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The End of Maybe // [Safe]
Jan 6, 2016 14:26:13 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jan 6, 2016 14:26:13 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
They'd been back in Ten for only a week, and already the winds had begun to change. He'd meant to find a quiet moment with Saffron as soon they stepped off the train. But Regalia had been waiting for them and ushered Mace back home, to approve of the refurbished porch and rotation of the garden. He barely got any sleep the first night, between Reggie's peppering him with questions about, well, peppers, and his children's early rising. Over breakfast on the second day home, he finally crossed his fork and spoon and leveled his stormy gaze at her.
"Regalia, what exactly is it that you're wantin'?"
"A vineyard."
"No."
For the rest of the week they circled the topic. Regalia pleaded with him to see it as a luxury - a gift to the rest of the District. He reminded her that once upon a time he'd grown and sold tobacco, and how much he had despised being the vessel of addiction. In between their arguments, he tended to Coralee and Mason. He fed them, changed Coralee, read to them. In the evenings, after the two littles had gone to bed, he'd sit in the study with Kieran and look over his homework. The truth was that Kieran was already smarter than Mace at most subjects, but a father liked to feel needed.
It was an easy routine to fall into. It even made him happy - content. But there is a gulf of feeling between content and fulfilled.
A week since their arrival at Ten, Mace buttoned up his wool jacket in the foyer. Regalia had propped herself up in the doorway to the sitting room. "Well? Any colder and we won't be able to plant the vines this year."
"Good," he declared. He checked his laces of his heaviest boots. They were the only boots that cushioned the bandages from traversing the Capitol barefoot. Regalia sniffed as Mace scooped up a basket.
He walked slowly to the house across the way. His study overlooked the front of his home, and while Kieran worked through math equations, Mace stared at the Lowe's candlelight. Sometimes he thought he saw Saffron's freckled face illuminated by the light, but he couldn't ever be sure. That was the whole problem. He'd never been sure, and it was time to stop guessing and find out. He couldn't fix anything if there wasn't something first to be fixed.
His boots fell heavily on the porch. "It's Mace," he announced himself as he knocked. "Oh, Mrs. Lowe. Good to see you. I, uh, I wondered if I might take your daughter -"
A shadow in the hallway. Mace lifted his grey gaze to Saffron Lowe. He swallowed, words fleeing always when he needed them most. After a breath, he steeled himself for the end of maybe. "Saffron, I was wonderin' if you'd like to go on a picnic with me. Not just any ol' picnic but you know. A date."
Even though Mrs. Lowe stood there, his gaze never wavered.
"Regalia, what exactly is it that you're wantin'?"
"A vineyard."
"No."
For the rest of the week they circled the topic. Regalia pleaded with him to see it as a luxury - a gift to the rest of the District. He reminded her that once upon a time he'd grown and sold tobacco, and how much he had despised being the vessel of addiction. In between their arguments, he tended to Coralee and Mason. He fed them, changed Coralee, read to them. In the evenings, after the two littles had gone to bed, he'd sit in the study with Kieran and look over his homework. The truth was that Kieran was already smarter than Mace at most subjects, but a father liked to feel needed.
It was an easy routine to fall into. It even made him happy - content. But there is a gulf of feeling between content and fulfilled.
A week since their arrival at Ten, Mace buttoned up his wool jacket in the foyer. Regalia had propped herself up in the doorway to the sitting room. "Well? Any colder and we won't be able to plant the vines this year."
"Good," he declared. He checked his laces of his heaviest boots. They were the only boots that cushioned the bandages from traversing the Capitol barefoot. Regalia sniffed as Mace scooped up a basket.
He walked slowly to the house across the way. His study overlooked the front of his home, and while Kieran worked through math equations, Mace stared at the Lowe's candlelight. Sometimes he thought he saw Saffron's freckled face illuminated by the light, but he couldn't ever be sure. That was the whole problem. He'd never been sure, and it was time to stop guessing and find out. He couldn't fix anything if there wasn't something first to be fixed.
His boots fell heavily on the porch. "It's Mace," he announced himself as he knocked. "Oh, Mrs. Lowe. Good to see you. I, uh, I wondered if I might take your daughter -"
A shadow in the hallway. Mace lifted his grey gaze to Saffron Lowe. He swallowed, words fleeing always when he needed them most. After a breath, he steeled himself for the end of maybe. "Saffron, I was wonderin' if you'd like to go on a picnic with me. Not just any ol' picnic but you know. A date."
Even though Mrs. Lowe stood there, his gaze never wavered.
