9th Game

[stillplaying]

[Action]

[She woke up to an empty bed, an empty bed and an empty house. That was not necessarily unusual. Some mornings, those following nights she'd usually be unable to sleep, she'd usually slip out to the woods. Those mornings would be spent checking or securing traps, harvesting for nuts and autumnal plants. And, of course, hunting. Losing herself in the thrill of the pursuit, of that sweet moment when her arrow sinks into her prey. It wasn't just her. Even without the events that were to come later, Peeta's dreams could be just as haunted and his sleep just as restless. What hunting did to soothe her nerves, baking did for him.

He'd be at the bakery. She was certain of it. Even if, the past week, they had barely left each other's side, making up for the three weeks lost while Peeta was unconscious. But honeymoons and vacations couldn't last forever. Today was as good a day as any to break it.

After a quick shower and brief breakfast, she heads towards the bakery. But the building is still empty for the day. Lights off, oven cold. There's no sign of him.

The sinking feeling in her stomach grows and grows as she searches the village. She checks all the stores, the restaurants and bars, even the welcome center and school. Nothing. There's nothing. If he'd gone any further, he would have left a note. Unlike her, Peeta's responsible. He knows how easily she worries.

Mid-morning, she conducts a second unsuccessful search of the bakery for signs of her boyfriend. If he had wandered away for supplies earlier, he'd be back now. Back for a full day's work. But there's nothing. There's nothing. She manages to get outside without crying. Manages to make it halfway back to the house before sinking to her knees behind the weapons shop. She leans back against the wall, fumbling in her jacket for her journal. Frantically, she searches it.

Nothing. No sign of him. He's gone.

After what seems like forever, when all the tears are done, she opens the journal again. Without a pen, she's left little choice but to speak. Her voice is a little shaky but otherwise devoid of emotion. Monotonous. Its too hard to feel right now.]

[Voice]

Peeta Mellark has returned to Panem. He's not here. I can't find him anywhere.

For those that knew him -- he'll live.

[There's a long pause. It's stupid to say, she thinks. But she remembers his arrival. Remembers how he thought this was the 75th Games. He was from her past, from a past with a horrible, horrible future to look forward to.

But he'll live. She has to cling to that. Even if he'll hate her, never love her like he did here. It was a love she didn't deserve. And a love that she'll never, ever have again.]

Rapunzel, the bakery is yours.

[Action]

[She has to force herself up to her feet. There are other things she needs to do, belongings she ought to sort through. Somehow, she makes it back to House 43. The door is left open as she goes upstairs to his studio. Paintings. She should get rid of the paintings. The art gallery. Or something. But as soon as she sees the half-finished portrait of herself, of a girl that appears infinitely more beautiful than she's ever felt, she knows she can't stay.

The door is slammed shut to the room, Buttercup ignored as she runs down the stairs. She grabs a backpack and stuffs it with a bare minimum of clothing and provisions. Her quiver and bow are slung over her arm and she steps outside. She turns around to regard the house - the house once shared with the small girl from District Eleven and the boy from her own District, her everything. On afterthought, she locks the door.

And then she begins her trek in the western woods towards the treehouses by the Western Lake.]


[ooc: regarding action sections - feel free to catch her in any of the bolded areas!

Also - WARNINGS for the Katniss and Clove thread. Please do not read if you have troubles with depressive and suicidal thought and violence and death.]

Comments

[Action]

[antivanleather]

[He'd seen the notice in the journals- Peeta. The Baker. Katniss' sweet boy, gone home. It wasn't his business. It wasn't something he should care about. Such was life. He is gone and she will learn to endure without him somehow. Katniss was not weak, he had no doubt she would be able to manage.

But some small part of him, one that remembers the stuttering and blushes, that low voice trembling 'I'm not a good person.', the utter ruin of the bakery. How very twisted up and torn she was without him when he'd left. How tense she'd been when he had not woken.

There was a time when he knew what it was to feel that way. When he'd taken that risk and watched it ripped from his hands at his own behest. Katniss had no choice in this. She should not endure it alone. Zev's halfway out the door and on his way to her house before the thought is halfway through his mind. He has nothing, not even his journal when he arrives. The door was open and that left so many of his internal alarms blaring.

