it's a long way down // district three
Jun 5, 2020 0:55:28 GMT -5
Post by mat on Jun 5, 2020 0:55:28 GMT -5
[googlefont="Megrim:400;"]
For thirteen years, he woke up on this day of the year and got onto the train without a second thought. Worried; for what might happen to the tributes if neither of District Three's recent victors would give counsel or the metallic false sense of security. Fearful; of what they might do to him if he refused. Terrified; of what they might do to his friends. Esther. Angel. Rafe. Little Karmen. There are certain actions that Atticus is willing to take to benefit those he cared for at the expense of his mental health.
Today he finds himself wishing to run. The train feels smaller now, almost claustrophobic despite there being endless rooms to occupy himself with as he waits for the tributes to come and the cycle to play itself over again. There is nothing he wants more than to hurl himself through the train's windows, crawl out, and run away. Surely with everything going on in the districts these days, he makes it? Right? His mind and conscience strays him away from the idea as he takes a seat furthest from the windows, deploying last night's conversation with Hunter Holmes instead.
{"Atticus. You're a father."}
He laughed in disbelief at the idea. What?
{"You're a father, Atticus,"} Hunter was serious.
"What?" he says aloud, pulling his hands through his hair. The people of District Three have started to congregate now at the station. It's only a matter of time before his two tributes slide through the door. Only to be disappointed, no doubt. If there's anything Atticus Manor prays for at night, it's that people might think of him with low expectations. He can only offer these two so much, especially now, with tensions at their peak and a mind known to be lost in thought that's a strand of hair away from imploding.
{"Remi. Maddox. Silas. You and Victoria..."}
The fact that he couldn't even remember who 'Victoria' was is troubling enough. But three? What kind of genes do that? Atticus rises from the table, pacing now. He has to get away from here, District Three and the Holmes's, and straighten it all out. Even if he wanted to stay, Atticus knows it's not in his best interest. He fears for his own safety if he doesn't play by certain rules, but he's mortified for his kids now. If they were his kids.
{"You have to be a father, Atti-"}
His hand slammed against the glass window that he desperately attempted to stay away from. The glass shatters onto the empty side of the station, bruising Atticus's knuckles and leaving a shard lodged into his hand.
"Fuck," he turns himself around, delicately twisting the shard out of his hand. Hurts like a motherfucker, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before.
He shakes his hand, trying to let whatever air, if you could even call it that, District Three had to offer to take away the pain.
"Damn."
Two pairs of shoes appear at the floor of the train in front of him.
"Oh, hello there."
Keeping expectations low and easy to clear.
Atticus Manor
For thirteen years, he woke up on this day of the year and got onto the train without a second thought. Worried; for what might happen to the tributes if neither of District Three's recent victors would give counsel or the metallic false sense of security. Fearful; of what they might do to him if he refused. Terrified; of what they might do to his friends. Esther. Angel. Rafe. Little Karmen. There are certain actions that Atticus is willing to take to benefit those he cared for at the expense of his mental health.
Today he finds himself wishing to run. The train feels smaller now, almost claustrophobic despite there being endless rooms to occupy himself with as he waits for the tributes to come and the cycle to play itself over again. There is nothing he wants more than to hurl himself through the train's windows, crawl out, and run away. Surely with everything going on in the districts these days, he makes it? Right? His mind and conscience strays him away from the idea as he takes a seat furthest from the windows, deploying last night's conversation with Hunter Holmes instead.
{"Atticus. You're a father."}
He laughed in disbelief at the idea. What?
{"You're a father, Atticus,"} Hunter was serious.
"What?" he says aloud, pulling his hands through his hair. The people of District Three have started to congregate now at the station. It's only a matter of time before his two tributes slide through the door. Only to be disappointed, no doubt. If there's anything Atticus Manor prays for at night, it's that people might think of him with low expectations. He can only offer these two so much, especially now, with tensions at their peak and a mind known to be lost in thought that's a strand of hair away from imploding.
{"Remi. Maddox. Silas. You and Victoria..."}
The fact that he couldn't even remember who 'Victoria' was is troubling enough. But three? What kind of genes do that? Atticus rises from the table, pacing now. He has to get away from here, District Three and the Holmes's, and straighten it all out. Even if he wanted to stay, Atticus knows it's not in his best interest. He fears for his own safety if he doesn't play by certain rules, but he's mortified for his kids now. If they were his kids.
{"You have to be a father, Atti-"}
His hand slammed against the glass window that he desperately attempted to stay away from. The glass shatters onto the empty side of the station, bruising Atticus's knuckles and leaving a shard lodged into his hand.
"Fuck," he turns himself around, delicately twisting the shard out of his hand. Hurts like a motherfucker, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before.
He shakes his hand, trying to let whatever air, if you could even call it that, District Three had to offer to take away the pain.
"Damn."
Two pairs of shoes appear at the floor of the train in front of him.
"Oh, hello there."
Keeping expectations low and easy to clear.
