Its All Gonna Fall Eventually (Morgie!)

Deception Hammond

Someone really ought to put me out of my misery. I've been sitting here in Kylee's bedroom for the past hour listening to her blab on and on about the test she failed in school today, how fat she is, how much life sucks, blah, blah, blah...Why did I even start going out with her? Oh, yeah. Because she's hot. But when I have to start listening to girl ramble unceasingly about things that I could care less about, I start to wonder if it's even worth it. But I can't break up with Kylee. I only have one other girlfriend right now, Elissa, and if she broke up with me too...I'd be single. Just the thought sends shivers up and down my spine.

"Are you okay baby?" Kylee asks when I shudder. I can't tell her what I'm thinking about, but at least she's shut up for long enough that I can tell her I have to leave. I don't like having to lie to her, but she's annoying the hell out of me right now. I grab my guitar case off the floor. I had intended to sing her a new song I'd written, but then she went off on her rant. I kiss her quickly on the lips.

"I'm fine. Just remembered I have to pick up some beer for Harvard. He's all out again. See you later?" Kylee grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me into a deep kiss. That's another reason I started dating her. She's an amazing kisser. "I'll come by tomorrow, 'kay?" I search my mind, trying to remember if Elissa and I had any plans for tomorrow. Nope. "See you then."

I head out her bedroom door and then her front door, glad that both of her parents are out. They always assume the worst when I emerge from her bedroom. Kylee has made it clear that sort of thing won't happen until she sees a wedding ring. I have no intention of ever buying her said ring, so I guess she'll never know what she's missing.

Harvard isn't out of beer. Not even close. I bought him a ton of it just a couple of days ago. He's only had a few of those bottles, and I stole a couple as well. He never notices he has beers missing, so I don't think it's a big deal that I steal them. Harvard is my uncle, though he acts more like a...well, a drunk. He's also my legal guardian, and has been ever since my parents died when I was two. He isn't a very good parental figure, or a very good role model. But at least his job of raising dogs to be Capitol pets puts bread on the table.

I take a road that goes through the center of town to get home. I have a little money with me, the remainder of the small allowance Harvard gives me every week. I consider stopping in at a bakery and getting something sweet. Or I could go get some more paper for song writing. Before I have a chance to decide which, I see a guy assault some girl sitting on a bench. He grabs her purse and starts running away. All it takes is a quick look at the girl to make up my mind. Beautiful girl in distress? Of course I'll help her. I shove my guitar case at her. "Watch this for me."

I take off running after the thief. He's got a head start, but I have long legs. And I'm pretty fast, too. That happens when you've been yanked around by dogs on leashes for ten years. "Give it up now, Asshole!" I yell after him. I'm gaining on him, and if he's smart, he'll stop. If he's not, I'll have to tackle him. He looks over his shoulder, his eyes going wide when he see how close I am. Panicking, he runs even faster, the bright purple purse clutched tightly to his chest. I put on a burst of speed, then leap into the air, grabbing him around the middle and bringing him down hard on the concrete. I've wrestled the purse from his hands and have managed to hold him down when I see the other guy. Because of course he would have an accomplice.

"If you try to fight me, I'll shout for a peacekeeper. But if you run right now, I won't chase you, and I won't turn you in." They must believe me, because they both start running. I'll keep my end of the deal and not sic the Peacekeepers on them. Standing up, I brush myself off, then start heading back to the girl.

"I believe this is yours?" I hold the purse out to her on one finger. I'm still trying to catch my breath from my crazy sprint, and my shirt is sticky with sweat. I probably smell, too, but I hope she doesn't notice.

Deception Hammond

The girl doesn't look very pleased when she takes her purse back from me. What, did she want it to be stolen? Oh, I get it. She thinks I ruined it or something, 'cause I'm a guy. And guys always seem to ruin girls things when they're trying to be valiant. She sits back, leaning against the bench, her arms crossed over her chest. "You knocked over my pencils," she says. The pencils obviously mean a lot to her, or else she wouldn't have even mentioned it. I have apparently messed up again, and the only thing left to do is beg for forgiveness. Or say I'm sorry.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...Are they alright? I mean, they'll still work, right?" Okay, so I don't know a whole lot about colored pencils. Maybe they don't color right if they get wet or something.

