down the pipes. Much quicker than the conventional ladder and stairs attached to the rafters for such jobs.

A shrill voice cut through the factory across the aging speakers "This month's Tessera collections are available from usual checkpoints. For those joining us, please make sure you have left your Tessera at home, we are not responsible to any damage or theft if it is left in the lockers!" the voice of the monitor on duty in charge of shift change, Oria's eye rolled at the statement.

Dropping her tools off at the window she signed the sheet and have a small salute to the man "Thanks Jay" as she slid the paper back across.

"No worries Oria, you off to get your tesserae?" He said as he was categorising some papers into pigeon holes behind him.

"Mmh yeah, dropping them off at the Kitchen after" she said leaning against the beam next to the opening as Jay continued taking tools and papers from workers signing out.

Jay shook his head at the girl much his junior "you really should stop taking extra y'know" he crouched down for a brief moment, tussling for something under the desk "here" he chucked her a little metal tin pot of something, clearly well used, with bits and pieces of weathering and dents around. 

Oria raised an eyebrow as she inspected it "is this?" As she opened the little pot with a very stiff turn.

Jay took another tool belt "polish, yes. Not enough for any decent sized tool, but enough for that necklace of yours." he winked at her "to get it all shiny for reaping day y'know?"

She shook her head with a scoff "it'll be the cleanest thing on me up there" she popped it in her patched up pocket "Thanks".

He smiled "no worries kiddo, now scram before the monitor catches you still 'ere" he waved a hand shooing her away.

She rolled her eyes and gave a small wave with her back turned as she walked away. With a wipe of her greasy hands on her scrap-patched jeans, she was making her way out of the factory to checkpoint 7, her designated Tessera collection point. In 3 days her name would be in 11 times, nothing she was too concerned about for reasons of her own.

Oria was from what District 8 had dubbed 'The Scraps', the most decrepit area of the district, full of those who had fallen beyond what may be considered 'a bad time'. Most here lived in the abandoned, derelict and falling apart warehouses and old leaking buildings and houses next to the fabric dumps at the very edge of the district. Most here either couldn't afford food when they aged out of getting their own tesserae, or couldn't work as long hours to get a few measley coins, to name a few of many circumstances. The further from central you went, the more potholes and leaking rooves you would see and the stronger the smell of cooked stale grain of the tesserae would get.

Turning left she continued down what was considered the border road of central and the Scraps to join the approaching long line to collect her Tesserae. This didn't bother her too much, she didn't have anywhere else to be, a double-shift at the factory, doing the jobs no one else wanted or could due to her size, paid her just enough above the teeny amount they paid everyone else to sustain her with her tesserae and scavenging, but not enough to have any form of housing or valuable past-times of social life.