A Little Less Conversation // [Safe]
Aug 28, 2016 21:40:31 GMT -5
Post by admin kay on Aug 28, 2016 21:40:31 GMT -5
[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]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
They'd been back in Ten for almost a month and summer was fading fast. He spent the last minutes of the day putting his children to bed before turning to the window. The sun set over Saffron's house, the warm orange light descending to dark in her bedroom window. Time was, he'd have been out in the fields, building a small camp fire, cows grumbling at his back. He almost missed it. Not the hard packed earth beneath his boots or the pervasive loneliness or the stink of the herd - all those things he could forget. He missed the simple rhythm of life before he'd known grief and love, pain and pleasure. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to recapture his youth, but it was like trying to hug a ghost.
On his way down the stairwell, he passed Elon's portrait and let his fingers trail along the bottom frame.
He used to throw rocks at her window, but now he just waited patiently for Saffron to sneak out of her house. Surely no one was fooled any more - not Mrs. Lowe, not Paige, certainly not Reggie, and not even Oscar. Still, there seemed to be something important about keeping up the charade. The very last of the day's light caught Saffron's red hair and stilled his heart. It didn't start beating again until his hand closed around hers. As quiet as the night around them, they retraced his steps upstairs, Saffron naturally drawing towards his bedroom.
Mace shook his head and then jerked his chin towards the other end of the hallway. He released his lifeline for a moment to tug the string of the stairs to the attic. During the summer it was far too hot to be up there for any reason at all. With the evenings cooling, he'd spent the good part of the last few nights cleaning out the dust and cobwebs. He'd never stored much up there, although he'd found plenty of Regalia's belongings in trunks. He needed to talk to her and Oscar about that; they could keep their things in the basement. He hadn't wanted to alert her to his plans and thus not only were her trunks shoved up against the darkest corner, he also hadn't managed to furnish it very well. An old paisley couch, a threadbare rug, a futon covered with a mismatched assortment of pillows, sheets and blanket. There was only one lamp and it burned warmly between the couch and the futon.
He guided her up the ladder stairs and then hauled them up like a drawbridge. The day's heat hadn't quite dissipated, making it a bit stuffy. He leaned over a set of pine candles, lighting them to clear the air. At last he turned to her and shrugged.
"We can redo the bedroom downstairs, if you want. I just thought this'd be more private since you can hear a pin drop between the nursery 'n the master. You said you were wantin' to talk?"
On his way down the stairwell, he passed Elon's portrait and let his fingers trail along the bottom frame.
He used to throw rocks at her window, but now he just waited patiently for Saffron to sneak out of her house. Surely no one was fooled any more - not Mrs. Lowe, not Paige, certainly not Reggie, and not even Oscar. Still, there seemed to be something important about keeping up the charade. The very last of the day's light caught Saffron's red hair and stilled his heart. It didn't start beating again until his hand closed around hers. As quiet as the night around them, they retraced his steps upstairs, Saffron naturally drawing towards his bedroom.
Mace shook his head and then jerked his chin towards the other end of the hallway. He released his lifeline for a moment to tug the string of the stairs to the attic. During the summer it was far too hot to be up there for any reason at all. With the evenings cooling, he'd spent the good part of the last few nights cleaning out the dust and cobwebs. He'd never stored much up there, although he'd found plenty of Regalia's belongings in trunks. He needed to talk to her and Oscar about that; they could keep their things in the basement. He hadn't wanted to alert her to his plans and thus not only were her trunks shoved up against the darkest corner, he also hadn't managed to furnish it very well. An old paisley couch, a threadbare rug, a futon covered with a mismatched assortment of pillows, sheets and blanket. There was only one lamp and it burned warmly between the couch and the futon.
He guided her up the ladder stairs and then hauled them up like a drawbridge. The day's heat hadn't quite dissipated, making it a bit stuffy. He leaned over a set of pine candles, lighting them to clear the air. At last he turned to her and shrugged.
"We can redo the bedroom downstairs, if you want. I just thought this'd be more private since you can hear a pin drop between the nursery 'n the master. You said you were wantin' to talk?"
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