no one could save me but you // [73rd D10 Train]
Jun 4, 2016 0:04:40 GMT -5
Post by admin kay on Jun 4, 2016 0:04:40 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
The tributes had been sequestered elsewhere in the Mayor’s home, rotating through their tearful goodbyes. Mace knew he ought to be empathizing more with them; once, them had been him. And while these tributes – like all of those since the Sixtieth – were important to him, no one had ever rivaled Saffron Lowe.
She’d tugged him into the servants’ alley, which led to the kitchens. Mace was pretty sure Marlboro didn’t have any servants, but it was a tidy, dark place. By memory, he brushed the hair back from her face, melded his lips to hers. There were so many reasons to stay hidden in the shadows, and so few to board the train. In the Capitol he would see his best friends and his daughter. It was those faces – and those alone – that ever made him board the train.
Eventually they unwound, Mace grumbling about duty. He held fast to Saffron’s hand as they walked the familiar path at the back of the procession. His wave at the station was half-hearted, his mind dark and dreamy.
Mace directed the two impossibly young tributes to the dining car and sent his children to the sleeping car to wash up for dinner. For a wonder, they obeyed him. In the stolen moment before they had to prep their tributes, he leaned over Saffron’s shoulder and grazed her earlobe with his teeth. “More later,” he promised and then straightened, becoming the Victor Mace Emberstatt, instead of the besotted boy next door.
Saffron and he moved as players on a stage, each step routine. They occupied the dining car couch, across from the tributes. He’d discovered, only by talking to the victors, that not everyone passed the majority of their ride in silence. Julian had always scoffed at the lack of etiquette among Teners, but Mace found the slow, winding road towards conversation the most appropriate thing. It gave him time to size up the boy and the girl, to see more than a polite greeting and grief-stricken eyes.
At last he reached out with his free hand, first to the boy he did not know, and then to the girl he did. “Sorry to be meetin’ ya like this, Kizzy, but it’s a pleasure all the same. Bailey, it’s been awhile.” But clearly not long enough. He would have liked to have never seen the Truus girl again.
She’d tugged him into the servants’ alley, which led to the kitchens. Mace was pretty sure Marlboro didn’t have any servants, but it was a tidy, dark place. By memory, he brushed the hair back from her face, melded his lips to hers. There were so many reasons to stay hidden in the shadows, and so few to board the train. In the Capitol he would see his best friends and his daughter. It was those faces – and those alone – that ever made him board the train.
Eventually they unwound, Mace grumbling about duty. He held fast to Saffron’s hand as they walked the familiar path at the back of the procession. His wave at the station was half-hearted, his mind dark and dreamy.
Mace directed the two impossibly young tributes to the dining car and sent his children to the sleeping car to wash up for dinner. For a wonder, they obeyed him. In the stolen moment before they had to prep their tributes, he leaned over Saffron’s shoulder and grazed her earlobe with his teeth. “More later,” he promised and then straightened, becoming the Victor Mace Emberstatt, instead of the besotted boy next door.
Saffron and he moved as players on a stage, each step routine. They occupied the dining car couch, across from the tributes. He’d discovered, only by talking to the victors, that not everyone passed the majority of their ride in silence. Julian had always scoffed at the lack of etiquette among Teners, but Mace found the slow, winding road towards conversation the most appropriate thing. It gave him time to size up the boy and the girl, to see more than a polite greeting and grief-stricken eyes.
At last he reached out with his free hand, first to the boy he did not know, and then to the girl he did. “Sorry to be meetin’ ya like this, Kizzy, but it’s a pleasure all the same. Bailey, it’s been awhile.” But clearly not long enough. He would have liked to have never seen the Truus girl again.
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