stillplaying | 12th Game [voice/action]

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12th Game [voice/action]

[There are some nights where she can't sleep. Can't fall asleep to begin with, can't stay asleep once she's there. The nightmares become too intense. She awakes crying, screaming, gasping for breath. Curled up in a ball, clutching her knees to her chest in as tight a fetal position as she can get. And alone. So very, very alone in the dark, dark room.

Those kinds of nights have grown more and more common since Peeta's departure, since her death. Even Buttercup's plaintive mewling in the night hasn't made it any better. The pain and fear doesn't fade. It lasts long, long into the morning on the nights she's unable to go back to sleep. Turns into another fitful nightmare otherwise.

In one short month, there's been a lot to think about. Too much to think about. She's been stuck here a year now. Seen various shifts and experiments. Fallen in love and then lost that love. Died. In the most recent shift, while she hadn't been forced to fall in love against her will, she had watched it happen, even observed it first hand in once case. All of it, more than anything, had made her think of Peeta.

Think and mourn until she thought that she would burst from all the heartache.

During the early morning, she awoke screaming, thrashing in her bed as her nightmares played Prim's death out for her again. Prim's death followed by that of Rue's. And Peeta's electrocution in the clock arena. How she had screamed and rushed forward, how he would have been dead if not for Finnick's quick thinking.

So, so many deaths. And all because of her.

As she moves about in the bed, screaming and crying, she knocks the journal down on the floor. Buttercup mews and she just screams again, a wordless, animal scream. Whimpering and sobbing, she does eventually come to her senses. Her body remains cocooned in the sheets as she reaches for the journal, face tear-stained and lost.

She misses him. Maybe more than that, she misses having someone to comfort her in the night when the memories get to be too much.]

Gale was right. [The words are whispered, an acknowledgment to words long past that she once overheard. It's never going to be about love for her. It'll only be about who will extend her longevity in the end. Who'll make her life easier to bear. And if Peeta's not here, how could it possibly be him?

She stares at the journal a few minutes more before clearing her voice and finally speaking, wiping away any lingering tears.]

I know that when you die here, they'll take things from you. And they'll change things during the shifts. Hijack you and alter your memories.

Can you get them to do that even outside a shift? How would you contact them? I-- I want them gone. The memories of Peeta being here. I don't want to miss him anymore, miss--

[Being in love. Being loved. But she doesn't know how to say that part aloud. She wishes for a brief moment she had kept some of that candy from the spa. The stuff that made her open up more. It'd make this all the more easier.]

Is there a magic? Please? Something, anything? I don't have much to offer, but I am a good hunter. I'll trade game and pelts. Anything you want.

I want to move on. I want to forget. And I don't know how else to do it. [Richard's advice comes to mind. She's already thrown herself in hunting, thrown herself in anything and everything she can think of to distract her. It hasn't worked. Not at all. So that leaves only the other thing he recommended: moving on.] He might never come back. I might never go back. I-- I don't want to be lonely anymore. I want to move on.

[With that, she closes the journal to go get dressed. Her hair is pulled back in a messy braid before she heads out. Not to hunt. Not today. Instead, she goes to the library. She has research to do.]

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[He was dressed and out the window the moment he heard the first sob over the network. It's familiar in a painful way- Katniss' misery. Were there anything that he might offer to rid her of it, he would, and that more than anything cements his decision to allow these connections. Tells him it's right, even if he finds himself helpless. It doesn't take long for him to find his way to her house. It never did. Much like the last time he ran to her he finds her before she's finished with her broadcast- though this time he has the courtesy to wait until she's closed the book to say anything.]

Solano... what. Would you like for breakfast?

[It's something simple, something normal, and not at all addressing what she asked the village. That's a discussion better had when she's better composed and he has a proper argument either for or against. He still hasn't decided.]

[It's easier to stay awake than to go back to sleep. Than to risk that more nightmares might haunt her. Her memories have only begun to survey the dead. There are still so many more faces, so many more scenarios her dreams can haunt her with. And that's without even touching the fictional deaths her subconscious seemed to love.

Teddy's since left but she's stayed rooted to the couch. Still wrapped tightly in the white sheet, still clad in nothing but her nightgown, hair still disarray. Buttercup sits on a chair not too far away as the light begins to filter into the room. But as soon as there's sound at the door, the cat leaps off the seat and pads over to hiss at the arrival.

It's the hiss that catches Katniss' attention.]

Stupid cat. [She mumbles the words as she slowly gets up from the couch, carrying the sheet around her like a cloak. She doesn't know who might be there. Doesn't really care. Katniss kicks at Buttercup when close enough and then slowly opens the door.

To see Zevran and hear his question. She blinks, confused.] What?

Breakfast. The first meal of the day, yes? To break your fast that you had whilst sleeping? I was thinking perhaps I could try my hand at those 'waffles' if you wished, or if you wanted something more savory I could make you a breakfast curry. Max taught me how, it is quite a sensational meal. I think you would enjoy it.

