{FIN} E V E R c l e a r | D 9

[Death]

everclear {neverclear} vocatus
18 and d9 and like alcohols and
T O T T E R I N G  T A N K A R D
and like oDair and um other stuff.

[Death]

l a t e l y  I   be e n , I  b e e n   l o s i n g  s l e e p d r e a m i n g   a b o u t   t h e   t h i n g s  t h a t  w e   c o u l d   b e It takes a few moments of thought for me to decide between being happy and being the son my father always wanted and then a few moments more to decide whether I'd vocalize my decision for his waiting ears. "Thanks, Dad," I say and nod. Not tacking on the "but I'd rather be doing the books" that we both know is hanging in the air. He claps me on the back and, with a smile, heads off to check on Bailey's work and I let my emotions steep like a weak tea. It's not worth the conflict. It's never worth the conflict. I-- the uncreative, mathematics-minded son-- will be forced to take the helm of the Tottering Tankard whether I like it or not. It's times like these when I wonder if I was the only normal kid my parents had managed to produce. Bailey is too quiet to function regularly. Tequila is always drunk. Brandy's a dim whit who just likes to fuck women and drink booze with Moonshine.  Being the only normal person in a family is a heavy burden, but Mother always said I had broad shoulders and a strong build. b u t ,   b a b y   I   b e e n ,   I ' v e   b e e n   p r a y i n g   h a r d s a i d   n o   m o r e   c o u n t i n g   d o l l a r s , w e ' l l   b e   c o u n t i n g   s t a r s y e a h ,   w e ' l l   b e   c o u n t i n g   s t a r s "Mother! We're finally learning ciphers!" Everclear crowed with the pride of a boy who might've won a wrestling match instead of math homework. "I already have the first pages of homework done. See?" Merlot smiled down at her dark-haired, dark-skinned son who looked so much like his father and her father. Every inch a Vocatus. Except this obsession with numbers he'd had his whole life. Counting stairs as he climbed the steps. Counting the number of bricks in the pavement outside. Counting the number of panels of wood in the floor of the Tottering Tankard. She shook her head and ruffled his hair. "I'm so proud, love." "Ciphers and maths are my favorite," he said, clutching the already well-loved and crinkled homework pages, spotted and specked with numbers and equal signs and pluses and minuses. "Why doesn't anyone else like them?" "I like them," Merlot said, grabbing the rag by the kitchen sink and beginning her scrub of the counter tops as her pre-dinner prep ritual. "Your uncle likes them." "I meant why don't other kids like them? You and Uncle B have to because you guys keep the business running. But why don't other people my age like them?" "I don't know, love." His mother scrubbed the crumbs and residue off the counter. "I should've been born in district three. Or maybe six." Merlot smiled and tossed the rag back into the sink. "Maybe you should've been, Ever. But I think I'd miss my numbers boy if he wasn't here." "How would you miss me if I'd never existed?" And she stared at her son. Her eyes meeting his darks ones that we just like her father's. She stared, trying to work through her mind how this nine year old boy in front of her could reason that far ahead. Everclear shrugged before turning away, his homework still crumpled against his chest. b a b y .   I   f e e l   h e r   l o v e   a n d I   f e e l   i t   b u r n   d o w n   t h i s   r i v e r   e v e r y   t i m e h o p e   i s   o u r   f o u r - l e t t e r   w o r d m a k e   t h a t   m o n e y   w a t c h   i t   b u r n She lies next to me, her hair and her back soft against my chest and my neck. Alyx. Alyx is so beautiful and perfect on the outside. On the inside... You know, I'm not sure if she has an inside. It's not that she's shallow, I'd say. It's that... well, I guess you'd just have to meet her, although I doubt you'd get the chance. She's always so busy. It's a wonder she even sleeps. Sometimes, if we're both busy, it's just a quick fuck and then we're on our way. But tonight, it seems neither of us has anything left but sleep. I owe her something. That's how it always is with Alyx. Nothing is free, especially not sex. And for her sex, she charges a steep price. Sometimes it's some information on the next challenge my father will be setting. Sometimes