"Are we figments of our gin? Are we long-lost orphaned kin?
Or the mad descendants of a writer's pen?"

Malakai Mottershead

Male -- Seventeen -- District Thirteen

"So what do you think I should do?"

Only a pause answers her. She waits for a moment, but as the pause slowly stretches into a silence, she realizes what has happened and gives up on recieving an answer. Still, just in case, she sets down the plate she's putting away and turns to glance at the table.

Sure enough, her brother is slumped in his chair, head resting on one arm while the other dangles over the edge of the table. Sighing, Minerva crosses the threshold from kitchen to dining room and kneels down so that her head is level with Malakai's. Unsurprisingly, his eyes are shut. "And here I thought you were just drowsy because it's so early. Have you stopped taking your meds again, little brother?" she asks, the sigh still in her voice. "I know you hate them, but..."

Going on is pointless- he'll only hear her if he's dreaming, and he's too newly asleep for that, even considering how quickly he hits REM- so she stops talking and puts herself to use. As gently as possibly can, the young woman pulls out Malakai's chair and lifts him in her arms, nudging the chair back under the table as she leaves to take him to his bed.

Despite her relative lack of strength, lifting Malakai is easy. It always has been; he was born tiny, and has never really gotten much bigger. The only boy in the family, he is nevertheless the shortest of them. Even Meera- the youngest of them, the twelve-year-old who stands at five foot three- is about an inch taller than poor Mally, and has been for the last year or so. He'll never admit it (Ner would know- she's asked), but Minerva knows the boy has gotten some teasing for that over the years, almost as much as for his narcolepsy. At least he has the build to match; though not the skinniest person Minerva has ever known, the boy is certainly slight, carrying a mere 115 pounds on his tiny frame.

Reaching her brother's room, Minerva kicks open the door and shoves the light switch with her shoulder, doing her best not to knock Malakai around too much in the process. It's getting harder to carry him; he's starting to twitch, and for all that his limbs are short in proportion to his body, they're plenty long enough to smack her in the face. "Calm down, Mally!" she hisses, but gets no response- unless perhaps the foot in her hip is her answer. By the time she's gotten the light on, it's all Ner can do to get across the room and dump him on his bed. "Dear lord, child," she groans, rubbing the kicked spot tenderly. "What has gotten into you?"

"Sis!" Malakai's voice is pitched even higher than usual, suggesting fear. Minerva raises an eyebrow, ceasing to even notice the hip in her concern. "Get away before it eats you!"

Ah. Reluctantly, Minerva cracks a smile. He must be dreaming vividly, and while that worries her- it's another sign that he's forgotten his medications, or else is refusing to take them again- it's also a little amusing. "What's going to eat me, Mally? I can't see it!"

"The Jabberwocky! Go, hurry! We don't have the right swords!"

Smiling, Ner reaches over to the covers sitting balled up at the foot of the bed and starts straightening them. She won't put them over him until he settles down again- the last thing the boy needs is to get himself tangled up, try to fix it, and hit his head when he rolls over and crashes to the floor- but she may as well get a head start. "It'll be okay, Mally. No Jabberwocky can hurt me, and I'm certainly not going to let one eat any siblings of mine. I'd like to see it try."

"Don't say that, you'll encourage it!" he groans, flopping one arm around in an attempt at some gesture that probably went off a lot better in his mind. He seems to be starting to calm down, though; his voice has dropped down half an octave or so, and is headed back toward its usual sleepy speed.

Blanket successfully readied, Minerva settles into a more comfortable position to wait. "All right," she concedes. "But just you watch. If it comes after you, I'll get a sword."

Malakai smiles, the expression looking almost alien on a face that's usually droopy at best whether he's happy or not. He opens his small mouth as if to reply, but the only thing that comes out is a snore. Ner blinks, a little surprised; she was expecting it to be a lot longer before he quieted. Maybe she was wrong about the meds. Shrugging, she decides to just accept it and stands, shaking the blanket once to make sure it's still straight. In one fluid, well-practiced movement, she flips it over her little brother's body. Fluttering slightly, it settles over his body, hiding the jeans, t-shirt, shoes, and skin. Only his head pokes out- at least for now. No doubt he'll have thrown the blanket half-off within the hour.

