stillplaying | 8th Game [voice]

[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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

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.]

[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.

[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'.

[The laugh is also surprising. She had meant every word behind her threat. And if she had justification to shoot, there would be no breaking of the treaty. Hadn't she killed him once? Regardless of the fact that it was in pity, she had killed him. She had killed others. The Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay. She was someone to take seriously.

She scowls at him, not at all pleased with his reaction.]

I will kill you. Slowly this time.

Like last time wasn't slow enough?

[He snaps it, suddenly irritated but not afraid. Or worried at all. Not the appropriate reaction one should have to a life threat.]

Anytime you wanna go Katniss, you know where I am.

[The irritation spreads as quickly as fire. She's reminded enough nights about that. Hears the screams of the boy and the snarls of the mutts as they slowly turn him into an unrecognizable hunk of meat. But she had had Peeta to think about. Peeta, who had been the best of them all. More deserving than either her or Cato had been. And the only arrow left had been used to truncate Peeta's leg. Who was she to potentially sacrifice Peeta for Cato?

She gives in to the anger easily enough. It feels good after dwelling in sorrow for the week. And Cato, somehow, just has this way of bringing out the worst in her.

But glancing down at the sleeping Peeta, she still knows better. She still scowls and her words are still tinged with a cold ire, but she doesn't give in.]

There's the treaty.

[Fuck the treaty. He wants to say. The treaty is bullshit. It's done nothing but be dangled over his head since he got here and he hates it.

But is Cato sorry for making Katniss angry? No. That'd been his goal from the get-go since he personally finds anger better than wallowing.]

Yeah there's the treaty.

[Not that he cares.]

I'm not going to be the one to break it.

[No matter how much she wants to. No matter how much she wants to send an arrow flying in Cato's direction, piercing his eye and silencing his words. Wouldn't that feel good? Killing him again, reminding the boy from District Two that she's not someone to mess with.

It would be so easy to channel her anger into something physical. To storm out of this house and hunt him down. Hunt him down like a mutt. A fire mutt, vengeful and furious. But she won't be the one to break the treaty. She won't be the one to give Cato or Clove an excuse to harm those she loves.]

8th Game [voice]

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