let's begin in the middle [ellie/justice/sage/cedric]

Post by brad bradford ★ d5b [arx] on May 15, 2022 19:48:18 GMT -5

^{. post-89th
. just after 01:00AM, saturday
. abandoned spence residence}

e l l i n g t o n spence.

People should be forgiven. That's what Grandpa had always said. And then the nurse who patted Ellie's frail, little knee as he cried outside hospital room 104 said, "The brains—the ones like your grandpa's? Well, honey, I'm so sorry, but-" But. That's all he can remember of the sentence, all his young mind held onto at that moment. It was a life-changing moment, and still all he could hear was: "I'm so sorry, but-" He's sort of filled in the blanks over the years about what she said. Some watered down version of what was happening, reassurances carefully and painstakingly crafted because he was nine years old and children deserve a shield. Sometimes he thinks she said, "-but, see- he's all confused. He doesn't mean it." Or maybe she said something like, "-but who are we to question fate? Or destiny?" Everything is always just as it was meant to be. That's what people say about death. And it's what people say about living, too. It's the days when Ellie visits his Grandpa's grave that remind him that she probably said something closer to: "-but his mind will never get better. You'll be alright, though." And he was. He is. "Mr. Fray," Ellie nods in his guest's direction, but for the life of him can't force himself to offer a hand. He sits once more—"Ready to give me something other than a divorce?"—the legs of his chair scraping uncomfortably across the floor as he goes. He tries to smile, but that doesn't come so easy either. But. Even people like Justice Fray deserve to be alright. And so he laughs. Humility is the winner of most arguments.

"Sir, Spence," he sneers, he can't really help it—the pointed, curt bow, the curled lip, the freshly starched shirt collar and commemorative, crown-shaped cuff links—it all had its purpose and most of it was to feel… equal, maybe? At the very least, that's what Justice hoped for. But. Ugh. Well, damn it all, but fuck. this. guy. He takes a deep breath before pulling out his own chair. It creaks when he sits, and he wonders if it's rigged with an explosive, or maybe something even more clever than that, something he had never thought of. Not that he wouldn't deserve whatever it was, just- that he didn't really want to die on the one day he was certain he was doing something good. Like, for real, good. You know, the kind of good that disappoints the parents, puts you under the Capitol's surveillance, breaks all sorts of laws The kind of good that looks almost- heroic? "Gladly," he says through a painfully smug grin as he kicks back in the chair. And then he laughs along with him, fingers frilling curls abused by the rain. "Maybe a broken nose?" It's a joke. He'd tell Poppy later it was a joke.

j u s t i c e fray.

e l l i n g t o n spence.

He didn't want to admit the threat was an effective one, but his knuckles have gone white beneath the table. Ellie didn't know the first thing about fighting. Some would say that's a death sentence in District 1, but, well, at least his heart was still beating. "I'll pass, thanks," he extinguishes the flames rising behind his eyes with a few quick blinks. It was his own fault for expecting something more than Justice was ever capable of giving. Then he twists to pull out the briefcase he definitely did not own until a just a few hours ago, rifles through carefully sorted folders of papers—building blueprints, property permits, check registers, loan contracts, plumbing plans—and, wait, a- 'A Guide to Money Laundering in Panem' by Sage & Cedric. His breath hitches and he pauses for a moment, finger drifting over the inked letters. Some are Reminded him that he wanted to be home, wanted to poke his head into all of their rooms and check to make sure that they were still drooling all over their homemade, tie-dye pillowcases despite their toes sticking out over the end of their mattresses. They're growing up, getting bigger, growing right out of their clothes and shoes and beds. They deserve new ones. That's why Justice is here and that's why he invited him. Chrys is right; money makes the world go round. "Okay, so," he says, flattening out an already perfectly flat contract. He points and taps on the line Justice is meant to sign. "This is the face of it all, right here." He leans forward, standing up out if his chair just to feel that little bit bigger, give himself that extra bit of confidence he needed to look stare down a victor—you know, without needing to launch himself across the table to strangle the- asshole. And honestly? What an insult to assholes everywhere to suggest this piece of shit gets to be in the same category.

