Homecoming [with Curse and Spell (Kay)]

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[attr="class","jorggradient1"] What is Spell thinking come over tonight?! My room is an absolute mess, I haven’t done dishes in three days, and they’re piling up in my sink she’s going to here in what 2 hours now?! Ok Curse calm down, you can do this. Cleaning isn’t that hard to do. At least I can say that the living room is all set up and ready to go. I’m standing next to my worn out couch in my studio apartment, looking towards the huge messes that surround me. I see the ocean out of my large single south facing window that sheds light into the old wooden room. My couch sits in the middle of the studio, facing my tv that we all have installed into the house with my kitchen sitting in the west side of the studio. The bar counter has chairs facing the west as the sink faces the east, towards the door. My bed and dresser is to the south beside the window up on a raised platform above my closed off bathroom and laundry room. My pile of clean clothes sitting on top of the stairs leading up to my bed.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I start with the dishes, as that’s probably more important than my clean laundry pile sitting on my floor. I walk around towards the sink, and decide to make a game out of it. I mean why not, instead of looking at all of this as a chore, why not make it into something more enjoyable? Let’s see how fast I can clean my house. I have two hours, ready… GO! I start of by filling the sink with soap and water, putting the stopper over the drain to let the dishes soak in the sink, I put as many bowls and plates as I can in there, fitting about 12 of my old, black stoneware dishes in, although not all of them are completely soaking, so I try to fill up the sink some more without having soapy water overflowing and flooding my kitchen. There are more bowls and metallic pots that I couldn’t fit into the sink, so I put some more dishwashing soap into them and fill them up so that they can soak as well.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]While those dishes are soaking up, making them easier to clean and will save me some time I decide to go head up to my room and try to clean up some of the laundry that are on my “bedroom” floor, usually I just fold it and then pick out clothes from the clean laundry pile, but today I’m going to do something different. I’m actually going to put my clothes away, when I fold it. This should save me some time as I am multitasking, look at me go! I can totally handle this adulating thing! I start by folding my shirts so that way I can see the front of the shirts, and put them in the top shelf of my dresser. I color coordinate them, to make things appear more organized. I glance at my wall clock situated above my tv. I notice that 45 minutes have passed. Shoots ok I can do this, I tell myself as I fold my pants and shorts, placing them haphazardly in my second and third drawers. I then throw my socks and unmentionables in the bottom shelf; they don’t need to be the neatest and my love life is nonexistent anyways.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I go back to dishes, my clothes while basically being thrown into my dresser fits nicely. The dishes have been sitting in the water for quite some time now, about thirty minutes give or take. So they should be able to scrub clean off with a lot less elbow grease. I start scrubbing the rounded square bowls first, why I have no clue they are just the first things that I grabbed. I still scrub pretty hard because I want to ensure that they are clean, I mean how enjoys dirty dishes? I put as many as I can fit into my decently sized dish washer, that is about four or five, while still leaving room for my same shape plates. Those do not require as much scrubbing as the bowls, but they still need some work. After rushing to get each one clean and in the dishwasher, fitting about 6 or 7 plates in the machine, there are still about 3 dishes left in the sink. That should be acceptable right? It’s no harm if there’s a few dirty dishes, this isn’t a model home anyways. I tell myself as I notice that I still have forty minutes left on the clock.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I throw my throw blanket back on top of my couch as I rush into my bathroom. The toilet seat is actually clean, I know surprising for a bachelor, but I’m a classy man. I tell myself all of this like someone is actually watching all of this, but I am totally alone. My sink could use some work as it still has some toothpaste stains on it. I turn on the faucet and scrub away with the rag towel that I keep behind the free standing sink. Once that is acceptable I turn on my shower and wait for it to warm up. I go back up to my room and grab a clean outfit to throw myself in after I clean myself. I run back down and hop into my shower and quickly soap myself off. Knowing that she will be here in any second I quickly throw on some shorts and a sleeveless shirt, hoping that I have done enough to make my house and myself look presentable.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I just hope that my moving out wasn’t me trying to disassociated myself from my family in any way. I love them and I still need them in my life, yet at the same time, I just needed my space. Is that so wrong to ask for?


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I open my door to see my sister, Spell standing in my doorway, something that I didn’t think was going to happen for a while. She looks gorgeous, as always.


