We Pass from Death to Life Because We Love Each Other [Open]

[yoknapatawpha]

WHO| Bayard Sartoris and anyone!
WHAT| Bayard's developed a sort of narcoleptic sleep pattern.
WHERE| Anywhere.
WHEN| A few days before the Arena.
WARNINGS| None.

Bayard knows what a bed is. Somehow, he just doesn't always manage to make it back there.

Without someone making sure he's in bed at a regular time or eating something besides pure sugar, Bayard's developed some unhealthy tendencies, one of which is roaming the Capitol all evening after school, getting lost, and only sometimes making it back to the District Twelve Suite before he needs to rest. Sometimes he makes it back to the Tribute Tower, but since he isn't confident using the elevator yet he'll go up as many floors as he can before finding a corner or a flat, unoccupied part of the common room to nap on.

He's slept outdoors often enough in the past that laying his head on his folded arms suits him well for a soft place to stretch out. He sleeps on his side, soft little sighs eking out from between half-parted lips, fingertips twitching slightly with dreams. When he wakes he misses Ringo; when he lies down he misses Granny. When he actually goes to bed in his room in District Twelve (its mattress stuffed with candy and little knick-knacks, wonders of the modern day, that he's squirreled away - toys that light up, a fob for a car, advertising pamphlets mass-printed in colors Bayard thought only existed by chance and in nature) he sometimes cries from loneliness, and so, in a way, it's a relief to simply become exhausted from exploring and shut down right where he is.

Underfoot, curled on that couch you wanted to sit on, tucked inside a cabinet while you look for breakfast, you can find him at some point just about everywhere.

Comments

[wardenings]

It's the quiet scuffling noises that startle Alistair, causing him to turn over his shoulder and see the young lord, curled up under the couch in a bout of insomnia. Clearing his throat, Alistair makes his way towards one of the couches, crinkling his nose as he gets on his hands and knees. Bright blues meet matching glimmered eyes, the color shrouded by the shadow of the furniture.

"Long time no see, there." He laughs softly. "It's late. Shouldn't you be in the bed?"

[yoknapatawpha]

Bayard, barely asleep in the minutes since Alistair heard him but enough to be disoriented, startles to wakefulness. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes and mouth, where the smallest among of drool has crested the corner.

"Mister Alistair." Bayard looks down at himself, reckoning that in his rumpled school clothes at whatever mad hour this is he must look like quite a sight. "I lost my way going back to bed. I hope I didn't upset you any."

[wardenings]

"I lose my way going back to bed quite a bit. Here, boy, clean yourself up a little bit." It's a random wad of clean tissues that Alistair had kept around for the slightest of reasons, but Bayard is more than welcome to them to help clean up the dried drool on his lips.

"Tabris is looking for you, but it seems I found you first, hm?" He smiles a little bit, ruffling the younger's hair. "Why are you awake-- or, perhaps asleep? -- at such an hour? Is something the matter?"

[yoknapatawpha]

"Pardon, sir," Bayard says quietly, wiping away the drool with a tissue. He's still becoming accustomed to disposable tissues, and so absentmindedly he folds the Kleenexes and juts his hand forward to return them.

"I hope I haven't worried her." Bayard's eyes look at Alistair soft and genuinely concerned, not just for being in trouble but because he doesn't imagine Tabris needs to be stressing on his account. "I just wandered the city some and I didn't realize how long it would take me to get back. By the time I got back to the Training Center I was too tuckered to make all the stairs."

[wardenings]

He laughs -- how cute. "Keep them. You can use them more than once, if it's just a bit of spit. I learned that quickly here."

"You really shouldn't wander the city on your own. If you want to go somewhere, come and get me. I'm in District One, you know. Myself or Miss Tabris will go with you; I'm sure she won't mind, either, if she isn't busy with something or another. Would you like some water?"

In all honesty, Tabris's worrying was a bit superfluous; Alistair was born to be a father, and while he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to settle down and have children of his own (with the ticking clock of tainted blood within him... he doubted it), he felt a bit of protectiveness towards Bayard. If he was asked, Bayard would be one of the children Alistair would raise his blade for.

(Alistair approves +30 )

"Where were you wandering to, exactly?"

[yoknapatawpha]

"I like to go alone. I don't need a chaperone." Bayard looks a bit put out, like Alistair is calling him too young to go exploring by his own whim. "No thank you, I ain't thirsty."

He slips the folded napkins back into his pocket.

"I went to a garden today. Did you know that they've, ah. Scientists here have genendically engineered a flower that can sing. It's like they're trying to be God hisself. It's..." Bayard pauses, then whistles the tune. "That's what it sounds like."

[wardenings]

"I agree, you know. In our world, we call our god 'The Maker'. I don't quite believe that it's right that they're messing with His forces like that. I want to say it's a new form of magic that we just haven't thought of yet, but Tabris likes to tell me that I'm overthinking a lot of this stuff."

He arches a brow, leaning back against the couch, draping his arms on the head of it. "Was there anything else in the garden? Or was it all singing flowers?"

[yoknapatawpha]

"It's all the Lord. I reckon if it offended God himself that much, he'd have smited them." Bayard makes a hand gesture, like hurling lightning, a smile on his face. The fire and brimstone part of the bible always did hold a bit of excitement for him, in that young boy way.

Now this excites Bayard. He settles in on the couch, leaning forward to tell Alistair about his day with absolute eagerness. The wonders of the Capitol hold him in their thrall, and he wants to share that joy with everyone.

"The most beautiful birds you ever did see. I saw doves pure white with actual golden tails that glittered like stars. And there were sparrows that sang in key and harmonized. And butterflies! I never took notice of butterflies before these."

[wardenings]

"Butterflies," he mentions, nodding. "I've seen a couple where I'm from, but they aren't commonplace. You'll have to take me and show me sometime; I actually enjoy gazing at nature. My friend--" Was that an acceptable word to use for the apostate? "--Morrigan is from a set of woods where nature runs wild called the Korcari Wilds. It's quite lovely, if you can get past the darker parts of it."

He whistled quietly, trying to mimic what the younger had just done, brow furrowing. He had been in the Chantry choir as a boy, but it wasn't much to be proud of. Sung Soprano, then when he grew older, he swapped to Tenor-- either way, whistling was never his strong suit.

"Was that right? Or am I just completely off of the mark?"

[yoknapatawpha]

"I ain't ever heard of that place, but I reckon I know the outdoors well enough. I've spent most of my life out in it, hunting deer and building pens and climbing trees." Bayard has the look of it, too, of a farm boy even though his family is upper class by Jefferson's standards. The standards of a town under siege aren't that high these days anyway.

He rapidly nods his head. "Yes, sir! Just like that! Gosh, I wish I had an ear for music like that."

[wardenings]

"You're a man of the outdoors, then?" Alistair chuckled, leaning back in the chair. "I wish I could say completely the same. For the most part, I've been similar; I've wandered the entire continent I live on, trailing behind my wife. Well. She wasn't my wife then. Tell me, what did you do? Hunt? Forage? Craft things out of little sticks and twine?"

[yoknapatawpha]

"Yessir," Bayard says. "I live on a plantation. Only we don't got many slaves so we have to do the handiwork ourselves, and Father says it's good to know how to do it anyway. We work the land and raise livestock. I even built a stock pen for the mules and the sows but a few weeks ago."

The pride when he talks about that stock pen is palpable, so much so that one could believe he assembled it himself with no help at all.