────── #four
word count: 3.7k
❝ enhanced ❞
POV: CHASSIS
Base, then flick!
Those were the words Cariad said to help her apply mascara. Start at the base, or the root of the lashes, then flick. Base, then flick. Though, it was a far more difficult task given the fact that she was on a moving train with no mirror, only catching glimpses of her reflection on the back of a rickety old frying pan that they'd use for scrambled eggs. No one in Panem cared enough to install mirrors in the trains. Call her vain, but it would be nice to see how she looked every once in a while.
After what felt like hours, the train crossed the border to their next district, Eleven. The scenery by the window changed from rolling hills to rundown infrastructure and never ending fields of the latest in-season crops.
The homes in Eleven didn't look like the ones in Six. There were concrete apartments, shady alleyways, potholes, and less individual housing back home; even the Peregrine Court's townhouses were smushed together and the color of a boring gray. The houses in Eleven were spread out, each given character on their porches according to the tenants that lived there. Dirt roads brought you from one place to another, and overgrown weeds decorated their lawns. Kids actually played outside with their faces exposed, and didn't have to congregate at a common place like Traveler's Square for the privilege of breathing fresher air. Here, fresh air was their right.
She and Ginnee walked to one of the train's main doors, the latter having a grimy smirk on her face. Clinging onto her friend's arm was Trek, a thirteen year-old newbie that slithered his way into a friendship with them by the time they reached District Nine. They took deep breaths, knowing that after their visit here, they had to return to their outdoor masks and cloudy mornings.
"It's boyfriend time!" Ginnee exclaimed when she saw a familiar white pick-up truck pull up to the docking station. One particular boy hopped off from the trunk, making Ginnee rattle Trek back and forth while looking at Chassis, who was already buckling at the knees from the anxious wave that washed over her.
There was a delivery boy in Eleven that Chassis grew fond of. Fond enough to put on mascara for him, but she swore to take her affections to the grave. Reaper Ash began delivering long before Chassis began exporting. Since she stepped off that train for the first time and onto Eleven's soil, the only thing that could compare to the sweltering intensity of the sun's rays was his eyes. Dizzying brown eyes that held a million questions, and sought her out as if she were the answer.
In a way, he was honest, like Cariad. His first words to her were, "Why are you so tall?" She was about three inches taller than him, but he'd sprouted so quickly in the two years they've known each other. As boys do. His voice dropped an octave or two, and despite being someone of few words, Chassis would make him talk about his day just to hear it more.
He was already familiar with the boarding house, his visits limited to exchanging extra rations of crops for morphling that he'd give to his older crew. It wasn't uncommon for the people native to the district to hang out at the boarding houses; it was one of the only places that fostered some sort of inter-district relations. Older exporters noticed how he lingered inside the lobby much longer than he previously did. Reaped explained to them that he grew an acquired taste for the boarding house's mead, and preferred it over the local pub's.
"Stop calling him that," Chassis snapped, causing the two to cackle deviously. Her eyes followed Ginnee's to the boy in question, who was deep in conversation with the seniors of his delivery crew. His white shirt was fitting and exposed his toned arms that flexed as he stretched, but she shook herself out of that thought. "He's a good friend."
"A good friend with a good eye on ya," Ginnee muttered. "He stares a lot. He's not subtle, and it's a little painful to experience."
"He's only staring cause you're smokin' hot," Trek teased as the girls guided him down the steps of the train. Chassis was fine with him at first, but since Ginnee caught him up on her 'Reaper history', he was molded into being a star pupil in Ginnee Mech's School for Annoying People.
She unintentionally let out a snort. "You think I'm smokin'?" The boxer found herself tightening her grip on him thanks to her weakened ankle, which hadn't found the time to heal itself the entire trip from how busy she had been. The consequences of her actions caught up with her fairly quick, resulting in a swollen, red ankle hidden beneath her knee-length socks.