As if on cue, Malakai shifts, making a sort of pawing motion with one hand as he rolls from his back to his side and half-curls up. When he's still again, the corner of one sneaker (Minerva wants to take those off, but she knows he'll be furious if he wakes up unshod; he's going to be angry enough that she tucked him in like a child) and his right hand have emerged from under the green. Rolling her eyes, Ner reaches down and laces her fingers through his light tan ones, stroking one of his short nails gently with her thumb. "Silly boy. Can't make anything easy, can you?"

The fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around hers. "M'n... va... Jbza... vwa... dog."

Chuckling to herself at the nonsensical sentence, Minerva extracts her hand from his, tucks the blanket back over the bits of him that have escaped, and pats his head. Soft as always, his golden-brown hair begs her to wind her fingers in it, but there isn't enough of it to do so. She has to settle for ruffling it gently. (Not that she can tell the difference afterward- his hair always looks like he's just slept on it, usually because that's the case. Keeping it cropped to his ears disguises the untidiness a little, but not enough to make any truly appreciable difference.)

Standing slowly so as not to jolt the bed and disturb its occupant, Minerva takes one last look at Malakai, studying his features intently even though she's had them all well-memorized for years now. The longish nose, the strangely tiny ears, the roundness to his entire face that makes him look so much younger than he actually is- Ner could draw all of it upside down and in her sleep, and she can't even draw to save her life.

She's halfway across the room before the rustling starts. Unsure whether to be exasperated, amused, or concerned, Minerva glances back over her shoulder. Perhaps sensing her sudden absense, Malakai is flailing about a little- only to fall silent and curl up a little tighter. "Sleep tight, little brother," she whispers.

His eyes snap open. Minerva goes entirely still, not wanting to frighten him if he's woken up already- but the dark brown irises are staring at something far away from her, and almost as soon as she's finished halting all her muscles, his eyelids drift back down.

Shaking her head, Ner turns to head back to the kitchen, where dishes still wait to be washed.

Last week I had the strangest dream
That everything was exactly how it seemed

Sometimes, Malakai knows he's dreaming.

That doesn't mean he can do anything about it, mind you. Mally's no lucid dreamer; he could probably learn, but it's an awful lot of effort, you know? But he does realize it from time to time, usually when something from the real world seeps in that just doesn't fit. Most of the time his brain is impressively good at forcing the extra dialogue to make sense in the context of the dream, but sometimes what's happening in his head and what's happening in real life are so divergent that his subconscious, even with all its practice, can't make it work. The rest of the time, he realizes it because his dreams are the only place where he isn't so desperately tired that staying awake is a struggle.

Luckily, this is one of those dreams. It took him a little while- Minerva's decision to indulge the wild conjurings of Mally's subconscious went a long way toward delaying the realization- but "Sleep tight, little brother" did the job. (It was such a weird thing to say, especially when he wasn't tired- Wait. He... wasn't tired... Oh!) After being so terrified earlier, the knowledge is comforting; his fight with the fantastic creature in front of him is going badly, and it's nice to know ahead of time that if he dies here he'll simply wake up in some other part of his neverending dreamscape.

Unfortunately, the realization carries with it the downside of facing the fact that it's his own damn fault he's asleep in the first place. Taking his medication really does help; he hardly ever falls asleep when he's on them, and the overwhelming drowsiness lifts for almost the entire day. Leaving the pills in their bottle makes about as much as a diabetic saying, "Hey, I haven't had an attack in a while! Let's go off my insulin and see if I've been fixed!" Every few weeks, though- sometimes every few days, depending on his mood- he has to try. Still, despite knowing that it's a bad idea, he can't give up on the hope that someday one of those magic little tablets will cure him, and he'll be normal. It's not that he's ashamed of being narcoleptic, exactly; it's a part of him, just like his hair or skin, and he accepts that. Even the teasing doesn't bother him anymore, because he has friends now to fill that void of not belonging. But it's really infuriating to be in the middle of something important and suddenly nod off without warning, or need to walk somewhere and not be able to move your legs, or wake up and realize that you've spilled all your secrets to a classmate, or find yourself too drowsy to help your elder sister when she asks for advice about the man who just proposed to her, or... the list is endless.

