stillplaying | 7th Game [action/voice]

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7th Game [action/voice]

[Action]

[The bakery is a mess. She never meant for it to end up that way. It just sort of happened. Flour covering hair and body, the smell of something burning from the kitchen, flecks of pink frosting teasing her cheeks. Peeta's normally presentable window displays are less than ideal; a poor attempt at recreating the alluring cakes that always caught her attention back in District Twelve. The frosting's melted from the summer heat on one that's sat out since Friday. Another is poorly covered with a grey color -- an attempt at mixing food dyes gone horribly wrong.

Ingredients for various baked goods have somehow escaped the kitchen, piled up on the counters, half covering the note cards Peeta had left for her. Cookbooks borrowed from the library lie open elsewhere, pages now far from pristine. Half baked pretzels stock the shelves along with burnt chocolate chip cookies. Deformed cheese breads and crumbled brownie bites still in their trays sit nearby. Even Buttercup, easily pleased by any free food, ignores the easy pickings.

She tried. She had tried so hard. Peeta had left her recipes. Had tried to teach her how to bake on lazy days when she was more content to spend time with him in the bakery than go about her own thing. It seems that every lesson has been forgotten. Any skill she might have had in the kitchen, utterly gone.

The rain pours outside as she plucks at the rock hard shortbread cookies she's recently retrieved from the oven, trying her best to peel them from the tray. It's a halfhearted effort as she leans her head against her hand and stares out the window. She'd rather be hunting. But it's been raining ever since Peeta left for his mission, raining so hard, all she's been able to do is check a couple of the traps in the river behind their house. And she had promised, hadn't she? Promised she'd look after the bakery?

Look how miserably she failed, the worry making it hard to breathe, harder to concentrate. Shouldn't he be back by now? Shouldn't he?

Every few minutes, she checks the journal for signs of life. Ignores Buttercup begging for real food. Glances at the door to see if Peeta's finally return. No luck. No luck at all. He's supposed to be back today. Why isn't he back yet?]

[Voice]

Why do you bother? [The words aren't meant to be recorded in the journal, but they are, anyway. It barely processes to Katniss that she's left it laying open, close enough to pick up any mutterings.] Going on these missions? Being a piece in their games?

It's stupid. This is all stupid.

[ooc: timed to after mission is over, when people start arriving home. but if you want to tag during -- feel free to have katniss in the bakery making a mess from friday on!

also, edit for warning of sexual content in the Peeta thread.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...

[Zev had been swinging by the Bakery at odd intervals, usually in the mornings, and always with the intent of trying something different. He could most of it was delicious and prepared by a very handsome and very friendly young man- though he had been somewhat preoccupied elsewhere in the village the past few days.

This morning when he walks in? Chaos.]

I do not think I have seen such a mess in a kitchen since...ever. Truly.

[The man with the traps. She remembers him from their encounter in the woods. And hadn't she seen him around town, since? Not that Katniss would go up to him. There are few here she considers a friend. Or, at the very least, someone she'd willingly talk with. And with Doyle gone, that number has dropped drastically.

But this is Peeta's bakery, she reminds herself. Peeta, who would have a smile and a chuckle and a joke at his own expense right about now. Katniss can't do any of that. But at least she can keep from scowling.

Much.]

Can I help you?

I think, today at least Catnip, I should be asking you that question.

[Zev makes his way over to the counter, rolls up his somewhat baggy sleeves, and looks about. Such a mess. And the huntress, well. She looks little better.]

The bakery has gotten away from you it seems.

[She doesn't freeze like she did six months ago, when Jack accidentally called her that. But the look that crosses her face isn't a happy one. And it has nothing to do with the bakery or missing Peeta or even the veiled offer of help.

Catnip.

It's a nickname she still doesn't ever want to hear again.]

It's Kat-niss.

Oof. [Zev takes a half step back, hand held over his heart as though wounded.]

With that look I think Solano would be far more appropriate. Such eyes on you my dear, I've seen the like one before and I shall tell you now they've only ever seen me to no end of trouble.

[The action confuses her. She blinks and tilts her head a little, studying him. Her bow's still lying against the wall. Even the spatula she holds is being utilized less as a weapon and more as the proper tool it is.

Why would he react as if she had just wounded him? He's the one that said her name wrong.]

Soul-lano?

Solano. The name of a lovely plant in my country. It is subtle, unassuming, and poisonous. You've quite a stern expression when you wish to have it, Katniss.

[Another soft huff of laughter, another easy smile as he looks about the cards, books, the utter mess of the bakery. He would not be having his breakfast anytime soon should he wish to find it here. Better work to earn it, at this rate.]

