from the windows | { lex / mackenzie }

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umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Mar 25, 2019 22:19:37 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Mar 25, 2019 22:19:37 GMT -5

Exhaustion wore itself heavily on his shoulders that night. The storms seemed to be concentrated on Seven; the train had been stopped a handful of times just so the workers could move trees off the tracks, which stretched an already-long trip into any even longer one. It gave him too much time to think about his failings as a mentor, made him wish he'd done things differently. He'd started drinking somewhere around the thought maybe a helmet would've saved Zion, and that had been a few hours before the sun set.

By the time he climbed the front steps, he had to pace himself for fear of tipping over. He steadied himself on the railing, hair wet from the rain, alcohol on his breath, and he forced himself to relax. You're home, he thought, you're free for now.

He stiffened when he realized he wasn't alone.

This late, he would've bet money that Marley was already asleep. Max probably wasn't home, his mom was probably resting her feet in the den. He saw the blur sitting on the far end, fair-haired. Arms crossed over chest to let everyone know she'd pick fight over flight every time. Signature Lex Lionel.

"Came to welcome me back home?" he said, smirking. The bottle in his hand now felt embarrassing; he wished he'd lost it somewhere on the way home. It was true that he wasn't coping well with the first real loss in his career. But he didn't want anyone to know it, especially not Lex.

( "You don't need to keep... you know.
Trying to be a mentor." )

He tried his best to appear sober; it probably hadn't worked, but that was beside the point. It was the effort that counted.

"Everything go alright while I was gone?" he sat down on the steps so he wouldn't sway, kept his hands down by his sides so he wouldn't fidget.

"Uh, not that— not that you'd be..." he pursed his lips together in frustration, "Not that you were supposed to—"

Mackenzie's eyes narrowed in on his front door suddenly, breaking his concentration. There was something... different. Maybe he was too drunk, or maybe he just hadn't paid enough attention to it when he was sober. He'd sworn there had been some sort of swirly pattern burned into it before; now it was much more simple and ornate. Quaint, like the front door to anyone from Seven's house.

"Hm. Why... Is it..." he gestured at it with his hand while he searched for the words, "Like that?"

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Mar 29, 2019 20:11:28 GMT -5

Post by aya on Mar 29, 2019 20:11:28 GMT -5

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[attr="class","Lex1Title"] everything you were born to do does not need you to do it
someone else was born to do it too

[attr="class","Lex1Content"]

It was never going to be an easy night, but at least the weather made it a little nicer. There's just something about a summer storm: the wind blowing upwards and sideways, lifting everything with it into the heavy cloud layer that makes the sky seem bigger than it is, somehow; the heavy rains trading the summer heat for the smell of soil and sawdust; the undercurrent of static heralding each blinding flash of lightning, the air itself charged and ready to fight; the way the thunder rattles the trees, the houses, her bones. The whole world is powerful and alive and at war with itself, and breathing in is like filling herself up with that measured chaos. Lex Lionel's daredevil heart can't help but love inclement weather.

But if she'd known that the veranda over Mackenzie's front porch leaked like this she'd've brought more than just her pocket knife to occupy her time while she waits for him to return so she could hand off the keys to his new front door and be on her way. It's probably for the best that she didn't; starting another late-night construction project wouldn't endear herself to anyone. Still, the constant dripdrip dripdrip dripdrip of the steady stream of rain onto the porch behind her taps against her brain like fixme fixme fixme and only the rhythmic scraping of her blade against the half-formed basswood owl she's whittling to pass the time is enough to drown it out.

Around the time she starts wondering if maybe she got the date wrong, a familiar silhouette stumbles towards the house. Lex folds up her knife, stashing it and the carving in her pocket, and folds her arms across her chest. "Came to welcome me back home?" Makenzie calls out, a little too loudly. He's drunk; even without one hand clutching the railing and the other clutching an empty bottle, it's obvious. She frowns, trying to bury the memory of that quip she'd made to Annie last year — "Nothing says 'Victor' like 'crippling alcoholism'" — and trying to bury the concern that comes with it.

"Sure did." At least, she guesses she must've. It would have been easier to leave that copy of the keys to his new front door with someone who lives there and recount the humorous-in-hindsight tale of how the old one came to be split in two on some other day. But it wasn't like Lex had anything better to do that evening, anyhow. She was between projects and her head was in a hundred different places at once: the Vault that lay empty this year; the train home, shortened by a dozen cars; with her first application for a travel permit, on some vinyl-veneered desk on some office in the Capitol, probably, or else in a trash can right here in Seven; in District Five, where it only seemed to spend more time these days, despite having never been.

