"Atold, don't wear that," his mother says as soon as she sees what he is wearing.

"Why the hell not? I wear this everyday!" he says, fingering the hem of his black shirt.

"Exactly," his mother chides. "Show some respect today. We're honoring our great country." She says this with venom in her voice. The anger is not directed toward Atold, but he reacts to it anyway.

"Shit, woman. I don't give a fuck about our country. I don't give…"

"Don't use that kind of language," she says calmly. "Go change."

He just laughs. "No. I'm going to meet Corre."

"I don't like that boy. He is a bad…"

Atold cuts her off. "He doesn't like you either. Actually," he says taking a loaf of bread from the counter. "No one likes you."

"Are you sure you want to come? You don't have to. You know you don't have to. The Peacekeepers have cleared you. No one is expecting you at The Reaping. They've seen your leg. You don't have to…"

Mariana's nervous chatter is interrupted by her father's deep laugh. "I'm sure, my flower. I'm sure," he says, smiling. "I—It'll do me good to get out. Breathe some fresh air. See familiar faces."

Mariana nods. "All right," she says, turning to look in her father's closet. "Do you want the blue suit or the brown one?"

He considers his choices for a moment. "The blue one," he says quietly. "It's a little bigger."

Mariana wonders why the size of his suit would influence his decision. The blue suit really isn't even bigger. It just has a wider leg. "The blue one," she says as she realizes. It won't hurt his injured leg as much when he puts it on.

She pulls the blue suit off of its hanger. The color is faded, and the material is worn with age. It smells like dust. The coarse fabric reminds her of a happier time. She sets it on the bed and moves to her father's side. She supports him and his one good leg as he undresses.

When he pulls down his pants, he winces. She does too. His right leg is misshapen and bulging in places. There are cracks in his skin that are oozing with blood, and many are crusted over with a strange, yellow substance. She sees this often, when she helps her father. But it never fails to amaze her. It has been almost a year since the accident. Her father doesn't talk about it, but Mariana is sure his leg didn't end up like this on accident. The wounds never heal.

His face is contorted in concentration and pain as he struggles to keep from crying out. Somehow he manages to keep his breathing even and quiet. When he is finally dressed, he is left with a layer of sweat on his forehead.

"You want some tea?" Mariana asks. "I think we've got some medicine left…"

He forces a smile onto his lips and nods.

"Dude," Atold whispers to Corre as someone talks on stage. "This stuff burns!"

"I told you," slurs Corre. "It's strong. One more sip and you'll be hallucinating."

Atold lifts the bottle of alcohol to his lips again. "Bring it," he says.

"Damn," Corre says distractedly. Atold looks over at him, and sees that he is staring at a girl walking toward the stage. "Imma—Imma kiss her tonight."

"You idiot! That's Mariana Kortiano. She's only, like, sixteen. And she's missing a tooth. Fell out of a tree or something…"

"She'll be easy then," Corre says with a drunken laugh. "Wait. They just called your name. Go up there!" He pushes Atold out of his chair. Pulling him back Corre says, "But don't touch her. She's mine."

Atold shrugs off Corre and staggers to the stage. He watches the girl. She tucks her short brown hair behind her ear, only to have it fall back into her face. She's tall for her age. She has wide, blue eyes. Not a bad little thing.

As Mariana exits the stage, a tall man takes her hand. "Thank you," she mumbles, dazed.

The man's hand grows tight on hers.

"Ouch," she says. "That hurts."

The man doesn't respond. He just keeps leading her down the street.

She stops walking. "Let go of me," she says.

"No. I've got orders to take you to the train." He jerks her toward him.

She laughs softly. "You mean the Justice Building?"

"No," he says forcefully. "The train."

"But I have to say good-bye," she says softly, confusion in her eyes. "May dad…"

"Is in no condition to see you. Poor thing…" he says in mock sympathy.

"No!" Mariana says strongly.

"Yes." He tries to pull her forward again, but she stands her ground.

"Oh, sugar, don't be like this," Atold slurs in her ear.

She jumps slightly, surprised at his words.

"I've got this," Atold tells the Peacekeeper.

The man holds his hands up in surrender. Rolling his eyes, he walks away.

"Thanks," Mariana whispers. I—"

Atold quiets her, putting his fingers to her lips.

She looks up at him, confused and intrigued.

He leans down then, and kisses her. It's brash and animalistic. His lips taste sour. She tries to pull away but he holds her tightly to him. "Corre was right," he tells her when he finally pulls away. "You're good for a sixteen." He leaves, walking toward the train.

She finds herself following him. There is sure to be much worse in the arena. Perhaps shedding her innocence now is a good thing.

A/N: Turned out more morbid than I intended. It's still good, I hope. Also, I think DocX holds some sort of grudge against me. It simply is not working. So this is unbeta'd. Again.