That a Ghost Should be So Practical // [Opal+Mace]

[d10f ekta ram // [earthling]]

a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,
that's when you feel my kind of love

Mace hugged the base of the furnace and cursed the voice in his head. Yeah, fuck that. If only. The worst of it was that he had brought this torture entirely on himself. She had not asked him to build a shrine in her name, her name which she had claimed for herself. She had not demanded that he live his life in service to her memory. She had asked for so little so long ago. If he was haunted by Alexander Hood, it was entirely his own doing.

But he could not let her go.

The moment the tributes had surfaced to ice, his heart had stopped. He hadn't been smart enough to be with his human safety nets. Julian had gone to the compartments for Two and his children to the creche with Saffron. He'd been all alone. But then, wasn't that the way it was supposed to be for a victor? Wasn't that the reality of his life? No one else remembered her the way he did. No one else had plucked a penny from a dying man's stomach. No one else had turned their back on the water aflame.

Soon, though, someone else might remember the pneumonia lurking in his lungs. Soon, someone else might be able to compare opalescent toe nails. Soon. But not today.

He'd stumbled into furnace room, wrapped himself against one of the grumbling machines. He laid on his side, grey eyes as vacant as they once had been. He was encased in a block of ice, a transparent cell. He could see her, just on the other side, always on the other side. If she said anything to him, it came through layers of frosted over memories.

"I don't know how to be warm any more," he said, his voice tunneling through his snowy thoughts.

[cass]

opal earnest

take these broken wings and learn to fly

When she had appeared at his door she'd been told he wasn't there. With the smallest of nods she'd accepted this, before turning around and stepping away, ready to forget the matter she had intended to bring up. She had no clue where he would be, she had no clue where to even begin looking. Her first thought was to head back to her room, close the door and care for Ky. She had been very reluctant to leave the young child's side.

These days she spent almost every waking moment by his side, hardly finding time to herself at all. It wasn't like she minded, though, Ky was a laughing, giggling ball of energy and life. He had managed to clasp the last remaining threads of joy within her heart before they had snapped, and slowly, but surely he was pulling them further and further into safety where they could mend. Sometimes it hurt to see him, especially when he glanced at her with those eyes of his, they were the same shade as Potato's they glittered with the same soft, warm light. When he'd smile she was dragged into her memories, of seeing him there before her, the corners of his eyes crinkle, his lips parting, but where Potato had had a full set of teeth little Ky had not much, to say the least.

Opal knew that people talked, the few times she had dared step foot into the Capitol since the incident she had seen the looks, the hushed whispering, the eyes, burning holes in her skin. She never stuck around for long enough to see what they said, she didn't want to know. It was why, up until this point she had given up on smiling, laughing and caring, she didn't crack the facade that she wore like armour. Only Ky and Nightshade got a glimpse past it.

She had wanted to stay by herself and pretend it didn't matter, that her reasoning for leaving Ky was nothing that important, but when she had reached her lowest point Mace had been there for her. He had helped her and guided her and spoken to her. He hadn't treated her like a child, he'd understood, somehow he had understood her suffering in that moment. She needed to thank him, and whilst those thoughts and emotions clung to her so violently she knew she had to speak, before she let them slip away and she'd no longer feel the urge to see him. The old her wouldn't have wanted that, in fact Opal Shore would have been disgusted, Opal Shore had treasured her friendship with Mace. Opal Earnest didn't know what to make of it anymore.

Two hours of searching passed, she went up and down, to as many rooms as she could find. A few times she was tempted to give up and head back, but she pressed onwards, her emotions forcing her to act. This time as the elevator dinged open to reveal the, at first glance, empty furnace room she bit back her annoyance at having not seen or heard a single sign of him. Stepping out she moved amongst the clutter and mess, heat radiated from every inch, and within moments she could feel the flush crawling onto her cheeks. This room was entirely different to the cold, isolated world the tributes were currently in.

"I don't know how to be warm any more."

Her head snapped towards the sound of his voice, her steps more urgent as she called his name, "Mace?" She rounded the side, and was startled to find the brawny victor with his hands wrapped tightly around one of the furnaces. He looked as pale as a ghost. She sucked in a quick breathe, her mind reeling, uncertain at what reason could have caused this situation to occur. At first she wondered if she should step back and away and find Julian, but I can't. He didn't run when I needed help. It was that reasoning she used to propel herself forwards and crouch down beside the older victor.

"You okay?" She asked, and for a brief moment Opal Earnest was shocked by the lack of concern or worry or anything in her voice. Shaking off her uneasy feelings she reached a hand forwards, gently placing it against Mace's forehead. "You're so cold." She whispered.

template by Chelsey

[d10f ekta ram // [earthling]]

a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,
that's when you feel my kind of love

The furnace grumbles in his grip, protesting his closeness, his clinging. It only makes him grip harder. Somewhere, his name is called, pinging off the machines, and it's all so mechanical and loud. It almost drowns out the member of silent snow. It almost is enough warmth to heat his permafrost bones. Almost.

You okay? She asks, and they both know she doesn't need an answer. He presses his lips together, pushing his teeth against the flesh, just to keep them from rattling. A line of sweat marches down his spine, but it's not enough to remind him that he's here, in this musty cavernous room, and not encased in ice. Because he should be there. He should have always been there.

He knew how to answer the question, what he should say. I'm fine, just like he told Kieran (on the rare occasion that his son even asked). I'm fine, which was the best non-answer most people would accept. In Opal's case, it had been a non-question, which spared him the burden of rearranging words. He shook once, violently, when she touched his forehead. His hands seized against the furnace.

"Don't make me go just yet. I ain't ready. I gotta get warm." He still hadn't lifted his gaze, grey eyes reflected in the dusty metal. "It's like my body don't work right any more."

[cass]

opal earnest

take these broken wings and learn to fly

They both knew that when you asked that question you weren't asking out of anything, but habit. No one was alright, no one was fine, not when they had experienced everything the victors had. If she were to line them all up she'd have fumbled along the line, eyes flickering from one to another, knowing that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone that one of them was fine. It was habit that made her nod her head and accept his words, it was instinct that drove her to sit down beside him and press her back up against his shoulder. The old her would have smiled and looked at him with such concern and worry, the old her would have sat like this, she knew, but there would have been more warmth and love in her motions. This girl just did what she thought was right in that moment.

She hadn't only the slightest clue of the pain he was suffering, in all reality she didn't understand the severity of the arena to his current emotions, but she had a feeling it was like having your head dipped into a bucket of water and being held down until you couldn't breathe and even then it didn't stop. It was like choking on air, and knowing that you couldn't possibly be dying, because you were breathing but your mind was telling you that it wasn't enough. But you just couldn't breath, even though it was right there, slipping between your lips, and your chattering teeth.

She stares straight ahead, not sparing Mace a glance, her eyes focus on the distance and he speaks once more, hands tightening around the furnace. "Don't worry, I forgot how to use mine. You just go through the motions," she mumbles, just move, she had told herself. "One step at a time until you remember old habits and you just go with it. It's not going to feel the same, it never will." She tips her head back to look at him, for a moment a ghost of a smile dances at the edges of her mouth, one step after the next, keep going-

"Just move forwards." That's the only way you can go.

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