[Focus on the normal, focus on feeding her, on the simple comforts of food and home and simply being there for her. It's all that he can offer right now without possibly upsetting her.]

[She doesn't know what waffles are, but the word curry is familiar. A spicy food. Savory. She's never had it for breakfast but she's not opposed to trying new foods. That had been one of the only good parts of the Hunger Games. All the amazing Capitol delicacies she might never otherwise have gotten to sample.

Her stomach rumbles in protest and Katniss pulls the sheet tighter over her shoulders. She's still processing what Zevran's doing here, though. Still slowly realizing that he, too, must have seen her journal entry. Her stupid, stupid embarrassing journal entry that has, so far, come to no successful result.

She swallows hard for a moment, nods, and then lets the sheet fall to the ground. The action makes it easier for her to wrap her arms tightly around him in a hug. To close her eyes and cling to him tightly, bare feet and cotton nightgown be damned.]

[He was about to turn to head to the kitchen proper when she drops the sheet and steps close- his leathers are still cool from the run to her house so he isn't certain how comfortable it could be but he tucks her close all the same. Rests his cheek against her hair and wraps his arms around her and holds her like it's enough to make everything better. Murmurs something soft and nonsensical and soothing in Antivan and prays that while she may not understand what he's saying, she understands his meaning.]

I'm here.

[He offers after a long moment.]

For you, I am here. Whenever you need. Whatever you need, Solano.

[She shivers a little as the coolness of his leather clothes seeps through her nightgown, a garment never meant to protect from the lingering winter outside weather. But his cheek is warm against the crown of his head and his arms hold her every bit as tightly as she needs. The memories of the nightmares still play behind closed eyes and a few stray tears escape.

It doesn't matter what he's saying. The sentiment is recognized. The soft tones of someone trying to soothe another. The similar sort of tone she'd use with Prim whenever her little sister awoke from a nightmare. When did it all change? When had she become so needy for comfort?

Damn the Hunger Games. Damn Snow and Coin and everyone who ever used her as their pawn.

She sniffs and hugs him tighter., if such a thing is possible.] They won't go away, Zevran. The dreams, the memories -- they won't go away.

...I wish I could tell you that in time they will. I truly do.

[A gloved hand smooths back the hair from her forehead and he presses a kiss there, rocking her slowly as they stand. Others might say no, she should remember. What she endured makes her who she is, but Zevran? Knows that pain. That quiet horror. All those little flashes and flickers of things he would live without were he able and be better for it. Lighter. Cleaner, were it possible.]

I wish I could reach in and take every last shred of it from you. Were it in my power I would do so without question. But I cannot. I am sorry. All...all that I might do is help you make better ones.

[That's just one of the reasons why she finds it so easy to talk to him. He's been there. He understands. He knows exactly what it's like to face those kind of memories night after night. Zevran won't question her like some of the others might. He'd only accept. Accept and do his best to cover.

She swallows hard at that his words, staring at a point past his shoulder as they move slowly back and forth.] How?

By making you breakfast to start.

[He dips his head to kiss her hair, offers one last squeeze before stepping back to walk to the kitchen. His hand drops to hers, curls in it, and he uses that to tug her down with him. Leading her like that as she'd led him to her home when he'd returned.]

Lives such as ours are often littered with darker thoughts and experiences. I know you do not take comfort in the same way that I do- with bodies in your bed and wine in hand, but that does not mean you should not try to find your own bit of light to hold onto when you are able. Spring is coming. We might hunt together in the mornings once more- I could take you fishing. Invite you over to the house- the boys and I are moving into one of them soon, and you could dine with us as we laugh, eat, and play music.

[He squeezes her hand.]

I find it very difficult to remember the darker parts of my life while in their company. Perhaps they might do the same for you.

[She leaves the sheet on the front step of her house as he leads her back inside. To go back for it would mean letting go of Zevran. It would mean stepping away from him. Teddy's gone back to his boyfriend. She's not ready to relinquish another friend quite yet.

But she does, at least, remember to kick the door closed behind them. And squeeze his hand back in return.]

Do you love them? [Taking a deep breath, she stares down at the floor and kicks a little at the hem of her nightgown. Maybe she shouldn't be asking him that. Maybe it's too forward. It's certainly none of her business. But she can't help them.] Do you... do you have sex with them?

[He was happy to ramble on about them, Jack's upbeat and incessant humor, Eugene's kind words and excellent skills in the kitchen, Max's wry wit- until she asks that. That makes him falter mid sentence, lock up mid step, for it is the most direct assessment that he has done everything in his power to avoid making. He fumbles with words for a moment before answering, after a fashion.]

I bedded Jack and Eugene, yes, and shared their bed without having sex with them as well. It's...comfortable? Camaraderie. Friendship, of sort, but we are not lovers. I am an assassin, Katniss, and one raised by whores. Love is not something meant for me.

[And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. That little voice that insists he should be honest with her has him mumbling.]

...I do not know. How...how do you know such a thing?

