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When he'd walked through the door, the sound of a bell nearly deafened Isaac's ears.

When he steps through the door, everything hits him like a rushing tidal wave. He doesn't recognize everything at first, but slowly things start to come to him. That's the jungle gym and there's the hopscotch and he doesn't know why he's worried about some old hotel because it's recess. The door behind Isaac hangs open as his small feet send him running into the schoolyard playground, his lanky limbs bringing him further than the other kids with every step.

It's only when he gets to the middle of the yard that he realizes he doesn't see anyone he knows and Isaac starts to feel a tiny pit in his stomach that feels a lot like being scared. He wants Camden to come and play with him, but Camden has his own older friends and doesn't have time for a six-year-old like Isaac.

Cautiously, Isaac finds his way to the play area and sits down, hoping that maybe he can find someone to play with. After all, it can't be that hard, can it?

[Recess gathering post in the elementary school door! All ages, grades 1-8 welcome, whether they remember who they are or not]

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Sometimes, Isaac wonders if maybe he should just spend recess inside. Sure, he likes to come out and see if there are comic books he can trade, but otherwise, it seems like everyone has more friends or better friends than him and he's not really sure why he can't be more outgoing. Camden always says he just has to try.

So he needs to try.

Maybe there should be a comic book about this.

A soccer ball zoomed across the grass to bounce off of Isaac's calf, and a skinny boy in a Batman t-shirt flung himself after it, nearly tripping no less than three times in his attempt to contain the thing. Half bent over, ball clamped fast beneath both hands, he glanced up, giant brown eyes in a pale, freckled face, hair shaved in a buzzcut.

"Hey, sorry," he said, and then brightened. "You play? Because my best friend isn't here today, and we usually kick the ball around, except we actually used to play baseball which is my favorite sport, but the teachers won't let me have the bat at recess anymore since I let go of it that time and hit Greenberg in the eye and I don't know why it was even a big deal I mean it didn't pop out or anything and the shiner looked rad, anyway now we have to play soccer which I thought was kind of for little girls until Scott pointed out those crazy people in England and Brazil who like KILL each other for their favorite team, and that's got to give it some cool points, right? Are you a Mets fan?"

Isaac blinks, trying to figure out some of the words in the big rattling mess of words the other kid was saying. There were...well, a lot of them. "Uh," Isaac manages to get out, the single syllable even stammering slightly. "We usually only watch swimming," he says. "Dad coaches, so he wants my brother to swim." Isaac isn't sure he likes sports so much. Maybe lacrosse? But only because the kids who play it seem really cool.

"I don't know how to play," he admits quietly. "I don't want to be bad."

Jon wasn't very outgoing himself. It was just easier to keep quiet and keep to himself, especially since he could not find Robb or his sisters, and this place was strange to him without them. Ghost was at his side, faithful pup that he was but it did not make it any less lonely; Ghost couldn't talk back to him.

When he saw another boy by himself, he decided to take a chance. That was less intimidating than approaching a whole group and asking to play. Surely he could talk to just one other boy?

"Hello," he said, sitting down beside the other boy. Ghost seemed content to chew on Jon's shoelaces, pulling out his carefully-tied knots.

Isaac's eyes are drawn to the dog, though he's not sure why he wants to look at it before he looks at the boy. Maybe because animals don't reject you automatically? He's not sure, but he knows he shouldn't be rude and should talk to the boy, too. "Hi," he offers quietly. "I'm Isaac," he says, giggling quietly. "Your dog is trying to eat your shoes," he says, like it's the silliest thing he's seen in ages.

"He does that," Jon said, smiling a little. Ghost seemed to take an interest in the other boy then, looking up and tilting his head in a questioning manner.

"It's all right if you want to pet him?"

"Can I?" Isaac says quietly, his voice little and shaking, somewhat. The dog looks so big and like it could take his whole head off. "I'm Isaac," he introduces himself, hoping his voice doesn't tremble slightly when he speaks. After all, he's nervous about making new friends and he doesn't wanna mess it up.

"I'm Jon," he replied, just as nervous. It had been a long time since he made a new friend and other than Ghost, Jon wasn't very good at it when it came to boys his age. He mostly just wanted his brother.

"His name is Ghost. He's a direwolf."

Isaac doesn't know what a direwolf is, doesn't even know really what a wolf is supposed to look like. He rubs his other hand over his face, while his left hand is buried in all that fur, as if he can't stop petting him. "We don't have wolves where I come from," he says. "Dad says there aren't, but Mom says there's howling in the woods."

Secretly, he believes his Mom, but he'd never tell his Dad that. He gets scary when he yells and Isaac doesn't want to be yelled at.

"I like them," Jon said, "But they can be scary. But I'm going to raise Ghost to be perfectly tame and follow commands."

He was not like a dog, no, but Ghost did seem to understand a few minor commands already. "But someday he might be bigger than I am."

Isaac's a pretty small kid, so it doesn't take much imagination to think about a dog being bigger than him. Still, a wolf was a scary thing. "What if he decides he wants to eat you?" he asks, voice small as he stares up at the large thing. "If he gets hungry or mean?"