Mackenzie sits; Lex stands. "Everything go alright while I was gone?" She glances at the new door, wondering if maybe Arthur was right and quartersawn curly maple was overkill to replace whatever fragile nonsense used to hang there. "Uh, not that — not that you'd be..." Lex snorts at the backtracking, like it's still some sort of an imposition for him to expect this bare minimum of her. "Not that you were supposed to —"

"Keep your shit from getting stolen and your friends and family from getting hauled off for hard labor and your house from burning to the ground?" she finishes, sitting down on the stoop next to him. "Don't mention it, Mom. It was real tough work, but I managed. Keep it in mind when —" when better kids than me don't get to come home like I did "— when I need another favor from you."

One will arise sooner or later; if nothing else there's that perennial demand that Mackenzie play carrier pigeon during his trips to the Capitol. This year, Lex sent him with a crate full of letters to trade with the other victors. She's sure the Gamemakers didn't consider that the 80th would turn their prized champions into an informal postal service — at least until the higher-ups try to shut the mentor mail system down.

Lex bites back the inquiries about whatever letters have come back for her. Given the rain and given the lack of luggage — maybe the victor's things things are getting dropped off later? — it'll clearly have to wait, no matter how much she hates being patient. Besides, selfish as she is, Lex actually came here to address the front door's magical transforming act that's finally caught her former mentor's attention. "Why... Is it... Like that?"

With a snort, she fishes the new set of keys out of her pocket. "The old one broke. And —" she trades him the new hardware for the bottle in his hand "— was kind of shoddy anyway. They really didn't do a great job maintaining this place the last eighty years." One of these days she'll come back for the leaky porch and the loose banister, and for the peeling paint and crooked shutter on the empty place across the street. Like districts and tributes and everything else, houses get into a sad state when they've been given up on.

Glossing over the details of the door's destruction for now — recounting her own massively stressful Reaping Day can't be the very best idea at the moment — she sets the empty bottle down on the other side of her. Outside of the Hunger Games and adjacent topics, there's not much else she and Mackenzie have to talk about. But leaving doesn't seem right, either. Lex pulls the half-finished carving and her knife back out of her pockets and makes a few more cuts. "I kept a spare key for myself, by the way. Don't expect me to use it much. But this door's too well-made to bust down without doing something awful to my shoulder." Curls of wood shavings land on the toes of her boots. "That's not a boast. Just a fact."

how good you are joe pug
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Last Edit: Mar 29, 2019 20:11:54 GMT -5 by aya

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Apr 7, 2019 20:50:55 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Apr 7, 2019 20:50:55 GMT -5

"You br—" he squinted at her, trying to decide if he was supposed to be angry. He flattened his palm against the new door's polished oak. He looked back at her suddenly, eyebrows still knitted together in confusion.

"With your shoulder?"

He tucked the key shed handed him into his back pocket, shuffling over to take a seat next to her. He was decidedly not angry. If anything, he was impressed with Lex's exceptional talent of just being Lex at all times. And besides, she'd replaced the door. In fact, she'd improved it. But he couldn't deny the confusion.

"Thank you," he said, clearing his throat and leaning his head against a banister with white paint chipping off of its surface, "for keeping my shit from getting stolen, and my friends and family from getting hauled off for hard labor, and, uh..." he paused for a moment, distracted by the rain peppering the tin roof above them. He was supposed to have replaced the shingles before he left for the Capitol two weeks ago. Oops. "Oh, right," he chimed, smiling.

"And not letting my house burn to the ground. Even if you did break it in other ways."

He allowed a moment of silence, and when he couldn't stop himself from snickering, he turned back to face her.

"Did you even bother knocking?"

His tone gave hints of intrigue and genuine befuddlement more than anything else. Four people other than Mackenzie lived there. One of them was his mother, who almost never left, and Marley usually invited his friends over so that he could show off the garden. If Lex had shown up at night time, well, Maxine was probably practicing her night hunt in the back yard, and Angel may have even been brooding in a window sill somewhere. Mackenzie wouldn't have been surprised if he'd watched Lex break down the door without ever moving.

Still. There was something that she'd said that put him in good spirits. Something that made the games seem a little further away, and made the world seem a little easier. She'd made a spare key for herself.

He didn't ask her because he knew she'd say it was for his telephone. But he knew that somewhere beneath the surface, she was starting to care for him. Or, in the very least, she was starting to allow him to care for her.

"How's Denali? Haven't spoken to her in a bit."

Maybe, he thought, she'll take advantage of the fact that I'm drunk and she'll actually open up. It was wishful thinking, not completely unlike asking for a snow day in the ides of July, but it was worth a shot. Lex was a strange and wonderful creature, sharp-edged and coiled beneath the flower in wait. Not evil, but dangerous. Unbothered so long as the feeling was mutual. He'd always held off on trying to get too close for fear of being bitten, but the beer on his breath was proof that his inhibitions had taken the night off, so he didn't blink when she met his gaze; he refused to look away.

"Do you miss her?"

