what a mess i leave / frankel

Wow he is getting old. This near decade of being mayor is beginning to show on Pierre’s face. Obviously, he knew trading his shop for the mayor’s podium would not be easy, but he did not realise how much of a toll it would take on him. A great deal of pressure and it has begun to filter down to the rest of his family too, not just Abi and Preston. Four Hopes lost before his reign as mayor, he told Ripred that must have been enough to fill its pallet. But the eighty-first would roll by and pluck out more.

What a horrid brother he must be, just a card of condolence from the man who could have done so much more. All these promises to his citizens, to his family. They are becoming hard to carry. Pierre can remember when Beatrice was born, he can remember most of his sibling’s births. A whole herd of kids to step over being the eldest. Like most families, all connections begin to fade. Pierre really has not had much to do with his sister’s life and he cannot really blame his parents for having so many kids spread across two decades. There is always enough time to knock on her door. There has never been an excuse not to send out the invitation a little earlier than now. He just wished meeting with an outside mayor did not reveal the truth that is happening behind his family member’s doors. Pierre did not wait for the mail service to deliver the letter, hand delivered not long after the district Eleven mayor left. Time is becoming too vulnerable, too many years have passed by and he cannot lose that connection now.

OF course, of all the days he tries to reconnect with a sibling, it is the day of his birthday. He has not talked about it too much; he does not want to talk about it. He really does not want to celebrate it but he knows Abi or someone in the family is cooking something up on this winter’s morning. Pierre has not been allowed in the dining room since clearing the table after Vasco left yesterday afternoon.

The only room of his house that he is allowed in this morning is the small study. All the walls are lined with shelves that should fill books, instead it is Abi’s pageant trophies, Pierre’s decanters and trash. He sits at the small desk, his mind repeating the conversations he had with Vasco yesterday. If the Capitol heard their words, it would be the end of them, but he does not know where to take it. Other than ticking the first agenda item off the list, that is to ensure his little sister is doing okay, after the night Vasco spent with her. Of course, of all the people it had to be Birdie who he met. Of all the fucking people in District Eight, it was her sister. Maybe it is a blessing in disguise, the truth is out, and Pierre Hope is a terrible brother.

”Pierre, the door!” Someone shouts, that does not sounds like anyone in his household. Who else is clearly decorating half of his house right now?

He opens the door, not as reluctantly as he did when he knew Vasco was at the other side. She does not look like the little girl he remembers her to be. A full woman with so many years behind her, clearly so many dark years. “You look like shit. Muffin?” Pierre’s smile gleams, at last someone who actually speaks their mind instead of whispering it behind his back. He picks out one of the muffins from Birdie’s basket before inviting her in. ”I think we both feel like shit, Beatrice…or is it Birdie you prefer?” He asks, as he guides her back into the study while picking away at the muffin. ”Did you bake these yourself? Or was it Blackston? I heard Manon and Gerard dumped him on you? Strange kid that one.”

There are a lot of empty rooms in Pierre’s house. Panem must picture their mayors to have busy households, Pierre’s just fills two bedrooms. Panem did its own job on ensuring that. At first Pierre was not too keen on the house coming with its own staff. A cleaner and a cook. Abi was adamant that they keep them, it at least gives two people in the District a wage, more so than the factory workers who he promised nearly ten years ago that they would receive a pay rise.

It has happened, he knows it. Barely through the door and Pierre has already said the wrong thing. She has been Birdie forever. Maybe people do not grow out of their childhood nicknames. Maybe keeping in touch with family is a vital thing…

Pierre rested into one of the soft armchairs, picking away at the muffin in his hand as Birdie complained about the nephew that she is stuck with.

Nobody really talks properly anymore, just whispers that are all wrapped with lies. It is like being a kid again, nobody has really matured in the Hope family. Always full of gossip. All he has heard about Birdie is that she locks herself up in her room and probably has a drinking habit Leland’s name crops up in conversations quite often, as soon as Pierre saw him, he knew Birdie can do so much better…

”I am sure they have not told me the real truth. You know what they are all like, anything to sound better than the rest.” Even as the mayor, Pierre is sure that whispers float around about himself. The over-privilege grey haired drunk, or something along those lines. ”I want to help you Birdie and I want to apologies for not doing it sooner.” Pierre places the half eaten muffin on the table besides him, leaning forward in his chair. Suddenly realising that he is a terrible host and has forgotten to pour a drink but hopes Birdie does not pick up on that. (She probably will).

”A lot of people have been talking about you, including the District Eleven mayor you met the other evening. I want to help you. You do not have to live with that kid if you don’t want too. There are plenty spare rooms in here.”

It is hard keeping up with everyone in Pierre’s family. Eight other siblings, some are not even on the Ratmas mailing list anymore as he simply does not have a clue where they are in this confined District, especially the one that decided to get knocked up with Giovanni Rasoio. Thankfully there has been no word from that family since their last tribute died, hopefully they have gone into hiding and not plotting to firebomb his house.

