Yeah, After all This Time //Q?

[gamemaker kelsier]

Can't count the years on one hand
That we've been together
I need the other one to hold you
Make you feel, make you feel better
It's not a walk in the park

There's not a lot of things to thank Kaelen Dempsey for. When he left, it was with as much dramatics as possible. He was a whiny little thing, all mope and deflation. He didn't even have the decency to try and pretend to be sober when his head was in the gutter. For a griever, he was a class fail. I mean sure, a guy's allowed to grieve, I do it all the time, still haven't given it up after ten years or so. There is however, a difference between a burn out drunkard and a guy who's proclaimed himself leader of a gang. A leader of a gang, for example, has many people to look after and should therefore stop being a twat and put emotions aside for at least two second. A leader of a gang should not just buzz off to nowhere land when the people who have pledged loyalty to him are getting hits from all sides.

Sure, I can't talk. I know that. I'm not talking though, just steaming quietly. I can't help thinking that the reason things like empires and dictations fail is because of guys like him. Guys that run off to leave the people who followed him to run off a cliff to their own demise or whatever. See, it's been a few weeks without the guy and I already have five new scars. It really boils a guy like me up. I would never even consider ditching out on my boys. I've done enough ditching out in my time to know that it doesn't solve anything. Still, he had to go and stupid thing and call me a good man or whatever in his cutesy little goodbye letters.Hah. The little shit obviously doesn't know a thing about me. If anyone really knew me, all they'd be able to see is the murderous asshole who killed his baby sister. That's another thing. I killed for that bastard. There is the uncomfortable reminder of the grip of a knife in my hand, expertly twisted in and up.

I shudder, expelling smoke against cement. Beside me there is already a small pile of cigarettes from the days spent on this bench, legs propped up against the wall, brain huffing in annoyance. I've been here three goddamned days and so far they've only been sliding food through the door and then taking it away when I don't eat it. I'm not stupid. I know that it'd be useless and all for them to be putting arsenic in my food, but there could be other things. Like bugs maybe, or LSD. I may have to consider eating the food actually. The stash in my underwear is gonna wear thing eventually and I don't know how long they plan to keep me here. I've never experienced withdrawal before and don't plan to start now. I feel rather matter of fact about the whole thing, maybe I sound a bit uncaring.

Truth be told, this is one of the best things that could ever happen to me. I'm sort of hoping for torture really. I can buckle under the pressure really easy maybe, and then they can kill me. Maybe they would avox me for being a murderer and I will finally be able to see what the showers look like in the Capitol. I've always been sort of curious, that's all the tributes can ever talk about in the interviews. I'm not sure if they would let me use the showers though, me being just an avox. Maybe they give avoxes buckets and are like, 'here go.' It's an interesting thought. I sit in silence for a moment, staring at the ceiling, ash falling onto my chest. What the hell am I even thinking about. I'm bored as hell, I've been sitting in the same cell for three days, cut me a break.

I'm aware I should be planning some sort of dastardly escape so I can run back home to help in the war. To be completely honest, I cannot be bothered. The way I see it, this is what I've always deserved after all. I'm just happy I haven't seen one of my boys here yet. Those innocent guys shouldn't have to worry about this place. I know I dragged Question along with me, but he should know how to stay safe and hidden. He's so darn quiet they might not even ever find him if he hid. I hope he hid, he better of. If he didn't and he gets dragged here, they won't be able to make him speak, him being mute and all. I don't know what they'd do with him, he'd be useless. I can't see the cruelty in our supposed keepers of peace letting him go. It's a good thing he isn't here, really. I'm glad for it, glad he's still safe. If Kaelen's foolishness had brought Question down with him, I would have skinned the little bastard myself.

Of course I only care so much because Question is one of my strays. I still clearly remember the day I opened the door to find him broken and bleeding on my doorstep. Something had rushed through me then, I'd had to take care of him, it wasn't even a choice for me. Since then I'd always kept an eye on him, encouraging his drawing all over my house's walls. The opposite of any normal caretaker but I'm a twenty year old idiot, cut me some slack. I blow smoke up to the roof, and roll off the old cot. It's uncomfortable but good enough. I can sleep fine on it. A chill passes through me. I think that if I was exhausted from a good old 'interrogation' than I could sleep on anything. I don't know why they haven't taken me away yet to do just that. I want to know what they're planning for me.

Yet, I've been waiting for my immanent demise to come to me for so long now that the thought of it is connected to my heartbeat. I'm not afraid, not as such. It's more like I'm impatient, I want to feel the pain of steel against my wrists, chafing my skin. I want to feel the crack of a bone breaking, the steal of my teeth from me. I want them to take me voice so that I can't speak again, so I can never sing. No. Something within me involuntarily screams at the idea of no longer letting loose a single note. The rest of me tries to convince myself that it's what I want. I am a calmness in this stormy place, my lack of bother to my location making this seem like a five star hotel.

I sort of wish they'd let me have a toothbrush though. That'd be nice. My breath is all smoke and mirrors, they ignore me because I'm already gone. Yet, I'm not entirely. This place can't break me, I've never been so fine with anything in my life. It's good I'm here, that way I know that my boys are safe. If I'm here, they don't have to tear my place apart looking for me. They won't find Ver, sweet little Ver so lost and found. They won't find Autumn and send him back home, my best friend. Question can paint all he wants, and maybe for once it will be quiet because there will be no one to argue about or argue with without me there.

It occurs to me that I should have written them all cutesy little goodbye letters too, but I could hardly have stopped the officers cuffing my arms up to ask for paper and pen. I think they know how I felt anyway. I sure as hell hope they did, ungrateful bastards. I make my way over to the opposite corner, staring at the door, waiting for the usual food drop. I'm sort of hungry, and I've never been one to hold out very long. This time however, when they push open the door it isn't with a tray in hand.