[Another plant. But unlike the katniss root, which is edible, the solano is poisonous. The solano sounds far more apt a description in her eyes.

She nods in response, almost looking as if she approves. If he has to call her anything, it's certainly a better nickname than Catnip. And it's useful knowledge to know.]

Have you seen it here?

If I say yes do you intend to seek it out? I would not recommend it, my dear. It is a terribly potent herb, and a terrible way to die should it be mishandled. The harvesting of it must be done with great care.

[She shakes her head. She has no need for poisons. But she does have need for familiarity the plant life here.]

I have a book. [Katniss pauses for a moment, almost debating how much to tell. But she's asked for help with it on the journals before.] Of plants. It's my family's. I've been adding what I find here to it.

Then...yes. I have found it in this place- though it is a slightly more delicate variety of the plant. More likely to be found under a rotting oak trunk than at the roots of a living one as the stronger strains tend to do.

[Step one- dust off the counters. He would find a way to sweep the worst of the flour up once he's cleared up what he could.]

It is for the better as it is less likely for someone that knows nothing of it to find the blossom lovely and attempt to pick it- and cause their own illness or demise.

[If only she had pen and paper. She looks around the mess of the room, trying to find something she could write with. She has her journal, yes, but no writing implement.

There's her memory, though. Rotting oak trunk. Lovely blossom. Causes illness and/or death.]

Could you draw it?

I would show you where to find it- once we have straightened out this mess, mm? I cannot in good conscious leave you to tend to this yourself.

[She's about to nod in agreement when the full impact of his words set in. Help. And not the help she asked for, either.

He's already assisted with the snares. And this plant is important.]

You don't have to.

You are right, I don't. But the way I see it the sooner I help you tidy up the bakery the sooner I might walk you through whatever it is that the baker usually does to prepare my preferred breakfast. So this is not at all a selfless action.

[Not a selfless action. That she could understand. She could even give a hint of a smile at his admittance. It would mean that she wouldn't owe him anything for his help. Anything, except...]

What is your preferred breakfast?

[Debts of this sort are best ignored or waved aside until it suited him to call them up again- but for this lovely girl with her tiny smile he thinks he'll ignore it outright. Especially if it will see him fed to do a little work.]

The small, sweet, flaky roll that is much like a cornetti and drizzled in chocolate. I think he called it something Orlesian.

[A flaky roll with chocolate. She's never heard of anything called an Orlesian before. But she's certainly watched Peeta make a lot of different pastries with chocolate in them.

But this one would be meant for breakfast. And, given the description, one she could never afford before the Games.]

...you mean a croissant?

Ah, yes that is the one. It goes well with the coffee I take in the morning. And while I could go to the cafe and have my breakfast without the croissant, it simply would not be the same. I'm a creature of habit, you see.

[He grins and it's sincere. Friendly. When he has the opportunity to develop a routine? He doesn't mind sticking to it.]

[She's seen Peeta make them before, gotten to taste them fresh from the oven. They really are a wonderful breakfast treat, though Katniss will happily skip the coffee. But it didn't look easy. Far, far from it.

And a glance down at her rows of burnt cookies leaves an uncomfortable pit in her stomach. This is a deal she might not be able to fulfill.]

I don't know if I can make those.

[After a moment's contemplation, Zevran shrugs. It mattered not if he went without for one morning. He will just have to take his coffee by itself once he's done here. Perhaps he'll try that caramel beverage.]

Perhaps with another set of hands and eyes here to assist you could manage and if not? I'll not hold it against you. One does not go to a fish monger and expect them to sew a dress. A huntress does not always need to know how to bake.

[No. A huntress does not need to know how to bake. Especially when the baker is her roommate.

She glances at one of the cookbooks lying open on the counter. The man had been useful with her snares.]

There could be a recipe in one of these books.

First it might be best to clean up a bit, wouldn't you say?

[He's already making his way around the counter, searching for clean rags or a broom or something to help with this mess.]

It will not take long, Solano.

[She looks up at the use of a nickname. It's not the first time he's called her that. She never realized that it would stick.

But it's not bad. It's better than if he were to call her Catnip. Or Mockingjay. Names she'd prefer never to hear again.]

There's cleaning supplies in the kitchen.

[And another mess to straighten up as well.]

[Apparently delicate and appealing to the eye. Secret and sweet- and lethal. He couldn't help but think it suited her.]

To the kitchen we go.

[Zev isn't overly familiar with the layout and he has to step carefully to avoid mussing up his jeans, they were strange and new to him but seemed similar enough to what most wore, so he took care of them as best he could.]