{{Into the Night}} [Tears]

[Micra]

Twilight had fallen over the streets of District Twelve. Boys like Sabre should be home when it's dark, eating meals with family and playing with his siblings.

Sabre had no family. He had the gang. And what a gang it was.

They had made a heist, the night before. And now the boy had his cut- money to burn. Their target was actually a repeat hit. One of the rich guys who had fought in the rebellion five years ago. He had gone off to fight the Capitol. And he had lived. Sabre kicked a rock, violently, and watched as it bounced down the street.

Why'd he live? the thought sprung to the boy's mind no matter how hard he fought it. Why was this man, this unattached, hated, evil man, alive? Sabre's own parents, loyal and loving had been slaughtered because people like him had lived.

So what was the harm in decreasing the man's wealth? When a man didn't deserve something, a good deed was being done by removing it. Sabre almost refused to accept money from such tainted hands, but money was money, and money was life.

Sabre kept walking, but he could sense that he was being followed. Subtle things. The flicker of a shadow under the one working streetlight. The shift of gravel. His ears had always been good, but now they were trained, and he fancied he could hear even breathing from behind him. Though whether that was true was debatable. As he walked, he wondered why the follower had come.

What appeal did he have to other thieves? Most knew about his knife and would keep well away. But many thieves were desperate, and it was possible, no, probable, that he had gone from the criminal to the victim.

They hear the money jingling in my pockets then? Well, they ain't getting any, he thought angrily. A hand, the right one, twitched toward the knife.

N't yet. I can't let 'em know I hear 'em. Maybe they weren't after his money. Maybe they wanted to kill him. Or maybe they were just lost. Worse, they could be from the new government, looking for an excuse to arrest anyone. But to Sabre Knight, motive didn't matter.

Because nobody was messing with him. Not in a million years. Or a million and one. Or anything after. And it was time to make his pursuer aware of that fact.

"I can 'ear you, you know," he said, turning around to face the stranger. All he registered was small. And most likely female. In the dim moonlight, at a distance, it was difficult to see more. He didn't reach for his knife, not yet. He simply narrowed his eyes. "Whatta you want?"

[Wolf Tears]

((OOC- So rusty. DX))

Most people, when an angry person turns to them and essentially tells them to back off, explain themselves, or experience pain, back off pretty quickly. Even eleven-year-old boys can be ferocious, and getting pummeled by a small but very upset person high on very many to-do lists.

Aziza Charikar was not most people, and was in fact somewhat used to being subtly threatened. (People did not, understandably, appreciate her attempts to relieve them of their money or objecets.) In fact, it was so common for her that she wasn’t entirely sure if this boy was threatening her or not; she had assumed so, because that was what often happened, but he wasn’t actively coming at her, which made her rethink a little. He had every reason to menace her (she had been trailing him with the intent to steal his money, for goodness’ sakes, and if he had heard her he probably knew it), but just because people could do certain things didn’t always mean they would. People were good and threatening was bad, and the two didn’t mix as often as Aziza sometimes thought they ought to.

So she didn’t back off, and she didn’t even raise her fists in defence of herself. She did slip Kamen into the little pouch at her side and pad forward until she was out of the shadows and close enough so they could see each other- or, really, so that he could see her. She had taken the measure of him a good while ago, when she’d first heard the jingle of coins and decided to trail him. Despite having a pretty average build, he was taller than her, but that made sense because he seemed to be a few years older. A careful walker with pale skin, slightly ragged hair, and narrow eyes. He was the sort of person she probably wouldn’t pick to take from if she hadn’t distinctly heard such riches, and the sort that even then she didn’t really want to steal much from because she got the idea he needed money about as much as she did.

What did she want? Aziza pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side, then took a deep breath and drew herself to her full height. He still had a good foot or so on her, but a foot was better than the fourteen or fifteen inches he had while she was slouching. No need to appear weak or small here. “Food. Clothes. Soap. Clean water. A family that makes sense. Candy. A better house.” She almost added for Mummy to stop drinking, but that was revealing just a little too much about her family for her liking, even though he almost certainly wasn’t the type to want to ‘rescue’ her away to an orphanage. “Can’t have everything I wants, though, so mostly just food.”

She sighed a little more deeply than someone her age ought to know how. So much they needed, so little they could actually get. Come on, universe. I’m doin’ my best here. Mind helping a bit?

Although she must not be doing her best, if this boy had heard her. Aziza was no goddess of thievery, but she couldn’t remember the last time someone had heard her while she was still so far away. She narrowed her eyes a little and eyed the stranger askance, suddenly curious and a little anxious. “How’d you know I was there, anyways?”

[Micra]

As the little girl slunk into the light, Sabre got a better look at her. About a foot shorter than him, with dark-ish eyes, hair, and skin. And she was cute. Little-girl cute, or baby kitten cute. He couldn't take his eyes off of hers. That worried him slightly. The idea of someone, especially a younger person, holding even that power over him was infuriating to Sabre.

