8th Game [voice]

[stillplaying]

[It's been just about a week now. A week since she had returned home from her hunt to find him collapsed in front of his easel. A week since she had feared the worse, feared his death and had forgotten how to breathe. She had been loathe to leave him, surrounded by paints and canvas and so very, very still. But common sense had won out and she had run, run as fast as she possibly could, to the small clinic Maturin ran. She had barely begun to fulfill her side of the bargain, but he hadn't seemed to care.

Even if it turned out, there was little the doctor could do to assist her.

A coma, he had said. The whys and hows remained unknown. Peeta had fallen into a coma and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to wake him.

It's been a week. She's barely left the house in this time. The bakery's stood ignored, her compulsion to spend time in the woods forgotten. Only brief trips to the grocery have given her a chance for fresh air and even then, each of those trips had been for the bare minimum needed to keep them both alive. Almost all of her waking hours have been at his side, watching, waiting. Carefully tending the feeding tube or sponge-bathing his body as he lies there on their bed, so utterly, utterly still. Talking to him, singing whatever songs come to mind, pleading with him to wake up.

Her journal lies at the foot of the bed, mostly ignored. Every now and then, she looks through it. She looks for a message from Maturin or some sign that there's an explanation for this - even if it is all just another cruel game being played by the Malnosso. Right now, though, she could care less as to what goes on outside the four walls of the bedroom.

So when Buttercup knocks it onto the floor and the pages open, she doesn't notice. She's lost in watching him for some sign of life as she sings. Hadn't he always said how much he's liked her voice? That she, like her father, could make the birds stop to listen?]

--dreams from all terror and fear,
Sunlight has passed and the twilight has gone,
Slumber, my darling, the night's coming on.
Sweet visions attend your sleep,
Fondest, dearest to me,
While others keep their revels,
I will watch over you.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap you up warm,
And will shield you from harm.

Slumber, my darling, till morning's blushing ray
Brings to the world the glad tidings of day;
Fill the dark void with your dreamy delight--
Slumber, your lover will guard you tonight,
Your pillow shall sacred be
From all outward alarms;
You, you are the world to me
In all your charms.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap you up warm,
And will shield you from harm.

[But even songs don't seem to wake him. She wipes at the tears that fill her grey eyes and only then seems to notice how Buttercup's curled up next to Peeta and how her journal now lies open to the world, recording most of the song.]

Get out of here, you stupid cat! Get out! [Rather than reach for the journal, she lunges at the animal, shoving him angrily off the bed. He lands on the floor with a hiss. Maybe, at another point, she'll find comfort in him. But right now all she sees is a reminder of the sister she lost nearly a year ago.] Go!

[Unable to stop herself any longer, she falls back in her chair, buries her face in her hands, and begins to cry.]

Comments

Voice

[deadalready]

[The yelling gets his attention and pretty soon, Cato can't resist commenting.]


Are you even eating?

Voice

[stillplaying]

[Barely. She's barely eating. She knows she can't starve herself, can't fade away into nothing because then who would take care of Peeta? Not Haymitch. And there's no one really left in the town that she'd trust well enough.

But her appetite isn't the same. Far, far from it. Though why he'd care, she doesn't know.

Rather than reply with an actual answer, her tone is suspicious.] Why?

voice

[deadalready]

You think anyone else wants to take care of him and you?

[His voice sounds tight, like he thinks she's being a complete dumbass. And that'd be right.]

You're making it easy.

[....Because making vaguely threatening statements is the best motivator Cato.]

voice

[stillplaying]

[The people in Luceti are unusually nice. Unusually helpful and unusually welcoming. It makes her uncomfortable even on the best of days. Yes, there would be people here willing to help her with Peeta. She's almost sure of it. But then she'd owe them. And she's done her best to refrain from owing too many people too much.

But Cato doesn't need to know that. Cato doesn't need to be reminded of anything except:]

You touch him and I'll kill you.

voice

[deadalready]

[The laugh that comes is neither sadistic nor disbelieving - it's relieved. Though he doesn't leave it to Katniss to try and figure out the intent behind it.

For what it was worth, he liked the Girl on Fire. He didn't expect they'd ever be friends - by any stretch of the word - but it was a sort of odd comfort that the girl was still herself. He knew this could fuck up a person by imagination alone.]

Just sayin'.

[video]

[tapdancinskelly]

... This may not be the best of times to tell you... but you have a lovely singing voice.

[video]

[stillplaying]

[No, it's not the best of times. Nor does she really believe it. Accepting compliments has never been something she did easily, even when in better moods. And even if she's heard it before, mostly from Peeta, sometimes from Rue, once from Rapunzel, she's still doubtful.]

It doesn't matter.

[Not if it won't wake Peeta.]

[video]

[tapdancinskelly]

Am I to understand it then that your companion there has not awoken in a while?

[video]

[stillplaying]

[She frowns, immediately on the defensive. There's been no announcements made in the journal. As much as she had not wanted to leave Peeta alone, she had ran over to fetch the doctor. And while the bakery had been abandoned, there were other workers there. There had been nothing - absolutely nothing that she knew of - which would announce to Luceti that Peeta was sick.]

How do you know?

voice:

[shenevermisses]

[She doesn't know exactly what's wrong. For several days, she's been... someone else entirely. And she's still not sure how she feels about that.

She doesn't want to ask about anything. Because that's... wrong. She's not supposed to care.

So, she takes a different route.]

Where'd you learn that song?

voice:

[stillplaying]

[Neither of them are supposed to care, are they? Not about the other, nothing more than what counts towards preserving the unwritten treaty. But if she can listen to Haymitch, realize who her enemy here really is, maybe she's not the only one. Maybe the tributes from District Two can learn, too.

