The Watching Place (Open)
Mar 21, 2010 18:15:39 GMT -5
Post by shy on Mar 21, 2010 18:15:39 GMT -5
Nate Renner sat on the peeling leather, sipping unenthusiastically at his drink. Next to him, his father sat, holding Genna, Nate's little sister, on his lap. It had taken ages for them to convince Mrs. Renner to let them open up the place, much less frequent it, in the building that was attached to their small apartment.
As far as the Peacekeepers knew, it was just a bar, and even if children did try and slip in every once in a while, well, kids would be kids.
All their friends had chipped in for it; it was the only new-looking object in the place. Even Frank the bartender turned away from his work to watch it. It was the television. New, practically flawless, high-definition sound and visuals, larger than three normal ones combined. This was the place they watched and rooted for their tributes.
And now their was only one of theirs left.
Anastasia Estrange, Nate thought vaguely. In my math class. Why did I never talk to her? Get to know her? And poor Jayson, already gone, I never talked to him, either... It was the first time anyone he'd actually known had been reaped, and it was startling.
And although he didn't know her, he practically lived in this place now, the smokey air, low lights, and leather couchs, all lined up like church benches, as if worshipping their mechanical window to...death, horrible death, and pain and blood, and yet, and yet...
Still Nate watched. His mother had begun to shoot worried glances at his father, calling him obsesssed (who was obsessed? Not him, nope, that was for sure, he was just concerned) and worrying about his health.
His father, who had apparently gone through a similar stage of his own, said let him be. Let the boy be. Let him watch his friend (get killed).
Nate slid off the couch onto the carpet, watching the Games with a strange expression. He groaned as they cut to commercial break, barely noticing as the door opened and Frank the bartender looked up from the glass he was cleaning.
As far as the Peacekeepers knew, it was just a bar, and even if children did try and slip in every once in a while, well, kids would be kids.
All their friends had chipped in for it; it was the only new-looking object in the place. Even Frank the bartender turned away from his work to watch it. It was the television. New, practically flawless, high-definition sound and visuals, larger than three normal ones combined. This was the place they watched and rooted for their tributes.
And now their was only one of theirs left.
Anastasia Estrange, Nate thought vaguely. In my math class. Why did I never talk to her? Get to know her? And poor Jayson, already gone, I never talked to him, either... It was the first time anyone he'd actually known had been reaped, and it was startling.
And although he didn't know her, he practically lived in this place now, the smokey air, low lights, and leather couchs, all lined up like church benches, as if worshipping their mechanical window to...death, horrible death, and pain and blood, and yet, and yet...
Still Nate watched. His mother had begun to shoot worried glances at his father, calling him obsesssed (who was obsessed? Not him, nope, that was for sure, he was just concerned) and worrying about his health.
His father, who had apparently gone through a similar stage of his own, said let him be. Let the boy be. Let him watch his friend (get killed).
Nate slid off the couch onto the carpet, watching the Games with a strange expression. He groaned as they cut to commercial break, barely noticing as the door opened and Frank the bartender looked up from the glass he was cleaning.
