Of Those We've Memorized // {Kirito}
Nov 3, 2015 18:59:49 GMT -5
Post by admin kay on Nov 3, 2015 18:59:49 GMT -5
a note from the desk of
Mace Emberstatt
when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,of District Ten
that's when you feel my kind of love
It was strange but Mace could not recall the last time he had been in an airship, and he had not one but two trips scheduled in the span of a week. He must have been in one after his transition from snow to heat but he couldn’t recall a specific instance. Always he took the train from Ten, even though an airship would have been faster. The outer districts just weren’t afforded the same fanfare, and he suspected that after this trip, Kirito would be treated the same way.
He still wasn’t at all sure why he was here with the newest victor, zooming over the variable landscapes of past arenas. As far he knew – which admittedly as not far – things between Kirito and Katelyn were solid. So, where was she? Did the Victor of the Sixty-Ninth have a more pressing engagement? That seemed extremely unlikely. Did the Capitol expect a more explosive reaction from him? Did they think he – Mace – was going to lose it in the Quell arena which had been blessedly lacking in ice?
He didn’t know. So as they glided, instead of talking to Kirito, he brooded.
They landed just outside of the steampunk arena, at the visitor center, which had been cleared for the day for their visit. From the manifest and chattering of Kirito’s styling team, they would visit the center last as everyone wanted the best daylight photos taken inside of the arena. Mace stood and stretched, his back popping in several places. He waited for the team to finish prepping Kirito and then smoothly stepped between the escort and the boy. “I’ve got him,” he said, glancing at the cameras. It was enough of a reminder for Finter and Peacekeeper to take one step back. “You ready for this, Kirito?” But it was a worthless question. They were going in no matter if he was ready or not.
Together they followed another set of Peacekeepers through a series of concrete hallways, through several sets of steel doors, and finally into the arena itself. They weren’t on the ground, however. They stepped out of the hallways into fresh air on top of a platform. Mace cast around, perplexed, before he recognized the iron bars of a train track.
There had been trains in the Seventieth arena?
He rubbed his jaw. “Think we’re going for a ride?”
In the distant, a whistle. Mace should have been paying attention to the young victor at his side, but as he swept his gaze over the arena, he realized he knew next to nothing about the most recent Games. His boys had died early – too early – and his marriage had been falling apart and when the fuck had they put a train track through the middle of the arena?
And why were they boarding the train now?
The flashes and clicks of a dozen cameras nearly drowned out the train’s approach. They were board in the second to last car, almost at the caboose. It was a dining car, and Mace wondered if it had been so during the Games, but he suddenly felt horribly embarrassed. He shouldn’t have been there. Someone who knew Kirito better should have been at his side. Maybe that’s why he’d been chosen, because whatever horrors were about to greet Kirito, he’d be powerless to help.
Even though the Peacekeepers entered first, Mace swept the length of the car with his steeled gaze. He didn’t know what to say to Kirito, didn’t have any memories or emotions to offer. But he wasn’t completely useless. He folded his arms, rolled back his shoulders, coming up to his full height. He’d shed so much weight in the last year to be reasonably lean and no less sour-faced than he’d ever been. Grief had etched new lines around his eyes and mouth, aging him a good five years.
If he couldn’t be a mentor to Kirito, at least he could be a bodyguard.
Finter and the styling team disappeared into the caboose, leaving them with the Peacekeepers. They urged them down the train as it departed the station, the cameras clicking lazily. Mace had so effectively tuned them out that when they stopped, he didn’t notice for a moment.
It was only when the doors on either side of the passenger car locked that Mace realized he was alone with Kirito. “This can’t be good,” he muttered. He put his hand to Kirito’s shoulder. “I’m gonna check out the rest of the car. See if you can’t get that door open.”
He didn’t want to leave Kirito’s side, but the boy was a victor, too. Presumably he could handle himself in a fight. Mace’s fingertips twitched as he marched row after row, checking each for anything lurking. He found a few dark shrouds and some rusty stains. The Capitol could have surely gotten those out. So why leave them? Had someone died here?
“Hey, Kirito, did anyone –”
The rest of his question was cut off as the skylight above him was ripped from its hinges. Mace barely had time to bring his arms up to shield his face as someone dropped right on top of him. His sparring training with Julian kicked in. He shoved, opening up a little space from the attacker, even as he fall back into a velvety chair. She – definitely a she, given the golden waves around her face – struck out with her palm aimed right at his nose. He managed to deflect it, but only by an inch.
