defiance {muffin}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

A whirlwind of emotions shot throughout his entire body. Another reaping was over, yet it was only the beginning. It was the start of the end of life for twenty-three souls traveling throughout the horrific scene. People were free, but others weren't. It was much more than just standing upon the stage staring out into the distance praying for a ride home. No, it was twenty-four innocent kids standing on the stage praying they would somehow survive the games, but in the back of their minds they knew what they had to do. Kill or die.

The thought was sickening, but nothing changed what had happened. Watching them fight on the screen always reminded him of the pain he caused so many years ago in a terrible accident. Taze couldn't imagine what he would feel like if the pain was on purpose. But today he escaped another death sentence unlike the two who stood on the stage. For a while it was some woman he had never seen before in his entire life, and Mohs. Two teenagers were sent to their death, and it felt like it was over until some aspiring career volunteered. That was what it was like. Someone was reaped, and someone else who wanted all the honor and glory ran forward.

Was it a good thing? Did it mean that he wouldn't ever face another reaping in his entire life? No, he was still eligible for more reapings. His name could fly from the lips of the escort again. Perhaps it wouldn't happen. The odds were small, yet Taze knew deep inside that his entire life was on the line. Both of them. It felt wrong that someone chose to volunteer, yet if he was only fast enough Taze Alexandrite would've stood on the stage taking his place as district one male tribute. Was it enough? Was it good enough to know deep in his heart that the pain would last at least another year?

Sighing to himself, he walked into one of the local bars. It was his go to place. A place of sharing poetry to those around. A couple of horrible verses thrown together for a chance to receive some sort of attention. Maybe it was the way life was meant to be? Live and learn. Death was always knocking on the door. It tore away at the lives of those around, but this time Taze had nothing to say. No words of poetry because it was a sorrowful day. A day of remorse and anger. Some were angry they weren't reaped, yet others were remorseful because someone they truly cared about was heading into the games, or in the case of Mohs, someone volunteered in his place. He could've died, but he had a saving grace.

Sitting down on one of the stools, Taze scanned the area. Mohs was usually here, but perhaps he wouldn't show today. He wouldn't do anything except go home and sleep because that was what Taze would do. It was emotionally exhausting, yet it was beyond his wildest imagination what it even felt like standing on the stage for a split second with feelings of death. He hadn't been there. No, but he prayed it would never come one day. Dying in the games was a horrible way to go.

Tiny fingers slid deep into his pant pocket pulling money from inside. "I'll have the regular." He said before placing the money down on the table in front of him. The bar keeper grunted before moving away. Sighing quietly he continued looking around hoping Mohs would show.

table by muffin <33

601 words

[Muffinface]

XX

The keepers just drop him after the reaping, giving Mohs a chance to scurry away before the excitements and riots take place in the district plaza, watching their two sacrifices ride off into the majestic fucking sunset. He's done all he can for the Lexig family for now, and now that the racing adrenaline pumping through his veins finally calms the fuck down, he allows himself to relax about as well as an alligator on a tight wire.

Shoulders still stiff with a painful lump in his throat leaving the Justice building, he limps away. Body trembling, with his leg aching worse than ever before, he pushes forward. Mohs knows he should go home, see his mother, punch his cousin a few more times, but he just doesn't feel up to it. They would cry and embrace him and all he really wants at this moment is a quiet environment, away from everyone and everything.

Even the normally quiet training center might be packed, like new year's patrons at a gym with fake resolutions. It will be busy for the next few weeks, so much so he may have to turn away those interested in classes for a while, like he does for the first two months every year. After that, interest tapers out as the games linger, fresh in the minds of the district's citizens and everyone either grieves for the loss of two youth, or celebrate for the return of a victor- though it had been over half a decade since district one actually brought someone home, and Mohs felt like it was completely killing morale for tributes.

The long, slow walk past the city center gives his mind ample time to think, too much time. The gentle 'Clack clack clack' of the mahogany cane is the only comfort he receives, the sunlight itself feeling cold on his cheeks. No one really wandered the streets today, either keeping themselves locked inside their homes, or partying it up out in the district center.