In addition, she answered his question. Usually, when he confronted thieves, they stuttered and ran before he could get a good look at them. This girl, she was different.

“Food. Clothes. Soap. Clean water. A family that makes sense. Candy. A better house.”

Sabre cocked an eyebrow, wondering if she was being sarcastic or serious. She sounded dead serious. If she was, they lacked a lot of the same things.

That's not to say that Sabre wanted those things. Candy maybe. He had food, and some clothes. The soap and water he could do well enough without. And who needed a family or a house when he had the gang and their warehouse?

When she narrowed her list down to just food, the boy thought about the dinner feast he had just left behind. They'd had real baker's bread, with cheese, and a few cakes to go around. Not to mention the fruit from the garden of the rich man. A foreign feeling invaded Sabre. If he knew the name, he could have called it guilt, or pity. He just called it unnecessary.

“How’d you know I was there, anyways?” demanded the would-be bandit.

"Me? Been trained. And I've been stolen off of enough t' know how to find 'em." No need to reveal he too was a thief just yet. You need a thief to catch one, is what Sabre always thought.

"Fortunately for you, I don't 'old a grudge." Another lie. Or more specifically a half-lie. "Not 'gainst thieves anyway." There, that was the truth.

"So what's your name, and why d'ya need food so bad?" Specifically, he wondered why she was stealing it. Plenty of options had been offered to him when he himself was young and poor. He choose the gang because they would help avenge his parents. What better reason did he need? What better reason could the girl have?

[Wolf Tears]

The second half of the stranger’s answer was of little interest, seeing as most of District Twelve had been thieved from at least a few times, but the first snagged Aziza. "Trained?" Her eyes were already a tad wider than usual- they had to be, to see well in the dim light- but they still managed to broaden a tiny bit in interest. "Like how?" Any kind of training that could reach you to find people who were trying to be inconspicuous sounded like it would be useful in learning to be one of the unnoticed ones. Even if it was totally useless (or cost money, or was some type of family thing, either of which would put it totally out of her range), maybe anything he said about it would tell her something about this boy. She didn’t want to snoop, but he was certainly an interesting character. (Then again, everyone was an interesting character to Azi. There was a reason the little girl spent so much time eavesdropping on others’ conversations, wondering about lifestyles that seemed foreign.)

She forced herself to pay attention- she could converse with her own mind any time, but she almost never got to actually talk to strangers. No grudge? That was a little surprising- most people screamed and threatened her if she tried to pilfer their stuff. She offered a small smile of thanks, but said nothing, mostly because she wasn’t really sure what one said to something like that. “Gee, thanks for not wanting to kill me!” sounded a bit too... flippant.

" 'M Aziza," she said softly. “Azi if y’ want.” She didn’t bother to ask his; he’d give it to her if he wanted to, and if not she didn’t really need it. “An’ who doesn’t need food? I just have a bit more trouble gettin’ it, is all.” An understatement if she’d ever said one, or heard one for that matter. You needed money for food, and while there were a lot of ways to make money as an eight-year-old in a financially bereft District, most of them were less than easy. No one would hire a child with no references for anything but the simplest, lowest-paid, and most temporary of tasks, which left only the more illicit- and therefore, usually, more difficult- of financial proceedings.

There were other options out there, of course. Don’t get me wrong, she knew perfectly well that she could run away and join a gang or a circus or an orphanage or something, or that she could convince Mummy to apply for the financial aid they undoubtedly qualified for, or a number of other things. But that would mean there was a chance at mother and daughter being separated, and if there was one thing that Azi was going to dig her heels in about, it was that. That kind of choices wasn’t really a choice at all. For the ability to keep her dysfunctional little family together, she would go at the harder options alone (alone but for Kamen, that was) for as long as she had to.

[Micra]

The girl wanted to know how he'd been trained. They'd never told him to keep to gang a secret, but somehow, he felt he shouldn't give too much information about it regardless.

"When you've been 'round as much I 'ave you find people to teach you anythin' "

Wasn't that the truth. In three years, he had nearly mastered knife fighting, stealing and tracking. But of course, he had nothing but time on his hands. After all, school was laughable, friends were few, and his only job was to become an adept thief and manipulator. Any free time was spent like tonight- scouring the streets looking for fun. And since fun usually involved lightening people's pocketbooks, it kept him in good practice.

" 'M Aziza," she said. Azi if y’ want. Sabre was surprised that she didn't ask his name. People in District 12 seemed to demand details like that. In fact, most of the people he knew demanded everything. All they spoke was a demanding tone and an order. The girl, Azi, was different. That interested Sabre enough to keep him talking. Certainly an incredible feat in itself.

Normally, once the thrill of catching a thief wore off, he'd disappear into the darkness, accompanied by a flash of his dad's knife so the thief knew how lucky they were. Not tonight.

