Every year, like clockwork, at the beginning of fall. When the trees have begun to turn colors and the air has become cooler than usual.

The Bonfire.

It’s their last chance before winter to destroy all the objects they have cluttering up their homes and taking space that could be occupied by something much better. Something they actually like. Or something they simply would like better.

“If you’ll notice, there’s none of your work on display here,” Marie says. She’s sitting with Aria on an old bench carved from a fallen tree. They’re all over the beach, in fact. “You shouldn’t be so gloomy about not getting to keep all your work. It’s obviously appreciated.”

“They could’ve just traded it,” Aria replies. Flat but with a flicker of amusement. “But sure, it’s great they’re not burning it on the ‘trash fire’.”

“Isn’t it?” Marie asks. Scooting closer and laying her head on Aria's shoulder. “I’d suggest we fool around to cheer you up, but you don’t like that anymore, so I’m kind of out of weapons in my arsenal to make you smile.”

Aria snorts and a smile peeks through her melancholy demeanor. “I went right back to frowning afterward, anyway.”

Marie pouts, “are you calling me a lousy lover?” her hazel-brown eyes narrowing in displeasure at the insinuation.

“You’re good at sex,” Aria replies. “But we both know you’re not a ‘lover’. That’s the problem, remember?”

Sighing, Marie nods her head. “Fine, fine. So find you somebody who is. Maybe then you’ll smile after, too. I know I feel good after a long session with Clive.”

“I don’t think sex is going to ‘fix’ me,” Aria replies. “I don’t even think love will do that. I just wish sometimes that when I made art, people could praise me for it. Tell me how much they like it. Or even how much they dislike it and for what reasons.”

But no one is allowed to make direct commentary like that. Not unless they commissioned the piece and Aria hates doing commissions for people. It’s always the same shit. Personal portraits, jewelry made to look like something someone else was wearing so they can follow a trend. Something gaudy and filled with expensive things but not necessarily actually good looking, so they can show off how successful they are.

“I tell you that stuff all the time, rules be damned,” Marie says. “And Sheldon is your main little hype man.”

Aria does truly smile then, thinking of her eight-year-old brother telling her that her seascapes look ‘crunchy’ like a candy bar. Which is just his way of saying ‘it’s so cool I wanna eat it’. “He likes the seascapes but he doesn’t bat an eye at anything else. He’s so hard to impress sometimes.”

“Oh that’s a bald-faced lie,” Marie says, sitting up and nudging Arias’ arm with her elbow. “He just doesn’t gush about the rest because they’re not interesting to him. He definitely tells you how good or bad they look.”

Shrugging, Aria refuses to comment. That’s exactly her point, after all. He can tell her ‘technically’ what’s wrong with everything. He just has so much enthusiasm about the seascapes because he wants to grow up and carve the figureheads on the fishing ships someday. He loves thinking about the mythological creatures he could create for that-- and lucky him, Aria loves to paint them.

“Hey Marie!” someone shouts from the crowd around the flames. “Come look at this, it’s a whole clothing rack!”

“They’re not gonna burn perfectly usable cloth, are they?” Aria asks with a worried furrow to her brow.

“Nah, they just bring it so people can take their pick and rip ‘em apart,” Marie says. “Speaking of, I could use some shirts to embroider details on. I’ll be right back.”

Aria watches as Marie darts through the crowd, her pin-straight brown hair flittering behind her-- and she remembers why she doesn’t usually come to these things.

The crush of bodies is enough to ward Aria away, ordinarily. But there’s the looks on these peoples’ faces, which would also do the trick.

Noah McPersh is glaring at her from over near the clearing that’s been blocked off for dancing-- so that people don’t get drunk and stumble into the fire. Like he thinks she’s going to stomp up and kick him in the balls again.

‘You should’ve kept your hands to yourself, dumbass,’ she thinks, eyes drifting listlessly away from him.

She could’ve reported him to the Cloister and had them take him away for what he did, but as all he’d done was grab her arm and yell at her, she figured that probably wouldn’t have been enough. Even if it were, she didn’t wanna ruin a kids’ life because he got upset and did something he normally probably wouldn’t have.

Now, she regrets that, but. Hindsight and all. It’s not like she can turn and give testimony now, years after the fact. That’s only accepted when the victim was afraid the perpetrator would hurt them. Aria is notoriously ‘fearless’ and ‘belligerent’…so that wouldn’t quite work.

Then there’s Felicity Turnish over by the drinks table, who always runs away like a skittish baby deer if Aria gets anywhere near her. And oh, there’s Duncan Kale, the guy who asked her out and dated her for two weeks just so he could get close to Marie.

A smile works its way over her face as she thinks with great relish about the vat of glue that Marie had upended over his head when he’d come up to her room while they were all hanging out and tried to proposition her. ‘There’s no need to tell Aria’ of course, being the sticking point for her.

People tend to think that just because Marie likes to have fun, that must mean she’s easy and has no compunctions about anything. Weird assumption. People make funny little extrapolations like that about everyone around them all the time. They rarely turn out to be right and yet they continue.