"Thanks for getting my purse back. You really saved me there." She pulls some money from the depths of her purse and hands it to me. I push it back at her, shaking my head. I don't need or want her money. But taking a closer look at her, I notice that she's rather pretty. I may not want her money, but I wouldn't mind having her...

"I didn't get your purse expecting a reward. I was just trying to do the right thing. But if you want to repay me, I know this great little cafe down the street from here. We could a get a drink and call it even." Yes, I know it's cliche. But it actually does work. Most of the time. And I'm hoping it'll work on her. I stick out my hand and say, "My name's Dep."

Deception Hammond

A smile crosses my lips as she takes my hand and gives me her name. She sounds slightly hesitant as she accepts my offer, but I don't worry about it. I'm a strange guy, and she has every reason to be wary of me. Well, you know what I mean. I'm not saying I'm going to rape her or anything. I'm just saying it's good to be cautious of people you've only just met. Even if they did help you out. I like girls, but I would never force myself on one like that. Especially not for my first time. Okay, okay, I may be a ladies man, but I haven't found someone I like enough for that. It's a good thing Namia can't hear my thoughts right now, or else she'd probably be scared away. But just in case she can hear... I am not a creep, I promise! I'm a great guy! Daaate meee!

Namia gathers up her art supplies, and I grab the handle of my guitar case. I don't bother to inspect it, because getting thrown at some girl isn't the worst it's seen. Dog pee would be close to the top of the list, I think, if not number one. Luckily, though, dog pee is easy to wipe up, and hasn't damaged the case at all. And it doesn't smell, either, something I've made sure of many times. It would be terrible if I met a girl while I was toting this thing, and the only reason she wasn't attracted to me was because of a guitar case that smelled like dog urine.

I start off down the street, Namia following behind me. The cafe is really close to here, just a few buildings away. It isn't very crowded today, with only four of the many tables filled. There's a counter up at the front of the shop to order drinks and pastries, and that's where I head. I stick my hand in my pocket, trying to figure out if I have enough to treat Namia. She definitely has enough cash in her purse to pay for twenty people, but it's polite to pay for her myself. Or charming, I suppose. Either way, girls seem to love it.

"You can get whatever you like. My treat." For myself, I'm thinking black coffee and a donut. Most people don't like their coffee black, especially the girls I bring here. But Harvard drinks his black all the time, so I guess I picked it up from him.

Deception Hammond

I order my coffee, along with an old-style donut. I haven't had one in a while, which is strange, considering they're my favorite. Namia orders next. I can't help but notice that she's getting the cheapest stuff here. It kind of offends me. I guess since she's so rich she thinks I have next to nothing. Which isn't far from the truth. But if I offer to pay, it means I want to get whatever she wants. Oh well. At least she's considerate.

After we grab our food, Namia and I settle at a table away from the large window. I never liked sitting close to the windows in public places. Just knowing that whoever's walking by can look in and watch me as they walk by freaks me out. I'd rather be in the back, where there's less people and no one can stare. There's also a smaller chance one of my girlfriends will spot me if I'm back here.

I'm a few bites into my donut when I notice Namia isn't eating. She's looking at me, studying me. I look down and pretend I didn't notice. A moment later, I look back up at her and do the same. She's pretty, with her dark hair and eyes a matching color. Her brown eyes are so dark and fathomless, I think I could stare into them forever without ever finding the end. This is why I love eyes her color. They're the kind of eyes good songs are written about.

She's staring now down at her water in it's plastic cup, laughing softly. I can barely hear her, but I know she made the sound. Why isn't she drinking it? Is there something wrong with it, or- Oh, I think I get it. She needs a straw, but she doesn't want to get up to get one, and she's too shy(?) to ask me to get one. Pushing myself away from the table, I say, "Hold on a sec," I walk over to where they have lids for the plastic cups, straws, and napkins. The lids are arranged by size, largest on the left, smallest on the right. The little metal cup next to them is filled with straws in paper wrappings. I grab one and head back to Namia, peeling the paper off as I go. When I get back to the table, I plunk the straw into her drink, crumpling the paper in my hand. I let it drop on the table. It uncurls a little before settling into an odd shape. "There you go."

