stillplaying | 3rd Game

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3rd Game

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Maybe they had caught on, these animals whose whispers she ignored when in the woods. She might not be the only hunter here, but she knows she's one of the more frequent. After all, she's out here every day. Sometimes she wanders further from the western lake but most of the time, she remains close to her treehouse home. Checking traps, gathering plants, losing herself in almost a ritualistic manner. It's the best way to keep memories at bay.

But on days like today, when game is scarce, it's harder. And she remembers. She lists the dead in her head, all the faces that haunt her in her dreams. The way they still all come together some nights to bury her alive. It's a recurring dream, always the same. Except, since coming here, she no longer sees Rue's face within the crows. It's the smallest of reassurances.

She's quietly whispering that list to herself, that list of all those people she's killed. All the deaths she's been responsible for. She has no right to be alive. She should be as dead as the rest of them. She deserves to be. And maybe that's what this is. Being back in a game again. Punishment.

But aside from that one awful shift, that horrible hijacking, it hasn't been so bad. And having Rue back... she doesn't deserve that.]

Cato. [The list continues as she continues to walk quietly in the forest, bow in hand.] Marvel. Glimm-

[The breaking of a twig stops her. She falls silent and looks around until her eyes fall on a young buck a few yards down, not even mature. The antlers are in velvet, barely little more than nubs sticking from the head. He looks as startled to see her as she is to see him. But a year or two older than any yearling. Perfect game. An arrow is drawn before she realizes what she's even doing.

There's only one moment of hesitation. When she remembers the last deer she brought down, with Gale's help, back in the woods of District Twelve. She's never attempted to kill one on her own. And a deer this size, it'll be too big for her to take back on her own. The amount of meat will be too much for two small girls.

But... she can think of people she's met here, potential allies, she'd happily share her meat with. Her arrow goes flying, piercing a lung. The buck bolts and her second shot isn't as true, hitting it in the midsection. And then she's running after it. It's not a long run. The animal stumbles over a log in its desperate flee and falls. She gets in one final shot, right in the heart.

There's a sense of grim satisfaction as she watches the deer exhale his final breath. Then she's on her knees, carefully removing and wiping her arrows. She places her bow on the ground and pushes the animal onto its back. She takes out her knife to make a small incision by the genitals. It's followed by a longer cut up towards the chest. Field dressing first. Then she'll request aid.

Voice;

So by the time she opens the journal, there are a couple of blood smears on her face. She looks uncharacteristically happy, though. Proud. She's never taken down her own deer before. It makes her forget any uncomfortableness that accompanies asking for help. She wipes some stray strand of hair from her face, leaving a small blood trail on her forehead.]

Is there a butcher in town? [An important question. Although she can probably butcher her deer on her own if worse comes to worse, she's never done it before. The first had been nearly attacked in the Hob, the other few taken to Rooba.] I caught a deer. There's so much meat. Too much for me and Rue alone. I'm willing to share. But I'll need help getting it to town, too.

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... [He was going to let her bask in her victory. But. Uh. Gesturing a little now with the video function.]

You got a little. Something.... riiiight around here.

[He motions around the side of his forehead, lips pressed in an awkward line.

Hey Katniss, how you doin'.]

[She's never seen the video function work before. It distracts her for a few moments, watching Rick's image move about on the journal page. So much better than a telephone she decides quickly enough.

Only then to realize that he's trying to tell her something. Her fingers touch her temple and move down slightly, only to come away with flakes of dried blood.]

Oh.

[Definitely not something she had noticed.]

[He smiles, and while his brow is furrowed, he's not surprised at all that she hadn't, considering... well, everything. He takes a bite of the apple he's been hopping around in the other hand, nodding his chin at the screen.]

I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be wearin' the furry parts of the animal as clothes, miss squirrel.

Edited 2012-04-26 19:44 (UTC)

[Miss squirrel? It's not bad, as far as nicknames go. At least he's not trying to call her Catnip. That's a name she still can't hear from any other lips. She wonders if she'd even ever be able to hear it from Gale's again, too.]

I know that. [It's a little bit defensive, a little bit amused.] But the entrails needed to be removed.

Of course, of course. A big kill like a deer, you're bound to get messy. Did you get some people to help you out with carting it?

[Only a little. For the most part, she was pretty good about keeping most of the blood off of her clothing. She grins back at him, allowing herself to be proud of an accomplishment for a change.]

Yeah. A man with a cart and a horse volunteered. Said he should get here in an hour.