She was distraught. He closes the door behind him and makes his way upstairs once he cannot find her below, calling out-]

Solano?

[Action]

[stillplaying]

[She stands still in the doorway of the nearest room to the stairwell, unaware of anyone climbing the steps. The room that was once Peeta's bedroom until he moved downstairs into her own. There's one more room down the hall. Rue's room. They had chosen them purposely, an attempt to keep Rue safe were there ever any attack.

In the end, she couldn't keep either of them safe.

In the end, all that she's left with are reminders. A painting that sits on the easel, half-finished. It had been the painting that she had found him unconscious by. She hadn't payed much attention at the time, more concerned over Peeta's well being. But now she can't stop staring. She recognizes herself in that painting, somewhere. A beautiful girl, the Katniss Everdeen that Peeta sees. The girl she could never see herself as. She lies, peaceful, sleeping on her stomach in a bed of leaves. Her hair is a mess and the mockingjay wings given to her upon arrival in Luceti are outlined like faint ghosts.

An angel. Not a firemutt.

She wants to look away. She can't stop staring.]

[Action]

[antivanleather]

[It shouldn't be so easy for him to come up behind her unnoticed. She was smarter than that, more alert. The tilt of her shoulders, the way she is braced in the doorway. Struck by grief or memory. Lost. He'd known that feeling himself once before- though he'd done his best to drown it with cheap wine and brandy.

The painting is one he has not seen before and for a moment he is also lost. Someone lovely. Someone worshiped and cherished. Someone loved.

He reaches out to rest his hand on her shoulder, voice low.]

Katniss.

[Action]

[stillplaying]

[She doesn't hear him. Doesn't notice him at all until his hand is placed on her shoulder and instincts finally kick in. While she keeps from jumping, she visibly flinches and quickly takes a step forward before turning around to face her attacker. The stance she takes is defensive, hands raised towards her chest in lieu of having any weapons on her body. Her eyes are narrowed and wary as they seek to anticipate his next move.

It's seconds later, when her gaze lands on Zevran's face, does her posture relax a little. She knows this man. Doesn't necessarily trust him, but she likes him. He gets it. Like Rick did or Peeta do... did. It's did now, isn't it? He's gone. Back to Panem and the Quarter Quell, back to all the horrors that await him.

Her shoulders slump and she feels the tears threaten to fall again. In this case, her body seems to say, you can trust him. He won't take advantage. He understands. Her mouth opens to form words but none come out. All the emotions she kept herself from feeling when making that announcement are starting to rush back, threatening to overtake her like a catching flame.

She can't speak. She doesn't know what to say anymore. Not without further tears accompanying her words.]

action: (sort of)

[shenevermisses]

[Sometime during the mid to late evening, someone else visits the treehouses.

Clove leaves a sealed bowl of District Two style lamb stew. It's not as rich as the Capitol's, but it's hearty, and it would be easy enough to warm up over a campfire. Granted, it's not cooked to perfection, but it should be decent.

The source is probably easy to identify, but there's no note, nothing to claim it. So, there is no debt.]

action;

[stillplaying]

[The bowl isn't noticed until much later in the night. Even the safety of the treehouse doesn't seem to be enough. There are too many ghosts haunting the walls. Of a little girl with dark hair and eyes, giggling and laughing and making the most of her second chance of life. She can even see the boy. He hadn't been there as long, but he had left his mark. The dutch oven in the corner, a small drawing on one of the walls.

She climbs down the rope ladder in order to find a new bed for the night. A tree branch, probably. That would be a good reminder of how she' better off alone.

The stew is initially regarded with suspicion. She has no appetite, no desire to eat. But the smell gets the better of her and she takes a bite. If it's poisoned, all the better. Who cares about the truce anymore? She deserves to be dead.

The next morning, she awakes. Alive. It's not what she wanted. But, eventually, she accepts that today isn't her day to die. At least not by poison. She makes her way towards where she remembers the Career's camp to be.

Maybe she'd still be out here.]

action;

[shenevermisses]

[She's back in her clothes. Clothes she's picked out. Cato? Cato is never allowed to pick out clothes for her without help. Not ever.