"Like manu-factory on a busy day," he answered. Ginnee nodded approvingly, whispering to herself about borrowing that line for next time. Chassis always pitied the boy or girl that would be the subject of her co-worker's affections.
She lightly shoved Trek's shoulder and scowled. "Yeah, right," she replied. "You don't even know what I look like."
Trek was partially blind.
He shook his head frantically, the braids and beads in his hair flailing about. "I have a general idea," he defended himself quietly, waving his palm around her face.
"Hey, pals!" Journey exclaimed while doing a dance that involved shimmying her shoulders. That wasn't a good sign. Her large arms draped over Trek and Ginnee's figures, looking between them with insincere excitement. "I'd love to gossip with all of my exporting family,--" She called them family, they were toast. "--but that would lead to a deduction in your paychecks if you keep standing here!"
Chassis tossed a vial of morphling, which were reserved for bribes such as these, to their team leader. "Will that save our paychecks?" she asked, batting her lashes.
Journey's smile dropped as she jabbed her index finger at her chest. "Don't do that eye thing again, and throw in two more." She pulled two more vials out of his pocket. Journey snatched them from her before she could retract, then scanned the rest of the group. "Great. Now, scram. Join the groups named in your tickets."
Unfortunately, their tickets revealed that they had to split up in Eleven, but at least by Twelve, she'd work with Trek again. The friends dispersed with Journey dragging Trek to his respective group while Ginnee was, unfortunately, paired up with a bunch of elderly folk like Big Guns and the Easton brothers. That left her with--
"Chass..." She began to melt at the way the nickname rolled off his tongue. "Were you guys talking about me?" Reaper asked awkwardly. Her heartbeat quickened to an uncomfortable pace. Chassis was too queasy to use 'butterflies in her stomach' to describe the unnerving energy coursing through her veins, it was more like wasps thrashing about in her guts. She widened her eyes and stood still, like the fool she was, as his lips formed an uncertain smile. She loved his smile. She wished he would smile more.
Her eyes wandered the station. "Wait, what did you say?"
Reaper cleared his throat. "It's just, you were looking at me while talking," he replied. "Did I do something?"
He saw. He saw and now she had to come up with something. Quick.
"They were talking about you. Trek and Ginnee," Chassis sputtered, contemplating if it was right to throw them under the bus. "I mean, sure! I was in that circle--"
"You were in that circle," Reaper echoed cautiously.
Chassis chuckled nervously, "--but they were talking about your umm, your hat." He struggled to contain his confusion. She was a terrible liar. It was a simple, beige newsboy hat that looked similar to the dark brown one that Ginnee sported. Why would she talk excitedly about something she already owned? "You have a really nice hat," she said through gritted teeth.
He arched a brow, something resembling an amused scoff left his mouth. "It's from Papa Harvey," he answered. "He's not my Pa, he's everyone's. Just ask around."
She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back. "Cool. I'll tell them." Reaper nodded with an unconvinced expression of his face while she unloaded the first crate to his crew's truck. Chassis felt her cheeks heat up. "I didn't-- we didn't mean to put you on the spot. I--" Once the crate left the shelf and fell into her arms, pressure was applied to her swollen ankle, and she winced in pain. Her arms shook under the weight of the cargo. What was in that crate?
His arms cradled hers to steady her balance. "You alright?"
She was shaking, but she wasn't so sure it was from the weight of the crate. "What did you..."
"I asked if you were alright." Reaper took the crate into his own arms. "I'll carry the rest of it," he offered.
"This is my job," Chassis hissed, while pulling the crate towards her. She felt the stares of her fellow exporters burning into her bones to silently tell her, Don't get us in trouble. "You know what they do if you don't do your job." Paycheck deduction, prison, shot on sight. This country wasn't exactly the most merciful.
Reaper sighed, "Just pretend to hold it, then." It was an offer she couldn't refuse. They walked together -- cargo in hand -- to the truck, then back to the train. A few people on his crew and her team hollered that their chosen method of transportation was impractical, but he ignored them while Chassis played with her bottom lip between trips. "You didn't answer my question," he spoke up. She furrowed her brows at him when they dropped another crate off at the truck. "You alright?"
