In Motion [Vasco/Nekane]
Jul 6, 2021 23:56:08 GMT -5
Post by marguerite harvard d2a (zori) on Jul 6, 2021 23:56:08 GMT -5
![](https://i.imgur.com/bHhyKKH.png)
v a s c o
I can't open my mouth and forget how to talk
'Cause even if I could
Wouldn't know where to start
Wouldn't know when to stop
![](http://i.imgur.com/IpW5AHT.png)
I lit a candle the night she died.
The same prayers that drifted from my lips through the kitchen collected in the air, heavy with grief, weighed down by blackened sorrow. Pieces of her were here, little as they were – she had a half of our name – the same light, same traces of luck, and loss. Much like the other candles burning, hers came all too soon, gentle yellow wax pooling overtop the carved piece of wood that’d be scraped from the tiled floor at sunrise.
I search stanzas for faith and wrap one finger over another bead until it’s too hard to speak. There’s nothing but stars and silence but I can’t give another word to an unnamed god. Not when they’d carried off another, sold a soul to that great unending mandala, as though she didn’t belong sitting across the table from me.
They’d murdered more of our children than there were of us. Taken a whole generation of men and women up by their roots and salted the earth. Left us to grow old and expire, huddled together as we struggled to see each sunrise come up over the hills. If it’d taken just my life to bring all of them back, I’d have laid it down yesterday. Life couldn’t be that easy, could it? Offering the lieutenant that stalked our fields and rifled through my office my very life if it meant not another single Izar would enter the games, it’d be something out of a twisted fairy tale.
Somehow, I imagined that the capitol would be happy to get rid of Vasco Izar. Not from vanity, but that there’d be no more footnotes to write. No man that dared to say it was better for all of us to love one another than to hate or that we could give to one another without owing something in return. That a crown and scepter said nothing of a person’s heart. And that a title could be given but that trust was our better selves realized in the eyes of another.
Elias would have to bury her.
I hadn’t taken to drinking since before Raquel had died, but the thought was enough to have me reach for gin.
Alfer stopped by close to the witching hours. He said he’d seen the light through the kitchen window, but I imagine he hadn’t wanted to sit in the house his father had built. He’d always been paler than the rest of us, but that morning he’d never looked like a whiter shade of alabaster.
So, I offered him a glass of gin, a seat at the table, and a whole heart to speak to.
He’d obliged by wrapping a joint and pontificating about how his generation would be the ones to change the world.
‘… no offense tío, you’ve all had a chance and if it’s not happening now it won’t happen for a while. I know – you talk about how we need to take our time – and you’ve done some things for all of us. But don’t you ever just want to fucking do something no one else would expect?'
Teenagers hadn’t the weight of memory to hold their shoulders down closer to the earth.
Still, I’d taken the joint from between his fingers into my own, and taken a long drag. Something unexpected.
It wasn’t exactly a call to action or a riot. Or even something that meant much to anyone other than me.
Alfer had dared me to find a different part of myself. Not the same stolid, stable old man who would let grief shatter through him again. Someone that could still laugh, still feel a dull, winding rage course through him without letting it burn out of control.
I’d tucked my head into the sink while he started on the bleach, painting the greys and browns of my hair and promising any burning I felt was only temporary. He’d done this at least a half dozen times – to which I’d remembered Elias cursing at least a few, I think.
Mostly, it’d felt like a dream. One where I could see myself in the tired little kitchen and feel the gentle hands against my scalp, that I wouldn’t look anything like I ever had before. We’d laughed when it’d come time to wash and dry, and then some more when he’d taken me over to one of the mirrors hanging in the living room. I saw a man who wasn’t anyone I’d recognized, not one day in my whole life.
I awoke stretched out across the hanging bench out on the porch. Maybe sometime after the sun had risen, but before Yani or Emma had stirred. I licked at my cotton mouth and could already feel the pressure in my sinuses that signaled an impending hangover. I sat up and leaned back against the bench. I blinked away the sleep in my eyes.
“N… Nekane?” I whispered out over the edge of the railing and leaned forward. The chains jostled and I stared at the figure out in the garden. I did my best to button up my shirt and smooth back my hair. “Nekane, that you?”