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Until My Darkness Goes // [Mace/Saffron/Esme/Kirk]
Sept 21, 2014 15:10:36 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 21, 2014 15:10:36 GMT -5
a note from the desk of
Mace Emberstatt
when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,of District Ten
that's when you feel my kind of love
Something like guilt knotted his gut. He'd left, bolted the very moment he could leave the stage. He didn't linger to shake Kirk's hand for the cameras, or to pat Esme on the back. He hadn't even said goodbye properly to Marlboro, which he always did for his own sake. To reassure himself that there was one face he'd see upon his return, even if he came back empty handed. And he always, always, held Saffron's hand on the way to the train. To reassure both of them that they would never walk to or from the hearse alone again.
But he hadn't today. Because he'd momentarily convinced himself that he was capable of doing something. He'd arrived at the train well before the crowds, although not before the Peacekeepers or press. He'd stood at the stairwell, arms crossed and brow furrowed. He was not about to let Kirk Marshall, whom he had known for years, and a barely-to-his-hips fourteen year old be driven to their deaths. He'd guarded the train just long enough for Reggie to drag his screaming three year old up and dump Mason into his arms. "He's your problem for the next three weeks. Don't forget, he's still potty training, so take him to the bathroom a lot. Like, more frequently than you eat. Got it?"
And that had been it. The end of his grand stand, unwound by a screaming child. Mace had hugged his son close, trying to soothe the fight out of him by binding him. If that wasn't a perfect analogy for the Capitol's smothering of all inkling of disobedience, he didn't know what was. Ashamed of himself, Mace retreated deep into the train and proceeded to use Mason as an excuse to have his dinner sent to his private cabin. He ate, because nothing could keep him from doing so, and kept his mind occupied with entertaining Mason. But by eight o'clock, his son was out, exhausted by the big day.
Mace looked at the elaborate bed, too big for one person and too ornate to be comfortable. He scrubbed at his face with his bare hands, and finally forced himself to the duty that he had tried so stupidly to avoid.
He was still worrying at his scant beard when he stepped into the dining and lounge car. He turned first to Saffron, his saving grace. "Sorry. I dunno what else to say." He shrugged, trapped by words that wouldn't form themselves, and then turned to the tributes. He did what he should have done hours prior. He reached out to Kirk, palm open. "It's been awhile. I'd say I was glad to see you again, but I fuckin' ain't. Not here."
He looked to Esme last, at her bright young eyes and tiny frame. Had Saffron ever been so small? So child-like? He couldn't remember. He only see Saffron now as the lady she was becoming, the anchor to their small team. He swallowed, and at last offered his hand to Esme. "Mace. I should've been there to walk you off stage but uh, I just couldn't be. You get to say what you wanted to to your family?"
But he hadn't today. Because he'd momentarily convinced himself that he was capable of doing something. He'd arrived at the train well before the crowds, although not before the Peacekeepers or press. He'd stood at the stairwell, arms crossed and brow furrowed. He was not about to let Kirk Marshall, whom he had known for years, and a barely-to-his-hips fourteen year old be driven to their deaths. He'd guarded the train just long enough for Reggie to drag his screaming three year old up and dump Mason into his arms. "He's your problem for the next three weeks. Don't forget, he's still potty training, so take him to the bathroom a lot. Like, more frequently than you eat. Got it?"
And that had been it. The end of his grand stand, unwound by a screaming child. Mace had hugged his son close, trying to soothe the fight out of him by binding him. If that wasn't a perfect analogy for the Capitol's smothering of all inkling of disobedience, he didn't know what was. Ashamed of himself, Mace retreated deep into the train and proceeded to use Mason as an excuse to have his dinner sent to his private cabin. He ate, because nothing could keep him from doing so, and kept his mind occupied with entertaining Mason. But by eight o'clock, his son was out, exhausted by the big day.
Mace looked at the elaborate bed, too big for one person and too ornate to be comfortable. He scrubbed at his face with his bare hands, and finally forced himself to the duty that he had tried so stupidly to avoid.
He was still worrying at his scant beard when he stepped into the dining and lounge car. He turned first to Saffron, his saving grace. "Sorry. I dunno what else to say." He shrugged, trapped by words that wouldn't form themselves, and then turned to the tributes. He did what he should have done hours prior. He reached out to Kirk, palm open. "It's been awhile. I'd say I was glad to see you again, but I fuckin' ain't. Not here."
He looked to Esme last, at her bright young eyes and tiny frame. Had Saffron ever been so small? So child-like? He couldn't remember. He only see Saffron now as the lady she was becoming, the anchor to their small team. He swallowed, and at last offered his hand to Esme. "Mace. I should've been there to walk you off stage but uh, I just couldn't be. You get to say what you wanted to to your family?"