Excellent. Sounds like you'll have plenty of food to work with. You used to catching animals that big? [He wants to say no, but he can't know for sure. Blood on the face doesn't exactly equate to new experience.]

Not on my own. [It doesn't hurt this time, to think about him. To remember the adventures the boy and the girl used to have in the forest. Before the girl went off to the Hunger Games and became the face of a rebellion. Before things changed so much between them.] But Gale and I managed to bring back four deer in the years we hunted together.

[Gale. That name is a distant one that clicks in his head, and he almost puts a face to it. Almost. He wishes he could remember how important that face was supposed to be to his other self, or at the very least, to Katniss. Which may have been one in the same back then.

He doesn't think of that stuff often. Much rather just ignore it.]

Looks like you've stepped up, little miss hunter. Before long you'll start catching bears and cougars with your bare hands. [a cheeky grin when he talks, though it turns thoughtful by the end] I've never eaten deer before, actually. Dad preferred everything but.

[When he asked his father why, he said that his favorite movie ever as a kid had been Bambi. He still wonders if his dad was just being a colossal troll, or genuinely honest.]

[That Gale, the one that lived in that alternate Panem created by the Malnosso Gamemakers, he hadn't been as important to her. It's barely remembered, less than any of the other changes. Because this one she really doesn't want to remember. How little important Gale had been. Not when combined with later, real memories of Prim's death.

But it's not something to spend much time to reflect on. Not when Rick's teasing her in a manner reminiscent of her father. It's... actually a little nice.]

I'm best with a bow and arrow. [Just a simple little fact. Because she knows no snare she ever created would let her catch this deer. Certainly no spear or trident or knife. Let alone bare hands. But she's still a killer. That fact won't change.

She tilts her head a little, curious.] Would you want to try any?

I don't doubt it. [Said of course about the bow—don't forget, you've pointed an arrowhead his direction... twice now, right? Right. But more importantly:

Trying some of your cooking sounds like a great plan. Lunch on the lakeside?

[She frowns a little. She had meant to give him deer, not to cook for him. Why would she cook for anyone else but herself or Rue? If it was anyone else who made this suggestion, she would just scoff and shake her head. They'd receive a no.

But with Rick it's... it's different, isn't it? She's pulled an arrow on him twice now and he's only ever reacted with calmness and understanding. He... gets it. Whatever this illness is that she's going through. He gets it.

And that was even before the Malnosso's games made him into her uncle. Before he offered to help with the rebuilding of District Twelve.

She's on her way to owing him too much to just say no.]

Tomorrow. The western lake. The one where we first met.

[He claps his hands together at that.]

Excellent. I've got a little something for you guys, too—I think you'll like it, especially with summer rolling in.

[He at least sounds confident in this.]

It'll be a trade.

[He's not much for owing or being owed; doesn't work on that system, really. As long as he's giving and the other side's giving in their own ways where they can, he's a content guy.]

[She's about to protest. To tell him that it's okay, that he doesn't have to bring anything. That she's doing this because she wants to. Because she owes him. Because maybe she might be on her way to becoming, if not a friend, an ally.

But the mention of the trade alleviates any protest. She can accept that a lot easier than a gift.]

Noon?

[there's a smile in the words that follow]

Noon it is; I'll be there.

[The smile is returned before Katniss closes the book.

As promised, come noon the next day, she's by the shore of the western lake. It wasn't hard to find the spot she had mentioned. The waters there had wound up being promising in roots and fish. She had a few snares set up and returned often enough to check on them.

But today, however, there's a small campfire going. On a mat not too far away lies some pots, berries, roots, herbs and, of course, the venison meat. As Katniss waits for Doyle to arrive, she tends the fire, careful to keep hair and sleeves out of the flames' range.

She was a fire mutt once and the scars from the skin grafts are still healing. Burns are the worst kind of pain.]

[They sure are.

It's kind of something he maybe should have predicted, that she'd cook on-site. It's pretty obvious, now that he thinks about it, but for some reason he imagined... food in a basket, Tupperware, something. He pauses a few feet back, staring down the fire.

It's not a big deal. He can handle a little campfire; it's not like it's a weapon or anything. He clears his throat, shoulders stiff, but he's smiling like usual.]

Hey.

[He's got a backpack on his shoulder and he's considering sitting. Any day now. Just. Give him a minute.]

Hey, Rick.

[And it does get a grin. Because of all the people she's met here, Rick's the first one she'll consider a friend. And it's not just because of that shift, the illusion of having an uncle. It had been nice to have someone to lean on then. But he was already proving to be someone who understood before.

