stillplaying | 10th Game [video]

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10th Game [video]

[Wild dogs.

She had seen the excuse the Career had come up with. That they had been hunting together, that a pack of wild dogs had appeared and caused them to split. They had chosen to pursue Katniss instead. Had they seen the flicker of fear in her eye? The way she looked at them and saw not the animals they were but muttations, the huge and monstrous doglike beasts with the eyes of lost children. Had she stood there then, overcome by the memories and nightmares in the wake of her loss?

She can almost see it, almost picture it clearly. It's not a bad excuse as far as excuses go. Had they been there, had they been in that arena and seen the mutts with the human eyes, they'd believe it. Believe how easy it is to be overcome by any canine like animal after that. Especially when the memories are still so vivid, especially on the heels of losing the person who helped her survive that night. She almost believes it herself. Almost.

Mostly, Katniss is surprised that Clove had said anything at all.

It's been a few days since she woke up in the treehouse, that peaceful nothing suddenly gone. She had been angry. She had grieved. Ranted and railed to the ghosts haunting her memories, alone in the treehouse, safe. Dying didn't get her sent back to District 12. Dying had accomplished little at all. It hadn't lasted. She hadn't thought it would, not in this place, not where the dead already walk among her.

She had wanted to return home so badly.

It's been a few days and by now, most of the emotions are exhausted. She's numb again, but in a different way than before. Tired. Just tired.

She returns to the village around mid-morning, unlocks the house and crawls into the bed she used to share with Peeta. The pillows and sheets still smell like him, a scent that comforts her. Remembering. Remembering Peeta. The boy with the bread, the boy that would sacrifice anything for her. The boy that had stopped her from committing suicide after Coin's assassination. The boy that hadn't been here to stop her this time. She hugs the pillow tighter to her and closes her eyes, willing herself to remember the positive. Those good memories that did exist deep inside of her.

And not to remember, oh not to remember, that this week was the week that Prim had died all of a year ago.

When she awakes, she finally remembers the journal she had brought back from the forest with her. She flips open the pages until she finds the little video screen and begins to record:]

Where I come from, we had Games. The annual Hunger Games, where every year a boy and a girl were chosen as Tributes to represent their District in a fight to the death. There would only be one winner, one survivor who would be crowned Victor and be honored by the Capitol. President Snow's way of giving the Districts a spark of hope, of showing the kindness that the Capitol was capable of even as they took our children away year after year to die while we were forced to watch and celebrate.

I was sixteen the year of the 74th Hunger Games. My sister, Prim, was twelve. It was her first year in the Reaping. Unlike me, her name had only been submitted once. She was never supposed to be chosen for the Games. But she was. I went in her place. I went and lit an entirely different spark. A spark of rebellion. That year, there were two Victors. I couldn't let Peeta die. He loved me, even then. Me? I was just playing a game. But I refused to carry the guilt of killing this boy.

The spark of rebellion grew into an inferno. The girl who was on fire lit the whole country ablaze. There are no more Hunger Games in Panem. Because I had been selfish. Because I didn't want Peeta's death on my conscience. Peeta was just... good. A good boy who refused to be changed by their Games. Who only wanted to die as himself. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.

He's gone back to Panem now. Lived, but at a great cost. He'll be tortured because of me. Hijacked. Given false memories and sent back to try and kill me. It doesn't work. Because it took a pack of wild dogs to accomplish what tributes and soldiers and even presidents could not do. I... I froze. At the memory of dog-like muttations with children's eyes ripping a boy to pieces while I watched and waited for his death to come in the night. It never did. Not until I took my last arrow, cost Peeta his leg, and sent it flying into the other boy's brain.

I'm only really good at a few things. Singing, surviving. Killing. And now it seems like I'm only really good at that last one. I can't sing anymore. I've tried since coming back but I can't. I can't and I don't know why.