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

aya
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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Apr 12, 2019 21:39:07 GMT -5

Post by aya on Apr 12, 2019 21:39:07 GMT -5

[attr="class","Lex2Container"]

[attr="class","Lex2Title"]if you shut up with what you're chosen
you'll hear something choosing you

[attr="class","Lex2Content"]

"You br—" Tracing the rippled grain, he squints at Lex, as though wondering whether or not any of this information is actually surprising. "With your shoulder?" She shrugs. It really shouldn't be. No one — Mackenzie Pryce least of all — should be shocked to hear that a door was in Lex's way and so she took it down by force once the other options were exhausted. Not like some sun-damaged vinyl and chipboard could stand in her way if she meant to be on the other side of it.

She shrugs off the thanks, too, and snorts at the added caveat: "Even if you did break it in other ways." Probably not worth mentioning the newly-patched but as-of-yet unpainted holes in the wall where the telephone hung. He'd figure that one out eventually. Needless to say, her first attempt to use a telephone hadn't exactly gone to plan. "Did you even bother knocking?" Furrowing her brow in defense, only because the question is both fair and valid and she knows it, she folds her arms across her chest. "Obviously," she insists, even though it isn't really obvious at all. "And yes," Loosely gesturing with the hand that holds her whittling knife, she heads off the logical follow up question: "that was before I started trying to break in — so don't even ask."

She'd started with knocking, even. Well, after she'd tried the handle and found the door locked. She'd tried to pick it, even, and would've tried to just take the handle off if she hadn't left her pocket knife at home where it couldn't be confiscated. But already flustered from the deeply stressful reaping day morning — saying goodbye to Arthur at the house that morning because he couldn't watch her get carted off to the Capitol again without doing something stupid, fidgeting a hole in the cuff of her sleeve waiting for the inevitable, Lenox LaChance! sounding just like Lex Lionel! with her ears ringing, visiting the volunteer who thought that Lenox was worth saving yet said nothing from the crowd the reaping prior, selfishness finally giving way to concern for her friends and their families whose fates were still unknown to her, needing to vent everything to the one person she could count on to understand — something was bound to break, and it was either going to be the door or Lex Lionel. At least she knows how to fix doors.

Focusing on the shallow cuts of her knife as it shapes feathers down the basswood owl's back, Lex weighs how much of that she's willing to dump on Mackenzie right now. It's a conversation better saved for daylight, when he's sobered up, when she can bring herself to frame the whole thing humorously. Knowing full well where Mackenzie's just come back from and what he's come back with — the first life lost on his watch — it doesn't sound quite so funny tonight.

She regrets it, almost, when he pivots: "How's Denali? Haven't spoken to her in a bit." Bristling slightly, Lex raises an eyebrow in response, caught off guard by the sudden probe into personal business. By his shameless staring, it's clear he isn't about to relent. "Do you miss her?"

With a deep sigh, she sets the half-finished whittling and her knife down beside her. "Are we doing this right now?" She doesn't need a response to know that the answer is an indisputable yes, as a matter of fact we are, and so Lex strongly considers countering by standing up and heading home. "You've got friends in other districts. Teddy, Stella. You miss them, don't you?" It's not at all the same and they both know it. Sometimes Lex misses Temple and Wander, Eve and Bette and Annie, and that's not the same, either.

She runs a hand through her hair, damp from the rain. "She's fine. Good. I actually, you know... called." Their conversation on Reaping Day marked the first time that Lex Lionel — hell, probably anyone named Lionel — had ever used a telephone. "I tried to, at least... infernal thing. But yeah. She called. We talked." That about sums it up. "It was good." It's still hard to trust herself not to say the wrong things. Not to Denali —she's already done that plenty of times — but on a tapped line at all. With no filter to speak of and no practice censoring herself in conversations with the other girl, Lex is still not convinced that Capitol-managed phone calls aren't going to get her hauled off to get her tongue cut out one of these days. It might be worth it.

But in the meantime, she doesn't want to sink her chances at better sorts of inter-District communication. "You might have to keep a closer eye on things yourself soon. Well, maybe. I put in for one of those work travel permits — there's a lot of carpentry to be done all over the place. Framing work mainly — which is sorta boring — but it'd be nice to see some of the other districts." Not just District Five, even, though that's where that first permit application is for. It would be nice to see District Four and the ocean and Wander and Annie. The mountains in Two, the big sky in Ten. The rest of Bette's grandfather clocks that didn't make the trip to the Ratmas Markets. "Not that I have much chance of getting approved. Y'know. Infamous murderer and all that." Flashing a shithead smirk, she turns her attention to dusting some of the shavings from her earlier whittling off of her knees. Clears her throat.

"Do I need to ask you intrusive personal questions now? Or can I trust that if there was something you wanted to talk about, you'd come out with it?"