While Malakai contemplated all of this, his dream-self carried on its fight with his dragon-esque adversary. Now the creature stomps on him, and the entire world goes black...

... Only to rematerialize moments later in the form of his own dining room. No one else is with him, but the table is set for tea. Malakai grins and thanks his subconscious gleefully as his dream-self carries him over to the table. This is more like it! There's no treacle tart, but there's a teapot big enough to feed an army on the table, and judging from the steam he doesn't even have to go to the effort of boiling it and carrying it about. (By rights, he shouldn't be as lazy in dreams as in real life, because being asleep tends to cancel out the topidity of everyday life. It's such a lovely habit, though, and his subconscious doesn't like to give it up any more than he does, whether they actually need it or not.)

Then Malakai, through the eyes of his dream-self, notices the cats.

All sensibility goes out the window. Normally when he's in one of these states and his dream-self panics about something, he does everything in his power to calm his mirror down, just in case the thrashing and shrieking translate into real life. Throw cats in the mix, though, and all bets are off. As the secondary Malakai goes tearing out of the room, the conscious one lends his full support, completely aware that it's still a dream and completely aware that he doesn't give a damn because those are cats and they're chasing him. Move faster, you useless lump of a dream! If this was real life I'd be out of the freaking District already!

The dream-self doesn't listen; he continues to flee at an agonizingly slow pace. The cats barely have to life their paws to trap their quarry; they back him into a corner with minimal effort and then simply sit there, licking their lips and giving him expressions that for all the world he could swear are grins.

"What do you want?" the dream-Malakai squeaks. (The not-exactly-awake Malakai executes a mental facepalm.)

"Storrrrry," purrs one of the felines, swishing its brown-and-grey tail lazily. Never mind that the thing is the size of a normal house cat, so small that dream-Malakai could probably break its neck with his foot; the word is enough to throw both Malakais into a new bout of full-blown panic. Real-Malakai (as he's started to think of himself) is still trying to pull himself together when dream-Malakai straightens up and nods.

"All right," he says, and real-Malakai can't help but be impressed by the resolve in his voice. Apparently, he's either much braver or a much better actor than he is in real life. "Story. I like stories." This is true. Malakai is horrible at telling stories- his youngest sister used to tell him so herself, back when she was young enough to demand bedtime tales- but he's always enjoyed it anyway. "I've got a story." As the teenager's floundering makes obvious, this is not true. "Just... um... hang on..."

The cats don't like that at all. Two of them get up and start pacing, lashing their tails from side to side; several more bare their teeth, with a couple hissing angrily. With a gulp, dream-Malakai launches forward, spitting out what real-Malakai figures are the first words that come to mind. "Okay, so once upon a time- it's a faerie tale, right, and those always start like that- there were these three girls. And their names were, um... Meera, Murphy, and Meltem. One day, they got bored, so..."

The longer dream-Malakai speaks, the more placid the clowder becomes. One by one, they stop stalking in circles and close their mouths. After a while two or three curl up, flip their tails over their eyes, and appear to fall asleep. As if they needed this example before they could rest themselves, the other twelve or so begin to follow suit, calmly making themselves comfortable and then drifting off. Once the last succumbs to the wave of sleep, dream-Malakai kicks the wall loudly; when none respond, he moves away from the wall and starts to step carefully over the rolled-up cats. Still speaking, he makes his way back in the direction he came from. "There was nothing to do in the well, so they drew all over the walls. They weren't very good at it, but they did it anyway. They drew all kinds of things- mousetraps, and..."

Dream-Malakai manages to escape from the loose half-circle of cats. Without a single glance back, he walks as fast as he can back to the dining room table.