Every year there seems to be a new addition, including the grandchildren that Preston was so kind to hide from Pierre. A grandfather, he really is getting old. There is no real hate he carries towards any of his family, but he sure knows many hold bitter words about him. Mommy’s boy who somehow ended up in the mayor’s seat.

Maybe he should try harder from now on, learn more about the people he spent the early years of his life with. Clearly, he knows nothing about the youngest, his offerings of assistance quickly blown away by Birdie as an invitation to hell is sent back his way.

Pierre is silent for a moment; he did not write up a plan B. Usually people are quick on accepting a few coins in their pockets. He really is out of touch. A likely influence from his good doer wife, they could say he has been brainwashed by that one. He knows for sure that his siblings whisper about her. But looking at most of the other’s choices of companions, she sits higher than any of them.

”What can we do?” It is a plea for action from Pierre, he cannot simply send her on her way when he has gotten as far as having a one on one conversation with her. ”I can stop feeling bad for you if that is what you want but at least lets try and change something. We are big family but we are all so far a part.” Pierre eyes the half eaten muffin on the table besides him, quickly remembering the secret preparations in the other room. ”At least stay for whatever party or dinner Abi has planned, I am sure it will be small…”

Pierre is the oldest, but any previous adult conversation has been about business, nothing like discussing family matters and this feels like he is swimming in deep dark waters. It really Is the most sensitive of things and whatever topic he brings up with a sibling is always slippery in his grip. If he makes one error, it will not just hit him. There will be a topple effect with all the other dozens of people across his family tree. The giant hole in the Hope family needs healing, Pierre cannot do it by himself and he knows not everyone will help him fill it in.

“We’re so far apart because none of us can fucking stand each other,”

A bitter feud across so many siblings, Pierre wonders what life would be like if they were just a little bit smaller. A tight nit group, not a hoard all fighting for one space on the stage.

Pierre bites his bottom lip, containing any reaction to the rest of Birdie’s words. His eyes drop, not daring to look at her. He is treading too far. Poked around too hard. He should have just offered wine and gossiped about their mother’s wig collection.

”I am not setting you up, it is just a bit of fun. It is in a few hours, there is enough time for you and you can invite…” His name does not come quick to Pierre and he tries to hide that fact by quickly spitting it out. ”…Leland. You can get away from that Blackston for a few hours at least.”

Pierre’s eyes drop back down to the maroon carpet. The dust particles entwined with the fibres suddenly clear as the day as the distractions begin to creep up. Really, he is not cut out for any of this. His only condolences from his family when the twins and Eva died was a hug at their funerals and a card a few days after their canons sounded but today is not about him. He is just as bad as the others, another card of condolence signed by him sent to Birdie when poor Damaris was killed.

”I am sorry for not being there then but I am here now. Let me do something now, anything. I owe everything to everyone that I have let down.” It really did all go to his head, nearly a decade ago, just months after his last daughter’s breaths and he was delivering his acceptance speech. A few years and grey hairs later, reality has finally hit that this life is not the glorious one he imagined. But there is no throwing it away now, he owes that to everyone he has forgotten. He owes it to his three daughter’s graves to not let it go to waste.

Pierre gets up onto his feet, rummaging through the secret stash in a small cupboard in the study. ”I think we are ready for a drink, I have brandy or whiskey?” He offers, pulling out two half empty decanters and glasses to accompany them.

Well it is confirmed, Pierre is simply out of touch with everyone around him. Not just his family but the meeting with Vasco yesterday has proved he does not even know the people who put him in the damned position he has now. Pierre has just followed his own life, not looking to his side to see how those close to him are getting on with theirs. Maybe he can call it selfishness. It was selfish for him to sign up to be mayor without consulting everyone else. It was selfish of him to uproot his young son without asking him first.

Selflessness is a big part of being mayor and Pierre has not even displayed it with his family.

Pierre curses himself in his head, his own mind has trailed to his own faults, but today’s conversation is on helping his sister. Not naming all of her faults, like he about himself but fixing what can be fixed.

The whiskey fills up to the rim of both glasses, a few inches spill from the top as Pierre carries a glass to Birdie, handing it over to her. Now it is time to let the alcohol flow, let his mind ease the tension and get to the business of what is next. Pierre knows offering some sort of charity is not going to deal with the problem in his family. Everyone around him is going to have to face the music too, there is a whole hoard of Hopes and not all of them is going to comply the rules of becoming a loving family.

”You don’t have to apologise for anything Birdie. I think the whole family owes you an apology after all of these years.” Pierre says as he takes a large sip of the glass, while placing himself back into the seat .One big item on the mayor agenda is improving parts that are broken, outdated and without love. He cannot patch up his sister like a crumbling factory roof but at least he can start somewhere. Inviting her to a small family gathering is at least step one.

”Of course there is plenty of time for you to get ready. Do not worry about our siblings gossiping. I think Abi invited mother, she will be leading on the gossiping and lining us all up to dish out her annual insult.” A chuckle rolls with his words at the end and he is quick to quench his thirst, with another long sip of the whiskey.