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The Train That Goes to the Kingdom // [Mace One Shot]
Oct 15, 2016 23:34:22 GMT -5
Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Oct 15, 2016 23:34:22 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
Mace stood at the window of the creche, his hands jammed into faded jean pockets and grey gaze hazy. Most of the toddlers racing through the obstacle course he didn't even recognize. Either they belonged to some of the much older victors (or perhaps were victor grandchildren?) or, more likely, they were young Capitolites. Perhaps a few of the dark haired ones belong to that one vapid Gamemaker. He turned aside harsher, truer insults for her. He could only hate her so much when confronted with the depth of his misplaced jealousy.
The teacher (not Saffron, which didn't surprise him, but also worried him - where was she?) called the children together. A small circle formed of toddlers, some too young to sit still and some almost old enough to enter school. Coralee was one of the latter; when they returned to the Capitol for the Quell, she wouldn't come to the Creche at all. She would attend whatever foreign kindergarten the Capitol deemed appropriate, just like his older children. He'd miss being able to check on her during the days, but he'd long grown tired of fighting with the local bureaucrats.
Well, the bureaucrats, and Julian.
His stomach lurched as he reached for the door. At some point he needed to sit down with Julian and talk to him about Juliet's life and education. He hoped that she, like Kieran, might be able to live with him in Ten, for a time. It might be excellent perspective for her and he felt her absence like a bullet hole through his heart. If he was being perfectly honest, he missed Julian often, too, but not in the same way. He missed him as a companion, as his sparring partner, as one parent to another. He could never find the right words to explain how he felt to Saffron. He couldn't even find the right words to explain it to himself. But he knew he would have to try again as he walked into the creche to collect the daughter he shared with Julian Bryze.
Coralee, being one of the oldest, was naturally one of the most popular kids in the class. The moment the teacher released them, she became swarmed by the other children. Mace smiled sadly. All of his children were so big already, so capable and social. They didn't run to him first when they fell any more.
The piercing wail of a baby broke his reverie. The teacher had scooped up a little boy who had tears running down his face. Mace glanced at Coralee - still tangled up with her friends - before stepping to the teacher's side. "Long day?" He asked, bending his head to catch the little boy's gaze.
"Not really. He's just a little colic sometimes. And you know his parents - they both work such long hours."
Mace nodded like he knew exactly who they were, even though he had no idea. "I been told I'm good with babies. May I?"
She handed him over almost too quickly and then ran after a little girl who was putting legos up her nose. Mace snuggled the little red haired boy close. Despite the wealth of his tears and the occasional ear rupturing howl, he still smelled and felt like a baby. "You're what, maybe a year? Y'know, the cattle I used to herd, the calves would be up and walkin' 'round not an hour after bein' born. How'd you like that, hmm?"
Carefully Mace lowered himself to his knees and then set the baby - now hiccuping more than crying - on the ground. He offered his two pointer fingers for the boy to grasp and slowly levered him to his feet. Then, he stepped back on his knees, drawing the boy towards him. He'd clearly had some practice; he stopped crying as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. When they hit the backwall of the creche, Mace scooped him up. "Not bad, kid. Oh. You're the Miles boy."
"Ross," the teacher said, having reappeared at his side.
"Did Saffron come in today?" He asked.
She shrugged. "I'm not sure." She paused and when he didn't say anything, went on. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Emberstatt. I think Coralee's ready to go home now. And congratulations on your tributes surviving the Bloodbath."
His heart lurched as he handed little Ross Miles to her. That's why he was here - for Coralee, for Ansgar Todd and Myara Lowe - not to transfer his dreams to someone else's child. He opened his palm to his daughter, ashamed of how much he had, and how much more he wanted.
The teacher (not Saffron, which didn't surprise him, but also worried him - where was she?) called the children together. A small circle formed of toddlers, some too young to sit still and some almost old enough to enter school. Coralee was one of the latter; when they returned to the Capitol for the Quell, she wouldn't come to the Creche at all. She would attend whatever foreign kindergarten the Capitol deemed appropriate, just like his older children. He'd miss being able to check on her during the days, but he'd long grown tired of fighting with the local bureaucrats.
Well, the bureaucrats, and Julian.
His stomach lurched as he reached for the door. At some point he needed to sit down with Julian and talk to him about Juliet's life and education. He hoped that she, like Kieran, might be able to live with him in Ten, for a time. It might be excellent perspective for her and he felt her absence like a bullet hole through his heart. If he was being perfectly honest, he missed Julian often, too, but not in the same way. He missed him as a companion, as his sparring partner, as one parent to another. He could never find the right words to explain how he felt to Saffron. He couldn't even find the right words to explain it to himself. But he knew he would have to try again as he walked into the creche to collect the daughter he shared with Julian Bryze.
Coralee, being one of the oldest, was naturally one of the most popular kids in the class. The moment the teacher released them, she became swarmed by the other children. Mace smiled sadly. All of his children were so big already, so capable and social. They didn't run to him first when they fell any more.
The piercing wail of a baby broke his reverie. The teacher had scooped up a little boy who had tears running down his face. Mace glanced at Coralee - still tangled up with her friends - before stepping to the teacher's side. "Long day?" He asked, bending his head to catch the little boy's gaze.
"Not really. He's just a little colic sometimes. And you know his parents - they both work such long hours."
Mace nodded like he knew exactly who they were, even though he had no idea. "I been told I'm good with babies. May I?"
She handed him over almost too quickly and then ran after a little girl who was putting legos up her nose. Mace snuggled the little red haired boy close. Despite the wealth of his tears and the occasional ear rupturing howl, he still smelled and felt like a baby. "You're what, maybe a year? Y'know, the cattle I used to herd, the calves would be up and walkin' 'round not an hour after bein' born. How'd you like that, hmm?"
Carefully Mace lowered himself to his knees and then set the baby - now hiccuping more than crying - on the ground. He offered his two pointer fingers for the boy to grasp and slowly levered him to his feet. Then, he stepped back on his knees, drawing the boy towards him. He'd clearly had some practice; he stopped crying as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. When they hit the backwall of the creche, Mace scooped him up. "Not bad, kid. Oh. You're the Miles boy."
"Ross," the teacher said, having reappeared at his side.
"Did Saffron come in today?" He asked.
She shrugged. "I'm not sure." She paused and when he didn't say anything, went on. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Emberstatt. I think Coralee's ready to go home now. And congratulations on your tributes surviving the Bloodbath."
His heart lurched as he handed little Ross Miles to her. That's why he was here - for Coralee, for Ansgar Todd and Myara Lowe - not to transfer his dreams to someone else's child. He opened his palm to his daughter, ashamed of how much he had, and how much more he wanted.