"This is the only part- that's your responsibility," Spence says, leaning in and holding his gaze. Justice hesitates in his response, shifting in his chair. "Because I couldn't possibly be responsible for anything else, right?" Spence shifts forward in his seat, chair silent as he stands because he doesn't move the thing when he leans in, tongue like a razor that could slice a man in half and a glare that suggests he's, sorry- Superman? That's the laser-heat-beam-eye-guy reference, right? "Yeah," his expression softens as he leans back again. "Exactly." He breathes through his nostrils, the hair around his face moving with it. He looks calm, the rage that had been there replaced with something worse. Pity. Justice feels his blood boiling. His jaw clamps shut, teeth clench shut, eyes widen, nostrils flair. He stands abruptly enough send his chair clattering, knuckles going bright enough to blind as he stands and slams his fist into the plans he's no real part in. He thinks about punching him. He thinks about how easy it would be to just leap over the table, let his heel connect with the twelve chin hairs he can grow, and make him eat his own teeth. It'd be so easy. It always would've been so easy. All the times he'd dreamt it, pictured himself taking a the bastards righteous fist against his jaw just so he had the excuse to make him look like nothing. "I don't need you for any of this," he spits. Ellie only lays a pen at his fist before reaching again for more papers he surely needed him to sign. "I can take care of myself," he leans in closer, trying to force Ellie's attention back to him. He slams his fist against the table, "Of them." "Prove me wrong then."

j u s t i c e fray.

e l l i n g t o n spence.

As much he wants to lean in close and say, 'Do you hear me?' or 'Are you listening?' or 'Do you understand?' But he does know. He doesn't have to be told. It's a shame because he can't help but dole out another chance for him anyway. As if he deserved a hundredth. Thousandth? What a lucky guy. "Go ahead, sign," he says, shoving the paper closer, forcing the end of the pen to tap at his furled fist. "This can help people, kids," he sits forward so that he doesn't have to hear his voice echo around his grandpa's old apartment. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend that we're friends, but this is something-" "-it's just something that can be so much bigger." It feels bigger. More real, now that he's so close to putting pen to paper. We're really going to do this. Him, Chrys, Poppy, and- We can change things. Not everything, not all of Panem, not the world. Maybe someday, maybe If we're lucky. But he's always known better than to believe he'd be the hero—but that doesn't really stop him from striving to be someone else's hero, the inspiration for the generations that come after. What's wrong with wanting better so badly that you'd give everything—anything—for someone you'll never even get the chance to meet? What's so wrong with giving a shit? "Congratulations," he can't help but grin as he spins the paper back in on himself, takes the pen from Fray's outstretched hand. "You're now the proud-"

Sage hadn't meant to make herself so suspicious. Fact: It was really late. Probably morning. She was pretty sure it was morning. But not the morning when the buildings glow from the bottom up, but the morning when the stars explode in the sky above phantom rectangles. "Those ain't stars, Saggy girl, those er them metal contraptions," Grandpa says. "Just Panem spying on us and FAILING!" She imagines she's on those satellites that're exploding, that those "stars" are something she might be able to find a new world in. A different one. But only a little. Not too much. Just- a little. "Grandpa, I ne-" "Don'tcha go'n call me that." "Sorry." She never is. But she says it anyway. Fact: It is very late. But I think I know that's not why he's mad. I just hope that's why. "You're in so-" He's angry. Incredibly angry. She may be young, but she's not stupid. She scrambles away, heart in her throat and lungs pumping so hard she was scared. Not too scared to run though. He can't fit in the walls, he's an adult; he got in through the door, he's normal. She expects him to grab her by the ankle, she anticipates screaming, doesn't because her cousin always said that's how you get caught. "Just keep quiet, they don't really care." She got sent to the Detention Center for- "HEY! No need for you to be reading all that nonsense!" She'd known angry her entire life. Her cousin punching through her bedroom wall because he was angry, her aunt and uncle shouting until all they could do was cry each other to sleep because they were angry, and how could her family not be angry with her? When they'd so readily given her up? "Sage." She'd been afraid before. Sometimes when her Grandpa had been drinking he'd grab and yank and yell and throw and hurt where no one could see. Not her, never Sage. "SAGE!" "Who the fuck is that?" Tears welled up in her eyes as her ankle got caught in a crumbling floorboard, legs all crisscrossed between beams, hands shaking as splinters find their way into her palms. She's almost to her secret door when she hears him. "Let me take you home!" She pauses as the secret service door screeches open. She thinks about running for too long; the hesitation pulls her back in. "Please! Sage?" It's raining outside. "GEFEFTF- GET- GET OFF ME, GET! OFF! ME!" "WHO IS THAT?" "FUCK- OFF, ME! SHE'S MY FUCKING DAUGHTER, YOU ASSHOLE!" Oh. Oh. No? She doesn't know. She doesn't know. "As if you'd understand that. Now seriously get off me so I can try to convince her to come back home tonight." It's cold. The wind is making a chill run down her spine. She's always hated the cold. "Do you have a safe place to be?" Sage? Promise me? Sage!?" She could feel every bruise she was bashing into her skin as she fought her way with quaking knees back toward the space in the wall she'd been peeking through. There's a small hole she'd drilled to listen to them speak, er- watch them speak. It took her a moment of orientation, but she found him there. Ellie. Justice Fray was still there, too. She'd never met a Victor before, but that didn't matter because she just wasn't sure if she was pushing her way into something that would hurt. She wasn't afraid of hurt, she just didn't enjoy it. Who did? "I'm sorry." Chrys won't care. Or, maybe, they will. She's not sure which she wants to be true. Head bowed, stay silent, and wait, peek, he's only- -scared? Say you're sorry, even if you're not. "I swear, I- I'm sorry." She wishes she didn't have tears in her eyes, but she's always had trouble with that. She's not even sure she's sad or angry or scared, she just feels. And for some reason it comes out through her eyes.