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{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Apr 26, 2019 22:47:50 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Apr 26, 2019 22:47:50 GMT -5

It was all about reading between the lines as far as Lex Lionel was concerned. He knew that. He'd gotten so good at it, in fact, that it was second nature. There was the conversation they were having out loud, and there was the second one neither of them were supposed to speak of. He wasn't sober, so it took him a moment to digest, to dig in and see what she was trying to say.

"You've got friends in other districts. Teddy, Stella. You miss them, don't you?"

Ah, the old answer-my-question-with-more-questions tactic. Almost like clockwork when any of the softer parts of Lex's existence were brought up. Anything that might prove to Mackenzie, or Lex, or anyone else paying attention that, at the end of the day, she was only human. Only as invulnerable as the next. What she said was code for, Of course I miss her.

"I actually, you know... called." Hesitation; simple enough. She meant to say: I'm trying. I'm giving it a chance. He found it hard to believe, as happy as he was to hear it. He was glad for Lex, but she was in her best element when her hands were busy and her mouth was closed and there weren't too many people around to interrupt. It had taken him a long while to grow comfortable around her, to not feel like that. Like an interruption. Or, maybe he still did and maybe he just knew she had given up pushing him away.

"It was good."

That, he thought, was pure honesty. No half-truths, no avoidance, no hesitation.

"It was good," he repeated, smiling thinly enough that she wouldn't notice and run away like a stray cat. If only for a moment, she'd shown him a glimpse of what went on inside that wall around her. It was fleeting, gone in an instant. He could practically see her closing the door through which he'd been peering.

"You might have to keep a closer eye on things yourself soon. Well, maybe. I put in for one of those work travel permits—"

That was code for I'm not done running. Not yet. Mackenzie didn't need to wonder where she thought she'd find her answers first. The idea of him calling Denali to check in on Lex seemed strange; he wasn't in love with the idea of switching places with the lion girl from Five, of being the odd man out, but who knew? Maybe whatever Lex was searching for would be there after all. He was aware of his own hypocrisy; he forced himself not to let it affect his decisions. Jacinta wanted to go, and so she did. Angel didn't want to stay, and so he didn't.

If Lex wanted to run, far be Mackenzie from suddenly being the one to stand in the way and beg her not to. Not when it was for selfish gain.

"Do I need to ask you intrusive personal questions now? Or can I trust that if there was something you wanted to talk about, you'd come out with it?"

He flashed his middle finger up at her with a snide grin.

"Ask all you want. I'll only answer the ones I feel like answering."

His selfishness could be controlled. Apparently, his hypocrisy could not.

Last Edit: Apr 27, 2019 0:51:08 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

aya
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from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } May 2, 2019 18:45:42 GMT -5

Post by aya on May 2, 2019 18:45:42 GMT -5

[attr="class","Lex3Container"]

[attr="class","Lex3Title"]oh i know how good you are
how hard it is

[attr="class","Lex3Content"]

"You know I'm bad at personal, Mom." She'd try to pass herself off as being bad at intrusive, too, but she's sitting here because she did literally break into his house not too long ago.

If this is supposed to be some sort of guessing game, he'll be disappointed. Lex would always rather keep her head down and do her own thing, and expects everyone else around her to do the same. Growing up, the value placed on person's right to privacy equalled the value placed on a person's right to self-determination. One year later, Lex still reels when she thinks too long about how easily that was all ripped away, shoved in front of a hundred thousand cameras and left to live and die at the whims of cowards beyond her reach. How she might've come home to live out her life, but she'll never get either back, not really. How the Capitol's strange gift drags her back into the public sphere at their slightest inclination, keeps her under closer watch, keeps her from doing what she pleases when she pleases.

"Alright." What the Games have taken away from Lex, they take in dividends from Makenzie Pryce. Like clockwork they come to collect: Stand in front of the cameras. Smile pretty. Tell us about your fresh corpses. Deny this year's baseless rumors. Forced to fit into their narratives like suits tailored for someone else, still living and dying at the mercy of the untouchable, burdened with a sisyphean task and blamed for every failure.

If Lex Lionel knew how to be a good friend, she'd probably ask how he was holding up. She'd check to see if he blamed himself, and reassure him that he'd done everything he could and none of it would ever be his fault. She'd tell him — and she'd mean it — that anyone was lucky to have him as a mentor, tease him for not sponsoring her so much as a crumb and boast about how she hadn't needed it. And she'd finally get around to thanking him for setting her up with the ally she'd never have tried to make for herself.

If Lex Lionel knew how to be a good friend, she'd have said it all already. But he'd said ask all you want and, as a rule, the amount she wants is zero. Besides, as much as he likes to pry, it isn't as if he's ever been more forthcoming about things that sound like they might venture into the territory of emotions than Lex ever has. How many times has he told her not to make it weird?

