To Infinity and Beyond /with Kay/

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To Infinity and Beyond /with Kay/ Sept 2, 2015 12:08:30 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 2, 2015 12:08:30 GMT -5

7F2D07 Narration
4B440D Thoughts
5A5140 Actions/Events
F0BD47 Self
DCD9B0 Other’s

I can’t believe this is actually happening, I think as I pace my room. I try to steady my breathing as I slow down my pacing. I finally throw myself on my bed, stare upon my ceiling. I have many posters of him up there, with his chiseled chin and fierce, piercing dark eyes. Yet I never thought that this could ever become a possibility. I had a hard enough time giving him my friend’s baby without freaking out over how much I admire and obsess over him like a silly little girl with a crush on the older schoolboy. I turn my head and stare down my elbow as my hand lays under my head towards my door. My father has hung up his nicest pair of jeans and plaid, teal shirt for me, but I’m too nervous to think about what to wear. I can still barely grasp this concept of what is actually about to happen. Hell I’m still surprised that I even met the guy at first. I knew that working for Ma I would get a slight chance of meeting him, but never had I ever thought of … I can’t even say it right now. I want to cry from excitement and nerves. But I lay there, head upon hand as my knees bend over the edge of my bed, staring at the clothes my dad laid out for me. How can I even begin to process this?

What happened, what lead to this? Why is this happening? Shouldn’t I be excited, over thrilled to have the opportunity to get to know the man I idolize intimately? I ask this all of myself as I stare at the different oils that my mom laid out on top of my dresser.

“I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” I admit to myself as I force myself to get up. The nerves flutter and violently dance around my stomach and threaten to climb up and out.
“Maybe I should cancel, maybe we should remain, whatever the fuck we are.” What are we anyways? I stare out the window as the sun becomes dangerously low, I can feel my throat tighten in anticipation.

“He said dusk, and it’s already late afternoon. Holy shit I’m not going to be ready I’m going to be a disaster! DAD!!” I scream from nerves. One would imagine an 18 year old boy would at least know how to handle himself in a situation like this. I am obviously not one of those men yet. My dad comes rushing up,

“Is everything ok?” he asks a little breathlessly. He stands in my doorway and notices the clothes still hanging on the door,

“Oh I see,” he says calmly and goes to sit on my bed. He gives me one those “Let Me Teach You a Life Lesson Son” looks and pats the spot next to him on the bed. I follow suit and sit next to him.

“You nervous?” he asks.

“Obviously,” I reply with heavy sarcasm in my voice.

“Hahaha, it’s ok to be nervous. I mean you’re going on a date with the man you have been fantasizing about ever since you were 10. I mean how many people in District 10, let alone the Capitol can say that they have this many posters of Mace Emberstatt on their walls.” He gestures to the various posters I have up on the wall. It’s a surprise that I can see spots of the wooden wall of our house in between the various poses and occasions that his face remains frozen in. The Victor Poster, where he stands on the Iceberg over Sundra and Aesop as Sawyer burns in the background. The Ten Year Anniversary special where current Mace is reflected against the 18 year old version of Mace. There’s many more where Mace is in his frozen realm, throwing his knives at this person or that. I’ve removed the intimate pictures of Alex and kept the more friendly ones up.

“What are you afraid of son? Talk to me,” my dad urges me on, prying to the root of my anxiety,

What if this is all just some fantasy? What if I wake up and it’s just a terrible dream that my mind is playing? Or what if it’s actually happening and I royally fuck up, or that it’s nothing like my fantasy? All of these questions run through my head as I turn towards my dad, staring at his sun worn skin and warm, paternal gaze.

“What if this doesn’t play out the way I’ve always fantasized about?” My voice betrays my internal anguish as the sentence comes out in a quietly strong statement.

“Ah, all of this makes much more sense now. How do I say this?” he lowers his gaze as his carefully chooses his next words. I prepare myself for the worst as I try to guess what he’s about to say next.

“Son, how can you know the outcome of something that is as interchangeable as a date?” His voice carries a stern yet caring tone, one that usually comes right before a lecture. I look at him, my mouth agape as I mull and ponder his question. He pulls me in closer with his arms strewn across my shoulders.

“No matter how romantic our dreams our, no matter how beautiful our imaginations paint each and every scenario into a different ideal of our lives, it doesn’t even come close to the real thing.” His voice drops to an almost whisper on the last part of his statement. “Our romanticism can be something beautiful at times, but at others it can be destructive, hollowing, and draining as we begin to lose ourselves within them. We leave hollow, because we didn’t experience any real emotion. That’s only something you can do by actually going out and exploring those romantic ideals for yourself. Go chase him, get your man, break your heart, have it raised above the heavens, just don’t forget to experience them. For they are the reason why we live. Otherwise we might as well just be plugged up to computers in the Capitol.”