Story still unfinished, as usual, he drowns his fears in tea.

Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in
Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in...

"What on earth is going on in here?"

Minerva drags herself to a stop so fast that she almost falls over. The oldest of her younger sisters has blocked the doorway, a scowl on her face and a violin clenched tightly in her hand. "Is a little peace and quiet too much to ask for? I'm trying to practice, and all of a sudden there's this unholy shrieking-"

With one hand, Minerva makes the universal signal for quiet, putting out one finger and holding it to her lips. The other gestures behind her at the sleeping form on the bed. Instantly Murphy's face softens, and she nods. Silent now, the younger female backs out of the doorway, allowing Minerva to slip out behind her, closing the door gently as she goes. Even after the soft click proves that the door is protecting their brother from their sound waves, both girls keep their mouths shut until they're in the dining room, several hallways away from Malakai.

"He's gone off them again," Minerva groans, collapsing into a chair as Murphy sets her instrument and bow on the table. Now that Malakai is in bed and the immediate concern is gone, all the stress can come pouring out. Between the proposal and trying to find the money to pay off her recent illness, she already has more than enough on her plate. "Stubborn, stupid boy-"

"Give him a break, Min," says Murphy. "He's a teenager. We're required to be stupid." Minerva isn't in the mood for joking, and shoots her little sister a glance that makes that fact abundantly clear. With a slight frown, Murphy goes to the counter and starts putting away the remaining dishes. "In all seriousness... I can't blame him. Meera used to try to do the same thing, remember? She'd give her migraine pills back to Mom and Dad and say 'I'm going to be normal today!' And they let her try it- not all the time, but every once in a while, because she was so happy without them..."

None of this is news, of course. In fact, Minerva knows quite a bit more about that situation than Murphy. As the oldest of the five, Ner has half-raised most of her little siblings; she was seventeen when Meera started trying to refuse her medication, and her parents let her in on their discussion about how to handle it. "But that's different. For Meera, they're preventative. She can go a day or two without them. For him... there's no maybe about it. If he stops taking the amphetamines he is going to fall asleep randomly, and if he stops taking the antidepressants that sleep is going to have all kinds of crazy patterns, and..."

"What about sleep?"

"Other than the fact that I'm not getting any because someone is talking?"

Looking drowsy, Meera and Meltem appear in the dining room and take seats on either side of Minerva. Hurriedly Murphy finishes putting up the last few pieces of silcerware and then joins the little conference, speaking as she moves. "Mal went narcoleptic a little bit ago and Ner is worked up."

Meltem snorts derisively. The other three- even Minerva, who isn't feeling too warm toward their brother herself- shoot sharp glances at her. "It's not like he does it on purpose," says Meera, who- perhaps because she's always been seen as the little one of the family, despite being only one year younger than Meltem- is far more sensitive about her own medication than Malakai ever has been about his.

"Hmm," is Meltem's only response.

"Mel," Minerva snaps. "I don't know how things work nowadays, but when I lived here full-time we did not talk about our siblings like that." Actually, she and Malakai used to say worse, but that's beside the point. It was always to each other's faces, and it was typical sibling rivalry, not this simmering disgust that Meltem seems to be developing. Leaning forward to get a better angle to look her little sister in the eye, Minerva continues. "As long as Mom and Dad have me in charge here, you will treat your brother with respect whether you want to or not. Clear?"

"Crystal," Meltem mutters.

Ignoring Murphy's amused look, Minerva settles back into her chair. Pushing her own stress and her annoyance with Meltem out of the way, she asks, "What got you two up?"

"You," Meera says. "I heard you from our room, and when I got up to come out Meltem-"

"I was already awake because of the violin-"

"-got up and came with me. I didn't know-"

"Sorry about that, sis."

"Nah, it's fine. Nicer noise to wake up to-"

"-what the noise was, but then-"

"-than the alarm."

"-we got out here and I heard you talking about Mally. Is he okay, Min?"

Minerva had been laughing at the mayhem of the conversation, but Meera's question sobers her. She inhales deeply, holds it for a moment, and then exhales. "I don't know, Meer," she finally says. "I really don't know."