She thinned her lips into a line. "Just a sprained ankle." And bruised arms. He only hummed in response, seemingly not satisfied with her answer, but he didn't pry any further. "Are you coming over to the boarding house, by the way?"
Chassis knew the answer, but she always felt unprepared whenever he made his visits. Maybe asking him would settle her nerves. Reaper merely shrugged. "As always," he said, "the crew wants morphling."
Right. His visits are errands, she reminded herself, he's not there for me.
Her next words splattered out like a waterfall before she could zip her lips. "Why is it always you getting the morphling?" she blurted out. "The elders said it used to be between you, and these kids named Apple and Barry. Then it was just you."
He blinked rapidly, staring at her again as he mustered up his next sentence. "Apple and Barry are siblings. Their mama banned them when she found out." Her lips could only form an o shape, and he nudged her ribs with his elbow. Chassis did everything in her power not to shrivel up in pain. "You're getting tired of me, aren't you? You don't want me around?" he asked; face stone cold, but his tone indicated traces of humor. She didn't answer, merely nodding her head as a sarcastic smile graced her face.
Reaper's eyes traced her face with studious intent. Chassis felt her fists subconsciously clench. Punch him, a sinister voice told her. Slam him into a wall and ask him why he keeps staring! It had barely been a month, and yet the Knockout was getting to her. She pushed her intrusive thoughts towards the very, very back of her brain, and mustered up the courage to face him. When her head snapped in his direction, Reaper blinked in surprise, as if snapping out of a trance.
"Why are you looking at me now?" Chassis asked, quickly averting her eyes.
"Ohh," he voiced. "You did something to your eyes, but I can't tell what."
Her hand released itself from the tension and she wiped the built up sweat on her pants. He noticed. He noticed she put on make-up, and it made her head spin. This stupid, stupid boy with his stupid, stupid brown eyes as nurturing as the earth. Those eyes were the very same that noticed the mascara.
"It's a bit of make-up. It's supposed to enhance your eyes or something," Chassis replied sheepishly. "My friend sent some to me."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "Your friend's loaded," he remarked. Chassis showed off a quick smile, agreeing with him. After a beat, Reaper faced her again. The observant stare from before had long vanished, with a soft yet unreadable expression left in its wake. "It does, by the way."
"Does what?"
"Enhance," he elaborated, "but it's not like you look terrible without it." Reaper walked past her, not seeing the way Chassis' jaw unhinged and her muscles went rigid. He scooped up the last crate into his arms, an exhaustive sigh left his lips. "One more. Come on."
⋆
After a long day's work, most of the crew congregated in the boarding house's lobby, drinking and self-medicating. The responsible and boring ones went to bed early. Peacekeepers were present, but mostly at the perimeter of the boarding house with little care for what went on inside. Some even joined in on the District Six fun that involved dancing, -- the Easton brothers, Wilbur and Orville, always brought with them an accordion and guitar on the expeditions -- and campfire stories to tell while huddled over the dying flame in the old fireplace.
What goes on in the boarding house stays in the boarding house.
Chassis, Ginnee, and Trek sat in the corner of the girl's designated seat in the lobby. They were squished on a moldy, blue and white striped couch meant for one person. The girls sat on either armrest while Trek was plopped in the middle, eating the leftover mashed potatoes they didn't bother to finish for dinner. Between Journey telling other exporters his age a bone-chilling horror story (something about her mother's encounter with a District Six cryptid) and two girls dissecting an interaction with an attractive boy, he greatly preferred the latter.
Ginnee rambled while swirling the mead in her glass. "He practically called you the most beautiful woman ever," she slurred while bringing the brim of the glass to her lips. "He wants to get married and have children with you. Three, to be exact. And a cat... And a dog."
