swinging by my neck | adrien series | Hunger Games: The RPG

dars
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swinging by my neck | adrien series Jan 20, 2024 18:03:11 GMT -5

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Post by dars on Jan 20, 2024 18:03:11 GMT -5

1. The truth? I sort of hate myself. I guess really what I mean is that I hate the person I've become. A man who wears suits. A man who knows the kind of wristwatch you wear can determine whether someone respects you or not. A man who hides his past so well he finds himself forgetting it. Hmph. Forgetting parts, at least. I don't care how far away from that apartment complex I was raised in I get, I'll always remember the way smoke carried into the living room when Mom made dinner and every night when I sleep I'll think about the squeaking fan we turned on for bedtime.

But still, it's different now. It's like I remember the way things used to be as if I'm watching them on a screen, happening to someone else. Not me- not Adrien Nox. He's not the kind of man who survives murder rampages and real, genuine hunger. He's the owner of Nox Industries, inherited from his father. He's the bloody mayor of the highest-ranking District in the 90th-95th cycle, for crying out loud! And that's what people think of me now, and what I allow myself to feel sorry over in times like these, when I find myself draped onto a therapist's couch in a custom Royale suit. I mourn the boy I was, the man I could've been. And I try to convince myself the man I am instead is the one I have to be to make it through, because otherwise-

"We can cut this one short, I think."

"Are you sure? We still have ten minutes left."

"Yes, I uh- Poppy and I have dinner plans I can't miss, anyway. She's off to District Eight on Friday for fashion week."

"She's finished her line in time?"

I nod.

"Alright, Adrien. Well enjoy your meal. We'll meet again next week, sound good?"

"Count on it."

Last Edit: Jan 20, 2024 19:19:08 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

dars
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swinging by my neck | adrien series Jan 20, 2024 18:17:26 GMT -5

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Post by dars on Jan 20, 2024 18:17:26 GMT -5

2. Sometimes when it's not too hot out, I take Adbury through the park on my walk home. Most of the people who hang around are younger, so not too many of them ever recognize my face. If they do, they're probably just too afraid to say anything, and I guess I can't blame them. If someone their age knows who I am, its likely because they've seen me standing on the stage for reapings, reading out Capitol-written speeches about how gracious and kind the Capitol is. Or maybe they remember one of the more gruesome headlines when the Nox Mansion drama was still being talked about- one of the ones that accused me of being the one to murder my father, or accused Poppy of having something to do with it, or Indigo.

It wasn't until enough time had passed without Coralie's body washing up anywhere that people finally started to believe the truth: that she'd faked her death and fled the district. I saw her fall right out the window with my own eyes, though. I don't get how she could've made it alone. I've accepted that it was her, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I wonder...

I see a young mother and her boy, maybe two or three, sitting on a blanket and reading. I try to imagine myself raising a child for a brief moment, and yeah... still not there. I can raise a district, sure, but a child is another thing. Not to mention Poppy and I aren't exactly-

Hands in my pockets, I walk deeper into the park, far beyond where my own house is. I have time- the dinner with Poppy happened three days ago and she actually left this morning. I just didn't want to think about the past anymore. I sigh. I'm lying to my therapist again, so that's great. But I can't exactly be honest about where I'm going: discreet buzzing of an apartment a lot like the one my Mom and I lived in when I was growing up. A woman pokes her head out of the window, peering down at me, smiles with recognition when she sees me. She ducks back inside and a few seconds later, I hear the door click open and step inside.

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

dars
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swinging by my neck | adrien series Jan 20, 2024 18:31:02 GMT -5

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Post by dars on Jan 20, 2024 18:31:02 GMT -5

3. My eyes follow a trail of cigarette smoke as it coils up, up, up into the air. She's fixing her hair in the mirror next to me with my shirt draped over her shoulders. "Oh," I say, noticing the cross on the wall, "I didn't realize you were, you know..." She looks over her shoulder and follows my gaze.

"Oh, that. I'm not."

I laugh, pinching the end of the cigarette off into the ash tray before snuffing it.

"Then why-?"

She rolls her eyes and laughs defensively. "Couple different reasons. My parents come over sometimes. Walls looked creepy without anything hanging up."

As she speaks, she climbs back into bed and rests her chin on my chest.

"So you were like, 'What would make it less creepy in here? A dead guy hanging on a wooden cross!'?" She playfully hits me in the shoulder.

"What about you, Mr. Mayor? You have good values?"

I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes. I haven't believed in anything except the randomness of the weather since I was ten years old and my Mom had to tell me Santa wasn't real when she couldn't afford to buy me a present. I envy believers. I envy anyone who can blame something unbeatable for all the evil in the world as a way of accepting the evil's existence. But being a believer does not mean someone has good values.

I mean, this is also coming from me though, as I lie in bed with the woman I'm having an affair with while my fiancé is in another District becoming famous off my father's money, just like she's planned to do ever since we got together, I'm sure.

"No. Mother did, though. Lot of good it did her."

Last Edit: Jan 20, 2024 19:28:57 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

dars
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swinging by my neck | adrien series Jan 20, 2024 18:57:51 GMT -5

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Post by dars on Jan 20, 2024 18:57:51 GMT -5

4. It's dark by the time I make it back to my neighborhood. The humid heat has melted into a thick coldness with the sun's departure and almost no one lingers outside. I nod and wave politely at the few neighbors I do pass, even stop to have a five-minute conversation with Old Man Reeves about how we need to protect small businesses more. He's a generally crochety man, but I do my best to untie the knots he ties himself into over my regard. By the time we walk away from each other, he always seems like he at least partially believes the things I'm saying. This time's no different: after essentially just agreeing with him, he shoves his hands into his pockets, raises his chin into the air, and walks away with a bit more pep in his step than he had before.

I round the corner and instantly groan at the streams of toilet paper entangled in the branches of the oak tree in my yard. I get closer and find dried egg all over my windows and front door. They warned me things would be crazy during the campaign cycle- I'd pictured something worse, like another candidate calling me a murderer in a debate. But this is just plain juvenile. I look around for the guilty party and catch sight of a tiny blonde girl standing at the other end of the block. She holds up her middle finger and then disappears in a blur of shadows down an alley. I yank down the streams I can reach and then head inside.

I'll get someone to come out and clean the rest of the mess up tomorrow.

Last Edit: Jan 20, 2024 19:29:43 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}