He looks a little uncomfortable though, despite the fire. And it catches her off guard because she's not sure she's ever seen him like this. Not even when she's pointed her arrows at him.

Gently,] You can sit anywhere, you know.

[Oh... Right. The whole. Sitting down thing; should probably do that before the awkward levels would be sure to spike. He plops down, a little further back than her - but still close, focusing on her and her things. As long as he doesn't look at it he's fine. He can just sit and suck that babyish fear up, because he's a soldier, dammit all.

... That's just the heat, Doyle. It's warming you up, is all.]

One of those 'blanking out' days, I guess. Must mean I need to get more sleep.

Getting things started?

[If explosions had been involved, she'd probably react in much the same way. Those explosions had claimed Prim's life. Nearly claimed her own. Should've claimed her own. Instead of Prim's. It would have been nothing Katniss didn't already deserve. Her sister, though... her sister was innocent. All Prim was guilty of was being too eager to help.

Katniss, though. Katniss was guilty of worse. Of so many deaths.

But she doesn't question his hesitance to come close to the flames. There's an understanding there, and she wonders briefly if he might be some sort of fire mutt, too. He's never questioned her scars, though at the time he did see them, they had both been hijacked in that shift. Still, he could've brought it up since.

She rolls up her sleeves a little as she stands to get the tripod. Skin graft scars are still visible on her wrists and forearms, though a little more faded from the last time he saw them. She talks as she sets up the tripod and pot over the fire.]

I thought I'd wait until you get here to start cooking. Mind stew?

[It's particularly sad that he understands the burns, despite not having a single burn scar of his own; scars from other things here and there - an awful surgery for a broken collarbone, a few graze marks, one that actually met him through-and-through. Save for the collarbone scar, none of them were very prominent. Visible in the sunlight, but nothing really. Even the arm that had just previously been mauled was nearly free of scarring.

Ah well. Not such a bad thing. Scars can be uncomfortable. He's been fortunate.]

Sounds good to me.

[Scars from fire, he'd hate most of all.

Stew takes a little time to cook. He'd have to get over it eventually. Eventually. He itches his hairline, trying to internally quell whatever illogically sprang up. There was a lake, right there. Hell, that's water. That's fire's mortal fuckin' enemy.

Fire is outmatched here.

The flame crackles faintly, shifts just a small bit, and he flinches despite himself. He's looking at it, directly, and once again it's despite himself.]

[All scars previous to the Quarter Quell had been erased by Capitol doctors, who believed only flawless skin to be attractive. As tribute, and then victor, she had little choice in the matter. But now it felt as if her body was riddled with scars. Most stayed hidden by her clothing, including the ugly lump on her upper arm where Joanna had dug out her tracker in the second arena.

That one might never go away. But these? The ones from her skin grafts? They're Capitol work. And they'll disappear in time. But she doesn't care. Not when she knows she shouldn't even be alive.

As she waits for the pot to heat, she digs into her bag to find the mound of duck fat she brought with her. A glance in Rick's direction causes her to frown though. She remembers Finnick and his rope, how tying and untying knots gave him something to do. Something to distract from fear and worry.]

I have vegetables that still need cutting. The carrots, parsnips, ramps. [A bit of a grin.] And the katniss tubers. They'll need to be cooked first.

[Whether or not he realizes what she's doing, he doesn't give any indication, instead snapping out of his thoughts to look at her with a little lopsided grin.] Katniss tubers?

[The plus side - he's focused on something, now. Better than nothing.]

I guess the saying 'you are what you eat' is pretty accurate. I could cut all those for ya', then.

[He could do that much.]

[She places the fat near the fire to use when the pan is ready and goes looking for her spare knife and cutting board. Another grin.]

My dad used to tell me that if I could find myself, I'd have something to eat.

[She pulls the board and knife out and pushes them in his direction. The vegetables sit neatly on the mat not too far from the plate of meat, still whole.] You can use that.

[He smiles at that, before focusing his efforts on the task - actually, it did help a little bit. Not entirely, and sometimes his eyes would flick back if a crackle was particularly noticeable, or if the flame jumped, but it was better than nothing. Even the heat breathing into his skin was easier to ignore for the moment.]

Best job to give me, anyway. I can't cook worth a damn.

[Especially now that he doesn't touch his oven, period, but oh well.]

Anything straight out of a box or into a microwave tends to be on my diet plan.

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[Voice] shall we just do action spam here for the next day?

[Voice] sure thang!

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