Coffee & Cakes // [District 10 - 92nd Games Train]

[garnet beauford d8 [earthling]]

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

He could no longer deny the truth: he was in his sixth decade, already a year beyond big 5-0 and time was catching up with him. He no longer slept quite so deeply, nor could he sleep in even if he tried. But that didn't mean he'd eschewed lazy Sunday mornings with Saffron, if he could convince her to leave her worries about Quinn and their grandchildren behind. Those few early morning hours were invariably the best hours of his week.

And then he'd dress in clothes that didn't quite fit right any more, his form sagging in the middle, muscles still strong but somehow also more lax. He'd head to the stables and hope to catch Enzo or Kieran. At lunch he had to be careful how much cheese he ate because his body just didn't know what to do with the lactose any more. In the evening he'd read to any children who had found their way to their porch and then he'd crawl into bed not long after sunset and chase sleep once more.

Lately, it seemed more and more difficult to get any productive shut-eye. He yawned his way through the Reaping and rather than offend his newest tributes, he grumbled an excuse and promptly crashed for a nap in his train car.

Hours later, light leeching, he emerged. "Coffee," he growled at the first escort he saw. A second later, he turned around in the cramped car, and amended, "coffee, please."

A few moments later he found himself in the dining car, a tray of coffee service before him. He couldn't quite decide if they'd all finished dinner and it had been cleared or if they hadn't yet eaten. His stomach rumbled.

"What've I missed?" he asked, upending the entire non-dairy creamer ceramic into the mug of black coffee. It dripped over the lip and into the saucer. He looked up, ready to ask the nearest tribute for a napkin, and for a split second he couldn't tell them apart.

He sighed. He was really too old for this shit. "Y'all eaten yet, Damion?" He gambled that he'd identified the boy across the table from him correctly.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh


running up that hill
-placebo-

[dars]

[gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

↳ ANDAL SEARLEY

For a hulking statue that Andal Searley cut, he slouched and sank deeper into the silky warmth of the coat he wore. Just for a moment. He would take a nap and he would come right back out, promise.

The exterior of the train, with its halogen lights and air of disinfectant, did little to soothe his too-quick nerves. Every bump had his heart jolting, every screech louder than it should be. He missed the quiet of his workshop back in Ten, yearned for the feel of wires under his fingertips or the scent that freshly-cooled iron breathed out when plunged into water. Above all, he missed. Loss shaped him.

As the train churned onward and the district faded, his nerves took themselves to releasing their tension upon the silverware. You know what they say about idle hands. They began steadily weaving and bending together the spoons and forks that he’d taken off of the table, each metal having no choice but to be pliant under his fingertips. Mid-work, his eyes wandered and drifted across the carriage to the window of the dining car.

Auburn hair, strong jaw – Saffron Lowe.

And sat in front of her, tall and with the same, albeit disheveled, haircut that every boy in his kindergarten once had – Mace.

He didn’t need to be a historian to know them. Sometimes a person had a way of scoping out the people who were also myths. Maybe it’s their aura, or whatever his sister said. Vibes. That was it. Saffron and Mace had the vibes of a war story being eternally retold in the way they carried themselves, in the scars they bore.

Then he looked past them to the other boy, the district partner. Andal was sure he’d bought ice cream from him once. He’d thought and debated against making friends with him. Too close to heart. Too much potential hurt there. For all his brawn, his brain was smart enough to analyze that making relationships in the arena?

Bad, bad idea.

He drew his hands back from his work, admired it for a second, and then stood up. Time to rejoin the awkwardness. Andal picked up the metalwork, walked and opened the door to the next carriage. His lumbering steps – and the pitcher of orange juice that he immediately knocked over – announced his arrival.

“Sorry,” he wince-smiled.

Then, with a soft blush on his cheeks, he set the little silver pendant in front of Saffron, woven from the forks and spoons he’d bent together that now looked less like silverware and more an intricate piece of jewelry. “Got bored.” Andal sat down, opposite the two. “Did I, uh, miss anything important?”

Mace looked years older in this light.

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

others - me

Honey. Fucking. Cornbread.

It’s a flavor that some rich dude wanted, and since he offered a hefty amount for us to try to make it, dad took it up. What’s with rich people having the absolute weirdest flavor tastes? We sold it for a week at most and got maybe two orders a day of it if we were lucky. Probably one of the worst flavors I ever had to scoop in my entire life.

If today was a flavor, it would be Honey Cornbread.

Today has not been very great so far, and being on the loudest train on planet earth didn’t do much to make it better. If anything, I would have taken a nap, but I chose the one seat in the damn cart that bounced to the train's rhythm. Part of me just wished that it’s all just one big, crazy joke, but the other part knew that it’s real.

I spent a lot of time wondering about Scoops. My sweet kitty, does Scoops know where I’m at? Normally, after the reaping, I would take Scoops on another walk around the district. It further clears the mind and soul of whatever negative plague that infests the body every time the event happens. Do pets understand the Games? Is there ever a stray dog that waits at the doorstep of a fallen tribute, never aware of their passing? Or do they rest at the flattened grave? The idea of Scoops looming around a tombstone with Damion Rothbauer listed above the head in carved granite makes me sick.

My head felt so empty yet so full. Like a lead brick. Or when the television cuts out of Games’ feeds for a moment. That speckled black and white image that is just there to fill the void. It’s hard to process what’s happening fully. Not that I should, I’ll be dead already when I do.

Mace entered the cart with a scowl. He growled at the first escort he saw, took a step, and recollected himself. Smooth. Guess that old age is starting to get to the way he treats people. A lot of old people tend to think they’re a gift. I cannot tell you the amount of times Marie from the salon gets mad that we don’t have coconut available. Do you expect us to shit it out? Damn.

"What've I missed?" The guy poured his creamer, and I watched silently. Well, what do you think you missed? An asteroid hit the earth? The Games got canceled, and we’re actually here on a secret mission to save the country? He peered up at me with a blank look. "Y'all eaten yet, Damion?" The thought of food made my stomach turn. I don’t know if I could swallow anything.

”No, sir.” I looked at the buffet table of miscellaneous snacks. ”Not exactly hungry for biscuits or soup.” Soup did sound like a good way to calm down my nerves, but I was too afraid of the soup coming right back out of where it entered.

Moments later, my district partner entered the room with a clash. Literally. Not to mention the way he stomps when he walks, the pitcher of orange juice hitting the floor gave an extra umph to his entrance. Grand, really. He provided a smile written in a wince. ”Sorry.” In his hands rested some sort of fork monument that he constructed. Andal placed it on the table in front of Saffron. ”Got bored.” Oh, jesus. Gross. He’s hitting on her. The boy then took a seat next to Mace and I. ”Did I, uh, miss anything important.”

Maybe if you weren’t trying to fuck our mentor, you’d know.

I didn’t say that, though. As much as I wanted to. Maybe he’s a good guy and just wanted to make something. I caught myself blanking off and quickly spoke up. ”Uh-,” I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to the moment. ”No. But if you want food, I think we’re bound to get some any moment.” I gave a quick shrug. I don’t really know how these things work.