"She doesn't let me have the key to the back door. Just the front and my bedroom." Jason never saw that as strange, never questioned that even though he's the head of the house his mother keeps the keys to every room around her waist like a jailor. It's the same unexamined family tradition as him and Quentin, Caddy and Benjy, sharing beds until puberty despite living in a sprawling manor with more guest bedrooms than inhabitants. Some things are just accepted.
He walks to the front door with the exaggerated care of a drunk but the deliberation of an old man, trying not to make too much noise on the porch with his feet or with the turning of the old brass doorknob his key fits into. His lower lip twitches a bit with the beat of his heart, as every shove of blood through his veins feels like it's amplifying the invisible spike driving through his temple.
"Don't touch anything," he says to Stig. Not to Emily.
They get in and the interior doesn't look that much better. Wallpaper is peeling at the corners, the ceiling flaking, the stairs a bit bowed. There are no family photos, only individual portraits in frames.
Jason heads to the kitchen and open the freezer, looking for an ice pack and finding that he forgot to replace it last time he used it. He roots around and grabs a frozen roll of some sort of dough, wrapped in plastic, and puts that to his head instead, leaning against the fridge.
"Jason?" they hear from upstairs, a woman's voice that manages to be both plaintive and commanding. "I saw your car pull up. You know you need to phone ahead when you're coming home from work, I get worried sick thinking there might have been some incident, what with the Mentors throwing riots all the time. You know I couldn't bear it if you were caught in the crossfire. I'm coming downstairs-"
"Don't," Jason calls back. "You don't have to. I'm just going to lay down."
"I can manage it. It'll hurt me, but that's my lot as a mother. I wish you didn't have to work at that place. You come home smelling like a Districter just from being around them," There are the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, slow and ginger. "Is someone else with you? Are you having one of your headaches? You know I worry-"
"No one. Co-workers. They drove me. I'm going to lay down. Don't get yourself worked up over it." Jason sighs and rests his forehead against the front of the freezer.
no subject
He walks to the front door with the exaggerated care of a drunk but the deliberation of an old man, trying not to make too much noise on the porch with his feet or with the turning of the old brass doorknob his key fits into. His lower lip twitches a bit with the beat of his heart, as every shove of blood through his veins feels like it's amplifying the invisible spike driving through his temple.
"Don't touch anything," he says to Stig. Not to Emily.
They get in and the interior doesn't look that much better. Wallpaper is peeling at the corners, the ceiling flaking, the stairs a bit bowed. There are no family photos, only individual portraits in frames.
Jason heads to the kitchen and open the freezer, looking for an ice pack and finding that he forgot to replace it last time he used it. He roots around and grabs a frozen roll of some sort of dough, wrapped in plastic, and puts that to his head instead, leaning against the fridge.
"Jason?" they hear from upstairs, a woman's voice that manages to be both plaintive and commanding. "I saw your car pull up. You know you need to phone ahead when you're coming home from work, I get worried sick thinking there might have been some incident, what with the Mentors throwing riots all the time. You know I couldn't bear it if you were caught in the crossfire. I'm coming downstairs-"
"Don't," Jason calls back. "You don't have to. I'm just going to lay down."
"I can manage it. It'll hurt me, but that's my lot as a mother. I wish you didn't have to work at that place. You come home smelling like a Districter just from being around them," There are the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, slow and ginger. "Is someone else with you? Are you having one of your headaches? You know I worry-"
"No one. Co-workers. They drove me. I'm going to lay down. Don't get yourself worked up over it." Jason sighs and rests his forehead against the front of the freezer.