...Still, she's kept the dress. It's a nice reminder.

She'll hang it up when they go back to the village.

Technically, both Careers are still at the camp. Clove is awake, spooning out some of the heated lamb stew for breakfast, dipping pieces of bread left over from the dinner last night to get what clings to her bowl. She's not starving. She can get more, but it's about savoring those bites, enjoying it.

As much as she can.

She didn't let it get to her yesterday. How could she? Cato was trying so hard to make everything right. She couldn't ruin it for him by thinking about how much of an impossibility this was. She wasn't really seventeen. She never would be. She had died at sixteen in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

...But it's nice to turn seventeen. Even if it doesn't really matter.]

action;

[stillplaying]

[She's not so quiet as she approaches the camp. Not as quiet as she should be. There's an uncharacteristic recklessness to her as she walks. This isn't the girl that grew up in the woods, that spent so many days hunting with the other boy from the Seam. It isn't the girl that survived two Hunger Games either. She doesn't care where she steps. Twigs snap loudly beneath her feet. Leaves scatter as she walks.

The wind blows, bringing with it a scent that makes her mouth water just a little. It smells similar to the stew she had found the night before. Her stomach rumbles just a bit. Aside from the bite of stew, she hasn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before.

She keeps walking, path straight as if in a chance. She still can't figure out why Clove would share some of her precious stew. Why'd she even care. Peeta's gone. She should be happy. If the treaty ever breaks, it'll be easier for her and Cato. Easier for them to kill her.]

voice;

[gleamed]

[Oh. Oh. Her heart is breaking right now.]

Oh, Katniss. I'm so sorry.

[She has to pause a moment to keep from hiccuping a sob.]

I'll...I'll make sure to take care of the bakery.

[If that's what Peeta wanted, then of course she would.]

voice;

[stillplaying]

[She doesn't want apologies. She doesn't want to hear anyone's sympathies. Peeta's gone. He might never come back. He's gone to sacrifice himself in the Quarter Quell for her, gone to be tortured and hijacked by Snow, gone to live the rest of his life. Without her? What if she never returns to District Twelve? Will he grow old without her?

All the apologies in the world won't change that.

Focus on the task at hand. Making certain the bakery won't go to waste. She can't take care of it. The disaster during the mission showed as such. Rapunzel is a good choice. What Peeta would want.

A thought comes to mind for a second. She hesitates before asking:]

Keep the sign?

voice;

[gleamed]

Of course. [She wouldn't even think about changing the sign. The bakery was still Peeta's, even if she would be filling his shoes now. Maybe if he ever came back...

And she's already begun to think of ways she might honor his memory there. A special cake, perhaps.]

Is there anything I can do?

voice;

[stillplaying]

[For the briefest of seconds, her the corner of her lips flicker upward. The sign will still be there. Some memory of Peeta, of what he did with the bakery. It's not the same as having him here with her, but it's something. Something to remember him by.

She needs that.

Or, she will. For now, she just needs to get away. Get away from the memories and the ghosts and thinking that she could ever be foolish enough to think that she'd be happy for long.]

No. I... thank you, Rapunzel.

[Voice]

[savedtheworld]

I never met him, but some good friends of mine have gone home recently. It's... it's a comfort to know that they're okay, and I'm glad that your friend will be okay, too.

[Voice]

[stillplaying]

[She looks at the picture on the screen. She might've seen him around the town once or twice but the face and the voice don't really register. Another one of those nice prisoners of Luceti, being friendly when most people - at least, the people she's used to from home - wouldn't be. Will she ever get used to it?

Probably not.]

He'll live. [It's a slight correction. But the tone of her voice isn't harsh. There really isn't much emotion in it at all. He won't be okay. He won't even be the same person he had been here, no thanks to Snow.] I guess that's just as important.

[Voice]

[savedtheworld]

[Her tone and the plainness of her statements help to clue Aang in that not all is well. So he tries to tread carefully... but hopefully.]

It is important. Where there's life, there's hope, isn't there? Things can always get better.

[Voice]

[stillplaying]

[That sounds so much like something Peeta would tell her that she feels a fresh wave of tears sting her eyes. Her dandelion in the spring, that promise that life could be good again. How many times has he told her something similar? Promised it, promised her that she deserved this happiness, deserved a chance at a good life?