"So, you play the guitar? That's neat. I love music, but I don't have enough patience to master an instrument, and my voice sounds like a dying cat." Namia says. I try to hold back a laugh, but I only succeed in snorting loudly. People from a table near ours turn to look at me strangely. I give them a look telling them to mind there own business before I turn to Namia.

"I doubt you sound like a dying cat." I run a hand across my guitar case, remembering when Harvard decided to teach me how to play. I was only five or six, but Harvard said I was old enough. He trusted me with his guitar. Every night after dinner he'd teach me for an hour, sometimes more. The dogs would howl at my playing, since I was so bad at first, and Harvard and I would laugh at them in turn. But as time went on and Harvard started drinking more, the lessons slowed and eventually stopped. By then I knew enough that it didn't matter whether Harvard taught me or not. But I do miss those nights when I felt more like his son than an orphan dumped on his doorstep.

Gesturing at Namia's sketch book, I say, "So you draw, huh? I bet you're pretty good."

Deception Hammond

The way Namia strokes her sketchbook makes me think that she must really love drawing. I wonder if it's the same thing to her as music is to me- an escape. Music isn't just an escape, though. It's freedom. It's whoever I want to be and however I'm feeling. It's my way of expressing myself when words fail me. If my guitar was taken away from me, I'd sing anyways, just because I'd be lost without some from of music. It's how I find myself, and stay in touch with who I find. Is it the same for Namia and her drawing? Or does she just love it to no end?

"I'm not that good," she says softly, looking down at the table. Well, she's other humble, or doesn't have much confidence in her work. I'd push her to show me a picture, but I know she'd probably be disappointed in my reaction. Art is great and all, but I wouldn't know what to say. It looks pretty? Nice? Intriguing? I know I'd be disappointed if someone said something along those lines about my music. People like to be appreciated. And when it comes down to it, saying you don't understand something or don't like it is better than giving someone sweet lies, even if you do mean well.

"I'd love to hear you play sometime. What kind of songs do you play?" Namia asks. I don't really think she's interested. She's probably just trying to change the subject. So she doesn't want to talk about her art. Fine. I'll act like I don't notice the attempt at subject change.

"I play a lot," I tell her. "I know a lot of old songs, and I play those sometimes." I've actually been collecting old songs for quite a while. Most of them i know from Harvard, but there are some that other people have taught me. Sometimes I ask people who have come to listen to me play on the street if they know any songs from before the Dark Days. Those are the kinds of songs I really like. "But I write a lot, too." I unlatch the metal clips that hold my guitar case closed, flipping the lid open. "Do you want me to play something for you?" I don't wait for an answer before pulling my guitar out and balancing it on my knee. I'm aware of people staring at me, but I don't care. I love performing for people. It's got nothing to do with the attention. That's a definite plus, but it's not my main reason. I perform simply because I love doing it.

I play a few short notes, trying to decide what to play. I settle on an old one Harvard taught me ages ago.

Can we get back to the basics?
Back where we came from?
When we didn't have no worries
We were basking in the sun.

I keep singing, knowing full well that people are staring and that I'm probably embarrassing Namia. Finally, I reach the final verse.

Let's take a look at the future
See where we left off
I'm so grateful that I found you
Cause without you, I am lost.

Part of the reason I like the song is because it's slow. I've always preferred singing slow songs to the upbeat ones, though I'm not sure why. I also like it because of the story it tells, about a guy who loves a girl, except she broke up with him. He wants her back, but she won't give him the time of day. He's hurting so much without her, and in the end, she admits that she's been hurting, too. At least, that's how I always interpreted it. I could be wrong. But I always liked the song. I always wanted to love someone so much I couldn't be myself without them. So much that I'd be half of a whole. But nooo. I had to go and decide I'd rather be with three girls and risk being caught and called a lying, cheating, bastard instead of be alone.

I lower my guitar back into it's case as a few people applaud. I busy myself with my guitar as I wait for a reaction from Namia.