[She takes a deep breath. The girl on the camera doesn't look all that upset. Confused mostly. Very confused. There's a crease between her brows, grey eyes lost in contemplation. This is a lot, the most she's spoken since arriving here. Perhaps the most she's spoken since filming one of District 13's propos. But the Mockingjay refuses to lose her voice again. There are stories that have to be told, that need to be remembered.

She thinks Peeta would be proud of her. Dr. Aurelian, too.]

I guess the point of all this is that this week, I came back to life. I died, but it didn't last. And - and I'm sorry if I worried anyone. I know what it's like to lose the people you love. A year ago, this week, despite everything I did to protect her, Prim died.

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[It's the smile that finally causes her to put the arrow back in the quiver. Smiles can be false and misleading, as untrustworthy as a pact made between allies in the Hunger Games. But there's something about this man's smile, the way it seems to light up his face, that puts her at ease.

That he plays towards her pride helps, too.]

What were you expecting?

Not an archer. [ not a girl -- though he should know better by now. ] What are you doin' so bloody far from town, miss?

[The amusement fades from her face, something more wary and cautious taking its place. Though the treehouses aren't exactly hidden, though they really are there for anyone to dwell within, though she has every intention to return to the village, she still considers the treehouse she shared with Rue hers. Her other home, her safe haven from threats within the village.

Things she doesn't quite want to admit to a stranger.]

Same as you. [A nod towards the rabbits he holds in his hand.] Hunting.

Hunting! [ he echoes -- as if it's enough. although her smile might have faltered, his persists. sharpe shakes the rabbit bodies and shrugs, suggesting that the haul was acceptable. ]

Must say, it cheers the heart to hear of a young lass even bothering to try. [ though it had nothing to do with her gender -- this time. sharpe is instead shocked with how many villagers don't provide for themselves. it isn't even an issue of pride but practicality. strategy.

curious: ] Are you any good, miss?

[It's a sentiment she understands. It had bothered her, too, how little the others trapped here seemed to fend for themselves. How they all seemed to rely on supplies that Katniss new from experience could easily be taken away whenever it suited the whims of their keepers.

She had thought it stupid. Still did. Didn't they understand at all how these kinds of games worked? Other hunters then were, at least, something then to be respected. They were people that seemed to understand the game.

At his question, she nods. Even grins a little cockily.] Very good.

And yet I'm the hunter with the bagged catch and you'v snagged naught but a rifleman -- apologetic as he is for disturbing your ramble, miss...?

[ he fishes for his name -- still smiling.

it feels good to tease and make light and feel proud of someon, even if he didn't know her. ]

[She can't help but smiling again. Another brief but amused smile. She did catch herself a rifleman, didn't she? Hidden as she had been, she would have had the advantage.]

Everdeen. [A beat.] I'm Katniss Everdeen and I would have caught something if you didn't interrupt me.

[Another lie. Because she had no intention of hunting today. Just in making her weary way back to the house she had abandoned in the village. But game is more populous here than it was in the forests of District 12. She rarely returned home empty handed.]

...My apologies, Miss Everdeen.

[ a stiff, funny little bow. his rabbits swung. ] Weren't ever my intention to interrupt no one. Major Richard Sharpe. Your servant.

[Major. That gets her to pause a little and she tilts her head, as if to study him all over again. Not just a hunter then. And definitely not her servant.]

A soldier?

[ he nods. ]

But one separated from his regiment for too many months, now. Not sure what that makes me.

[ but he will cling to his rank as long as he can. ]

[And she, a mockingjay now lacking a voice. She understands the confusion. How you cling to what you know. Separated from his regiment or not, he's still a soldier. And she's still the Mockingjay. She always will be. The killer, the assassin, the face of a rebellion. Her past will always be a part of her.

Even if, here, she's just a girl to most people. Just a hunter. It doesn't change what she is to herself.]

Still a soldier. If that's what you want to be.

[ how kind of her to say so. to insist that any of them could be what they wanted to be. it isn't that he doesn't believe her -- oh no, richard sharpe had set his sights on being an officer and against all odds he'd succeeded. but it's tough to hold onto what you wanted to be.

nothing exists in a vacuum -- though sharpe wouldn't know to say it like that. ]

I think what I really want to be is a farmer, lass. But I'm good at soldiering. And why should a man -- or a woman or a child or anyone -- refuse what they're good at?

