run on for a long time :: finch jb

[pogue]

He's cutting his teeth on a frown that could kill by the time they drag him into the Justice Building and throw his ass on the couch, a stray piece of wood from the faltering frame splintering into his skin cutting into his thumb. It's something sinister to awake like that, with a groan and the sound of the door slamming and your head pounding from both ends in its wake, a finger or two pressed to his scalp and pulling back blood that had yet to solidify into his hair from the gash. 

He's in the middle of shifting his position for the umpteenth time when a Peacekeeper swings open the door, knuckles wrapped tight around a loaded gun and a bag of grasped loosely in the other. He tosses it hard and laughs gently when it smacks Whiskey square in the chest with a grunt and a thud, snake eyes locked on the swirling shadow of a Peacekeeper's visor as he picks it up from the couch cushion. "Ya really fucked yourself up there, Shitskey." And Wiz sighs at the familiar voice of Rex, resident golden child and Peacekeeper extraordinaire, "Take the gun and shove it up your ass." He mutters, falling back against the cushions as the door slams.

And then it's just him and time, or as his Father would call it between slurred sentences: the executioner that never misses.

The clock on the wall screams with anticipation as it counts down his own life, tick tock tick tock tick tock boom, it's as soon as Whiskey closes his eyes to sleep that he hears the door creak open and footsteps shuffle in. "I already told you what to do with the gun, Rex-" He starts, but the words fall into the void as soon as he pulls his head from a resting position and locks eyes with Glass. "Oh."

He feels his heart sink, anchor to ocean floor and it's like a fist to the gut and a knife to the heart. "Just when I thought the silence couldn't get any worse." He says to mask it all, but he can't help the solemn sound of a reaper's scythe that laces itself into the words.

He shifts forwards, pulling the ice pack from the right side of his head to his left and pulls his eyes away from his sister, tracing the wooden veins of the coffee table in front of him over and over and over and-

"Guess I'll be meeting one-eye Boone sooner rather than later, huh Finch?"

[✨ zozo.]

f i n c h .

where did you go?
i should know, but it's cold
and i don't wanna be lonely
so show me the way home

Fuckin' moron.

He got dragged back from the stage by Keepers, head lolling to one side and heels of his raggedy old boots dragging on the floor and all. People just got quiet then, an awkward tension that falls after the reaping - only this time it's littered with fear. Petrified, even though they're all safe for another year. That's the affect Wiz has on people. Manages to disgust them and freak them out all at once - it's a talent. A fun party trick.

But everyone's on edge, the crack of a gun and my brother's head echoing through the air. I break the silence the only way I know how - shoving a bunch of girls out the way and carving a path up the stairs in short yelps and groans.

Bet they won't let him have visitors. Every Keeper for a hundred miles knows my brother, my father no good at his age. Some even join me in the unfortunate predicament of knowing both of them. This last name does nothing good for any of us, ruined upon birth. Uncles used to joke about the Curse of the Finches, that old boy Boone and his one working eye damned us all. I never agreed. I've always thought this curse started long before the 6th Games, he just got the worst of it all. That kid was just like us: born unfortunate.

Born a Finch.

Even if they do let me in he'll probably be unconscious, a purple bruise swelling above his ear. Whiskey got the same curse as Boone, among other things, but this is my curse. Watching him suffer. Being left behind. The thing about suffering is it ain't so bad when you've got someone to suffer with. It was bearable - just. And we pretend we hate each-other, Wiz and I, but deep down I know I'll miss him.

I stop mid-step and it hits me like lightning, Maisy Dupree crying and her sister screaming and a whisper below all the noise.

I could've --

Instead I frown and keep walking down the Justice Building hall, shaking it off. Nah. Ain't no point regretting the past, ain't no point hoping he'll come home, all the odds stacked against us since birth. Better one of us alive than neither. Better I, with half a chance in hell of surviving this shit hole District long enough to watch it burn down from forest fires. Better he killed in there than by a Keeper's bullet. He'll get to leave how he arrived - fighting.

And maybe he'll learn a lesson or two before he kicks it, shithead.

By all accounts they shouldn't have let me in, but Rex -- fucking Rex, we are cursed -- looks me up and down and laughs. Two minutes, I just nod. Whatever. Fuck you. Two minutes of staring at this idiot's shit-eating grin, even while he's knocked the fuck out.

Bet he'll be smiling in his grave. That or scowling.

He surprises me. I surprise him. I can already tell Mom hasn't pitched up, know damn well Dad won't. You look like shit, I say with my eyes and a cross of my arms across my chest. An ice pack is wishful thinking, that shit will stay busted 'til they pretty him up in the Capitol.

I want to punch him. I mean, I always want to punch him - but this time it's visceral. It seems like the right way to go about it, a goodbye fit for our odd sibling dynamic. I beat him up and Rex pulls me off of him and gives me a pat on the back for the effort. I know he wants me to be terrible, I know deep down he wants me to treat him with the gruffness we've learned in the place of love.

But I also know that under the bruised, beat-up, scowling surface he's just like Mom. I've never forgiven him for it, but I know it's true.

Fuck you, I think. Fuck you for leaving me here and fuck this curse for making it so.

So I look at him through glassy eyes sitting there on the old worn couch and stumble forward with a start, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close into a hug.

Because he's my brother. And because, fuck, I'm going to miss him damn it.

table by elegant !