s a g e alabaster.

e l l i n g t o n spence.

Ellie doesn't like to admit that he wasn't prepared for Cedric. And maybe that's not the whole truth. Because he was prepared, or at least, he tried to be. It's why when Poppy had told him he didn't know how to be anything other than elated. And it sounds strange to say it now, to say it aloud to himself- quietly, but consistently, -as he washes away the toothpaste globs in the sink. The largest one is his, though he'll never admit that either. Heavy, deep breath, in- and out. "You're a good dad." And again. Heavy, deep breath in -and out. He just never really thought it would happen so soon. He always thought he'd be more- ready? He'd have his own place—a house, not some small, fixer-upper apartment he had to pay rent on while fixing leaky pipes over his bathing child and not some place where the nails stuck out of the floorboards—he'd have The words always sounded wrong in his head; he's never been certain that he was anything more than a sham. Or maybe that he'd end up like his father. "You aren't a thing like him, kiddo." "Hey, you don't have to apologize. You haven't actually done anything wrong." He puts a hand on the top of her head, to her shoulder. "I'm sorry I yelled." "We can talk about how dangerous 1AM is- and this apartment? Later, alright?"

"As if you'd understand that." Justice thought on it for a moment. Maybe too many moments. Sometimes thinking takes too long. Sometimes instinct is safest. "Now seriously," He grips at the knuckles around his shirt collar, shoves where he knows he can make him move- in the leg. The fake one. He's never liked Ellie, but at least that was one respectable thing he did. Aim for the weak spot. Justice doesn't fall, though he does stumble- flinch, think some more for too long, falls now because Ellie fights against him as if this were life or death. And Justice isn't sure if it is, but he's scrambling to his feet and yanking at his jacket again because he doesn't want to die. And this shit? This fucking thing we're supposed to be doing? "Get off me so I can try to convince her to come back home tonight." Ellie's got his head stuck in the hole his daughter apparently had disappeared into. Justice hadn't known he had one, honestly. Fuck, for all he fucking knew this was some fucking set-up after all and this was some shit that he'd been planning. Shit. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries not to think about it. Fucking shit it's like he's the only one fucking- -terrified. "That's alright. We're done anyway." Justice grabs Ellie's hand and shakes it, gripping tightly and pulling him close so his daughter doesn't have to listen to her father being threatened by a victor. "If this shit gets anyone hurt, I will kill you." Then he pulls away with a faux smile, a friendly-looking shoulder pat, and a very forced wink to the girl peeking inquisitively from behind Ellie, tears in her eyes. Fuck. The door hinges screech in agony as he leaves. Perhaps they know what's coming.

j u s t i c e fray.

c e d r i c spence.