But in the full year they've known each other, there's only one thing she's ever thought to ask her former mentor. It took root in her brain the first time Denali had off-handedly mentioned her interaction with Lethe Turner, and curiosity creeps upwards like ivy every time she catches a glimpse of District Seven's tributes in recaps, in real-time, in remembrance. "The quell twist... would you trade it for another Games if you could?" She'd tried to ask Annie about how the other victors had reacted to the mass-resurrection, but hadn't gotten an analysis detailed enough to satisfy her. "Keep Ike and everyone else who was in the Arena with you?" She chews her lip. "Bring Diana home instead?"

She'd fully intended not to bring the Games up at all, not tonight, not in the abstract and certainly not in specifics.

"Or just tell me your favorite color or something. I don't know."

how good you are joe pug
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{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
Administrator

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last seen Nov 14, 2024 11:39:14 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Aug 10, 2019 20:56:32 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Aug 10, 2019 20:56:32 GMT -5

Even as he was, mind drowned in the amber contents of his drink, Mackenzie saw the exact moment when it happened. When Lex Lionel decided to take down a single brick from the wall surrounding her. It wasn't much: just a moment. A peace-offering, likely from all his not-so-subtle pleas in the past. But it felt like a lot, and that was good. Mackenzie found himself leaning toward her, hands tucked into his pockets, shrugged shoulders and an uncertain expression on his face.

"The quell twist... would you trade it for another Games if you could?"

Lex must have realized that Mackenzie didn't understand the question when he didn't answer right away. Her words sounded tighter now than he'd ever remembered them being. Out of the mouth more quickly, like she couldn't wait to move on to whatever topic came after this conversation.

"Keep Ike and everyone else who was in the Arena with you? Bring Diana home instead?"

A part of Mackenzie that he'd thought was dead, or at least numb within him, began to ache. He didn't know what to say; of course Lex had waited until he was drunk, the dick. He reclaimed his seat on the steps of the porch: spindly, calloused fingers clung to the white pillar for dear life.

"Or just tell me your favorite color or something. I don't know."

He held up his free hand, waving her off.

"Shush, I just— I need to figure out how to, uh, ar-tic-u-late this."

He'd been sure to put a pause between each syllable, just to ensure he didn't stutter.

"I, um..."

The night sky above, with all of its stars and rainstorms, shined in his eyes. Ike had been so important to him once upon a time. The only piece of home he had in that place. And it hadn't mattered if they spoke, or if they spent hours telling one another about all the childhood traumas they had in common or not. Mackenzie had always understood Ike, in the sense that he knew she was not something to be understood. If he had met her under different circumstances, he was sure they would've been friends still.

And Zion and Diana were the first real proof of his incompetence as a mentor. Zion, killed by a snake's safe end and with the name of a ghost who, as it turned out, would never leave Mackenzie. He probably died as punishment for everything that had happened with Lex and Denali in the bloodbath last year. His death was more about guilt than remorse for Mackenzie. And Diana had made it all the way to the end, all the way to the last second of action. Her death was a punishment of Mackenzie's own making. He'd allowed himself to hope for her return, counted his chickens before they hatched. He'd been foolish.

And Angel may have spent most of his time locked away in his room and Lex may have preferred ripping a door off its hinges to waiting for someone to answer, but he knew he wanted.

"No. Not now," he cleared his throat, "Don't get me wrong: you're both thorns in my side, but uh... Angel didn't even know how to live before. Still doesn't, but we're working on it. Point is, he gets a chance."

He made sure his face was hidden in the dark of the night, turned away from Lex and those unforgiving eyes and that smile made for war.

"And you're, um—" ~~Kind of my best friend. One of the only people I can depend on.~~

"I need you. You're good to have a drink with. And you can fix doors, which is good if you're just gonna go around breakin' em down."

He smiled, and then he met her gaze.

"Green," he said after some time, "Dark green. Like pine needles in winter. That's my favorite color. And you better not go and disappear on me just because I got drunk and admitted I care about you. Don't be an ass."

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

aya
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"GUNNERRRRR~"

from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Aug 22, 2019 11:27:16 GMT -5

Post by aya on Aug 22, 2019 11:27:16 GMT -5

[attr="class","Lex4Container"]

[attr="class","Lex4Title"]there ain’t no sense in leaving from
the only game you know

[attr="class","Lex4Content"]

"No," he says, "not now." and she's quiet for a moment. Processing. It checks out — how once, there might've been a time when he'd have happily traded her out for another tribute's resurrection. If she'd ever given it any thought, maybe she'd have traded him out for another mentor — the pickings were slim, but maybe some Katelyn Persimmon type, fresh off a hiatus, a track record of capability and penchant for baking desserts worth dying for. But even after being subjected to Mackenzie's cooking, no. Not now.