I have no time to fully process this as he gets up and throws the clothes on me. Maybe this isn’t something to process but to experience. He laughs at Mom’s oils and tells me to wear the citrus one, as we can use anything to smell better than cow shit. I haphazardly stuff myself into the clothes as I notice just how close to dusk it has become. He’ll be here any second, I think as I drop some of the orange and Oakwood oil onto my wrists and rub them together. I smell like a clean musk now. I look into the mirror, fixing my hair in my room as I hear three sharp knocks on the door. I rush downstairs to answer my door, but my dad beats me to it, giving a curt handshake to Mace.

“You must be Mr. Emberstatt, I’m Mr. Caleb, Jer’s father. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please have him home before midnight and please don’t let him drink anything he isn’t allowed to until full legal age.” His voice deep, sonorous and serious, almost treating Mace like he’s my age.

I sidestep around my dad as I say my quick goodbyes to both my parents as I lead Mace away from the door and start walking down the town road. I see how well he has cleaned up, and still feel a little dirty next to him. Even after my bath from earlier today. I turn my head slightly to try to hide the rising color in my cheeks.

“You look really nice tonight.” I say almost sheepishly and he responds with an answer that I miss, my nerves catching up with me.

“So,” I begin to ask, “Where are we headed to?” I ask with a little more confidence, and turn to face him, taking in the breath-taking beauty of Mace Emberstatt. Our date finally coming to fruition.

Last Edit: Sept 2, 2015 12:16:33 GMT -5 by Deleted

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

To Infinity and Beyond /with Kay/ Sept 7, 2015 12:45:45 GMT -5

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 7, 2015 12:45:45 GMT -5

a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,
that's when you feel my kind of love

Mace stood at the arched window in his second story bedroom, overlooking the gardens. Somewhere among the foliage, Sewanee Clark worked. Mace eyed the sway of the trees, the rustling of the blooming oleanders. He convinced himself that Sew was close enough, that if he needed him, he would be there. With a frown, he left the sanctity of his room and ventured down the wide stairs.

The buzz of activity in the dining room came to an abrupt halt as he entered. Mace swept his grey gaze over Kieran and Mason, seated beside each other, to Coralee, who was mashing bananas with the flat of her palm. Reggie hovered over the youngest of his children. She put her fingers to the girl's tufts of hair, working through invisible kinks as she spoke. "Did Sew pick out your outfit? It looks... nice." She winched, as though the words had cost her more than breath.

Whatever bridge Sewanee Clark had begun to build wasn't yet strong enough to support both of their weights.

Mace shrugged. "Nah. I've had this for years." He picked at the edge of the plaid collar, trying to settled the pointed edge against his chest. He hadn't ironed anything in years, and the cotton of the shirt had thinned dangerously.

"I recognize it, from the home. It has Ma written all over it."

So do I, he almost said. Instead he pushed his hands into the tight pockets of his Capitolite jeans. They were cleaner and somehow more formal than the pants he had collected in Ten. He wore his polished black boots and a simple belt, the only one he could find that didn't remind him of his - his -

"I won't be back too late," he sputtered, as though he needed to inform his sister and children of his whereabouts. It was possible he made things more awkward when he dropped a kiss on Mason's head and ruffled Kieran's hair. The nerves were getting the better of him, eating away at the ice but also at his unflappable temperament.

He ducked out into the cooling evening, his wool jacket wrapped tightly around his torso. It wasn't a long walk, but he felt every footstep. He knew this evening was going to be a horrible disaster. Why had he said yes? Why didn't he turn around? How had his life even come to the point where he could have said yes? But it wasn't even that simple. It wasn't like Jericho had asked him out of the blue and he had assented. The question had existed somewhere between them for so long, unasked and unanswered. It hadn't even been something he could agree to - it had simply happened, and now here he was, in the twilight of Ten, hiking across the district to another man's home.

Well, his father's home. Which was somehow much worse.

Mace hesitated on the front porch, raking his hands over his clean shaven face, over the top of his freshly gelled hair. "This ain't gonna get any easier," he counseled himself. He knocked, and immediately found himself shaking hands with Jericho's father. "Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Caleb," he said quietly, his voice dropping away as the other man spoke.

Their age difference hadn't much bothered him, until the man threw it stark relief. Mace cleared his throat, the closest he could come to an agreement to Mr. Caleb's terms, and then turned his grey eyes on Jericho. It was a relief to find that he was eager to be on their way as well. As they fell into step, Mace glanced up at his date, who was a good few inches taller. He found he didn't mind it as much as he once might have. When Jericho turned to speak to him, Mace fumbled with the buttons of his coat, pantomiming tightening it, just to have an excuse to turn his eyes away.

He fumbled a response - he'd never been any good at compliments, and despite a decade with him, he'd never really improved. He was grateful with Jericho forged ahead to safer territory. "I was thinkin' we'd go to the Inn next to Marlboro's house. It ain't much, but they build up a good fire and they got some good stews." He paused, realized he had no idea what Jericho liked. To sweeten it, he added: "it's quiet and they don't much mind when I'm there. I don't think we'll be bothered."