Cedric often feels like he's trapped on the wrong side of the looking glass. Squinting through thick panels of window that make eyes too big for their skulls and wagging tongues drip with the same old half of a half of a truth they always offer. Through his vantage point sandwiched between molding wood and chalky dry wall he glares at two people he's known his whole life and feels like he doesn't know them very much at all. That's when the headache starts again. He doesn't know where the anger comes from. It starts as this prickling behind his eyes, metallic like the atmosphere before lightning strikes. Then his chest starts hurting, like his heart is swelling up or maybe his ribcage has started to shrink, it all goes fuzzy so he can't really tell. It just hurts and hurts and hurts until he can choke it down, swallow it so that it can turn his stomach into knots instead. It doesn't feel so dangerous there, wrapped up in a cage of blood and shame. Uncle Asher gets angry because that's where he feels safest, Justice gets angry because that's how he runs away. Broken people get angry because they're broken and that's okay. Cedric, though? He's never so much as fractured - he's got no excuse. His parents did everything right but maybe some things are just born to rot. He's just so fucking frustrated. That everyone else is always deciding what's good for him. That he's never even offered harsh truths because it's more important that he keep stringing up pictures of the sunset across their living room. Is he really so fragile? Is he always at risk of losing this person he loves to be? What had started off as more innocent mischief with his sister had devolved into - whatever this is. Watching his father face off with Justice Fray with so much open contempt that he wonders if a broken heart is really worth all this effort. He listens to them speak in code, saying a lot to each other without really saying much at all. Cedric isn't an idiot, but he sure feels pretty stupid because he can't figure out what the is actually going on here. He knows that it's too hot in his hiding spot, that his foot has gone numb and he's pretty sure he's got enough splinters to start a bonfire, but so far they haven't been noticed. Whatever puzzle pieces they had uncovered felt important - even if Cedric had no idea the portrait they were painting just yet. Just when he thinks they've pulled off whatever this heist was meant to be- Sage freaks because, it's easy to forget, but Sage is broken too. It all happens pretty quick after that. Justice grabs his father and in an instant the anger is back, he bites down on the impulse to kick out at the wall and scream for him to get his fucking hands off his dad. Because he doesn't want to see his friend like that, because it'll probably scare Sage more. He stays there, between the walls, frozen in place for longer than he should. Until his heartrate slows to a reasonable pace and he's counted to ten fifty times over. When he hears Justice leave, he begins the arduous task of weaving through the wall, following the imprints of Sage's footsteps in the sawdust. He squeezes out of the entrance Sage had shown him, tumbling head first onto the floor with a sickening thump. And then just lays there, staring up at the flickering light on the ceiling and trying not to think of anything at all.

He runs his fingers through his curls as they try their hardest not to unfurl in his eyes, but he's been bending to peer around the corner of the building for nearly and hour now and he's not sure he can stand in the rain much longer. Heh. He can. He just doesn't fucking want to. And for some reason, Spence thinks this is some game he can bring his fucking kid to, and- Oh, shit. "Fucking- of course," he mutters under his breath. Ellie exits first. He's smiling, flinging the door open rather forcefully for some mission that was supposed to be quiet and secretive. But then he flings upon and umbrella- it's got a tear in one of the triangles, but he twirls it until that's the only piece over his head. He's taken off the jacket he was wearing and let it dangle around the ankles of the girl skipping out the door behind him. He can't hear them, but Justice thinks they're talking. The plan was for Justice to re-enter and exit again after an hour and a half. "Your movement is less conspicuous in the early hours, so we'll meet at sometime around 1 in the morning?" Spence was right to say it, but that didn't keep his jaw from setting, clenching, grinding. He's not sure it makes him feel better, being so angry at a girl sloshing around in too big boots and a too bit jacket with a- with an Ellington Spence and a holey umbrella. He doesn't watch them leave, he only focuses on counting. It's in the counting that everything gets less linear though. He'll get to seventeen and wonder why he'd ever done it. Win. And then he's got to skip a few seconds because he's been thinking about how often he'd wished he'd married Poppy when he was twenty-three instead of thirty-two and by that time he knows he has to start over from the beginning and just add it all up because he hasn't visited... Elara for, since- Fuck, probably too fucking long. Just like this counting thing, shit. Screw it. He ducks into the rain, forearm shielding his eyes as he makes his way through the dimly lit alleyway toward the entrance no one else had yet entered. "It's a boarded off door on the east end of the building." Plastered in graffiti, behind climbing morning-glory and an industrial trash bin. "You might have to squeeze." "Oh for fuck's-" Justice grumbles as quietly as possible into the dark as he focuses his energy on squeezing through a hold made for a toddler. It's not a subtle or graceful process, but he ends up out of the rain, gasping and crouched against the crumbling wall, cursing under his breath. "Fuck that guy, heh." Oh, and Cedric is here. "Ah, shit." Poppy is going to fucking kill me.

j u s t i c e fray.

Cedric is courtesy of the brilliant & talented maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] :heart_eyes: