Did it Hurt When You Fell? // [Fabian+Mace]
Jan 4, 2015 15:25:23 GMT -5
Post by Gamemaker Lauren Kinkade on Jan 4, 2015 15:25:23 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
"Regalia, hurry up. I gotta check on Mason," Mace said, tapping his wrist watch, a gift from Julian's mother. He'd never expected to like it as much as he did. It was surprisingly simple for something fashioned in Two, and it reminded him that Julian was only days, hours, minutes, seconds from him. The victory tour remained the one time of year they spent apart, and it was usually agony for Mace.
So he left the house at every opportunity, even if that opportunity was doing the weekly shopping with Reggie. For years he could not have joined her, even if he had wanted to, for all the fuss it would cause. But now with Saffron in the District and so many other Victors to admire, people mostly left him alone. It wounded him once, when he went an entire day with no one stopping him. And then he remembered he was a former rancher turned suburban father, not a glorified killer, and everything was right.
Even without the hassle of recognition, Regalia tarried. She had to stop at every stall, duck into each of the stone shops, just to be sure she hadn't missed something. He grumbled less in the candy store, more at the tailor, and by the time they reached the baker, he was worn through. He twisted the wristwatch, slamming the door behind him. Reggie stuck her tongue out through the window, and then went right back to gossiping.
At least he had a fresh croissant to keep him company. He peeked into the bag at the glistening butter and fluffy ridges. Mace licked his lips, reaching for it when he caught a mop of black hair diving in his direction. He had a second, but it was enough to detail his choices. He could let the stumbling lad fall. He just had to step back a few inches to be clear. He could break his fall with his leg, likely injuring the stranger. Or he could drop the croissant bag and catch him.
He took one last sniff of the pastry before condemning it to the street. Instead of stepping away from him, Mace reached forward, grabbing the boy by his shirt. He was heavier than Mace expected as he drew him upright, he was struck by his hooded eyes, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Whoa there, cowboy. Gotta put the horse before the cart, know what I mean?"
So he left the house at every opportunity, even if that opportunity was doing the weekly shopping with Reggie. For years he could not have joined her, even if he had wanted to, for all the fuss it would cause. But now with Saffron in the District and so many other Victors to admire, people mostly left him alone. It wounded him once, when he went an entire day with no one stopping him. And then he remembered he was a former rancher turned suburban father, not a glorified killer, and everything was right.
Even without the hassle of recognition, Regalia tarried. She had to stop at every stall, duck into each of the stone shops, just to be sure she hadn't missed something. He grumbled less in the candy store, more at the tailor, and by the time they reached the baker, he was worn through. He twisted the wristwatch, slamming the door behind him. Reggie stuck her tongue out through the window, and then went right back to gossiping.
At least he had a fresh croissant to keep him company. He peeked into the bag at the glistening butter and fluffy ridges. Mace licked his lips, reaching for it when he caught a mop of black hair diving in his direction. He had a second, but it was enough to detail his choices. He could let the stumbling lad fall. He just had to step back a few inches to be clear. He could break his fall with his leg, likely injuring the stranger. Or he could drop the croissant bag and catch him.
He took one last sniff of the pastry before condemning it to the street. Instead of stepping away from him, Mace reached forward, grabbing the boy by his shirt. He was heavier than Mace expected as he drew him upright, he was struck by his hooded eyes, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Whoa there, cowboy. Gotta put the horse before the cart, know what I mean?"