Furrowing her brow at the mention of Angel de Costa, she still can't wrap her mind around the reason why Mackenzie thinks he — of all tributes — is worthy of his resurrection. Wasn't it crueler to everyone to bring back a tribute who'd wanted to die? Wasn't that spitting in the face of everyone whose brothers and sons and cousins and friends didn't get the same privilege? Spitting on the graves of the boys who wouldn't come back because they never wanted to fight? Sure. Get a second chance at life to sit in your room and squander it.

But maybe that's always been the difference between the two kids sitting on the stoop: Lex has always been willing to take everything at face value, to believe a person who's made up their mind, and not to bother trying to persuade them otherwise. Angel de Costa signed up to die because he hadn't wanted to live; who was Lex to try to convince him he ought to? He's an adult. He can decide for himself what he wants or what he doesn't. Not her place to tell him he's wrong, even if somehow that conversation didn't sound like a total waste of time for both parties.

And Mackenzie, on the other hand, has only ever been patient to a fault. With her, too. She isn't the easiest — Lex knows that, and she knows she's twice as frustrating the second someone wants her to do better. It's astounding, the way Mackenzie hasn't torn his hair out in exasperation waiting for Lex to decide that maybe she doesn't mind coming all the way out here for dinner sometimes, or that it's okay to say serious things without passing them off as a joke or burying them under six feet of snark, or that she can sit on his leaky porch in the rain without compulsively trying to fix the broken awning the way that he compulsively tries to fix people.

When she finally brings herself to respond, she starts with the easy part.

"Jinx." Lex would be astonished to hear that there was anyone in District Seven who liked any color better than forest green. Assuming wood tones and grain patterns didn't factor in, at least. Did mahogany burl count as a color? "Well, more like oak leaves — black oaks. The way they look towards the end of summer, right before they start going red and orange for the fall." Maybe some people here liked the fire-tones of autumn better than green. "I'd settle for pine needles in a pinch, though."

She sighs and sits back, fidgeting with a loose nail and the end of the board that's no longer flush with its neighbors. When she's back this weekend, she'll bring her hammer and some extra eight-penny nails. "Why're you so worried about me leaving?" she asks at last, despite the way that she's thought about getting up and walking away thrice this evening. Not permanently. Just to get out of personal questions. To wait until Mackenzie is sober enough that he feels worse for prying. "I always come back. Shit, Mom, I died and I came back anyway."

She likes being on her own sometimes. She'll vanish for a weekend on a hike. She'll hole up in the woodshop for thirty-six hour stints, regardless of whether or not she's working against a deadline. But once she's reset, and whenever she wants to be, she isn't hard to find. So what is it?

Is it because of the permit application? "Look," she sighs, "I've got more people I need to see sometimes. My friends in other districts... I don't get to go and visit them once or twice a year the way you get to see yours." Like every other aspect of the 80th quell twist, that was a curse and gift in equal measures. Once upon a time, Lex Lionel would've been perfectly content to spend the rest of her life working in the same shop, living in the same house, tapping the same maples, seeing the same faces. No longer. The people she cares about are scattered across the country. There are locations and lives beyond her own that are worth knowing. In the arena, on the train ride home, she never dared to hope that she'd see any of them again. What's so bad about a few long weeks of labor if it comes with the opportunity? She likes working, anyway.

"My life is here still, you know. I'm not going forever. Just every once in awhile, when there's work to be done. And I love Denali, but District Seven is my home." Her eyes grow wide when she realizes what she just said out loud to Mackenzie Pryce who will never let her live that down, provided he's sober enough to remember come morning. "Besides —" she pushes on, trying not call attention to the slip "— do you have any idea how long it would take to put together a workshop half as established as Arthur's in any other district? I am not squaring boards by hand while I try to save up for a jointer, thank you very much."

She casts another glance at the door, the tiger stripe figure still visible in the low light of the night. On the other side of it, so many people wait for him, depend on him. His mother, his sister. Angel de Costa, still sulking or brooding somewhere. Marley, probably. Whatever other strays they've all collectively brought into Mackenzie's home since last Lex counted, fragile or feral or freeloading. She looks back at the victor. People depend on him out here, too. The fresh new face of District Seven, the closest public figure to a Capitol liaison they've got, the boy in charge of shepherding two kids to their deaths each year — all on his own. If he means it when he says that he needs Lex, it's no wonder he's worried she'll take off for good.

"Do you keep thinking that I'm going to bail because you want to?" She doesn't blame him. All that pressure, and Lex would already have a bag packed and a new name picked out, with a fully realized plan to fake her own death sketched in the back of her notebook. "No judgement. And I won't tell. Just seems like you're projecting a little." She could be that prepared to leave and still never go. Mackenzie must know it as much as anyone. The girl who stood still, who made a willing target of herself rather than throw her comrade to the wolves the way that she said she would — there are a lot of things you could accuse Lex Lionel of being, but traitor has never been one of them. She doesn't abandon people. She doesn't know how. "That's not me."

how good you are joe pug
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{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
Administrator

7,899 POSTS
last seen Nov 14, 2024 11:39:14 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Sept 24, 2019 21:56:56 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Sept 24, 2019 21:56:56 GMT -5

"Jinx," she called, and of course she did. Of course her favorite color was the same as his and of course her reluctance to vulnerability matched his own. Mackenzie had begun to realize that, in many ways, Lex Lionel was a mirrored reflection of himself and that was, perhaps, why he was so drawn to her: She reminded him of himself.

