I get changed into yesterday's clothes and make my way down to the institute's mess. Institute, funny name, they think it sounds less derogatory than orphanage, but that's what it is in reality. I walk through the hallway, lined with cold hard concrete walls and carefully make my way, ensuring I don't fall through any of the waterlogged floorboards, they still haven't fixed the roof leaks from weeks ago. The hall opens up into a dimly lit hall, a draft from a cracked window causes the lightbulbs to swing slowly, painting different shades across the plethora of bleak faces sitting here. I head to the counter and grab myself a small plate of J-paste, a purple mush loaded mostly with ground wheat and lavender before making my way to my usual spot. Barlo waits there, his face twisted as per usual.
Barlo's rough around the edges, he's a man of short stature, but wide. The bald headed, boisterous foul mouthed freak is almost like a mini juggernaut. His mother had died in childbirth and at the age of ten his father fell sick with Zuno, a disease said to plague only the weak. For the next two years Barlo had spent his days stealing from the stalls of Vando, medicine, ointment, food, anything he needed to keep his father alive. But his efforts did not bear any fruit, by the age of twelve, his father had passed. In that time Barlo had developed an unrivalled skill in sleight of hand, stealing items and replacing them for fakes. It's normally the thin lean type that wields that kind of dexterity, so it's even more impressive when I watch him pick pocket the others around here.
The night his father died, he was picked up by a couple of Exalted who promptly enrolled him into the institute. I still remember waking up as the doors of our sleeping quarters were brusquely thrown open and a shaking sobbing twelve year old stood in front of me, still filled with the raw emotions from being left alone in this world. Still holding his bag, where stolen ointments and syringes protruded, never to be needed. That night I saw in Barlo what I saw in myself, a once innocent child, turned petty thief by the leagues that stole everything from him. Since then he's been the closest thing I had to a brother.
"Not much sleep again?" He grunts, pulling me back to the present as he eyes my near empty plate, there wasn't much left when I made it to breakfast, the nightmares kept me up. "I swear Medir, you need to stop being such a bitch and bottle up the pain like the rest of us." He grabs a handful of the purple slop from his plate with a squelching sound and slaps it into mine.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me too much, pisshead. This is the third time. You owe me."
I grin before slowly reaching into my pocket, discretely sliding a pack of A grade J buds across the table.
"Fuck me Medir, again?." Barlo's head turns a dark shade of red, he's fuming.
He takes a second to survey his surroundings ensuring no one was watching. Composing himself, he leans in and whispers angrily.
"Aren't the lashes you've taken enough already? Zant I thought you would have learned by now! Even I've stopped." I'm surprised he's angry enough to use colourful Vando language. Of course I don't blame him, stealing around these streets is a dangerous habit, fatal when one comes of age, Barlo is quick to remind me of how the rest of the world sees us. "We keep going on like this then we're done for. We may as well be one of those Hog skewers ol' Sally sells in Dredgewater." Surprisingly smart coming from him, drawing similarities between the overly burnt food, and how justice is now delivered by burning petty lowborn thieves on a stake in the Capital. I doubt Barlo could string together such poetry with intention.
"Since when did you become so fearful? Besides, we have two good years in us before they can try us as adults. I say we have a good few runs in us before we call it", I say.
"And if you get caught? You think it's a good idea for our future once we're kicked out of this hell hole?"
"What exactly do you think you're going to do when you leave Barlo?"
"Get a job? How else we gonna survive these streets?"
I stare blankly at him, mouth agape. I knew he was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but this is just a whole new level.
"Barlo, who the hell is going to hire you?" I see the slight hurt in his eyes and correct myself quickly. "Who the hell is going to hire any of us. We have no family ties, no assets. You think we can just go to the Capitol and wipe the windows clean of parked HoloFliers to make a quick buck? They have Freenens doing that." Freenens, lowbornes, are still somehow considered better than us because of their natural sex appeal.
"We can still make some coin in Dre-"
"Dredgewater is saturated. Every Noble has gone there to make a hand to mouth living since the Capitol introduced the leagues. Our forefathers and their forefathers even struggled carving out their own little slice of business in that town."
Barlo's face darkens as the hopelessness of the situation dawns upon him. His eyes flicker back and forth across the table deep in thought as his brain hopelessly scrambles to try and find a solution to the mess we're in. His thoughts are soon interrupted as a chair is sent flying into his back from across the room, the wood snapping over his shoulders, raining splinters into my breakfast.
Sera stands there from two tables down, towering at seven feet tall and shoulders so broad you'd think she was a professional PunkerBall player. She's an imposing figure. Her black unkempt hair falls over her eyes as she stares at us laughing, somehow having overheard our conversation. Somehow, Barlo's turned a darker shade of red.