We Would Walk on the Sidewalk // [Peri+Mace]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

a note from the desk of

Mace Emberstatt

of District Ten

when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,
that's when you feel my kind of love

Mace rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes, trying to force coherence in through his tear ducts. He'd already burned through four cups of coffee over the course of the morning to no avail. It was impossible that a newborn would cause such disruption. They'd had Mason and Juliet as infants simultaneously, and he'd never wanted for sleep. But then, he'd had the help of Reggie, Sew, Oscar and countless others. In the Capitol, the creche would entertain all three of his children during daylight hours, but they were no help at all for night time feedings, every two hours on the dot. Julian offered to help, but Mace always waved him off. He still had two tributes alive; Mace had failed many days ago. He refused to also fail as a parent and friend, which was why he struggled to stay awake during the day.

Except that Opal was preoccupied, Arbor and Topaz continued to exist in their little bubble, and he had found a strange, new sort of distance opening between Saffron and himself. He decided not to push it while they were in the Capitol; things were always easier in Ten. But he'd been trying to review their recent conversations to find where he'd fucked up, except that he couldn't remember them. The lack of sleep stole more than coherence; it rendered him completely unable to make new memories.

He yawned as he stumbled through the lobby to the side entrance. If coffee wouldn't help, he needed sunlight to sort his thoughts. The emergency door dumped him into an alleyway. If he was quick, he could usually escape into the bustling city undetected. The paparazzi cared less and less about him, and not at all if he didn't have Julian and their children at his side.

A slant of sunlight washed over him, along with an acrid puff of smoke. Mace jerked his chin at Peridot Myler, a sort of greeting, before joining him in the shadows. The fresh smoke mingled with something older and damp. He glanced down at the anthill of cigarette butts. They were old enough to be mildewed, and yet. He sucked in a breath through his mouth. "I was gonna go for a walk, y'know, clear my head. You wanna come?"

If inhaling the cloying smell of tobacco was hard, it was nearly impossible for him to lift his flat grey gaze to Peridot's. He so rarely saw the other victor, had so successfully avoided him. He wasn't Klaus, but he was still the right age, the right height and build.

The little v between his eyebrows tightened as he added, "ain't really any good at bein' by my lonesome any more."

[Wonder]

A burning haze crumbled over his eyelids, still crusted over from an early start to the day - the sun had barely toppled over the surrounding skyscrapers when Peridot had woken up that morning. Adulthood had brought it’s own peculiarities: routine, a dull throb in the left knee whenever he woke up, and a need for eight hours of sleep every night in order to properly function. The latter of which he had had very little luck achieving within his recent stay in the Capitol. The satin curtains reverberated the sound drumming off the heavy-set television parked across from his bed. There were few things a young Peridot had hoped and expected out of life (beyond the small incarceration of his District life) but a being a glorified babysitter was nowhere near the top of his list.

Near limp in movement, and dull in face, he scrambled out of the training centre the second he could manage. Struggling into an old wrinkled pair of jeans, disheveled and disarrayed, he journeyed through the morning routine - a comb of the hair, a bit of toast and jam, flicking through the morning recaps, and finally pushing the red-headed Amelia out of the way as she tried to escort his tempered body towards the elevator. With a quick brush, she was out of the way - there was no resistance from the young girl. Peri had sported a reputation since his Games of harming any Avox who got in the way, this of course, was his own narrative. Inescapable, of course, and yet oddly comforting when looking for escape. Sporting an old tweed jacket, he clamoured downstairs and out the door as the first cannon of the morning sounded - in, and out. He let the Capitol air inflate his tar-plagued lungs and carried on. It all followed a strict progression, a calculated set of arithmetics, patterns, and places. It wasn’t until after it was all said and done that it became clear. Twiddling his thumbs through the tattered down holes of his sleeve, he thought of the illustrious Glamour Kinkade, dressed to the nines behind a sanded oak desk commanding traps and destinations. It was all a game of chess in who could represent best - Peri couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that he was not what they were looking for. A girl who murdered his brother for a new bond, a boy turned blatant murderer from a lower district, both much better story lines than his. A fluke. A point in history that wasn’t meant to be.

Flipping into his front coat pocket, he pulled a pristine steel box laden with king sized cigarettes and a small foreign lighter - much more effective than a match, of course. Still the engraved metal released a blue tinged frame, a note he had not received from the shopkeeper whence he bought it. Nothing was plain and simple in the Capitol, down to the basic human necessity. Striking past the front desk, he nodded towards a patrolling Peacekeeper, receiving a gentle grumble in return. They paid him no mind, non-threat. There were much bigger fish to fry - that Patricia for one, what a callous bitch. He flicked the lighter, flame exposed as he drew the ashes in. At the sound of a light singe he drew the flame away, inhaling. Such a non-threat, that he could travel the Capitol almost on his lonesome. How dull had the once ‘perilous career’ become? Exhale. Very.

Peri thought very little of Mace Emberstatt, not in a look down upon sort of way - but just that the man never seemed to cross his mind. They ran in slightly different victor circles, though of course crossed paths every now and again. The brute seemed quiet and unsure to Peri, but of course, he was never the best judge in character. Once he would have said a man who would not look you in the eyes could not be trusted; however, years of growing in a city landscape known for slamming into your eyes with the extravagant had proved that theory wrong. The Victor’s request was - really, out of left field. There was not a lot of commonality between the two besides victorship and the dull throb of irrelevance as a new batch of young victors rose to a spotlight. “Sure.” He paused, there wasn’t much to the simple request. “Might as well put our surveillance teams to work anyhow - have a feelin’ mine is slowly rotting.”

Ever so dull, he played the games the best way he knew how.