"He'll be fine," Murphy says confidently, emphasizing her words by tapping on the body of her violin with one short fingernail. "He always is."

Minerva hopes that's true, but she isn't so sure. Five years isn't a long time, but for an age gap between siblings, it can be huge. Partly due to the simple space of time, and partly due to circumstance (Minerva is the only one of the Mottershead mob to remember when their parents were still trapped in poverty, and the experiences rammed some cold reality into her real fast), she's always felt much older than the others, and has spent her life acting accordingly. At eleven, she was six-year-old Malakai's go-to sobbing shoulder when teachers claimed he fell asleep on purpose to get around his lessons or other students picked on him. (He never said anything direct about it, even in those days; though always an incredibly honest child, perhaps because he knew pretty much everything would eventually spill out in his sleep anyway, he simply could not talk about the blame or the teasing, and Minerva eventually stopped trying to force it out of him.) She was the one who convinced her parents that not only did he not mean it, he ought to be tested for something; she was also the one who, three months later, convinced Mally that taking medicine for something was nothing to be ashamed of.

No longer is Malakai the nervous, self-depricating emotional wreck that he used to be. He has friends; he's found a niche, albeit a small one, and he's no longer mortified and devitalized by his frequent, involuntary naps. Frustrated, yes; exasperated, perhaps even angry, yes; devestated, no. In fact, most of the time he's downright cheerful nowadays, constantly ready with a smile or a laugh. Even now, though, she sees traces of that child in her little brother. She's too used to worrying about him to stop.

Minerva jumps, realizing that she spaced out completely. "I know, I know," she says, waving a hand at the three faces peering at her. "I just... you know me. I worry about everyone. Mally, you three, Mom and Dad..."

"We all worry about Mom and Dad," Meltem says softly, placing her clasped hands on the table and staring at them.

Surprised not by the emotion but by the display of it, Minerva stares at the middle sister of the trio. "Yeah," she agrees quietly. "Yeah, I suppose we do."

After all, it's hard not to worry about two people who are spending time in the Capitol, masquerading as legal citizens in order to gain intelligence that may or may not actually be useful. Meltem might be the most anxious of all of them, though. Never having made many friends her own age and having held most of her siblings at bay for one reason or another, Mel had always been closer to their parents than even Minerva herself. For the two to go gallavanting off, risking their lives in who knew how many ways... well, it wasn't going to be easy on her.

All at once, the house's alarm clocks start blaring. The four sisters jump, then sit paralyzed, staring at each other in half-shock. Meltem is the first to start laughing; one by one the other three join in, allowing the alarms to ring on as they collapse over the table in giggles.

"All right, I can't take that any more." Still laughing, Meltem rises and heads off down the hallway to the room she and Meera share. A moment later, one set of beeps vanishes. The other three sisters get up as well, reluctant to start the day but all too aware that in District Thirteen, punctuality is a necessity.

"I'll get Mal's clock," Murphy says. "Since I'm already-" a yawn interrupts her- "dressed and such. Should I try to wake him while I'm there?"

"Nah," Minerva tells her. "They know to pardon him if he falls asleep in the middle of something. No one will care if he doesn't show up for breakfast."

The younger of the two nods and, holding her violin's bow carefully, scurries off. For a moment Minerva draws breath to call out, but then lets it out, smiling and shaking her head.

Murphy will notice that she left the violin on the table soon enough.

[justify]THIS MAY BE MY FAVORITE BIO I'VE READ ON THIS SITE AND I'M NOT JUST SAYING THAT BECAUSE I'M OBSESSED WITH BIASED TOWARD THIS PLOT OF INFINITE AWESOME. THIS IS FREAKING BRILLIANT, WT. BRILLIANT.

I. Love. This. Boy.

And those little bitty curled dormouse toes still make me d'awww irl every time I see that picture.

I'm so giddy that I get to be the one to say:

ACCEPTED

Now pardon me while I go flail around in shameless, fangirl glee. XD <333[/justify]