it's real. { lancelot }

[mat]

[googlefont="Calligraffitti:400"]

[presto][/presto]

Atticus Manor He never liked spending time around family. To Atticus, it was a waste of time and energy to smile and catch up with family who, since day one, he was told he had to love. Forced love. It was a funny thing now that years down the line of his life, the Manor boy failed to know anything more than forced love. As a boy, his grandparents would come and visit and try to play with him. Uncle Everette would bring weird little gadgets, where at least twice during the visit, his two cousins, younger than him, would cry because one of them had broken it. Atticus always felt obligated to be around family. As his family grew older, he and his boy cousins began to mature. Soon enough, when the three boys would sit outside, the other two would chat about which girls they liked at school. Both of them brainstormed different strategies to flirting with them, making the girls they adored become their partners of life. Once, they’d ask him if he had a crush on any girl at his school. Atticus didn’t respond. It hurt him less to say nothing at all than to speak to his cousins about his crushes and love life. They didn’t deserve to know. They didn’t really care who he was, and neither did Atticus. It was an obligatory duty, to be around family. Fast-forward to age twenty and Atticus felt free. His family went back to their shabby home after Atticus kicked them out of his spot in the village. He didn’t want them near him. They were part of the poison that killed his lungs and the reason that he couldn’t forget. They’d ask questions, and even when he didn’t answer verbally, thoughts raced through his head like a horse with two to one odds of winning a derby. Besides, Atticus didn’t need the forced love. It’s a silly thing, that kind of love. It’s better raw, it’s better real. Atticus found love in his friends who weren’t just his friends because of his wealth and fame; they genuinely cared about who he was as a person. There was Esther, the girl who’d given him a tophat on his first tour day. At first glimpse, Atticus thought of her as an odd character. It was funny how easily he could make the comparison of her to Astrid. Likewise, along with Esther was Andy. Both were friends before Atticus knew either, and it was the same way with the other three. It haunted him how much Andy reminded him of.. the sun boy (thinking of his name still hurt.) Then the girl on drugs, the woman who seemed to be the matriarch of the five. Lastly, was Angel. A defensive type, the boy is. If Angel had been in District Two, without a doubt, he’d be Peacekeeper Kealoha. Angel was who Atticus saw as he walked into the pub. When Atticus felt adjusted into daily life, this is where he went, and this is where they all seemed to be. They were a group, and this seemed to be their hangout. Atticus politely asked the man serving the bar for a glass of cold water. He’d sworn that after he read Deja’s several letters, he wouldn’t drink the vodka unless he was on another journey to the Capitol. He’d seen it with the druggie girl, he’d seen it with Nell. He sees it in the people that sleep out on the streets of District Three. Atticus recognized how much it can ruin someone. Only on special occasions, he vowed to himself, only in times of dire need. Atticus sat patiently on the barstool, scanning the room for any of that group. They seemed to be his only friends in the District. Manor didn’t care to know anyone else, really, as he didn’t want what happened in his childhood to reappear. Atticus appreciated the fact that with Esther and the others, love and friendship wasn’t a forced relationship. It was a genuine instinct, something that Atticus liked to say more than just: ‘They’re family, so I love them.’ With them, he could say “They’re family because I love them.” The bartender returned to give Atticus his glass of frozen water. He smiled, nodded, and stood. He analyzed faces, looking for Esther or Andy, the druggie girl or Angel or the matriarch. Gently, Manor moved around, balancing his water so the ice cubes and liquid wouldn’t spill upon the ground. It took a bit of cautious walking, but he saw Angel. The one he’d thought of to be the scariest of the five. Atticus had never spoken to Angel privately, not without one of the other four alongside them. Atticus slowly approaching him, watching his drink like a hawk. It was filled to the brim, and just the tiniest little- He felt his feet stumble over something just as he was in front of Angel. He was quick to regain balance with his body. He looked in front of him, seeing the collar of Angel’s shirt now have dampness within it. ”Oh, I didn’t mean to do that,” Atticus said, quickly setting down his water, which was now a little less full, on the dry part of the clothed table. ”Sorry, I just.. stopped by to say hello.” made by ghosty

lance

[lance]

a n g e l

For once, he was alone.

It was a concept that had grown unfamiliar in recent years, a concept that he had left in the past as he transformed from the protected to the protector.

Rarely did one find Angel without at least one of his adopted family in the vicinity, even here in the relative safety and comfort of the pub. It was a way to unwind from the various stresses and hardships of the day, even if he rarely touched hard alcohol.

It helped that the owner didn't give two shits as to whether he or his friends were underage. His argument that, in the dystopian shithole that was the industrial district of Three, there were far bigger things to worry about than a few kids getting drunk.

And honestly, especially on days like today, Angel was inclined to agree.

He loved his adopted family almost as much as he loved his mothers. They had been just as instrumental in his development and survival as his parents, and for that he owed each of them a debt he would never be able to repay, though that would not be from lack of trying.

But even family could be overwhelming to the introvert, and sometimes even the most loving member needed to get away.

So there he sat, drink in hand, gaze staring blankly at a painting on the far wall of the pub, and mind a million miles away from the rest of him.

So disconnected was he from his surroundings, that he barely registered the footsteps approaching him, nor the tall, lanky form creating them.

The ice cold water that suddenly splashed on his shirt?

That he registered.

He jerked out of his reverie with a start, mind snapping back to reality as all his senses screamed the same shout of COLDCOLDCOLDCOLDCOLD as the icy liquid sank through the thin cloth of his shirt and made contact with the very exposed skin beneath.

”Oh, I didn’t mean to do that,” a familiar voice spoke, speech laced with something that could have passed for amusement or surprise or a mixture of the two.

Taking quick, ragged breaths, he managed to lift his gaze to match that of the speaker. Brown eyes stared into the baby blue of Atticus Manor, acquaintance, Victor, and, apparently, perpetrator.

The older man's face is set in its perpetual state of a worried expression as he takes a seat opposite him, and before Angel can so much as question the victor, he's already speaking again.

"Sorry, I just..." Pause. "Stopped by to say hello."

That caught his attention.

He barely knew the latest victor of his home district, having only met him indirectly through Esther some weeks ago. The rest of his adopted family had taken a liking to him for one reason or another, but from what he had gathered, the seemingly quiet man had appeared to be of a similar mindset to Angel himself and preferred to avoid social interaction for the most part.

That was part one of the confusion. Part two was the fact that it was him the victor had decided to say hello to, and not one of the other members of his family.

Granted, he was the only one of them in the pub at the moment, so that might have had something to do with it.

Gradually, the icy shock faded, and Angel managed to gather what remained of his wits in time to formulate a response.

"Well, hello then." he spoke, adding a chuckle to the end of his sentence.

A thought pops into his mind, and his next words come easier. "I'm Angel." he continued, half grin etched on his face. "Not sure if you knew that already or not."

The real question remains unspoken for the moment.

What did the victor really want from him?