it's a promise to deal with a customer who is making things... difficult for her. No matter what, I'll crack my knuckles and get to work once she advances me her payment. Nothing is free. Nothing is easy. Even if they come from me. The crook of her neck is a canyon of light and shadows that dim and brighten as the clouds roll over the moon. Her hair tumbles around her ears and face, which is still like the stone her heart must be. Her lips that kiss me how she knows I like are parted as gentle puffs of air are captured and then released. The air never escapes. She's not the type to let anything escape. I love that about her. I love the lack of bullshit. No punchlines. No cons. Just pure "I want this and here's what I'm offering." Girls aren't like that. They're sneaky and underhanded. I'm sure she has her moments. But not with me. Never with me. I think. She stirs and I hold her closer to me. If my mother had her way, we'd marry as soon as we were past reaping age. If I had my way, she could be the queen of the roost and I'd be her book keeper. Let the old place go out of the family. Well. Not quite out of the family, assuming our children had my name. o l d ,   b u t   I ' m   n o t   t h a t   o l d y o u n g ,   b u t   I ' m   n o t   t h a t   b o l d a n d   I   d o n ' t   t h i n k   t h e   w o r l d   i s   s o l d I ' m   j u s t   d o i n g   w h a t   w e ' r e   t o l d Ever-- never Everclear to his close friends (what friends?) and family-- measured the ingredients so precisely. Carefully watching the level of water. Skillfully noting the amount of time passed. He glanced back down at the recipe that lay in tatters and rags of old parchment paper from generations ago. "No!" his father said, snatching the antique from his hands. "Ever, you've got to stop with this recipe nonsense! Only amateurs use recipes. You've got to feel the drink. You have to feel how things with work together. Use your brain, not a bunch of ratios." But the ratios always come out right, he holds back, instead opting to play the complacent son role he too often donned for his taste. Brandy already gave Father such trouble, why should Ever? If Ever wants to get what he wants, he's got to do it from the shadows and from beyond the sight of the expectant father, the proud mother, the once-perfect sister and the whore he calls a brother. Forget about Bailey, who's too quiet to make a fuss about anything. a n d   I   f e e l   s o m e t h i n g   s o   w r o n g , w e ' r e   d o i n g   t h e   r i g h t   t h i n g . I   c o u l d   l i e   c o u l d n ' t   I ,   c o u l d n ' t   I ? e v e r y t h i n g   t h a t   d r o w n s   m e m a k e s   m e   w a n n a   f l y . The only exact thing in this word is numbers. Feelings? Hopes? Dreams? Morals? Intangible as God. Outdated as him too. Oh, sure. Belief in God is rational. Sure I believe in God. That doesn't mean he couldn't use some improvements. I could use some improvements. Hell, everything and everyone could use some improvements. Except numbers. Like I said before. Numbers are the only perfection.  Logic. If people would just use their brains! If my brother Brandy would use his brain, he'd probably already have whatever it is he wants! Instead, he wastes his talents and wastes his chances. Myself? I always take the way with the lowest opportunity cost. It's basic mathematics once everything is quantified. It's frustrating being trapped in a world where everything is the bare minimum. The bare minimum to get by. The bare minimum to be prosperous. The bare minimum when we could be flourishing! Profiting! Growing so we can profit more! It is for this reason the Capitol is foolish. They don't see the opportunity of human capital. They don't see the value of education or a flourishing middle class. Only chaos. Only bread and circuses for their masses. Forget bread for us. And the circuses? Baby, we are their damn circus. l a t e l y   I   b e e n ,   I   b e e n   l o s i n g   s l e e p d r e a m i n g   a b o u t   t h e   t h i n g s   t h a t   w e   c o u l d   b e b u t ,   b a b y   I   b e e n ,   I ' v e   b e e n   p r a y i n g   h a r d s a i d   n o   m o r e   c o u n t i n g   d o l l a r s , w e ' l l   b e   c o u n t i n g   s t a r s

[Death]

So economics there at the end. Can you tell I just got out of that class? XD

[✨ zozo.]

accepted!