As much as she was affirming her delusions, Chassis began to regret telling Ginnee about Reaper. She was being ridiculously optimistic about this. "Or, maybe he's just really observant," she suggested. "I mean, you noticed the mascara when we hopped off the train. What's so special if he noticed it? Maybe I put on too much!" There was a subtle difference in how she looked; she checked the mirror while washing up in the bathroom. "Besides, 'Chassis Ash' sounds terrible! That's a sign I should move on from him."
Ginnee barked out a laugh. "Hyphenate it, you dingbat."
"Why do you want Chassis to hibernate?" Trek asked, scratching the back of his head. "She ain't a bear."
Before any of them could respond, Big Guns approached their couch, the floorboards creaking loudly under his large boots. He crossed his arms over his chest, and the three of them bowed their heads, slightly cowering in his presence. "Harbin," he grunted, then nodded his head towards the door. "The delivery boy's looking for you at the entrance."
There are thousands of delivery boys in all the districts combined, but there is only one that could claim the title of the delivery boy within the team.
Reaper leaned at the wall by the door in all his glory, scanning the room of drunk dancers and clapping along to the tune when the Easton brothers yelped at him to do so. Even under the dim, orangey light that everyone in the room looked horrendous in, he stood out like an exception. "Why me?" Chassis asked.
"He's got something for you, or whatever," he answered, pushing his signature gray braid off his shoulder.
Ginnee shook her by the forearm. "It's a ring!" she whispered loudly in her ear, breath reeking of the cheap liquor. Big Guns quickly snatched the glass from her hand and downed the rest of it in one gulp; his way of saving the young girl from a terrible hangover.
Chassis waved her off, and stood up from her spot on the couch. The elder placed his large hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. "Inter-district relationships are often frowned upon, in case you're wondering," he warned, wagging his finger at her.
She pushed his hand off, which took more effort than she initially thought. "He's not my boyfriend."
His large hands flung to either side of his head in surrender. "You called him that, not me," Big Guns replied, a ghost of a smirk on his face. Ginnee fell off the couch as she toppled over in laughter while Trek choked on his food. "Get it? 'Cos I only said relationship. I didn't say what kind of--"
Chassis left the group before he could complete his sentence.
Reaper was already pocketing his stash of morphling, ready for distribution tomorrow. He looked up, nodding his head at her in greeting. "Hey."
"Hey!"
"I umm, I have something for your ankle." She furrowed her brows as he reached into a back pocket, then pulled out a small, white pouch. "It's supposed to soothe the pain. I had Mrs. Smythe from the markets cook something up for you," he explained further.
"Ohh, Hermes," Chassis muttered under her breath while taking the pouch into her hands. Inside was a tiny jar filled with a dark yellow oil and unrecognizable herbs. "Reaper, you shouldn't have."
"Chass, if you wanna do your job right, you'll need help," he replied sincerely. She mumbled a 'thanks' in response as she used her hair to hide her face, not noticing the way his eyes wandered to her friends on the moldy couch. "Who's the new guy? He's a little clingy," Reaper said sullenly.
"He's a little clingy 'cos he's a little blind. Toxic waste spill from a factory." The apate factory, to be exact. A lot of infamous incidents seemed to stem from there; first Ingrid, now Trek. Too many accidents, too little being done since Laverna Landas didn't seem to care. Reaper struggled to hold in a coughing fit, causing her to laugh. "Journey's his mama. She's so busy keeping everyone in line, we figured she'd want a little help to get him used to everything," Chassis continued fondly.
If he was surprised or regretful, Reaper didn't show it, only poking his tongue in his cheek and nodding. "That's nice of you both," he muttered genuinely.
She rolled the jar around between her fingers. "Anyway, what's the instructions of this thing?"
"Right. Umm..." He rummaged through his pants pockets until he pulled out a slip of paper. "Once a day, and it's topical. Here."
Chassis took the slip of paper into her hands. "Thank you. Really," she said. "I should give you something in return. Maybe something from home." Though, it was probably not the best idea. The longer she thought about it, the more she realized that there was nothing pretty back home except the taste of a chugger. She could go for a chugger right about now, perhaps it would tame the pounding in her chest that never seemed to quiet.
