Katniss Everdeen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillplaying) wrote2012-10-23 06:08 pm
stillplaying) wrote2012-10-23 06:08 pm
Entry tags:
9th Game
[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.]
[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.]
action;
Even Clove. Dead because she tried to kill Katniss in the meadow by the Cornucopia, gave Thresh a chance to overhear her brags.
The hiss distracts her. Rain blinds her and the winds sweep her bangs back into her eyes. And for those few precious seconds, she's lost in memories. Lost in the horror of leaving Finnick and the others behind. Loss in the horror of Prim's death once more. She cries out, the heart-crushing memory more painful than any physical injury. She remembers all too well.
And Peeta, oh Peeta. How he had begged them to kill him, to keep him from being any more of a danger to their team.
The knife pierces the skin, cutting through her shirt. The tip catches below her right collar bone and cuts upward, leaving a trail of blood to her shoulder. It's enough to knock Katniss out of her nightmares and bring her back to the reality in front of her. To Clove, trying everything possible to kill her. And Katniss... Katniss doing what exactly?
She swallows her scream and presses her fingers against the wound, pulling them back to barely see the red through all the water.]
action;
But that's not her concern, she reminds herself. She watches Twelve touch her wound, and she sees her chance.
A slim, slim chance, but Clove takes it. Rather than trying to roll the girl over, she attempts throwing herself up. The throwing knife is left in the mud. She doesn't need it right now, and she has others. Rather, she grabs for Twelve's shoulder and throat, seeking to topple the other girl that way.
Impractical... but unexpected. If she can get the edge, pin the girl. She can finish what she started in the Arena. This time -- fast and quietly.
Spill the blood she should have had. Take the kill she should have made. Prove to Twelve that she was stronger.]
action;
It's been so long since she last bled. Especially like this. Red, so red. Like the blood Snow had coughed up when he had died. Like the red that had bloomed from Coin's chest thanks to the arrow Katniss had shot.
The red of the flames that had engulfed Prim. The red of the blood that leaked from Peeta's tourniquet, that damn tourniquet she destroyed to grant mercy to a boy who would have shown them none. Memories. So many memories. So many painful memories.
Why didn't they just let her die?
Like before, this distraction gives Clove opportunity. Before Katniss realizes what is happening, she's on her back again. One wing crumples beneath her her back and the dirt at the impact. Fingers close around her neck and her hands pull at them, desperate to be free. She's tosses and turns, bucks her hips - anything to get Clove off of her.]
action;
Clove does her best to keep her hand on Katniss's throat, squeezing, even though that arm hurts from a fall on it. Her face is still bleeding, and she can't care.
While she tries to hold there, she also tries to use the whole of her body to pin the other girl. All except her right hand, which fishes out her hunting knife from the loop at her hip. Clove's green eyes are wider than they usually are, and she's struggling to see through tears of pain and... everything.]
action;
That is, at least, until she sees the hunting knife. The silver gleams in the corner of her eye and she remembers. Remembers how painful another knife once felt against her cheek. How cold the blade had been against her throat.
She should have died then. She should have died in the very beginning of the Games. By the tracker jacker stingers or when the fire wall had chased her back into the middle of the arena. Should have been killed by Thresh or by Cato, should have eaten the nightlock berries and let Peeta be the sole victor of the 74th Hunger Games. Snow could have killed her any time afterwards. She should have killed herself before ever going back into that arena. And once there - the corroding gas, the dangerous monkey mutts, Joanna, the chance of lethal electrocution when she completed the circuit to destroy the force field surrounding the clock arena. She should have died fighting in Distict Eight or the bombing of Thirteen. When Peeta tried to strangle her or the bullet she took in District Two. And then, during the assassination attempt -- all those many moments when it should have been her dead instead of one of her teams.
But when she really should have died was when the parachutes exploded again. That hummingbird snare that Beetee and Gale had perfected, the lure to take as many victims as possible. Died then, a burning human torch like her sister. The girl who was on fire should have died in a fiery blaze.
She never had that chance. She had been saved instead, the uprising's precious Mockingjay. Worked on by the Capitol's best medics to preserve what was left of her ruined skin. They hadn't let her die. But at least she had been given the chance to take her vengeance. After that, what was left? Her last real chance to die, stolen from her by Peeta Mellark.
But he wasn't here anymore. There was no one here, no one aside from Clove. No one to stop the girl except Katniss. Death isn't permanent here. Do the people who die go elsewhere? Get sent home? How could death not be permanent? It was the most permanent thing she knew of. How could she possibly survive if Clove finally slashed her throat? But then, how could the dead be brought here - brought here with those memories of their final moments in tact?
Maybe, maybe if she gave up and let Clove kill her, the Malnosso would see that she wasn't worth keeping around. That she wasn't the soldier and pawn they thought she was. That without Peeta, she was absolutely nothing.
It was a wild chance. A risky gamble. As risky as the stunt with the berries had been once upon a time. But if it got her home, got her back to Twelve and Peeta... anything was worth the chance for Peeta.
Her mind races. All that in a matter of moments. But she lets go. Falls limp. Her eyes stay open even as she's forced to squint in the falling rain. She's going to die now. Clove will finish what she couldn't in the arena. But if she's going to die, she'll face it head on.
There's nothing left to lose.]
action;
Somewhere in her, the Career knows it will miss. It's a wild stab. If it does anything, it will be a glancing blow to the writhing creature beneath her, an attempt to do a little damage to slow her down. Wear her down cut by cut until she can go for the kill. It will be nothing, perhaps even fodder for a new kind of mockery. Twelve will laugh at how inefficient she is when she actually has her chance.
...But it finds soft flesh and buries deep...
She doesn't pull the knife out. Doesn't get up. Doesn't move.
For a moment, as she stares down at Katniss Everdeen, she looks lost. Young and confused and scared. Those green eyes ask the question she's been asked so many times today by this very girl.
Why?
This isn't what she wanted. It's not what she wants. A fight. That's what this is supposed to be. She didn't have an obvious advantage. It wasn't a hopeless struggle. Twelve could have toppled her if she'd tried. They both know it. She'd been so close to doing it.
Why?
Clove doesn't know what to do with confusion, though. She can't understand the answer that someone else might see. And since she can't be weak now, can't be lost, she twists the knife and wrenches it out before stabbing again. After a third. fourth. fifth. blow, she makes sure. She has to make sure.
She slashes the throat.
And stabs again.
The rain is pouring by now, and the blood is everywhere. On another stab -- how many now? she's lost count -- she feels the knife slipping from her hand. Blood and rain are making it impossible to hold on.
So she gets to her feet, even though she can't feel her legs. She manages two steps back and stares at what she's done. Not the first body she's left... but it's the messiest. Clove drops the hunting knife at her feet, takes another step back, turns, and runs.]