What the fuck did Septys think he was doing?

He should have let Mohs go, honestly. Mohs, an only child, who's parents accepted the reality already when their single son, forced to pack and leave, left for the detention center for a crime he didn't even fucking commit. He doesn't have brothers to watch he does now and his paycheck doesn't even pay for a house it does now.

His lips pull apart as he moves, eyebrows furred and a sigh slips away.

It is all extraordinarily strange- released from clutching fingers, a innocent, unconvicted man, allowed to leave based on lack of evidence- yet....

They reaped him? A man who never took tesserae, who hasn't aspired to be in the arena for nearly four years? The evidence against him looks grim, and Mohs is incredibly thankful this was his final reaping, that the yearly torment and hell was at last, over-

Except for his damn cousin.

Uneven footfalls carry him inside the dimly lit building, and a pleasant expression rises to his normally frustrated countenance. The few whom graced the walls, sticking to tables few and far between were people he recognized, who were sure to leave him alone since they, too, were contemplating their own life choices.

All except for the one sitting at the lonely bar.

Mohs hauls himself into one of the spinning stools, his elbows collapsing, holding his torso up while his cane falls easily against the wood-paneled bar. His messenger bag falls with it as it, too, is removed, and his gaze lingers in the mirrors behind the counter, gaze meeting with Taze's dark eyes.

"Hey." he murmurs, the first word they've exchanged since the detention center released its horrible claws from Mohs' chest.

WC-622

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

It felt like an entire lifetime had gone by. Each second pierced through his chest embedding itself into his heart. Each beat pounded rapidly echoing throughout his entire body. Ringing bellowed inside his ears. Nails dug into the tabletop in front of him scratching against the smooth, marble surface. Chills shot through his body. How long had gone by since Mohs disappeared without a trace? The only person who could even come close to answering that was Mohs himself, yet he wasn’t here right now. No, he was probably standing at the district square still.

Time was like a thief robbing individuals of their life. Every possession passed away in the dark stormy nights leaving behind ruined messes. Tears fell through the roofs of the holey ceilings as the clouds crashed into one another. A life was torn apart by the hands of the Capitol usually for the stupidest reasons, yet Taze was alive. His heart was beating inside his chest. His lungs expanded and collapsed with every breath he took. But he didn’t feel alive. Something was missing. A piece of his heart was snatched away in the blink of an eye.

Yet as people slowly poured into the bar, not a single eye turned in his direction. The bartender as gone. Snatched his money and ran away with it like a child running away with a toy stolen from a store. But shortly after the bartender would return unlike the child prancing down the street with extreme joy.

The bartender wasn’t the first to appear. No, it was Mohs. His gaze shifted towards the white tiled floor. Fear flowed rapidly throughout his entire body. Each breath was labored. What does one say to someone who was almost sent to death? Nothing could ever make up for it, but the most important thing lingering in the back of his mind was where he had gone when he disappeared from the face of the earth for all those days. What had happened to him?

“Hey.”

His words were quiet like a mouse sneaking through a house at night not wanting to get caught, yet it was loud enough to ring through his ears. Enough to make him shift his gaze towards Mohs. Holding back all the questions bouncing through his mind was far worse than he could’ve imagined, but Taze struggled to keep himself together. It was a solemn day. One that happens every single year. They take away the children forcing them into fighting for humor. Watching the games haunted him. It reminded him of the horrible day in the training center. Even now, the screams still echo through his mind. Biting his lip, Taze felt the metallic liquid pooling in his mouth.

“Hey,how you feeling?” It was a simple reply. Enough to let Mohss that he wasn’t ignoring him. It was far from that. As if on cue, the bartender returned with a pint of bourbon. Nodding his head, Taze took it holding it in front of him for a split second. “You want one?” He turned towards Mohs raising the glass into the air before turning back to the bartender. “Get him what he wants. It’s on me.” Lifting the glass to his mouth, he took a sip wondering if memories would ever go away or if he was stuck with them forever.

table by muffin <33

[Muffinface]

XX

"Like fucking shit." He laughs, the sound dark, caught in his throat. It bubbles over into a gasp as a sharp, aching pain pirouettes down his left leg, and a hand flies down to his thigh while he bends across the surface of the bar. Rain.