"I'm Sabre," he said. "Like the sword." He wondered if that was enough to scare her off. He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to run away or not.

“An’ who doesn’t need food? I just have a bit more trouble gettin’ it, is all.” Sabre almost smiled. Almost. He wound the comment more witty than matter-of-fact. Especially since, not so long ago, he had been there too.

"Ain't too hard, after a few years. How old're you?" He remembered he had taken to the streets at eight. The girl couldn't possibly be older than that maybe even younger.

"Like, 'ow long 'ave you been on your own, if y' don't mind sharing."

Was she even on her own? Sabre knew there were rival gangs. For a moment he wondered if she was supposed to be milking information from him. He decided to make a point of being careful with what he told her in the future.

[Wolf Tears]

This stranger wasn't too forthcoming with information about just how he'd been trained. Aziza opened her mouth to press further, but closed it without actually saying anything. Information was valuable, but so was a conversational partner, and she didn't particularly want to anger him and drive him off. She understood, too, the inclination to avoid certain topics; perhaps this was some kind of family thing that he wasn't too comfortable talking about, the same way she didn't like to tell people about her mother. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd mention something later, but for now, it was better to let it be.

There were other things to talk about, anyway. The stranger (who was no longer exactly a stranger, she supposed) surprised her a little by divulging his name. She'd been hoping he would, because it was a lot easier to refer to someone with a name- really it made one's thoughts much less confusing- but she hadn't exactly expected it. Now that she had it, she tested it several times in her head before commenting.

"You're named after a sword?" Azi blinked, considering that, then grinned a little. "That's kinda cool." She wasn't sure where her own name came from; she had always assumed that it was just a name that her mother had liked. Maybe she should ask sometime.

Th- Sabre spoke again, and Aziza gave a slow nod in unconscious response. "Yeah... yeah. I knew what you mean. The longer it goes, the easier it gets." She'd been doing this since Anika crashed and burned- what was it, two years ago now? The her of then had footsteps like a horse, frequently lost her meager spoils to other thieves, and had no idea how just how useful towels were. She was no master, but every day taught something new, and even if her supply was small, it had at least become steady. "Oh, and I'm eight."

That much, she didn't mind exposing, but the next question made her shift her weight from one foot to the other in discomfort. A hand slipped into the little bag at her side to touch Kamen's fur gently, which calmed her but still left her a bit antsy. "I'm not... on my own, exactly." She frowned a little, more at herself than at him, as she tried to decide how much was safe to tell him. He didn't exactly look like a childcare professional, but you never knew how things got around, and she could never be too careful when it came to the possibility of her little family getting split. Truthful but vague, then, was probably her best bet. "I'm just the only who brings anything useful home." Her mother would argue that point, saying that wine was most definitely useful, but her mother wasn't here and was wrong anyway. "Have been since I was six."

[Micra]

Cool. Of course his name was cool. He had picked it out himself. It fit. He was thin and strong, like a blade. Shiny (or greasy, depending on your point of view) like a blade. He was Sabre.

He unconsciously pulled a loop of thin rope from his pocket and began to run his fingers through it. He could make... shapes. He made a tower, and a broom, and a ladder. A faint memory came back to him. Female hands, guiding his own as they manipulated the string. Sabre shook it from his mind. It didn't matter. Nothing in the past mattered. As long as he forgot it, it couldn't hurt him anymore.

He continued to make patterns with the string as the girl, Aziza, told him a shortened version of her life's story. Been the sole provider for her family since she was six, been on the streets around the same length of time as him. Whatever. She still had somebody too.

No. He had somebody. He had the gang. They would take care of him since his family couldn't. His family, destroyed by rebellion and pointless politics. He would never be alone, because he was going to help fix what they had broken. He would be one of the most powerful, popular people in Panem.

"Eight, huh? Tha's how old I was when I got left alone. Mum and Dad, they went to the fight. Cameron too, my brother. Left me alone and ain't ever come back." Sabre paused, and shrugged. He felt chilled by the cool wind, or maybe by his own memory. He couldn't tell. He made a teacup with the string.

"Well, Mum and Dad came back. They looked real nice in those boxes. Bet they didn't look so nice when they died. They had t' be fixed up."

Sabre's hands were flying through the string now, trying to keep his mind away from the forming sadness and hurt.

"I figger I'm about eleven now. I spent a year in the orphanage. Ran away at eight. I didn't like it there, much. And so, here I am."

He was better off, of course. Not rich, but certainly not starving. He had seen the emaciated bodies of those who were. But when he wanted to help, he wasn't allowed. They were the enemy, he was told. They killed his parents. Every single one of them.

Nobody outside the gang could be trusted. But this girl, she was okay. Not trustable. Far from it. But she wasn't bad. She couldn't be. It just wouldn't be fair.

Not when he was finally starting to tolerate somebody his own age.