Reunion [Ghosty]
Oct 18, 2014 10:31:01 GMT -5
Post by Artemis on Oct 18, 2014 10:31:01 GMT -5
Sam didn't rightly know where to begin.
The past few months could be most adequately described as 'turbulent'; one day he was roping cattle and riding horses and managing the ranch, the next the Peacekeepers had loaded him onto a train and taken him across the country to become one of their own in Abel's stead.
They'd cut his hair. They'd put a gun in his hand and taught him to shoot. They'd stuffed his head so full of useless military history and etiquette and drill Sam half expected it to come pouring out his ears.
So three months later, fresh out of the Academy and being allowed to use the few days of leave he'd accumulated in the Academy, Sam found himself on a train back home very much like the one that had carried him away to start with. Only this time, the young man reflected in the window was nearly unrecognizable.
Sam's tan had faded somewhat, having spent the overwhelming majority of the Academy indoors or covered head-to-toe in riot armor. His straw-colored hair had grown back out, but as per regulations it was combed back and didn't hang in his blue eyes. The Academy staff had made a rather adamant point of cramming the calories into many of the recruits from other districts, and Sam had been no exception; one of his instructors had remarked that he'd been all skin and bones when he'd arrived (Sam didn't think he'd been that gaunt), and had packed on a solid 20 pounds.
And, of course; instead of being clad in jeans and a flannel shirt that would probably never fully get the ranch dust out of their threadbare fibers, Sam was pressed and ironed and spit-shined in a pristine white uniform, a golden badge pinned to his chest with 'S. MACLAREN' engraved beneath it.
It was change, but it was good change.
He wondered impatiently how Momma and Abel had fared in his absence; one less set of hands to work the ranch, but one less mouth to feed. Had Abel kept himself out of trouble like Sam had told him when he left? Or would he come home to find the kid locked up in some cell in the District 10 precinct?
Sam would find out sooner rather than later; the train pulled to a halt in the only station in the district, and Sam didn't bother looking for familiar faces. With no way to communicate across districts, Abel and Momma had no idea he was here. He hauled his military-issued duffel onto his back, putting on his cover and pulling the bill low over his eyes against the glaring sun. Sam missed the wide-brimmed leather hat their father had left behind, and if Abel hadn't taken to wearing it he was sorely tempted to take it back home, at least for sentimental purposes.
The MacLaren homestead was a long ride from the train station even in the wagon Sam had flagged down (and been greeted with hearty back-slaps and sad eyes that he had managed to get through the Academy). He hopped out at the fence marking the edge of the property, wanting to make the rest of the journey on foot; the borders of the MacLaren ranch were a couple of miles even at their most narrow, giving him a lot of time to try and imagine what to say.
Not that he would remember them once he got there.
The past few months could be most adequately described as 'turbulent'; one day he was roping cattle and riding horses and managing the ranch, the next the Peacekeepers had loaded him onto a train and taken him across the country to become one of their own in Abel's stead.
They'd cut his hair. They'd put a gun in his hand and taught him to shoot. They'd stuffed his head so full of useless military history and etiquette and drill Sam half expected it to come pouring out his ears.
So three months later, fresh out of the Academy and being allowed to use the few days of leave he'd accumulated in the Academy, Sam found himself on a train back home very much like the one that had carried him away to start with. Only this time, the young man reflected in the window was nearly unrecognizable.
Sam's tan had faded somewhat, having spent the overwhelming majority of the Academy indoors or covered head-to-toe in riot armor. His straw-colored hair had grown back out, but as per regulations it was combed back and didn't hang in his blue eyes. The Academy staff had made a rather adamant point of cramming the calories into many of the recruits from other districts, and Sam had been no exception; one of his instructors had remarked that he'd been all skin and bones when he'd arrived (Sam didn't think he'd been that gaunt), and had packed on a solid 20 pounds.
And, of course; instead of being clad in jeans and a flannel shirt that would probably never fully get the ranch dust out of their threadbare fibers, Sam was pressed and ironed and spit-shined in a pristine white uniform, a golden badge pinned to his chest with 'S. MACLAREN' engraved beneath it.
It was change, but it was good change.
He wondered impatiently how Momma and Abel had fared in his absence; one less set of hands to work the ranch, but one less mouth to feed. Had Abel kept himself out of trouble like Sam had told him when he left? Or would he come home to find the kid locked up in some cell in the District 10 precinct?
Sam would find out sooner rather than later; the train pulled to a halt in the only station in the district, and Sam didn't bother looking for familiar faces. With no way to communicate across districts, Abel and Momma had no idea he was here. He hauled his military-issued duffel onto his back, putting on his cover and pulling the bill low over his eyes against the glaring sun. Sam missed the wide-brimmed leather hat their father had left behind, and if Abel hadn't taken to wearing it he was sorely tempted to take it back home, at least for sentimental purposes.
The MacLaren homestead was a long ride from the train station even in the wagon Sam had flagged down (and been greeted with hearty back-slaps and sad eyes that he had managed to get through the Academy). He hopped out at the fence marking the edge of the property, wanting to make the rest of the journey on foot; the borders of the MacLaren ranch were a couple of miles even at their most narrow, giving him a lot of time to try and imagine what to say.
Not that he would remember them once he got there.
7aae27 - Abel MacLaren
f9c291 - Evelyn MacLaren
9f4400 - Sam MacLaren
Cover- uniform hat