As promised, as soon as they arrived at the Inn, they were ushered to the back of the cozy dining room and seated right next to the fire. A beef stew was bubbling over the orange flames. Waves of heat rolled over them. It was likely intolerable for anyone else, but Mace finally felt comfortable enough to shrug out of his coat. He pushed the menu to Jericho. "I always get the same thing. They got a stout that's pretty good. If you can drink beer." He raised an eyebrow questioningly, not subtly trying to suss out Jericho's age. "Thought I should tell you Coralee's doin' well. She's gained plenty of weight in the last few months and at her one year checkup, the doc said she's just fine. Ain't a care in the world, that one." He smiled thinly, hopefully, wondering if Jericho was happy with his decision, even with Mace's broken home.

credit umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

credit ✨ zozo.

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To Infinity and Beyond /with Kay/ Sept 21, 2015 12:45:57 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 21, 2015 12:45:57 GMT -5

7F2D07 Narration
4B440D Thoughts
5A5140 Actions/Events
F0BD47 Self
DCD9B0 Other’s

We walked for what seemed like a good while in an almost awkward silence. I should be happy for this, yet somehow it just feels forced. Not only on his end but on mine as well I look down on Mace. I always forget how tall I am until I stand directly next to someone, which seems to only add to the awkwardness. This situation has been so weird to me; I’ve played this over and over again in my mind yet I can’t seem to fix the reality into the fantasy. We’re both hurting, though his is a little more visible than mine. He says we’re going to a nice and quiet Inn by the Marlboro’s, which seems nice in theory, but I’m worried the quiet will give me too much time to think. I look into his grey eyes and I find myself swimming, no digging to figure this out. We continue onwards as we pass through the town, making small, awkward talk to fill the already awkward silence. I look up at the Inn, quaint and rustic, just like the rest of Ten.

We walk in and are ushered towards the back of the Inn, into the cozy and homey dining room.
The fire is warm as it dances around the black stew pot. The shadows bounce around the worn in walls as the voices of the other patrons fill the room. I follow suit and sit down in the tattered wicker chair as Mace takes off his coat. For some reason seeing an older plaid shirt contrasting his shiny boots and fancy jeans comforts me. It reminds me that there was someone from home before the Games devoured that. I can’t help but think about how he even managed to dig his psyche out of that frozen jungle. How we watched as he and others threw steel and iron onto others skin and as blood flew and stained the ice and snow red. I start to lose myself into the imagery when Mace pushes the menu towards me.

“I always get the same thing,” he says as he gives me a quizzical look. “They got a stout that’s pretty good. If you can drink beer.” He adds that last part not subtly at all.

I don’t want to make our age difference even more obvious as i give a sharp snort, but I’ve never had a stout before, or beer for that matter. I never felt the need to try it as I usually have fun without it. It’s not to say that I oppose of it, but I’m not even sure what half of these beers are. I decide to take his word as I continue to peruse the menu, noticing the different types of stews and meat pies they make when Mace brings up Coralee. He says that she’s doing well and that she’s very healthy as he gives me a thin smile. I can tell he’s worried about the fact that he and Julian are divorced. I’m not worried about the fact that they are divorced, but it’s sad how commonplace it is becoming. I consider myself lucky that my parents are still in love. I look at him as the flames illuminate the right side of his face. They accentuate the sharpness of his nose, the almost harshness of his cheeks, the intensity of the grey in his eyes.

“It’s good to hear that she’s doing well,” I say trying to sound grateful and happy. “I know she’ll happy and comfortable with you.” I add almost forcing myself to sound encouraging. It’s hard watching him taking care of my daughter.

I don’t tell people that she’s mine, even Cecilia didn’t want Ma to know Coralee was mine. I’m not ashamed that we had her. We tried to be safe but sometimes protection isn’t enough. I am worried though that she’ll look more like me and not her mother when she grows up. Yes we all tend to have similar features in Ten but her mom and I are different enough to notice. I scoot my chair in closer as the waitress comes up and takes me out of my mind. My legs become uncomfortably close to Mace’s, but I’m not sure what else to do at this point. I order the stout with a beef and carrot stew and some mashed potatoes. Mace gets his usual order and she walks away towards the kitchen. I stare at the flames as the sadness betrays me on my face. I shake the memories and the pain from my face and turn back to Mace.

I can still notice the height difference, which I’m not even sure why I keep noticing that. I become self-conscious of it and slouch in my chair, my legs brushing Mace’s. She brings out our dinks and I take my first swig of a stout, and I can feel it burn against my throat. I was expecting it to be bitter and tasteless, but this has a surprisingly earthy aftertaste. I think about my first time drinking and I can’t help but laugh at this situation.