[She wants that answer to be yes. Because all she's good at is hunting. Killing. She can't sing anymore. No sound escapes her lips when she tries. She doesn't want to be known just as a killer. Not here, too. Not even if it's the only thing left that she can do with any skill.

She's not sure that the answer is yes. And she frowns, a stubborn glint in her eyes.]

Because it's not what they want to be.

[ he notes that look of resitance. he approves. and -- most importantly -- he chooses not to prod it nor poke at it. ]

...You make a good point, lass. [ if an unfeasible one, at least for his situation. but then again...hadn't he rose from the ranks?

still as a soldier, though. ] And good points deserve recognition. [ he separates a hare from his brace. ] And you deserve an apology for me disruptin' your hunt. ]

[Maybe it's more feasible for her now. Maybe, if she ever gets back to Panem, she won't have to be the Mockingjay anymore. They had cast her aside after the uprisings ended, sent her off to District 12 where she could no longer interfere with any plans. Maybe they might not ever need her again.

But it seems silly to hope while she's still trapped in this place.

She shrugs a little in response and then frowns when he offers her the hare. An apology for disrupting her hunt. A hunt that had been a lie. She can't accept that and shakes her head quickly.]

No. That's yours.

I live alone, Miss Everdeen. I won't finish'em myself. Please. It'd be a favour, in the end.

[She looks at the offered hare and then back up at the man, a question still in her eyes. What he offers is quality meat. She'd be foolish not to take it when offered so freely.

Slowly, her hand closes around the hare and she nods.]

Next time I have extra, I'll return the favor.

[ he releases the gift -- no, not gift. trade. he releases the trade and offers her a solemn nod. ]

And I'll appreciate it. After all, it'll be getting right cold soon.

Time to start stocking up.

[She says it both in agreement and as reminder to herself. Once she's settled, once these past few horrible weeks are far enough behind her, she needs to start hunting again. Preparing for the cold months when food will be harder to find.

And maybe, just maybe, see if there's a maple tree here to tap.]

I've a mind to catch som fish, as well. And salt it down when I next have the chance. [ he cocks his head and considers the girl. does he know her? not at all. but it doesn't stop him from offering what he can in a way he believe she'll accept. ] Throw in a bit more game when you do return the favour, and I'll make sure you get some fish as well.

[That's not a bad idea, either. She should reset the snares in the river that flows behind her house, try to catch some fish herself. If not, she knows by now that Sokka won't mind if she borrows one of his canoes.

Harvesting first, though. Before most of the plants die come fist frost. And finding a spile in the store. And if she misses out on fish, well, this could be a very mutual arrangement.]

Will you need any herbs or syrup?

I...

[ he stammers. all of a sudden chagrinned. ] I don't cook fancy, Miss Everdeen. I don't believe I'd rightly know what to do with herbs nor syrup. But if they're in the offing...

[ he doesn't want to turn her down. ]

[For a moment there, he reminds her of Rick. It's been a long time since anyone reminded her of her first real friend here. A soldier who, like this man, also couldn't cook all that well.

She nearly giggles. But she can't exactly bring herself to do that yet. Instead, there's a soft smile and a nod.]

I can stick with game.

For now, at least. Until an old dog learns a few more tricks. Eh?

[ a beat. ] You likely don't need it with a wicked thing like that on your arm -- [ he points at the bow ] -- so I won't offer to escort you back to the village. But would her ladyship consider escorting a poor, tired soldier instead?

[ he, of course, didn't need it either. he simply liked to see the girl smile. ]

[She glances down to the hare in his hand and then to the one she now grips. Something makes her think that this poor, tired soldier doesn't exactly need the escort that he claims to need. But he doesn't try to belittle her, doesn't try to insist that he escort her back to the village.

So she holds up the hare and nods, grinning just a little] I have dinner now. I can do that.

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