Katniss Everdeen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillplaying) wrote2012-10-03 01:47 pm
stillplaying) wrote2012-10-03 01:47 pm
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.]
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.]
action;
It didn't work.]
Thank you. [The words are mumbled. She doesn't look at Rapunzel, just takes her seat back beside Peeta.] Thank you for trying.