Something Better Yet [Nekane x Vasco]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o 


Take the parts of me you thought were pure
Tear 'em up, then tear 'em even more
Drown 'em till they all disintegrate
Do you see the point I'm tryna make?

He kept returning to Nekane’s speech, the same one that nearly burst his heart into pieces from pride. 

He couldn’t imagine what had convinced her to run when she’d first announced, but no one could’ve been more behind the idea of Nekane as mayor than Vasco.

Homemade buttons and posters littered his office, and he’d been shaking hands on her behalf (whether she’d asked or not), too.

It had him think back to his own initial run.

It had been a threeway race between Vasco Izar, Ikaia Miristioma, and Maya Fel. Ikaia had announced first, and Maya not long after. He remembered hearing her voice over the radio and seen Ikaia shaking hands of folks in the fields – both had worked for Kirito and so it seemed a natural fit for one of them to take over.

And then out of the cracks in the ground sprang Vasco. Nibbled away by the fact there was never enough water working in the high heat, or that their pay could hardly be stretched to feed all the mouths they had, he’d wanted to do something. Emma helped him to dream bigger and, crazy as it sounded, he got up on that old soap box and thrown his name in.

Somehow, when the dust settled, it wasn’t Fel or Miristioma that stepped into that lonely office in the justice building.

He wondered where he might’ve been if he hadn’t won – just how much would’ve played out differently if he’d retired back to being a farmhand and father.

(He’d never know that his stroke after the eighty-first would’ve killed him, that instead of being home and tended to, he’d have collapsed in the field – isn’t it funny how life works out?)

He sat on the edge of his desk with his legs hanging off the ground and his palms flat behind him. The afternoon sun shone pale yellow through the window behind him, and he stopped to stare at the photos that lined the wall.

Pictures of him cleaning up after the riot of the eighty-second. Photos the food banks he’d helped run. He and Emma laughing as he swore her in as a magistrate. His stern face looking over the remnants of the silos burning. And a smile of him with his cousins, brothers, and friends celebrating his last election win.

When he heard footsteps in the hall, Vasco stiffened and did his best to smile. These were big shoes for anyone to fill, but he wanted Nekane to know no matter what, he’d be there to help.

“Nekane!” He stood, too excited to hold back and got to his feet. “How are you doing? I’m so glad you could come. We have so much to talk about… if you want to! I’m just…”

He beamed.

“… excited for you.”

elegant

[ines izar d11a 🖤 cait]

what's hiding behind those sad eyes?
don't start with those lies

The walk to Vasco’s office is one I’ve done many times before, but today, it holds more significance. The campaign was well underway by now, and it would only be a matter of days until someone new took their seat behind the heavy wooden doors that greet me familiarly. It was no secret that Vasco wanted me to succeed him – he’d been my biggest supporter since day one. And yet, any time I met with him, it felt conspiratorial.

I guess it’s a good thing I’ve never cared about playing by the rules.

As I push the doors of the office open, Vasco rises hastily to his feet and walks towards me. His limping frame obscures my view of his desk slightly, but not enough for me to ignore the dozens and dozens of pins strewn across it. I let out a soft sigh. He’s just trying to help. I try not to think of Emma – of being with her in this very room, tying streamers to the roof at the end of the 90th Election when Vasco was sworn in for a second term. Maybe manufacturing these tiny labels is his way of keeping her memory alive. Maybe helping me makes him feel closer to her. And who am I to take that away from him?

Smiling comes easier, then, despite the deafening sound of my heart pounding against my ribcage. “I’ll take any and all advice you’re willing to give!” I laugh softly, reaching out to grab his hands loosely and wanting to apologise immediately for the sweat slick across my palms. “Because right now I feel as nervous as a pig in a slaughterhouse.”

And it was true. It had been a long time since I’d felt this level of heightened emotions. Sure, Mateo’s presence in the 95th had stirred up the usual array of despair and anger that came knocking every time an Izar was Reaped. But this was something entirely new – the growing dampness in my hands confirmed as much.

“Do you think I did okay?” I hate myself for asking the question, but I’m not too proud to admit when I’m nervous. The anxiety rolls off of me as the barrage opens, and all the thoughts I’d been hoarding since walking off the podium come tumbling out. Was the speech too long? Too short? Did I talk too much about the past, or not enough about the future? Did people even like me?

And worst of all: what would happen if an Izar didn’t end up in this office for five more years?