defiance {muffin}

XX

The keepers just drop him after the reaping, giving Mohs a chance to scurry away before the excitements and riots take place in the district plaza, watching their two sacrifices ride off into the majestic fucking sunset. He's done all he can for the Lexig family for now, and now that the racing adrenaline pumping through his veins finally calms the fuck down, he allows himself to relax about as well as an alligator on a tight wire.

Shoulders still stiff with a painful lump in his throat leaving the Justice building, he limps away. Body trembling, with his leg aching worse than ever before, he pushes forward. Mohs knows he should go home, see his mother, punch his cousin a few more times, but he just doesn't feel up to it. They would cry and embrace him and all he really wants at this moment is a quiet environment, away from everyone and everything.

Even the normally quiet training center might be packed, like new year's patrons at a gym with fake resolutions. It will be busy for the next few weeks, so much so he may have to turn away those interested in classes for a while, like he does for the first two months every year. After that, interest tapers out as the games linger, fresh in the minds of the district's citizens and everyone either grieves for the loss of two youth, or celebrate for the return of a victor- though it had been over half a decade since district one actually brought someone home, and Mohs felt like it was completely killing morale for tributes.

The long, slow walk past the city center gives his mind ample time to think, too much time. The gentle 'Clack clack clack' of the mahogany cane is the only comfort he receives, the sunlight itself feeling cold on his cheeks. No one really wandered the streets today, either keeping themselves locked inside their homes, or partying it up out in the district center.

What the fuck did Septys think he was doing?

He should have let Mohs go, honestly. Mohs, an only child, who's parents accepted the reality already when their single son, forced to pack and leave, left for the detention center for a crime he didn't even fucking commit. He doesn't have brothers to watch he does now and his paycheck doesn't even pay for a house it does now.

His lips pull apart as he moves, eyebrows furred and a sigh slips away.

It is all extraordinarily strange- released from clutching fingers, a innocent, unconvicted man, allowed to leave based on lack of evidence- yet....

They reaped him? A man who never took tesserae, who hasn't aspired to be in the arena for nearly four years? The evidence against him looks grim, and Mohs is incredibly thankful this was his final reaping, that the yearly torment and hell was at last, over-

Except for his damn cousin.

Uneven footfalls carry him inside the dimly lit building, and a pleasant expression rises to his normally frustrated countenance. The few whom graced the walls, sticking to tables few and far between were people he recognized, who were sure to leave him alone since they, too, were contemplating their own life choices.

All except for the one sitting at the lonely bar.

Mohs hauls himself into one of the spinning stools, his elbows collapsing, holding his torso up while his cane falls easily against the wood-paneled bar. His messenger bag falls with it as it, too, is removed, and his gaze lingers in the mirrors behind the counter, gaze meeting with Taze's dark eyes.

"Hey." he murmurs, the first word they've exchanged since the detention center released its horrible claws from Mohs' chest.

XX

"Like fucking shit." He laughs, the sound dark, caught in his throat. It bubbles over into a gasp as a sharp, aching pain pirouettes down his left leg, and a hand flies down to his thigh while he bends across the surface of the bar. Rain.

"I don't drink anymore." he states rather pained, his hands raised, gesturing at the colorful bottles looming down from above. "Just an extra strength coffee would be great." he states, while the bartender frowns, and fetches the appropriate cup. His lips draw thin, and his gaze falls upon the granite bartop. "...They sent me another letter." he mutters, eyes falling upon the barkeeper as he pours a cup, and offers him milk and sugar- there's no need. Mohs drinks it straight black, downing the ebony liquid like a life-force.

"Those aren't free refills."

"I don't give a damn."

He shoves the cup back towards the bartender who fills it yet again, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Anyway- they want me to go back to work but I don't think I'm ready. They said they still had a sub in for me, but like... I dunno if I even want anything to do with it anymore. What else could I do though Taze? I can't work in the diamond mines, and I can't-" he stops as his second cup flutters before him.

This one he drinks slowly, savoring the bitter slap and sting of heat as it drowns itself in his throat. "How have you been? I haven't seen you for a few months." Months- has it really been that long? Discomfort still claims his leg, and his fingers dip down to soothe the aching muscles. "You look just the same, like you always do. Nothing different?" he comments as his fingers begin to tremble, and the adrenaline finally finishes running its course through his bones, leaving him tired, exhausted yet again.