"I don't drink anymore." he states rather pained, his hands raised, gesturing at the colorful bottles looming down from above. "Just an extra strength coffee would be great." he states, while the bartender frowns, and fetches the appropriate cup. His lips draw thin, and his gaze falls upon the granite bartop. "...They sent me another letter." he mutters, eyes falling upon the barkeeper as he pours a cup, and offers him milk and sugar- there's no need. Mohs drinks it straight black, downing the ebony liquid like a life-force.

"Those aren't free refills."

"I don't give a damn."

He shoves the cup back towards the bartender who fills it yet again, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Anyway- they want me to go back to work but I don't think I'm ready. They said they still had a sub in for me, but like... I dunno if I even want anything to do with it anymore. What else could I do though Taze? I can't work in the diamond mines, and I can't-" he stops as his second cup flutters before him.

This one he drinks slowly, savoring the bitter slap and sting of heat as it drowns itself in his throat. "How have you been? I haven't seen you for a few months." Months- has it really been that long? Discomfort still claims his leg, and his fingers dip down to soothe the aching muscles. "You look just the same, like you always do. Nothing different?" he comments as his fingers begin to tremble, and the adrenaline finally finishes running its course through his bones, leaving him tired, exhausted yet again.

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Bringing the mug to his mouth, the vile substance sped past his teeth scorching his throat before landing in the pits of his stomach. The mug almost fell from the loose grasp the moment Mohs denied a drink. His laugh echoed through his mind, bouncing from one side of his skull to the other before embedding itself into the mindless abyss. Four simple words buzzed through his ears repeating themselves over and over. I don’t drink anymore.

What?

Sitting the glass down on the table, the dumbfound boy scratched his head. Who are you and what have you done with Mohs? He wanted to ask, yet it wasn’t as easy as it sound. Mohs disappeared long before the reaping only for his name to slither past the escorts lips. But not a single bit of it makes sense anymore. Biting his lip, he tried to figure out the man in sitting on the barstool as the bartender brings over a mug of coffee. All he could do was stare with his dark eyes taking in the scene in front of him. Something was different, and Taze wasn’t capable of placing a finger on it. Mohs had changed - like dirty laundry turning clean after a wash - and from the looks of it all, it may have been for the best.

Mohs surprised him like a child receiving an unwanted gift for the holidays.

Shifting his gaze from him, Taze glared into the glass in front of him. Dark, brown eyes the color of dog crap stared back at him eating through his soul like worms devouring the flesh of a rotten corpse. Through the constant chatter, he barely caught the words slithering through the air. A letter. Knowing that they wanted him to return, that they wanted him to find his place back in the training center as the trainer made life a bit easier, yet he was still unsure of many things in life. Cocking his head, his eyes darted towards the teen sitting on the stool.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” The words were quiet as they slipped past his lips into the air. A gentle whisper in the wind against the chatter bouncing from the happy teens inside. Yet it still made no sense at all the more Mohs spoke about returning. A silent chuckle fell from his lips. Who would want to work in the diamond mines? Not Taze, that’s forsure. “If anything, Mohs, you could just go back to teaching one or two days a week.” It was a simple offer with the shrug of a pair of shoulders.

His heart sank into the pits of his stomach as he realized how long it had been, but it all felt a lot longer. It felt like an entire lifetime had gone by. That wasn’t the question, though, and truthfully, some things were never capable of changing over time. He was still the same Taze had been all those years ago after the blade of the sword drove through the innocent child. Wrapping his hand around the mug sitting on the table in front of him, he drowned himself in the harsh substance. “I’ve been alright. Just trying to keep the training center clean like always. The new trainees love making a mess of it.”

table by muffin <33