‘Ugh, I’d even prefer to sit here in silence with Clive than to have to make small talk with anyone here,’ she thinks. ‘And Clive is boring as hell.’

“Aria?” speak of the devil.

He’d walked right on over, expression surprised and bewildered. Eyes slightly enlarged by his prescription goggles. She supposes that perhaps after years of trying to convince her to come and failing, he and Marie had basically given up on it. So the surprise might be warranted.

“Clive,” she replies. “Marie promised me special canvas…so…” After all, she can’t be seen to WANT to interact with people. If she did, a bunch of nobodies would come out of the woodwork to try and ‘make friends’ because suddenly there’s a new marriage prospect that there wasn’t before. She knows because it happened when she was ten, to Annelise-- one of Felicitys’ four sisters.

She was a wallflower and suddenly she arrived at a party one day, to satisfy her parents, and she was swarmed. Poor thing had to sequester herself in her house for two weeks to get it to stop.

He slowly leans his head back in a moment of epiphany at her explanation. “Ahhh. Are you having fun?”

“What’s to have fun with?” she asks. “Burning stuff and people talking about nothing.”

Sitting down beside her on the bench, he pats the book that is now lying in his lap. He’d had it in his hands before, but she hadn’t really taken note of it, so concerned with his facial expressions as she was. “That’s why I bring books and only talk to people with something interesting to say.”

“Nobody here interests me, as you well know,” she says and sighs. “All these people hate me.”

Clive can’t really argue that point, so he simply purses his lips tight for a moment and shrugs. “You knew they would when you started tattling on them. You didn’t regret it then.”

“I still don’t. I’m just irritated that nobody in our District is worth a damn,” she says. “Animal torturers, sexual harassers, bullies-- all people that should’ve been locked up, but I refused to let it happen because I was a child and thought I should be merciful. They do realize I didn’t tattle nearly as much as I could have, right? They’d definitely be in the Wild Ward in the Cloister by now if I had.”

“People don’t usually care about that,” he says. “They got grounded and had to go through cleansings. You know those suck. They hated the experience and now they hate you for making them live it. It doesn’t matter that you were in the right or that it could’ve been worse.”

“Well at least you don’t suck,” Aria says and slightly leans into his side, nudging him with her shoulder and pressing her head to his arm for a moment before leaning away. Her curls make a funny crunching noise as she does it-- Marie had been insistent on pins and hair gels…

She’s not as comfortable with Clive as she is with Marie, but they’ve known each other all their lives. And she’s never caught him trying to kick a frog to death.

“High praise,” he says and opens his book. “Have you read this one yet?”

She glances over. “If it’s been Temple-Approved, then no. I don’t read those anymore.”

Nodding, he turns to the first page. “This one is about being trapped on a desert island all by yourself.”

‘Clive loves angst and pain,’ she recalls. ‘When was the last time we even read the same books…?’

“Hey look at my haul!” Marie prances over and collapses next to Aria, shoving an armful of clothing at her. “I found three shirts in shades of green that I think you’ll like! Once I get some embroidery on there in gold, or black-- or maybe some blues…”

“Time for the burning!” someone shouts.

Everyone moves toward the bonfire itself, with their armfuls of junk. Anything that can be recycled is taken over to a table and dumped, like the clothing that Marie was looking at earlier that she didn’t choose. Aria watches as a bunch of people put canvases down-- they could be rubbed with paint remover and then painted over and re-primed for some kids to use in class down at the school.

But some paintings are thrown directly on the fire-- most likely because the painting was on a recycled canvas and it could no longer be re-used.

And then there are the totems-- wood carved into the shapes of specialized tools like fishing rods and an incense burners with their own little wooden chains. There’s a few carved-wood projector reels and scissors…likely for hairdressers.

‘Aspirations that will lead them to the Entertainment District,’ Aria thinks. It’s too bad they destroyed the technology for recording movies. But they kept the symbol, to represent plays. Every few months, a troupe comes to each district to act something out. To make sure everyone has exposure to the stories and gets to experience them, even if they can’t come on vacation to ‘Glitterville’ which is what everyone normally calls that district…

“Sheldon will have a lot of commissions around New Years,” Aria observes. “More Totems for wishing on the bonfire next year. Probably baby-totems this time.”

“I’ll have to get some,” Marie says with a sigh. “I think it’s about time I settled down with some kids.”

“I recall asking you to marry me a while back ago,” Clive said. “What were your exact words? ‘I can’t be tied down to one partner’?”

“And I won’t be,” Marie says with an imperious little lift to her chin. “Kids and partners are different. You could’ve fathered my kids, if you weren’t so possessive.”

“Can we not?” Aria sighs. “Nobody in this group is even compatible as a couple, so just drop it. We all know it, let’s stay friends and stop bringing old shit up.”

“Sorry,” Marie mutters. “What about you, though? What are your plans?”

Aria thinks about it for a long moment. Considering her situation, the people involved… “Same old, I guess,” she says dispassionately.

Eyes dead as she stares into the crackling bonfire.