"You don't have to," Reaper replied while shaking his head.
"But I want to," she persisted. When he realized that she wouldn't back down, Reaper bowed his head in defeat. "Are you gonna stay for the mead?"
"For the..." His voice trailed off, as if forgetting the reason he stayed so long at the house. "Ohh, yeah. I am," he affirmed quietly, something she barely caught over the Easton brothers' music and the rowdy polka dancing.
Chassis let a grin fall on her lips as they walked over to the cooler. "You know it's from the pub, right?" she questioned as she pulled out a bottle while he took two glasses from a shelf.
Reaper looked down at her with furrowed brows. "What?"
She stood up and leaned into his ear. "The mead's from the pub down the street. One of the elders told me," she explained. Reaper swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck as he gave her a side glance. "So, I don't know why you prefer the mead here than there if it's the same thing."
"It's..." He turned his head fully, and Chassis pulled away with such speed that the back of her head collided with a shelf. "It's sweeter here," he quipped, a hand lifted instinctively to help her, but she pushed it down with her own. "The mead's umm, the mead's sweeter here."
Chassis laughed as she massaged the spot. "That's concerning if the umm, alcohol changes flavors between transportation," she teased.
Reaper scoffed. "You really don't want me here, do you?" he asked pitifully while placing a hand on his hip. "I mean, if you want me gone--"
"No! I don't." Her hand flew to his forearm, both of them stared at with as if it were the only thing that mattered in that crowded lobby. Chassis gulped as she removed her hand to pop the cork off the bottle. "I like that you're here," she continued with a tone that resembled some sort of normalcy.
Reaper hummed to himself before handing her a glass. "Here."
Chassis blinked slowly. "You wanna drink with me?"
"Of course. You're the only one I really talk to around here," he mumbled while motioning around the room. Everyone had someone. They didn't. She supposed it was fitting for two friends to speak to each other. Reaper shrugged while taking the bottle and pouring the yellowish liquor into her glass, then his. "So, let's talk more," he said with a softness in his voice that made time stop.
"Okay. Yeah. Let's umm--" A chuckle left her lips before raising her glass. "Let's talk more." He raised his, and the glasses clinked amid the boot stomping, guitar strumming, and accordion playing. She asked Reaper about his work in the fields, and as he spoke, her eyes drifted over to her couch where Ginnee sat in the cushioned seat with a keen eye on the pair (Trek left to dance with his mother). She immediately averted the blue eyes that gawked at her, and returned them to the brown ones that never once drifted as he spoke.
Brown eyes lovelier than the music, and sweeter than a chugger.
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Woohoo, 1k reads! Thank you
so much <3
Also I just wanted to let you all
know that I update sporadically.
So if you think I'm a fast writer:
I'm really not-- I'm just on an O
Children grind at the moment.
Reaper's here! He might seem
out of character, but I took the
little moments we get from the
book and movie to figure out
how he would've been like
prior to the events of TBOSAS!
Let me know what you think of
them as a pair, please! Do they
feel rushed? That's what I'm
most anxious about... </3
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More District Six etymology!
The Harbins:
Magni ── From 'magnetic'.
Buffy ── From 'buffer stop'; a
device used to stop a train
from moving past the end of
the track.
Coupler ── An object that
connects two train cars.
Cams ── From 'camshaft'; a
part of an engine.
The workers:
Mech ── Ginnee's last name,
taken from 'mechanic'.
Rhode ── Ingrid's last name,
sounds like 'road'.
Alect ── A little play on the
name 'Alec' and the word
'electric'.
Wilbur and Orville ── Taken
from the Wright brothers, who
invented the first successful
airplane.
Journey ── Self-explanatory.
Trek ── A long journey made
typically on foot.
Bonus (cause I really like this
one):
WanderBar ── Yet another pun
name taken from the German
word wunderbar.
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