maybe if i-- talk too much, run amok ; d4 train
Oct 13, 2018 23:24:49 GMT -5
Post by анзие (Anz) on Oct 13, 2018 23:24:49 GMT -5
[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]
keep calling out my name
They get younger every year.
Leon's fingers find the smooth curve of the silver ring hanging on a chain around his neck, watching as the train speeds past trees and fields and leaves Four far behind. The children who board this train with him really seem to be getting younger every year; that's the only explanation for the phenomenon - that there is none at all - because his second thought is that perhaps his dormant paternal instincts are finally rearing up and reminding him that Elias, Arie and Indi are twelve, almost thirteen. They could well be amongst the next pair he boards the train with, and could be with increasing possibility for the next few years. A shudder goes through him - in part for the sickening swoop in his stomach at the thought of watching any of his triplets on the giant screens, and in part at the idea that he could be even remotely paternal.
He's not quite sure what's worse, but he can hazard a guess at what his kids would say about it: he's never around anyway. He'd probably drop them on their heads, never mind they don't need carrying. Leon is the least paternal person he knows - except for maybe Glamour, who looks upon children as though they were hideous blights against the very fabric of the universe.
Damn the Capitol, that the loves of his life could never meet lest it be at the jaws of death. Leon would have quite liked to watch the inevitable train crash of that particular conversation.
The carriage doors hiss open as one - perhaps both - of his new tributes finally make their way into the public areas. They were probably drawn out of hiding by the rumbles of their stomachs, if nothing else. Leon had been able to smell the tantalizing array of food from his own room, and emerged not too long ago to partake.
His plate is empty, now, cleaned away by some discreet Avox. Leon had taken a longing look at the table of drinks after his meal, but nurses his cooling tea now. It's been years since he touched a drop, and he can't walk back into the public eye of the Capitol drunk out of his mind. He can't do that to his tributes, either.
With a low exhale, Leon takes a moment to brace himself and school his features into neutrality. Then, slowly, he turns and faces the tributes with a faint smile. "Good to see you up and about." Leon props a hip against the windowsill, studying their faces. Young. Casually, he gestures at the food with his teaspoon, then sticks it between his teeth to speak around it. "Are you hungry? The food's pretty good, and you can always use all the calories you can get."
Leon's fingers find the smooth curve of the silver ring hanging on a chain around his neck, watching as the train speeds past trees and fields and leaves Four far behind. The children who board this train with him really seem to be getting younger every year; that's the only explanation for the phenomenon - that there is none at all - because his second thought is that perhaps his dormant paternal instincts are finally rearing up and reminding him that Elias, Arie and Indi are twelve, almost thirteen. They could well be amongst the next pair he boards the train with, and could be with increasing possibility for the next few years. A shudder goes through him - in part for the sickening swoop in his stomach at the thought of watching any of his triplets on the giant screens, and in part at the idea that he could be even remotely paternal.
He's not quite sure what's worse, but he can hazard a guess at what his kids would say about it: he's never around anyway. He'd probably drop them on their heads, never mind they don't need carrying. Leon is the least paternal person he knows - except for maybe Glamour, who looks upon children as though they were hideous blights against the very fabric of the universe.
Damn the Capitol, that the loves of his life could never meet lest it be at the jaws of death. Leon would have quite liked to watch the inevitable train crash of that particular conversation.
The carriage doors hiss open as one - perhaps both - of his new tributes finally make their way into the public areas. They were probably drawn out of hiding by the rumbles of their stomachs, if nothing else. Leon had been able to smell the tantalizing array of food from his own room, and emerged not too long ago to partake.
His plate is empty, now, cleaned away by some discreet Avox. Leon had taken a longing look at the table of drinks after his meal, but nurses his cooling tea now. It's been years since he touched a drop, and he can't walk back into the public eye of the Capitol drunk out of his mind. He can't do that to his tributes, either.
With a low exhale, Leon takes a moment to brace himself and school his features into neutrality. Then, slowly, he turns and faces the tributes with a faint smile. "Good to see you up and about." Leon props a hip against the windowsill, studying their faces. Young. Casually, he gestures at the food with his teaspoon, then sticks it between his teeth to speak around it. "Are you hungry? The food's pretty good, and you can always use all the calories you can get."
я готов отвечать
