Katniss Everdeen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillplaying) wrote2012-06-11 10:27 am
stillplaying) wrote2012-06-11 10:27 am
Entry tags:
5th Game [action/written]
[It's been five days since asking Peeta to spend the nights in her room again. In her bed. With arms wrapped around her tight at night. Words to comfort her when she wakes screaming in the night. It hasn't kept the nightmares away. Not completely. But they've been tamer. Not nearly as gruesome. Survivable. It's like the time spent on the Victory Tour all over again. Managing the darkness together. But this time, there's no Effie to disapprove.
And if it's not enough for Peeta, he doesn't say anything. Doesn't bring up loving her again. The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. There's no mention of the facade they lived to appease Snow or the Capitol. And no mention of their recent hijacking. But still, sometimes, late at night, she can hear Haymitch's words. Telling her that she could do a whole lot worse. She shoves them away. Ignoring the advice. Whether anyone agrees or disagrees, this is a game. They're trapped in a game. And that's no time to dwell on feelings.
Morning comes. Six days after the end of the hijacking, the most recent shift - game. Whatever you want to call it. And like most mornings, it's spent in the woods. From the crack of dawn till noon, she's out in the woods despite the rainfall. Hunting and harvesting. She comes back, showers. And notices, with a slight grin, how she's gained some weight back. Small steps. But maybe Doctor Aurelius was right. Go through the motions, keep busy.
Today, when she enters the town proper, she doesn't bother covering up with a jacket. Doesn't care if the scars on her arms and hands show. Let them stare. She makes her way to the library without an umbrella. Wanders the aisles until finding the books she's looking for. Then she sets up camp at a table. The stack of books on one end, a pile of carefully obtained leaves and berries, flowers and roots on another. And in the middle sits her family's plant book.
If something is to happen to her, she doesn't want Peeta and Rue to have to depend on the food in the stores. Someone has to record these strange plants, mark whether they're edible or poisonous. Whether they have any medicinal uses. And what better place to record the information than within her plant book?
After a while, a thought occurs to her and she pauses. Takes out the journal. And in careful, neat handwriting, poses a question:]
Does anyone have a camera I could borrow?
And if it's not enough for Peeta, he doesn't say anything. Doesn't bring up loving her again. The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. There's no mention of the facade they lived to appease Snow or the Capitol. And no mention of their recent hijacking. But still, sometimes, late at night, she can hear Haymitch's words. Telling her that she could do a whole lot worse. She shoves them away. Ignoring the advice. Whether anyone agrees or disagrees, this is a game. They're trapped in a game. And that's no time to dwell on feelings.
Morning comes. Six days after the end of the hijacking, the most recent shift - game. Whatever you want to call it. And like most mornings, it's spent in the woods. From the crack of dawn till noon, she's out in the woods despite the rainfall. Hunting and harvesting. She comes back, showers. And notices, with a slight grin, how she's gained some weight back. Small steps. But maybe Doctor Aurelius was right. Go through the motions, keep busy.
Today, when she enters the town proper, she doesn't bother covering up with a jacket. Doesn't care if the scars on her arms and hands show. Let them stare. She makes her way to the library without an umbrella. Wanders the aisles until finding the books she's looking for. Then she sets up camp at a table. The stack of books on one end, a pile of carefully obtained leaves and berries, flowers and roots on another. And in the middle sits her family's plant book.
If something is to happen to her, she doesn't want Peeta and Rue to have to depend on the food in the stores. Someone has to record these strange plants, mark whether they're edible or poisonous. Whether they have any medicinal uses. And what better place to record the information than within her plant book?
After a while, a thought occurs to her and she pauses. Takes out the journal. And in careful, neat handwriting, poses a question:]
Does anyone have a camera I could borrow?