"He won't," Jon said stubbornly. "I am going to train him so he follows commands and only hunts when I say. I can do it, I bet." His father had told him that a wolf was not like a dog but Jon didn't care. He didn't think that Ghost would hurt anyone, much less himself.

"He likes you, I think."

Isaac blinks at the thought that something likes him. He pulls his hand away shyly, not sure why the dog would like him because he doesn't have food and he doesn't have anything, really. He's just petting him. "Really?" he asks, his voice small. "How do you know?"

"Because he isn't coming back to me yet," Jon said knowingly. Ghost was silent unlike most wolves and other dogs but he could make his feelings known with actions. So far, he seemed to like Issac more than most other people aside from Jon himself.

Isaac grins at that like he hasn't smiled in a while. He's been too nervous about not making friends or not doing well enough for his parents, but this is pretty simple and it makes him feel honestly a dozen times better than he normally does. "I really like him too. I wish we could get a dog, but Dad doesn't think my brother and I will take care of him."

At six, Isaac doesn't exactly have a comparison to know whether that's true or not.

"It is a lot of work," Jon agreed. "But I don't mind doing things for Ghost, I love him. If you love something, you should want to take care of it and it will be fun and not feel like work."

At least, it seemed that way to Jon. Lady Catelyn didn't seem to feel the same way.

"I really only have my brother," Isaac says. There's no pet, no hobbies, and no real thing in his life that he really loves. At least, not the way Jon is talking about. "But I would do anything for him." Isaac smiles weakly, not knowing if Camden feels the same.

"Mine too," Jon echoed. "Robb is the most important person in the world to me." There was nobody who understood him quite like Robb and he loved him more than anything.

"I have five siblings, though, not just one."

Isaac doesn't know what he'd do with so many siblings. It would probably get loud and noisy and he might not get as much attention as he wants. Still, he'd never be lonely, he knows that. "Do you like it?" he asks, when he's not sure how he feels about it and wants to know more.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I just want to be alone." Usually when that happened, he would just take Ghost and go out into the woods somewhere so it could be nice and quiet and without all the crowding and yelling of his family.

"Sometimes you can feel all alone even with a bunch of people."

"I just feel alone," Isaac says. "Camden's more popular than I am because he's normal. He's not quiet like me. He knows how to make friends." He finally lets go of Ghost, hands in his lap as he stares down at his fingers. "You're nice, though," he says.

"Being quiet is okay," Jon promised. "I'm usually quiet too." He very rarely had anything to say, especially when Lady Catelyn was upset with him. School was a chance to talk and be himself, he guessed, but even still Jon did not often have much to offer in the way of conversation.

"And people don't mind if you're quiet?" He's had teachers worried, his parents tutting because he hasn't been as loud as Camden. Isaac just doesn't really think he sees much point in being noisy if there isn't something important to get noisy about.

"There's a lot of us. Nobody really notices," Jon said, a little brighter than before. "Besides, what's wrong with just being yourself? If you're quiet, you're quiet."

Isaac shrugs, staring down between his feet. "I don't mind being quiet," he says, because it's not exactly his problem. "I have a brother who's more popular than me, though. He talks a lot and he's really popular with everyone and sometimes Dad thinks that I should be more like him," he admits, shrugging his shoulders.

"My stepmother loves my brother but she doesn't love me," Jon offered in exchange. It was not quite the same but sometimes he thought that rather than Jon be more like Robb, Lady Catelyn would just prefer Jon did not exist at all.

Isaac feels a sharp pang, not having meant to bring that up. "I'm sorry," he says, voice small as he stares at Jon. "I'm sorry she's mean," he goes on, slightly vindictive as he bites down on the word as much as he can.

"It's okay. You did not know," Jon said. He would not hold a grudge against someone who was unaware of the situation and said something hurtful. It was not something he talked about often, if at all, and Issac was a rarity in that sense.

Finnick stares openly at the sprawling expanse of playground in front of him openly for several seconds. It's already been months since he's been in regular schooling and certainly deprived of any sort of time dedicated to mere play. Sure, he's still expected to learn the odd thing about numbers and letters, but most of his time is now devoted to how to make fishhooks, how to build fires, and how to find fresh water. (And training on how to become fast and fit, although those lessons aren't nearly so overt yet.)

It's an uncharacteristic moment for him, where he's not sure -- Is this some kind of odd test? Is he allowed to be here? He eyes the swings with an obvious interest, remembering how to go up and down with a few pumps of his legs. Really, he expects Mags to show up any moment and grab him by the ear to take him back down to the beach.

But there's no sign of his mentor for the time being, so he decides he's going to make the most of it. He scrambles across the playground, halted only by the sight of a boy on the ground. He stops, unabashedly friendly and curious, even at this young.

"What are you doing?" he asks, peering down at him.

Isaac blinks, stunned because it takes him a minute to realize that he's the one being spoken to. When he looks up, he flinches for a second because the boy looks a little like Jackson does, which only makes Isaac a bit fidgety because Jackson is super popular and Isaac ... isn't.

"I don't know," he admits, shrugging his shoulders and keeping his eyes down. "Waiting for the bell to ring again," he admits, because that's how a lot of his recesses tend to go. He sits and hopes that nothing bad happens, acknowledging that nothing good does either. Then they do it again and again, each day.