Deception Hammond

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Namia claps with the rest of them as I close the clasps on my guitar case. Her mouth is spread wide in a smile of pure joy. Just seeing it makes me smile back at her. She stares for a while, then looks down, as if embarrassed. I love it when my music makes people happy. When it evokes a smile in them you wouldn't normally see, like the sun coming out after a week of rain. "That was amazing, Dep. You're... really good. Look at how you brightened up this place?" I smile at her words and look down into the depths of my coffee. Even after years of being complimented on my playing, it's still strange to hear it. It's strange to realize that people actually really love my music. It almost makes me want to try getting the Capitol's attention again. That would be the greatest thing ever, to play in the Capitol for crowds of people. But that's just s dream, and not even a realistic one.

"You certainly made my day." She adds quietly. I peer up at her, wondering what kind of life this girl lives. Certainly one far different from mine. I bet she's never worked a day in her life. She's probably had everything she ever wanted, right from birth. Strangely, I don't envy her for this. There's times that I wish I had all the money in the world, so I could do whatever I want, and be whoever I want to be. But then I remember that being rich can be as much of a curse as it is a blessing. People are always using you to get what they want, and you have to be exactly what people expect and do what they expect, or else you'll cause a scandal.

Maybe being poor is more of a blessing than anyone realizes. Sure, it isn't easy trying to feed your whole family, or keep everything from falling apart. But at least there's no one telling you who to be and what to do. You can be who you want when you're poor, and no one protests. Maybe drawing is the one thing Namia has that's all her own. The one thing she can do without others pressuring her. Maybe it's her freedom.

I look down at her sketch pad and realize that she's drawing me. It scares me how much it looks like me. It's almost haunting, the way she captured my expression, and the look in my eyes...What is that? There's something there I almost don't recognize. I stare at the picture for a few minutes, trying to figure out what it is. And then I figure it out. I look content. Not happy, not yearning, not free. Just content. Okay with who I am.

I shake my head. That's silly. I can't be okay with who I am, because the truth is, I hate myself most of the time. When I was a kid, I never imagined becoming who I am today. A guy with multiple girlfriends, too afraid to let them go. But afraid of what? Of being alone? Everyone has to be alone sometimes. No matter how many girlfriends I have, there will come a time when I will be alone. It's inevitable. But deep down, I have this overwhelming fear of being alone. It's as if I'll get swallowed up by own blackness if I spend too much time in my head. Like right now.

I realize the smile has fallen off my face, and I've been staring at Namia's sketch with a blank face. I wonder for a moment if I've let my mask fall long enough for someone to detect what lurks beneath. Did Namia look up at me and see something in my face, see the terror in my eyes at the thought of being alone? Has she caught a glimpse of the person I keep squashed down inside, the little boy, all alone, with no one to love him? I try to push these thoughts out of my mind. I say there's no one to move me, but I know that's impossible. I've surrounded myself with people who care about me. At least I assume they care about me. My girlfriends say they love me, but how many times have I said the same words, not meaning it?

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment before I exhale. Time to put the mask back on. I can't let anyone see what's deep down beneath. I can't let anyone see my scars. More than anything, I want to get drunk right now. I've never been drunk before, but it doesn't sound so bad. Maybe I'd forget for a moment about all my fears. But I can't right now. So I plaster a smile on my face an say, "You know, you're really good." I gesture towards Namia's sketch pad. "I can tell you really love drawing." I look into her face, trying to meet her eyes. They're such a pretty color, and so deep it seems like you could drown in them. I glance down at her sketch pad again, drawn in by the eyes. How could they be my eyes? How could I possibly look so content?

"I think you really have a gift. It looks so lifelike, so..." I trail off, trying to find words. I don't want to say too much. My mask might slip again. I want to tell her something about how those eyes affect me, but I don't want to hint at anything more. "The eyes are really good," I tell her, deciding that's the safest thing to say. I finish off my donut, now purposely avoiding Namia's eyes. I'm afraid she'll see something there I don't want to be seen.

Yeah, thanks for the input
Thanks for the call.

((ooc-sorry it took me so long!))