[Those words sound so very, very familiar. Maybe not so much the parts about sex, but the rest. The idea that love isn't meant for someone like Zevran. Someone like her. Hasn't she said the same? To him, to Peeta, to others? Love is not meant for people who are killers. It is not meant for those who survive because of the tragedies they cause for others.

And yet, yet, hadn't she fallen in love with Peeta anyway? Hadn't he loved her regardless?

Her steps falter shortly after his and she blinks at his question and shakes her head. She shrugs and shakes her head yet again. Katniss wants nothing more than to provide him with a clear answer. The right answer. How can she, though, when she doesn't even know herself?]

I don't know. I don't know. [The words are mumbled back as she stares at the floor instead of meeting his gaze.] I'm not Peeta. I'm not - I'm not supposed to love. I'm like you. I'm you.

[But there's more to that. There's much more. There's a reason she woke up screaming for Peeta. A reason she wants all those happy memories gone. Why she had let Clove kill her. A reason why this is all hard to say, almost too much to process.]

I think it makes you weak. Love, that is. It's when you'd die for someone. When you'd put their own survival in front of your own. It's why I don't want to love him or anyone, Zevran. [She can't stop now. Now that the words are all coming together, all the emotions. Katniss swallows hard.] I want to be happy. I want someone to hold me at night when the nightmares come and... and I want to... to do those things with them. All the kissing, more. I want someone to love me. But I don't want to love them. I don't want to love anyone ever again. I don't want to die for them.

That seems...terribly lonesome. And terribly practical.

[He huffs a weak laugh, turning to rest his cheek against her hair. Letting the musty smell of herbal shampoo and cotton from her pillow center him. Reminds himself that it's brown and faintly wavy rather than blood red and full of ringlets.]

So very practical, Solano. And that would be the wisest course. To beguile someone into loving you without ever having to return the sentiment. It'd be safest. Not entirely fair to them unless they knew how it was to be from the start- but you are not a dishonest woman. I think that is a fine thing to aim for. Truly I do. And I wish you luck in that- perhaps I might find that to be what it is I share with Jack and Eugene.

Because for it to be love...I've fooled myself into thinking I felt it once before.

And it was not worth the pain that came after.

[If there was anyone who understood what she meant, it would be him, wouldn't it? Zevran with all his talk of sex and none of it about love. Maybe... maybe there was something to take from that after all. Maybe he did have a point. Especially if she didn't want to love anyone ever again. Not in that way. Not in any kind of way that could break her heart.

She hugs him back, closing her eyes and letting her cheek rest against his cool armor. And she even manages to chuckle a little. A dry and tentative chuckle.]

It isn't, is it? Not worth the pain. [She says it softly. They both have so much other pain in their life. But he knows anyway. He has some idea what love can be like.] I think I might finally understand why... why you do what you do.

Don't be like me, Katniss.

[It's out before he can stop himself, and after a moment's thought? It's precisely what he needs to say.]

Find what you need to fill your days with joy and comfort without the risk of affection and sentiment- but do not be like me. Your chaste manner is a part of your charm. I would hate to see you lose that.

[Chaste. She wasn't certain she liked that word. But at least was better than pure. Anything had to be better than pure.

Still, she couldn't help but make a face at that word. Even if she appreciated the sentiment behind what he said. A sentiment that deserved another quick squeeze.]

I like who you are, too, Zevran.

Of course you do. I am too charming for you to not!

[It's an easy, comfortable joke to crack, and one he makes gladly.

By now they have made their way to the kitchen, and with one last squeeze he steps away to rummage through the fridge for what he would need for Katniss' meal. Cooking had always been soothing to him.]

And I am incredibly fond of you as well, because you are easily flustered and somewhat...oh. what is the word- ah. Prudish. It's charming.

[While she lets Zevran make himself at home in her somewhat messy kitchen, she leans against one of the counters to watch. Maybe she should help. Hospitality, manners would dictate as much. But she doesn't really feel up to it right now.

And she concentrates instead on his words. And the way they do make her a little flustered. She never considered this response of hers charming. She doesn't understand why all these men do.]

...Peeta called it pure.

That seems a bit heavy on pretense, does it not? Pure is something I would say of a maiden in a shrine. A sister. Someone devoted to Andraste and the maker- a woman such as yourself is simply...discerning in her tastes and open about expressing them.

[He finds what he needs easily enough- grinds what spices she doesn't have from those he carries with him always, starts the stove and begins the slow saute of vegetables in a pan while he seasons the meat.]

Pure is...The girl that reads fortunes in flame, in this village. Pure is a child that has known no suffering. Pure is sacred.

[A look other than sorrow or embarrassment finally crosses her features. Annoyance. It feels strange at first as her features twist into a scowl. But it's the good sort of strange. The feeling that maybe things might slowly start to be good again. Eventually. One day.

Her arms cross over her chest.] It sounds better than prude.

Well...that is short for something, is it not? Prude is an aberration of 'prudent', yes? It means that you are particular. As I said, discerning in her taste. Only the most deserving of individuals shall have your affections.

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12th Game [voice/action]

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