Lex. Max. Lex. Max.

She reminded him of his sister.

Iron-willed, stubborn to a fault. Right down to the ripped jeans and the talent for getting herself into trouble and finding her way out completely on her own. And just as he always had with Max, Mackenzie liked to think he had something to do with it, and maybe he did, but at the end of the day, girls like Lex and Max fought their own wars on their own accords. Winning or losing was completely up to them.

"Why're you so worried about me leaving?"

Were he sober, he would've had a good response to that. Something along the lines of, because if something happens there I can't just show up, or because Marley and Angel are awful drinking partners and Max is busy, but instead he just stared down at her. When he didn't know how to fill the void, she took matters into her own hands, just as expected. Exactly how she always could.

"I always come back. Shit, Mom, I died and I came back anyway."
But she wasn't supposed to.

So quick to remind him of her ability to take her own limits of mortality as more of a light suggestion than a concrete thing, but the fact was that she had died. She had died, and there was a hole in the ground for her to be buried in, and then by some small miracle, they took pity on everyone. To teach Glamour a lesson. Not because Mackenzie had willed it so and certainly not because Lex Lionel demanded it.

He knew she was not some precious, easily broken thing, but that was, perhaps, why he was so afraid of seeing her shatter. He'd seen it once before. Watched her fall into the dirt, heard the cannon all the way into his bones. Cried. Punched a hole in the wall. Flipped a table. Felt responsible.

Felt helpless.

"Look, I've got more people I need to see sometimes. My friends in other districts... I don't get to go and visit them once or twice a year the way you get to see yours."

He wouldn't have gone if he had the choice. He would've sacrificed seeing Teddy and Stella if it meant bringing an end to this, and he was sure she must have known that. At the very least, he hoped she did.

"I-" he tried, tongue fat in his mouth. He spat between his feet. He had mostly stopped listening to her because nothing that she was saying was unfair and he knew it was his own selfishness that caused him to protest. But then something stood out.

"And I love Denali, but District Seven is my home."

Three words. Something he'd longed for her to admit and something he feared was true all at once. Lover of the lion girl. She lived across the country, and girls like Lex fought their own wars on their own accords, and wild things had a way of finding one another. He tried and failed rather miserably to suppress a smile.

"Knew it," he mumbled as she carried on, his voice lost noise to the rain and the wind.

"Do you keep thinking that I'm going to bail because you want to?"

His first response was to laugh, a small snort through the nose and a force of air through the mouth until he realized she was serious.

"No. No. Of course not. Well, maybe, but not-"

She was really taking the breath out of him, this one.

"Not in the way you mean. Bail on you?" he pointed toward the brand new door, "On them? No. But... everything else? Meeting these kids- these great kids- and then sending them off for slaughter?"

He cleared his throat.

"And that's what it is: slaughter. Did I ever tell you what happened when you won the wealth? Kinkade himself in my room, dead of night, making death threats. Because of me. Because I asked Denali to watch your back."

He allowed the moment- and himself- to breathe.

"We weren't supposed to survive, Lex. Not me, not you, not any of us. And I don't mean because we weren't strong enough, I mean because they didn't want us to. So, you see? I'm damned if I help, damned if I don't. Do I want to bail on that shit? Every day of my life. But leaving you guys behind? That's not me, either."

Last Edit: Sept 24, 2019 21:59:27 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

aya
Administrator

6,261 POSTS
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"GUNNERRRRR~"

from the windows | { lex / mackenzie } Jan 8, 2020 20:58:44 GMT -5

Post by aya on Jan 8, 2020 20:58:44 GMT -5

[attr="class","Lex5Container"]

[attr="class","Lex5Title"]so it gets and so it goes
that's what you get, i suppose

[attr="class","Lex5Content"]

She can't help grinning a little watching him stammer through a denial, then trip over the specifics. The question was binary — leave or stay — but Lex knows as well as anyone that complicated feelings have complicated answers. Mackenzie doesn't want to bail on her, or on any of the strays in the house behind them, but that doesn't make the decision to stay cut-and-dry. Maybe staying despite what that means he must do — what is encapsulated by everything else — is easier than going because he's already here. Because year after year, there will be more great kids and the Capitol will come to collect their golden victor along with their newest corpses, fresh-faced and scowling for the slaughter.

