Dr. Evil's Dairy Farm [Kay]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

It was very strange to live with and without, as he sectioned off his life since the 61st Games. He now he had Julian to fill up the spaces that his brother had left. And he no longer had a caregiver, but a boyfriend instead. With, and without. Mace was learning the complexities of living with someone before truly knowing them. He and Julian still moved a little awkwardly around each other, and fought over stupid things that usually would have ended with Mace's arm around Elon's throat. But that would never happen again.

And it was a fucking shame to grieve over moments that pained him, but he did never the less.

Regret made his shoulders heavy, weighed down his slow footfalls as he moved through the house, sometimes staring at the television, sometimes out into the yard to Whicker's stall. He had hired someone to muck it had feed him because he could not most days. He needed a purpose, a job, a focus to balance all the distracting Julian promised. Sometimes, more and more frequently, his presence was enough. But not always, and Mace knew deep down that he could not rely solely on Julian to make things right again. Part of that journey he had to walk himself.

He looked around the kitchen, tidy but not clean. Julian did his best but he wasn't suited to the tedious labor of deep cleaning, and Mace was clueless. They needed help. He'd often thought so since the Games, but hadn't quite made good on it. Instead he went over to the table and splayed his hands on its dingy surface, tried to imagine Elon wiping it down with a cloth. Would he have used water? Soap? Would he had swiped at it vertically or horizontally? Where were the dish cloths even kept?

The knock reverberated through the house. Mace spine seized, anxiety flooding him. Hardly anyone knocked, unless it was a Peacekeeper come to remind him that the Victors had responsibilities, specifically to the Capitol, to be seen around the District and to make sure everything was hunky dory. He was not in that sort of mood. There was a time when Mace would have told them to fuck off, but that time had died at the end of a cutlass. He wiped his now dusty palm over his face and through his hair as he opened the great door.

And found himself staring at lad who was surely not any sort of authority. "Uh, can I help you?" Mace managed, his stomach turning. The idea of a fan visiting him was suddenly much worse than a Peacekeeper. Much much worse.

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 to admit that it smelled a little better outside than in. He'd been attempting cooking, and between that and the breeze up from the barn, the house was a tangle of conflicting odors. He opened the door a little wider, more for the opposite breeze than the boy who looked more like a deer trapped in the glow of a incoming train. He was getting more nervous by the second, and had almost confirmed his suspicion that this was indeed a stalker fan, when Sewanee began to talk.

And it sure took him awhile to get rolling. Mace frowned, his patience waning. He'd had a few beggars come by as well, but towards the end of his explanation, it became clear that he wasn't here to just ask for help. That work ethic appealed to Mace in a way that few things did. After all, he'd been a rancher before the arena. Before "winning" this life style, whatever that was now worth.

It was a lot to take care of. The house alone baffled him, let alone the land. He only had Whicker in the barn, but they could keep other horses, if anyone had time to care of them, which they didn't. Not since the 61st. That memory raked raw down his throat, left him momentarily speechless. He shoved the door all the way open, and then swung his arm inward to indicate that Sewanee should enter.

"Plenty needs doing inside and out. I'll show you and you can let me know what you think you can take care of. We'll start with a few days a week, and go from there." Mace took another dusty pass at his hair as he led them towards the kitchen. "What's your name, son?"

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

The kitchen was a foreign, confusing place to Mace as well. Every so often he made a brash attempt at cooking Julian dinner, much like his floundering forays into Capitol society. Both should be avoided entirely, and yet every now and again he felt the urge to do something. To be a better boyfriend, to be more social, to be more the sort of person Julian Bryze deserved. But that didn't mean it felt right, or familiar. He leaned against the cold kitchen island, wondering if the boy in front of him could ease some of that burden and cook for them both.

Then again, they did have Reggie, despite her rather atrocious notion of a meal.

"Se-wan-ee," Mace echoed, testing the name out in his mouth. It was strange for Ten, and he wasn't sure he liked it. His gaze narrowed, fingers drumming on his thigh. "Don't thank me yet, son. You from around here? Grow up nearby?" Suddenly it became important that he know a little more about Sew -- Mr. Clark. After all, he'd be opening his home, and while it was pretty damn unlikely anyone would mess with not one but two but Mace also recognized that it was truly Julian people feared victors, he wasn't taking any chances. Not with his sister in the house.

Mace turned, walking around the island casually. "You do any cooking at home?" He added, looking around the baffling array of things that someone someone he couldn't quite name had filled his home with.