"Why?" Finnick asks, clearly confused by the answer. Being in a classroom was always torture for Finnick who wasn't terribly concerned with who what had done what forever ago. He'd always rather be outside and that was probably also why he had taken to Career training so readily even when his mother had been less than thrilled about the prospect.

"There are swings there," Finnick points with one arm, in case the boy hasn't seen the miracle of them yet.

"I'd be playing alone if I went to the swings usually," Isaac says, which isn't so bad, but then he might get picked on and he doesn't know if he's ready to deal with that. He offers a weak, tentative smile. "You'd play with me?"

"Yeah, sure," Finnick says, shrugging his shoulders down at the boy. It's just swings, he figures. While he's not aware of it at this age, he's always been uncannily good at getting along with most people and is too young to be truly discerning in his choice of playmates. His interaction with others kids have been rare lately, and he'll take what he can get on the playground.

"Come on," Finnick says, starting toward the swing set without checking to see if Isaac is following him.

Isaac stands, checking to see if any of the bigger kids are watching (and checking to see if Camden is watching him, because Isaac's not sure whether he wants his brother to be overprotective or not). "What's your name?" he asks, when he thinks it might be okay to just worry about playing and nothing else.

"Finnick," he answers easily as he claims one of the swings as his own. His fingers wrap around the chains hanging on either side and he can't help the surge of triumph he feels. A swing.

"What's yours?" he asks in return.

"Isaac," he says, watching as Finnick takes hold of a swing and doing the same, tugging on the edge of the swing's chain and curling closer as he tries to get comfortable, though his shoulders are still hunched. "Isaac Lahey." He pumps his legs, trying to get himself higher. "Finnick is a funny name. It sounds like you fidget too much," he says.

"I like it," Finnick says with a smile and a shrug. He doesn't think his name is too weird, and it's certainly not that strange back home. He doesn't think he's ever heard that name Isaac before, but he's also not terribly concerned about it at the moment. He kicks up higher, his swing flying forward, and that's what Finnick is more concerned with at the moment. He lets out a peal of laughter that reveals just how much he's enjoying himself.

Isaac shrugs, not sure he cares what other people are named. After all, isn't there that kid in class who's called Stiles? He's really not sure what a Stiles is, so maybe that's the strangest of the names he's ever heard. He watches Finnick on the swings and how much fun he's having. Isaac's having fun too, he is, but he's more reserved about it.

There's a worried part of him that doesn't want it to end. "What other kind of games do you like to play?" he asks, finally feeling a little braver.

Finnick shrugs easily at the question. There aren't many things on a playground that won't entertain him, even if he -- like most of the kids from his district -- are far more accustomed to games played in the water. He recalls a vivid fascination with slides, although he supposes he really is too big for those too.

"I like monkeybars," Finnick says, eyes casting across the expanse of the playground in front of them. "And the thing that spins." He'd like the uncertainty of running around and around before making a desperate leap onto the metal surface, clinging tightly to the nearest bar.

Isaac finds himself reacting without thinking about how he might look or whether he's going to get yelled at for it because at the very first glance he gets at the spinny thing, his smile broadens with childish delight. "I always wanted to go on the spinny thing," he says, his eyes clouded with the potential joy one could experience (ignoring the sick). "Do you wanna go try it?"

Because swings are great and everything, but they don't cause quite the excitement that nausea inducing can.

"You've never been on it?" Finnick asks, his surprise shining through the question. He jams his feet into the ground, beginning to slow himself down -- so that when he's only a few feet off the ground, he releases the chains and goes flying into the air. He laughs and lands on his feet.

He turns, waiting for Isaac. This is a problem he can easily remedy, although he's still not sure how in the world this boy can not have been on the spinny thing before.

Isaac shakes his head, not wanting to bring up the fact that he worries about being physically sick. After all, he doesn't want to scare his friend away. Isaac follows after, though, stumbling a little clumsily though he finds his footing as he runs after Finnick. "We're not going to go too fast, are we?" he asks, even though secretly he kind of wants to.

"Fast as we can go," Finnick answers, flashing a grin over his shoulder. That was half the fun after all, pushing until your legs were about to give out, running and running -- knowing that the more you ran, the better the ride was going to be when you eventually jumped on.

"You can sit in the middle and I'll spin if you want," Finnick offers, taking a hold of one of the bars.

Isaac's always been a tall kid, but now it doesn't feel like the height is such a problem because for the first time in ages, he's not actually thinking about how tall he is or how uncoordinated that might make him. Instead, all he's thinking about is the fact he's made a kind of new friend. Isaac clambers into the middle, preparing himself by gripping the bars tightly. "We can trade after," he says breathlessly, not wanting to be selfish.

Finnick grins, but doesn't yet answer the offer of a trade. After all, he's got every intention of jumping on after he's got it going fast enough. Finnick digs his feet into the ground, muscles lean and prepared from hours upon hours spent swimming. He grips the metal of the nearest bar tightly and then takes off at a sprint, running as fast as he possibly while propelling the carousel into a spin.

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