"And that's what it is," he reiterates, like Lex doesn't know that. Like it wasn't just last year that she'd been there and done that, "slaughter." She might have come home alive at the end of it all, but she knows that. Maybe she knows it better than the boy sitting next to her who's never lain in the grass, acutely aware that the creeping chill he feels isn't frost growing inward towards his bones and filling his body, but the last of his blood leaving it. It's hard for Lex to listen patiently while he describes the Hunger Games like she doesn't have first-hand experience with them, but she bites her tongue — now's not the time.

When he pivots, however — describing a Gamemaker's death threats delivered in person — she fails to suppress a snicker. Not that she knows what actually goes on with the victors, but she's seen enough of Glamour Kinkade — a petty, petulant tyrant — not to believe that was ever serious. If they were going around executing victors because their tributes were performing well, wouldn't they have just blown the top two floors off the training center already? More likely the Gamemaker was just cranky because their scuffle on the blacktop hadn't ended with Denali's heart clutched in Lex's fist, or with Lex's windpipe crushed between Denali's jaws. Or maybe he just didn't like the papier-mâché likeness of him they'd stuck to the front of the Trolley Problem.

He looks like he means it — dead serious means it — when he insists that they weren't supposed to survive. "Not me, not you, not any of us." She doesn't need to glance over at him to see the dark clouds furrowing themselves onto his brow; even with her eyes trained on the pine branch swaying in the wind across the street, she can hear the lines worrying themselves onto the victor's forehead. "And I don't mean because we weren't strong enough —" in a sense, Lex supposes that she wasn't, even though she knows he'd never call her out on it "— I mean because they didn't want us to."

She considers that for a moment, tracing the tops of her teeth with her thumbnail, certain that he's wrong, but not sure if she should say so right now. It's not that they weren't supposed to survive — it's that no one really is, and then someone does. Doesn't matter who. Lex could've not been reaped last year and Mackenzie could be sitting here having this conversation with Lenox LaChance. With anyone else. Or maybe it would be Ike Tate saying so to de Costa, or to Luke Collins, or to Zion Imani. Really. The Capitol didn't want Lex dead any more than they wanted Mackenzie Pryce dead or Diana Sayers dead or anyone else. There were messages that needed to be written in blood; whose blood was inconsequential. As for her and her cohort? That message was louder than ever. Harder to make sense of, at least it had been for her at first. But loud. They were a warning, an omen. Her resurrection wasn't for her.

And if they didn't want Lex specifically to survive — if they didn't want any of them specifically to survive — then they wouldn't have sent them home. Plain and simple. They'd have been shown off in the Capitol or they'd've been "too far gone to save" or maybe they'd have been sent right back into the arena a second time, like Denali suggested, or they'd have been executed right there on the stage. No. Mackenzie's mistake is believing that the Capitol cares about them — individually, specifically, by name. There must be politics at play that Lex isn't privy to, but she's not naive enough to think that the president himself was sitting around going 'You know that Lionel girl — yes, the woodworker, the one who got suspended for knocking that wobbly bookshelf onto her fourth grade teacher, who hasn't done much dangerous or noteworthy since? — she's a threat, we'd better have her killed. Oh, we're bringing this group back? Well that's certainly an oversight, isn't it?'

She's just not that important, big picture.

Or at least she wasn't. Now? Who knows.

She catches herself wondering, again, if the desire to bail on the responsibility of playing mom for the kids who've been sent off to die is exactly like bailing on her retroactively. It's the same impulse that keeps her from willing the whole 80th Games undone, even on days when her arms hurt and her leg hurts and her heart feels like it's got splinters. No 80th means no Mackenzie — means she isn't sitting here on this porch in the rain. Means none out of a whole set of names that she might list off so she doesn't feel quite so pathetic just saying Denali. The premise of the hypothetical is unfair — and it isn't like she'd hold it against him either way — and she doesn't know how to say any of that to Mackenzie, anyway. Not that it would do either of them any good.

"Okay," she agrees instead.

There's silence for a moment while she considers, again, the perpetual purgatory that keeps the victors ensnared. Even if she doesn't buy Mackenzie's assessment of why it's an impossible, unfixable situation, she believes him that it is. It's too bad that it's not either/or.

"Well," she says at last, brushing the last few curls of basswood off of her jeans, "if you do decide you need to get away from all of that —" she hauls herself up, the porch railing wiggling a little in her grasp "— I forgive you in advance if it means you've got to get away from me too." She offers Mackenzie a hand and pulls him to his feet, too. "It's getting late. I need to head home — and you should get some rest. I'll be back Saturday to fix that leak there —" she points up at the steady dripping overhead "— and to finish patching the holes in the wall near your telephone."

She takes a couple slow steps towards home before she turns back around. "Hey, Mom —" she adds, "— drink some water."

how good you are joe pug
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Last Edit: Jan 8, 2020 21:38:19 GMT -5 by aya

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems