6th Game [video/action]

[stillplaying]

[When she wakes up this morning, she knows immediately what day it is. Knows immediately what it means today, what it's meant on days past. Celebration. Repression. The agony of parents losing their children as punishment for crimes committed long ago. Happy Hunger Games, Effie would greet in her afflicted Capitol accent.

Happy Hunger Games indeed.

Today would have been that day. That day in which all those children eligible between the ages of twelve and eighteen would have gathered in front of their District's Justice Hall. Would have stood, some alert, some terrified, almost all praying that it's not their name chosen. Not their sibling. Not a friend. Not anyone they might love even in the most remote of manners.

But the calendar does not lie. No matter how much she wants it to. How much she wishes it were yesterday or tomorrow. A week, month, five years from now. Any other day.

She's slowly begun to find routines. New ways to find meaning in her existence. Hunting for food, spending time with Peeta and other people she's become slightly (and surprisingly) sociable with. Checking in on Haymitch. Maintaining that tentative treaty with Clove. Working on her plant book. Her survival guide. And trying not to remember. Not to remember the Draft that had occurred so recently. The newest nightmares that haunt her at night - nightmares of great winged men dying in the darkness of the skies.

But it's hard to will herself to move today. Especially when she makes the mistake of looking inside the journal. At the date stamped on the most recent page. But even then, she would have known once she had stepped outside the sanctuary of the house.

It's a feeling. In the air. Even if this is Luceti and not Panem, it's still there. Even if, today, the very last reaping for the Games would be held. In the Capitol. Amongst the children of government officials who had always been immune.

A bloodthirsty decision. A bloodthirsty way to end the seventy-six year tradition. But fitting. So, so very fitting. Maybe she should feels twinges of remorse. But she doesn't. There's no regret in how she voted. Absolutely no regret.]


[Peeta's not in bed with her. She can hear the shower running. Time for her to get up as well, no matter how much she wants today to be a Lost Day. Wants to hide forever in these sheets and in his arms. Hide from a decision she had made so shortly after a war to condemn more children to the fate she herself had suffered. But she can't run. Can't hide. That's not what the Mockingjay would do.

Because she knows, without a doubt, that today the new government of Panem would find a use for her. The Mockingjay would be the one to let the world know.

So as she waits for her turn in the shower, she takes out a journal and sets it to video. She studies the camera - grey eyes hard with emotion, lips pressed into a thin line. A deep breath is drawn. Then, pushing aside any temptation to mimic Effie's Capitol accent, she says loud, clear, and every bit bitter:]

Happy Hunger Games.

[She stares at the little camera for a moment longer. Almost dares anyone to ask her what these Games are. But the book is closed shortly after that. Answers to come later.

Maybe Peeta and Beetee were right. Maybe the 76th Hunger Games would be a mistake. But she can't spend so much time thinking about that. Can't spend time thinking what Luceti might think of her responses if questions are asked. For now, she lets this reminder be enough.

Opting in the end not to wait for Peeta to finish his shower, she gets dressed and braids her hair back sloppily to the side. Mourning would be easy. Hiding would be easy. Today ought to be hard.

She steps out in the morning light.]

Comments

[stillplaying]

[It's certainly not a response she's expecting. From him, from anybody really. But since the draft, her opinion of the strange man has changed a little. He's not the cowardly drunk he makes himself out to be. She knows that now.

And it's why she actually listens to him. And doesn't dismiss this as stupidity as is her first instinct.]

Popped tarts?

[all7seas]

Where are you? And do you prefer cinnamon or strawberries? Or both?

[Jack, for his part, likes Katniss. Likes her quite a bit. He likes dangerous women as a rule, and he likes her quiet ways, and he likes a fellow sharpshooter. Staking out the building with her on the draft reaffirmed those feelings for him.]

[stillplaying]

I don't know.

[It's in response to the preference question. Strawberries or cinnamon in these popped tarts. She'll eat either in a normal tart, one that Peeta bakes. But she'll eat anything he makes, especially when he's baking just for her.]

Either? [And then she remembers that first question.] I'm at the library.

[all7seas]

Be right there!

[And when he does show up, it is with two identical paper bags. In each bag, there is a different-flavored poptart. Jack locates Katniss and, instead of his usual greeting, holds out a bag in each hand.]

Right. Let's play.

[stillplaying]

[She looks at the bags, then up to the grinning face. It's no surprise that he found her. The library isn't necessarily all that big. And she does tend to drift towards the same table whenever working on her plant book.

But it's the bags themselves that confuse her. What he presents is certainly unlike any game she's ever played.]

How?

[all7seas]

You choose a bag. You choose one of the bags and get the tart that fate gifts you with.

[It's a game. A Hungry Person Game.]

[stillplaying]

[A Hungry Person Game. At the very least, it sounds safer than the Hunger Games. And easier, too. All she has to do is pick a bag.

She picks the one on the left.]

[all7seas]

Cinnamon. Bugger. [He offers her the bag, which contains a package of two cinnamon pop tarts.] That leaves me with.....blueberry, I think.

[stillplaying]

[She takes the bag from him and opens it up to see the rectangles. They don't look like anything she recalls Peeta ever baking. For that matter, she's not certain if they look all that edible.

One of the rectangles are removed for further inspection. Out of the bag, they don't necessarily look more appealing.] This is a popped tart?

[all7seas]

That's it. Cheers, lass. [He lifts his blueberry tart to perform a tart-slapping toast with her cinnamon one.] They're much more better toasted. With butter.

[stillplaying]

[She doesn't do much more than hold up her own tart when he slaps his own to it. Is this a part of the game? She doesn't know. But she won't argue. She'll just inspect the tart further.]

Where would you put the butter?

[There's already icing on it!]

[all7seas]

All over the top of it, of course.

[Because this is normal. :| ]

Go 'head. Have a bite. You won the hungry people game. And just for winning, darling, I've brought you another surprise.

[stillplaying]

[Before taking a bite, her lips press into a line and she gives him an agitated look. Winning a game isn't this easy. It shouldn't be.

But the tart itself brings a slight smile to her lips. It's not as good as Peeta's creations, but it's not bad, either. She's about to tell him so when the rest of his words hit her. Another surprise?]

What? Why?

[all7seas]

[Instead of directly answering that, Jack reaches into a crinkling pocket and pulls out a bag of]

Cheesey-doodlies. You said you were hungry.

[The nuclear-orange puffed-corn snacks beckon, Katniss. They beckon. And they have no nutritional value whatsoever.]

[stillplaying]

[At least this she recognizes. That strange bright orange crunchy food the boy in the grocery had had her try. So that, at least, doesn't get as confused an expression as the popped tarts received.

It's his words that earn the curious head tilt instead.] No, I didn't.

[all7seas]

Aye, you did. "Happy Hunger Games," you said. So. I'm filling you up.


Perhaps later we could rob the bakery together.