When her palm smashed into his cheek instead, it felt like a bullet exploding. There was more than flesh in that hand, in the body he grabbed by the waist. “Kirito!” He called in warning and in a plea for backup.
Her elbow came down on top of his head.
Mace collapsed on his side. He was aware only of landing on something warm and wet as he receded into a world of diamonds.
He still wasn’t at all sure why he was here with the newest victor, zooming over the variable landscapes of past arenas. As far he knew – which admittedly as not far – things between Kirito and Katelyn were solid. So, where was she? Did the Victor of the Sixty-Ninth have a more pressing engagement? That seemed extremely unlikely. Did the Capitol expect a more explosive reaction from him? Did they think he – Mace – was going to lose it in the Quell arena which had been blessedly lacking in ice?
He didn’t know. So as they glided, instead of talking to Kirito, he brooded.
They landed just outside of the steampunk arena, at the visitor center, which had been cleared for the day for their visit. From the manifest and chattering of Kirito’s styling team, they would visit the center last as everyone wanted the best daylight photos taken inside of the arena. Mace stood and stretched, his back popping in several places. He waited for the team to finish prepping Kirito and then smoothly stepped between the escort and the boy. “I’ve got him,” he said, glancing at the cameras. It was enough of a reminder for Finter and Peacekeeper to take one step back. “You ready for this, Kirito?” But it was a worthless question. They were going in no matter if he was ready or not.
Together they followed another set of Peacekeepers through a series of concrete hallways, through several sets of steel doors, and finally into the arena itself. They weren’t on the ground, however. They stepped out of the hallways into fresh air on top of a platform. Mace cast around, perplexed, before he recognized the iron bars of a train track.
There had been trains in the Seventieth arena?
He rubbed his jaw. “Think we’re going for a ride?”
In the distant, a whistle. Mace should have been paying attention to the young victor at his side, but as he swept his gaze over the arena, he realized he knew next to nothing about the most recent Games. His boys had died early – too early – and his marriage had been falling apart and when the fuck had they put a train track through the middle of the arena?
And why were they boarding the train now?
The flashes and clicks of a dozen cameras nearly drowned out the train’s approach. They were board in the second to last car, almost at the caboose. It was a dining car, and Mace wondered if it had been so during the Games, but he suddenly felt horribly embarrassed. He shouldn’t have been there. Someone who knew Kirito better should have been at his side. Maybe that’s why he’d been chosen, because whatever horrors were about to greet Kirito, he’d be powerless to help.
Even though the Peacekeepers entered first, Mace swept the length of the car with his steeled gaze. He didn’t know what to say to Kirito, didn’t have any memories or emotions to offer. But he wasn’t completely useless. He folded his arms, rolled back his shoulders, coming up to his full height. He’d shed so much weight in the last year to be reasonably lean and no less sour-faced than he’d ever been. Grief had etched new lines around his eyes and mouth, aging him a good five years.
If he couldn’t be a mentor to Kirito, at least he could be a bodyguard.
Finter and the styling team disappeared into the caboose, leaving them with the Peacekeepers. They urged them down the train as it departed the station, the cameras clicking lazily. Mace had so effectively tuned them out that when they stopped, he didn’t notice for a moment.
It was only when the doors on either side of the passenger car locked that Mace realized he was alone with Kirito. “This can’t be good,” he muttered. He put his hand to Kirito’s shoulder. “I’m gonna check out the rest of the car. See if you can’t get that door open.”
He didn’t want to leave Kirito’s side, but the boy was a victor, too. Presumably he could handle himself in a fight. Mace’s fingertips twitched as he marched row after row, checking each for anything lurking. He found a few dark shrouds and some rusty stains. The Capitol could have surely gotten those out. So why leave them? Had someone died here?
“Hey, Kirito, did anyone –”
The rest of his question was cut off as the skylight above him was ripped from its hinges. Mace barely had time to bring his arms up to shield his face as someone dropped right on top of him. His sparring training with Julian kicked in. He shoved, opening up a little space from the attacker, even as he fall back into a velvety chair. She – definitely a she, given the golden waves around her face – struck out with her palm aimed right at his nose. He managed to deflect it, but only by an inch.
When her palm smashed into his cheek instead, it felt like a bullet exploding. There was more than flesh in that hand, in the body he grabbed by the waist. “Kirito!” He called in warning and in a plea for backup.
Her elbow came down on top of his head.
Mace collapsed on his side. He was aware only of landing on something warm and wet as he receded into a world of diamonds.