That it's first Cato, then Clove, who reply is a surprise. Enough to make her pause from stroking Peeta's hair back to stare at the journal. And actually give an honest reply.]

My dad.

[It's where she's learned most of her songs.]

voice:

[shenevermisses]

[Twice now, the Malnosso have hijacked her, scrambled everything she's known, everything she's done. It's chilling, what they can do. And yet... she finds herself strangely hesitant to ascribe it to malice. This time.

Because it's too strange to have had everything gone, good and bad.

She forgot Cato, yes. But she forgot Snow, too. She forgot the warm thrill of a secret relationship. She forgot the cold thrill of killing. She forgot her pack. She forgot their victims. She forgot the times of happiness, sadness, gain, loss, survival.

She'd been free from everything.

And she doesn't know how to feel about it.

But Twelve is part of her home. She knows the blood and the sweat and the tears. She knows the gong and the cannon. She knows the sacrifices and the suspicions. Twelve is part of her home.]

I didn't know you sing.

[Maybe the birds aren't the only ones who fall silent to listen.]

voice:

[stillplaying]

[She wasn't there. Wasn't there when Katniss sang Rue off, voice quiet but strong in a lame attempt to comfort the dying girl. She wouldn't expect Clove to know. It's never been something she's advertised much. Never found a reason to. Singing isn't a useful skill. It won't put food on the table or keep your family wrong.

But it does, she know, bring comfort. To another, to yourself. And maybe that counts. Maybe that can be considered useful.

Not that that matters now. All that really matters is that he loves hearing her sing. She hasn't sung this much in a long time. Not since she had been awaiting her sentence for killing Coin. In some ways, it's different. In other ways, song is the only way she holds on to sanity.]

There hasn't been much reason to.

[written]

[keyandstar]

Whatever happened... I'm sorry.

[ She doesn't know this girl, has no idea what's happened, but it felt wrong to just... ignore it when she heard someone crying.

But she didn't want to impose either, so following old habits she leaves a note. ]

[voice]

[stillplaying]

[The words surprise her. For the longest time, all she can do is stare. Maybe she had flipped to another page when picking the notebook up from the floor. But no. It's under her unwanted entry.

It's that obvious, isn't it? That something happened. Between yelling at that stupid cat and her own sobs. Especially her sobs. While most people might automatically accept the concern, she's wary at first. Wary and skeptical and doubtful of the girl's intentions.

But, slowly, eventually, she decides that maybe the girl just means well. Like so many people seem to here.] Thank you.

[voice] I am so sorry about my slow /o\

[keyandstar]

[ Since the response is a voice, that is how she adresses Katniss in return. ]

Who were you singing to?

[ She's not sure why she makes that assumption, there was just something about the whole thing that had seemed like the song was meant for someone. ]

If it's all right that I ask, that is.

[voice] completely okay <3

[stillplaying]

[The politeness catches her a little off guard. She's better at being blunt, more used to those around her being equally straightforward. Ask a question, get an answer. Don't check to see if it's all right.

The people in this town, even after six or more months, are just too nice for Katniss to ever feel completely settled.]

Peeta. [The name is said with quiet reverence and, as she talks, she pushes the journal aside to reach for the boy's hand.] My... um, my boyfriend.

voice;

[gleamed]

[Rapuncel was about to comment on how lovely she found Katniss' song, but she hears the sadness in her voice and then she's yelling and she can't help but be worried.]

...That was a beautiful song, Katniss.

voice;

[stillplaying]

[Rapunzel. She probably should have spoken to this girl a week ago. It would have been the responsible thing. Probably what Peeta would've wanted her to do. But she had been too distracted, too selfish with her own concerns over his sudden coma to care. The bakery could burn down for all she cared right now.

But hearing the girl speak reminded her. Responsibilities. She doesn't want any more responsibilities in her life The compliment, while appreciated, is ignored.]

Peeta's sick.

voice;

[gleamed]

[Ah...so that's why she hadn't seen him around the bakery. She'd assumed it might have been related to the experiment, but...sick?]

What's wrong with him? I-I'm a healer, I might be able to help.

voice;

[stillplaying]

You're a healer?

[She hadn't known that. She knew that the other girl could bake and paint and sing. Heal, too? Did Rapunzel's talents never end?

But now was not the time to question that. She needed to know what was meant by healer. A healer like her mother, who made use of the plants in the woods in addition to the meager supplies sent in from the Capitol? Or a proper doctor, like Maturin? Or something else all together?

There's no hesitation as she continues speaking, however difficult it is to get the words out.] He won't wake up. I found him collapsed by his easel when I got home a week ago. Maturin said it was a coma.

[Voice]

[markofthewise]

Wow, I didn't know you sang. Well, I mean, anyone can sing. But... that was actually good.

[Voice]

[stillplaying]

[Maybe at another time, the praise might have meant something. Might've been nice to hear coming from someone she considers a friendly enough acquaintance. But for now, it's dismissed as much as Clove's similar statement. She can sing. She can sing well. But it's not doing anything. Not what she wants, anyway.

You can just about hear the shrug in her voice.]

Most people don't.

[Voice]

[markofthewise]

[It's really quite audible that the praise isn't really what she's interested in.]

Is something wrong?

[Voice]

[stillplaying]

[Is something wrong?

For a moment, she doesn't know how to answer that question. She's just not used to this, used to people caring so much. And to voice the words is hard. To explain, yet again, what had happened. But she does answer. Eventually.]

Peeta's sick. He won't wake up.