[attr="class","jorggradient1"]“Hello Spell, it’s nice to see you,” I say, my voice, low and nostalgic. “Please come in.”
I open my arm to offer in, and close the door behind her. I offer her a seat on my couch, hoping that this does not go south.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

SPELL JINX

In the back of the buggy, Spell twists her pigtail braid around her palms. The little seashell she's braided into her dark locks catch against her skin, imprint in fans of lines and half moons. The buggy, drawn by a person on a bicycle, isn't the most sophisticated of travel, but it beats the hell out of walking. After hours at the Training Center, her feet are swollen and bruised. She's still managed to shove them into four inch heels. They throb, even in the easy cadence of the carriage. Really, she ought to be home, with her feet soaking in epsom salt. But some things cannot wait.

The driver deposits her outside of Curse's studio. "Thanks, Michellin. I owe you one." She winks at the sweaty boy, blows him a kiss, and considers her debt paid. On the doorstep, she adjusts the straps of her sundress and then shrugs on a sweater. For how much time he spends shirtless, Curse can be a little old fashioned. She fixes a bland smile to her face, knocks, and is admitted.

"Thank you," she says politely, following his instructions to the couch. She arranges herself carefully, lowering down by inches, pressing her knees together and pushing them off center, so that she's sitting at a bit of an angle. It's no different than how she sits in the Training Center, or any other public place. Despite the door between them and the outside world, this doesn't feel private; this isn't home.

"The place looks nice," she comments between pinched lips. Her gaze sweeps over the room, marking the recently tidying. Analysis complete, she turns the full weight of her gaze to Curse. "It's really not the same at home without you." It's a statement of fact, and accusation, all rolled into one.

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[attr="class","jorggradient1"]This isn’t the same Spell that I used to live with. Her posture is too cold, too upright, to performed. This is the same Spell she presents when she is at the Training Center, at the Reapings, when she’s trying to show strangers that they’re beneath her. This isn’t the same Spell that she shows around her family. I can feel that radiating off of her as she sits tenderly on the corner of my couch, analyzing everything that resides in the loft. She is judging me, and I deserve every second of it. I just up and left didn’t I? Why did I leave anyways?

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I can’t remember at this point; it has been so long that I forgot about why I left. I think I was chasing something that didn’t exist, something that I made up and believed to be true. I wanted that typical Panem Dream, where once I was old enough to be on my own, I did it. I thought I could live on my own, rely on myself for everything that I needed. Yes, it was still nice that I still had remained contact with my friends and family, but just to keep myself afloat I have been grinding myself to where I come home from the fishing so mentally and emotionally exhausted that I have no one left. I’m trying so hard to be independent that I’ve succeeded a bit too well. I was stupid enough to believe that to be independent was to be alone. Boy was I wrong.

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I walk towards the kitchen and start to pour us a glass of water. All of my emotions bubbling up as the water bubbles in the glass. It gets harder to process them separately as I bring the glasses towards the couch. Each step threatens to break down the wall, each step presents a new crack in the foundation. This isn’t the first that I’ve seen her since I left, but saying hi in the Market Square is different than addressing the issue in a more private setting. Her glare, her words, everything that Spell is right now only deepens the cracks that try to contain my turbulence. I don’t think that this is her intention, but everything that she does opens up a new hole within my wall. I put the cups on the table and try to keep my emotions in.

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]There is only so much that I can do to hold them in, but I can’t hold back the torrential flood forever. I look at her and see her stare right back at me. I see everything that I’ve been missing in her stone cold gaze; support, home understanding, everything that I turned away trying to prove that I could be on my own. I can’t handle it any and start crying into my hands. The sobs causing my body to heave and shake uncontrollably as the salty tears coat my hands. The only words that I can muster up to even begin to try and explain everything are,

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]“I’m sorry.”

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]I don’t think words begin to express the regret that wracks my soul each time I think about home. I truly feel like that I have betrayed them by leaving them. I have created a hole that seems to huge that it’s irreparable. I look towards my sister and I hope that she sees the genuine feeling behind these tears.
“I am so sorry Spell,” I try to say through my sobbing, spit filled mouth and body racks, “I thought that I could handle being an adult, being on my own. I thought I understood what it meant to be independent. I was so wrong. Please forgive me Spell.”

[attr="class","jorggradient1"]Please forgive me.