The Reason //Charlie

[gamemaker kelsier]

"TASTE MY DISASTER
IT'S HEAVY ON MY TONGUE"

I don't quite know how I get there, but I'm strumming my guitar and walking along the docks, feet bloody and bare. Last I was certain of, I was at a party, where everything sparkled and tasted of sweat. Or maybe what tasted of sweat was the boy I had my mouth on. I don't quite recall. The pit of my stomach feels warm so I fill it with a cool liquid that slides as it goes down. It tastes of fruit and something raw. I'm pretty sure it isn't good for me, but I can't remember. I can't remember, or I don't care, I don't know which. I can't remember which. My night, as like the rest of my life, is a series of black holes. I step into one for a moment, and then come out the other side perplexed, and in the future. I guess the present. I guess the past.

I can't remember what I've been singing, but my guitar's notes jump about aimlessly under my fingers and my mouth helps me burst into a sudden torrent of song, "maMAAAAAA, JUST KILLED A MANNNNN." My voice is raw, off key, screaming along at the speed of light. I hear a curse and a loud, "SHUT THE FUCK UP," in the distance, and I don't know if it's aimed at me, or some terrified wife. I decide to accept it, and try a graceful bow. I hit my head against my guitar instead and to deal with the pain, I take another swig from the flask. My fingers melt into thin air and I scream a bit, dropping the flask. I try and pick it up with my feet, but it doesn't work. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I don't know why this is always happening to me. My hands always do something dumb like melt or go away for a bit. Hands shouldn't get vacations. These ones think they get to. I lift my melty hands, bringing them to eye level. My tone is sharp with them, "Hey, stop that you guys, I need you for things. Come back."

I wait for what seems like hours. The night gets colder as I concentrate on my hands, willing them back into existence. I can be rather stubborn, can wait for years for things to come back to me. My hands meekly come back, slowly and in a chagrined way. Experimentally, I make one into a fist, and give a laughing woop complete with fist pump when I can feel my fingers curl against my wrist. I snatch up my flask and begin to run back to the ship. Getting there, I forget where I go on, I know there is a plank or something somewhere but maybe it went out for a coffee break. Instead of letting it stop me, I take a running jump and leap up onto the deck that looms above, guitar bouncing on my back with a thud. Triumphantly, I woop again, still straddling the wood, and let myself have another swig of punch as a reward.

[presto]

I'LL BE SHAKIN' IT

[/presto]

[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

charlie finch
fourteen
district four

[/presto]

---

ALL THE ROWBOATS IN OIL PAINTINGS

---

Tonight, Edwin had more fun than me. In fact, I think almost everybody in Panem had more fun than me. Usually doing things simply because I'm not allowed ends in gleeful delights and tall stories I can tell to whoever will listen, but tonight I am beginning to think I should have listened to Jasper when he said, "Charlie Finch, you are absolutely and on no condition to leave this ship." Nightfall came rapidly, and once his soft murmurings began to float from the other side of the cabin, I was already clutching the invitation and holding it up to the candlelight. Sneaking out was far too easy - finding Edwin in the tangle of hands and feet and masks was an impossible feat. Perhaps if I'd been invited, the Libertine party would have been less lonely of an affair. I stole a mask from the hand of a girl who was too wrapped up in her company to notice and delved into the people, and yet nobody stopped to ask me to dance. (Not that I would have accepted anyhow, because dancing is for girls.) I sulked for a long while, knowing that going back to the ship before the night had grown late and my ordinary curfew was well and truly broken, I waited in the shadows. When Edwin's familiar face didn't come to tempt me home, I kicked a shelf and left. Nobody chased me to demand payment. I arrive in silence, glad to be hidden by the roar of the sea and the slurred sound of someone singing. The first I am accustomed to - in fact, the first night I tried to sleep on land again in was restless and filled with a sickening longing to be waterborne once more - but the second was irritating. It's childish, to wish misery on others in light of my less-than-thrilling night, but that's exactly what I do. "Edwin," I say, making sure to drop from the ropes right in front of his face. I don't think he's paying a whole lot of attention, so I don't pride myself on my stealth. "First Mate Edwin Finch," I say, doing my best to keep the whine from my voice. "You look like you've had a wonderful night." This is meant as an accusation and a threat, but it comes out flat and defleated. I roll my eyes at myself, roll up my sleeves, and thank myself that he is in no state to take notes on my tone. There's something wrong with what he's been doing - the invitation, torn in half, the lop-sided smiles and apparent absent in the pawn shop. My brother is sneaking around, and I'm determined to make him think I know why. (This, I've found, is the best method for getting someone to tell you, or shout at you. Either one, I'll take.)

THEY KEEP TRYING TO ROW AWAY

[gamemaker kelsier]

"TASTE MY DISASTER
IT'S HEAVY ON MY TONGUE"

I watch as none other than Charlie Finch lands in front of me. Haha! She seems to be half of my problems. (What problems? Those problems?) I stare stupidly for a moment and then fall back against the side of the ship in a very delayed reaction. "Ah!" I say, not certain if I am shocked or just lost. I may or may not be both. My head hurts from where it connects with wood but it doesn't because my whole body is weightless. It may hurt in the morning but if morning never comes then we are sweet. She's got rhythms in her tongue that remind me of our mother but I can't say because it might give me away. I lay against the thick wood beneath me, absentmindedly strumming at my guitar as I stare up at the constellations in the sky and Charlie speaks.

I've always loved listening for her voice. I can see it in the air tonight, the way it shimmers uncertain against the darkness of the sky. It's lovely. It might bring a tear to my eye if the water below was not hogging all of the damned salt. I can't help wondering if my mother would be proud of me. I think perhaps not seeing as I steal things and I am probably addicted to alcohol. Ahh, I'm not addicted. I can stop drinking whenever I want, I just don't want because this is one of the best feelings in the world. There is no room for thought other than what is in my head at any given moment. My bent fingers crash against the strings and I take another gander to see if they're trying to fade off again. The wankers! They are! What a conundrum. I press them against each other to keep them in place and look up at Charlie, who's still talking.

Or maybe she stopped speaking long ago but I'm still hearing her words.

"A wonderful night? A wonderful night?" I crow, "It was more than wonderful Charlie my darling, my pearl, my sweet, it was...it was...absolutely! Yes. It was so." I am satisfied with this and slip my guitar with some effort over my head. There are a few short seconds where it is uncertain if it will go over the side or land on the deck, but it makes it to the wooden floor with barely a scratch. Well, a new scratch. I attempt to pull myself up as well, but I cannot, there is bout two tonnes of starlight on my chest. Luckily, I'm not bothered. I feel safe here, on the edge of it all, sitting with my sister. She doesn't know she's my real sister, I can't say anything, I've kept this secret for so very long. My lips are loose.

"I'm in love."

I'm not just saying it, though we all know that I don't do that sort of thing, I do the other one, the sleeping with everyone and anything bit. I don't do love. Even if I was, I would hardly admit it. However tonight is different, I can speak freely because I am one hundred percent sure there is something in the punch I drink. I don't care.

[presto]

I'LL BE SHAKIN' IT

[/presto]