She doesn't know how to believe it now, not without Peeta here to remind her.

She swallows hard and wipes at her face, afraid for a moment that if she talks, her voice will betray further weakness. A deep breath. And another. Then, quietly:]

That's what he'd say.

[voice]

[handing]

[Pepper only met Peeta a handful of times, but that was enough to impress her. She feels the loss--but not so deeply as she thinks the speaker might. There's next to nothing in the voice, but that can be just as telling.]

I'm very sorry--but I'm glad to hear that he lives.

[voice]

[stillplaying]

[She doesn't recognize the voice or the woman in the photograph as anything more than someone she's probably seen around the town. Not someone Katniss knew. But he had always been more friendly, more sociable and far more likable than she could ever be. There would be faces that she didn't know.

It was why she had thrown in that last bit. They've both talked about Panem enough. She was sure it was the same for Cato and Clove. Talking, explaining. Pointing out just how horrible their society had been.

Quietly, she replies:]

Me too.

Re: [voice]

[handing]

I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Pepper Potts, and I run the art gallery. [And although these aren’t the best circumstances for an introduction, she thinks it’s necessary. If she’s right about what Katniss is feeling, then there’s something she can offer the girl. It probably won’t mean much, and it definitely won’t fill the void left by Peeta’s departure. But Pepper knows what the work meant to him, so maybe it will mean something to her as well.]

Peeta had donated some of his paintings to be displayed. If you want them, you’re welcome to them.

written;

[fortherefreshments]

[ The entry is played several times. He tries to ignore it at first, but by the end of the day the rotten feeling in the pit of his stomach is impossible to ignore. Disappointed. Out of his hands. Another looming sense of failure. ]

Nothing you could have done.

[ No point in lying to reassure her. While Peeta lives, they both know there's a treacherous path ahead of him. A series of events that, from here, neither of them could change. ]

voice;

[stillplaying]

[She doesn't expect this response. By the end of the day, as she restlessly tries to sleep under the stars, she's figured that Haymitch has given up on them. On her. Or maybe he's gone home, too. But in his own way, Haymitch does care about Peeta. He cares about both of them, even if they'll never see eye to eye on most matters.

His words, while not a comfort, are at least true. Her mentor never sugarcoated matters for her. Never provided any information aside from the blunt truth. Normally she appreciates it.

Not tonight.]

He's still gone.

voice;

[fortherefreshments]

Yeah. He is.

[ Dry. So like her to feel she is carrying the burden on her own. ]

But he has a chance.

[Voice]

[markofthewise]

[It's because Sokka has such a distinct experience with this kind of loss and how utterly miserable it is to go through it that he doesn't express his condolences on the journals. No, he goes where any hunter would go to be alone. In the forest. It takes awhile, but he's able to eventually follow her trail all the way to the tree houses. Sure, it puts a damper in his work schedule, but it's not like anything big is going to be taking up his time soon.

Now then, where is she...]

[action]

[stillplaying]

[She sits in one corner of the treehouse she and Rue had claimed for themselves so long ago. She sits, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. It's how she's been for the past few hours, ever since she had somehow made her way to her old home. Sometimes, she reaches for the journal just so that she can take a peak. Maybe she had been wrong, maybe Peeta had just been... somewhere else. But the longer the day lasts, the more she gives in to the sinking feeling in her heart.

The rope ladder dangles down from the entrance and she can hear it, sometime, swaying in the wind. She can also hear someone down below. Someone walking, searching? For a moment, her hopes are lifted again. But the sound of the steps isn't right. Peeta walks with a limp thanks to his prosthetic leg. It's not him, not him at all.

Maybe she should go for her bow. Maybe she should make her presence known. Instead, she ignores it. Legs are pushed closer to her body as she tries to make herself as small as possible. Maybe if she ignores the sounds long enough, they'll go away.]

[action]

[markofthewise]

[When she doesn't show, he starts ascending the rope ladder. He's never been up in this tree house, so his attention is a little off as he takes in the sights. But as he reaches the top, he calls out.]

Katniss?