Chapter Text
“So lovely of you to pop around, Tansy dear.” Enya smooths down her skirt, settling back in her pink armchair. “So few people think of old folks like me today. Especially the young ‘uns.” She waves her hand absently. “Not that I can blame them, of course.”
I make a polite noise of acknowledgement, doing my best to seem interested. I’m not, of course, not in the least, but I can’t afford to lose Enya’s companionship. A rather old woman, Enya, one of the oldest in Twelve. She’s pretty well off, too, and it shows. I’ve heard her family helped organise the Reaping, and the Victory Tours, and I suppose that’s what keeps her comfortable as well. She’s rather plump, with a taste for those ridiculous floral dresses they sell in the fancy tailors. And, more helpfully for me, a taste for sweet biscuits.
“You’re holding up well, though.” Enya remarks at me. “Not descending into hysterics, I hope.”
“No, no. A little nervous, but….” I make a show of nibbling on a nail. Not actually biting on it, of course. I’d rather not spoil my appearance.
“There’s no need. And you really should stop that, Tansy.” I drop my nail from my lips. Enya nods, satisfied, and picks another biscuit from the tray on the table. “Anyhow, they won’t pick you. It’s bound to be some little Seam brat, like those three last year. They take enough tesserae." She sighs. “I’ve no idea what happened to the concept of working for one’s meal”
I nod along, silently counting the number of biscuits left on the tray. Enya’s got to have eaten at least three already, and she’s got another in hand. Surely something’s got to give soon enough. I’m running on a time limit here.
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it, Tansy?”
“Hm?” Enya’s leaning forward, like she’s expecting a response. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.” I give a generic response, zoning back in. Hopefully, she’s not noticed the slip.
“I mean, thinking they can steal from me, doubtless to fund their alcohol or drugs……” Enya breaks off into a yawn, settling back in her seat. “Outrageuous.”
“It is.” I reply.
“Yes, I…..” She yawns again. “So sorry, Tansy. I don’t suppose you’d be able to fetch us some more tea? I’m awfully tired.”
“Absolutely.” I pull myself out of my armchair, into Enya’s neatly tiled kitchen. I flick the stove on, and put the kettle over it, then wait.
Once I’ve stood a few minutes there, I peer back into the living room. Sure enough, Enya’s slumped back in her chair, fast asleep. A half eaten biscuit dangles from her hand, leaving crumbs in the carpet. I poke her arm. Nothing. Satisfied, I make my way upstairs, to her room.
Enya’s bedroom is pristine, like always. Victory tour posters slathered over the pink walls, lace edging on the curtains, and carpeting underfoot. On her bedside table, she’s left out a pair of earrings, and a necklace. Gold, from the looks of them. They go straight into the pocket of my dress. A little further hunting in her drawers earns me a couple of rings, and a silk scarf that looks like it’ll sell for plenty. I leave the drawers open, and throw the lace curtains open, then open the window.
One might wonder why exactly I’m stealing jewellery from a kindly old woman, who’s been nothing but a friend to me. A little snooty, perhaps, but a nice person. Maybe it’s because she’s rich, and there’s plenty to take. Maybe it’s because she’s old, and absentminded, and hasn’t made the connections between the ‘break ins’ and my visits. Maybe it’s because she lives alone, so I don’t have to deal with any witnesses. Maybe it’s because, if I looked as strapped for money as I was, she wouldn’t give a damn whether I was coming over for biscuits or picking crumbs out of her carpet.
I content myself with what I’ve got, checking it’s not too visible through my dress. I always knew today’s haul was going to be smaller. I take myself back downstairs, putting the remainder of the biscuits into a cupboard. I don’t want Enya eating any more, and snoozing through the Reaping. Lord knows I put enough sleeping tincture in there. It’s compulsory to be there, after all. And I’m sure she put a lot of effort into planning it. More to the point, I don’t particularly want her to get shot. One, it would be a shame to lose my main source of income, and two, I like her, a little. I’d feel bad if I killed her, even indirectly.
I finish up in the kitchen, washing our cups up, then head out, shutting Enya’s door behind me. From what I can see, it looks like nobody was there at all. And what kind of thief would attempt to steal a thing on Reaping day?