![Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] Avatar](https://64.media.tumblr.com/de401f4e6e4ca07c241afc45583f7195/d2f1890293928896-84/s500x750/0ba6fe3572f4f5f72b52d28965cfcda71e4171a0.png)
Worn Out Places, Worn Out Faces // [Jack/Mace]
Jul 16, 2012 0:21:03 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jul 16, 2012 0:21:03 GMT -5
for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died
Mace had spent the entire train ride in a stupor, deeper than any alcohol or drugs or sleep could put him under. He sat in the dining car, glued to an arm chair, dead gaze on the sleeping babes. He was absolutely positive, about halfway through the journey, that someone had drugged them. No babies slept that peacefully, that he knew of. Well, he only Kieran to judge from, but still. Even with formula, there was no reason for them to be down more than six hours. And it angered him logically, intellectually, that someone would be so desperate for quiet. But he couldn't make himself feel that emotion, even as he thought about being angry. There was no reflection on his heart beat, no change in his breathing, no fire in his cold belly.
He watched them in their twin bassinets through the night, listened to their breathing, bent close enough to hear the pitter-patter of new hearts. The styling team came by every few hours to change them. He didn't even protest when they tried to get the babes to suckle at a bottle, even though he was sure that would be the easiest way to get some sort of sedative into them. But moving required effort, energy, a life force, and he'd left that back in the Capitol.
So he watched, vigilant and apathetic.
Sleep was a distant, forgotten thing. It only led him to dreams that took him on a path he desperately wanted to walk on, all the way to the gates. And every time he'd forgotten Charas' longsword, and so every time she turned him back. It was pointless to go there; he always woke more exhausted, and then his styling team would tut and fuss about the puffy bags under his eyes. At least if he didn't sleep the swelling seemed to go down, and then it was just a matter of enough makeup. He'd never been a better victor for them. He was pliable, silent under their ministrations. There was nothing he objected to, nothing that bothered him. He'd even lost a bit of weight, much to their utter joy. But that was bound to happen, when one eschewed food. Throughout the journey in the dining car, Mace did nothing more than drink glass after glass of water.
He'd only left to visit the restroom, which was just as disappointing as the rest of life. There was no relief in it, just the simple process of what goes in must go out, his body continuing even though his mind would not. He took on brief look in the mirror and decided that he was not a man haunted, not a man grieving. He already had one foot in the grave, and he intended to let himself waste away until the ground swallowed him up.
The prospect of Julian's arrival made his breathing a little easier, contained the tremors to his fingers. But he was not here yet, and until he actually set foot in Ten, Mace would not believe it. He would never hope again. He could feel the train slowing, bringing him back to the station. He had left with two tributes, and brought home two babies. Cosmically it was not such a bad trade, but to everyone involved besides Jack Lexington, they had lost far more than gained.
It was a surprise - simply not expected, nothing that affected his indifference - when the styling team put first the boy in his left arm and then the girl in his right. Mace looked down at them, at their foreign, smushed faces, and did his best not to rattle them as he stepped off the train. Not that he thought it would matter, sedated as they were. He kept his gaze on them, letting Olive guide him by the elbow until he stood in front of Jack.
Mace lifted his head slowly, seeing and not seeing the father of Noreen's twins. It was the first time since he'd left the Capitol that he felt any inclination towards Kieran, and resolved that he should call Ara, out of duty if nothing else. mace flared his elbows a bit, ready for the exchange. "The Capitolites gave them somethin'," he said slowly, his mouth dry and jaw tense from lack of use. "But their hearts sound real good."
banner credit: jurate
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth
