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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[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.

And likely whoever's also waiting on your dinner is missing you, too.

[ more cheery than he needs to be. he knows not what he says. ]

[She had begun to walk, a few steps in the direction of the village. But at his words, so kindly meant, she freezes. Falls short in her step and watches soundlessly as the rabbit slips from her hand. Everything she tried so hard to come to terms with these past couple of days comes crashing down on her. The realization is almost like drowning. No one. She has no one to bring dinner home to.

Not anymore.

Because Haymitch doesn't count, never counted in that way. She and Peeta would keep him well supplied, yes. But he wasn't someone she brought dinner home to. Not like it had been with Rue. Or Peeta.

Slowly, she shakes her head. Maybe, if the odds are in her favor, he won't see the tears.] There's no one.

[ he swore gently under his breath and came 'round to a stop of his own. ] Lass?

[ but the look on her face! no -- he isn't quite close enough to see the tears but he respects her emotional privacy enough to not need to see them. he falls to one knee and busies himself in reclaiming the rabbit's limp, soft-furred body. his fingers wrap 'round its neck and...

poor girl. sharpe breathes deep and pushes back up to his not inconsiderable six feet of height, offering the rabbit all over again.

and keeping his eyes averted. ]

That's a bloody shame, Miss Everdeen. [ he's not certain what else he could say, except: ] You're welcome to cook for me whenever you like. I won't complain. Ain't got no one here, either. Not from home. Nor anyone I...

Not yet, at least.

[Maybe the odds were in her favor today. Maybe, just maybe. He hasn't mentioned her tears yet, the tears she angrily wipes away before taking the rabbit back from him. Her grip the string tightly enough that her nails begin to dig into her skin. Physical pain in an attempt to block the emotional.

She takes a breath. And another breath and another.

Don't think of Peeta. Don't think of Peeta.

Finally, she steels a quick glance in his direction and nods. That could be nice. Good. Give more purpose to her hunts.]

Will you eat squirrel stew?

[ sharpe laughs because he doesn't know what else to do. he hasn't spent much time among girls -- young women, really. not since he was young himself. and he'd always suspected he'd be a rubbish sort of person around children of any age.

she seems so young. younger still as she cuffs at her eyes and he swallows hard. he looks away, again. he preserves her privacy. and -- in an odd twist that he hadn't expected -- he think of his little antonia. much littler, of course. but no less accessible.

he laughs once more. ]

I've eaten my fair share of squirrel, Miss Everdeen. But never in a stew. I look forward to it.

[The laughing startles her a bit and she looks up at him, almost a little confused. But he's not so much laughing at her, is he? It's just general amusement. Fatherly in a way. And that's nice. The sort of warmth she never felt from Haymitch, for all she knew he did care about her and Peeta.

Maybe, she could learn to trust this man. Maybe she could even like him. She'll keep to the promise of trade however long she can. And make certain to bring him a container of stew before the following week is through.

The laughter is returned with a shy smile. It's times like this she wishes she was more like Peeta. Better at trusting and befriending others.]

It's easy to make. My- my father would make it sometimes. If we had caught and gathered enough to have a quick meal by the lake.

[ fathers, eh? sharpe gives an acknowledging grunt, although there isn't much he can contribute on the matter. he had no father to make or teach him anything. nor no replacement father neither -- or none that he cared for. he'd slit jem hocking's throat down to his spine. ]

Is he who taught you to hunt, lass?

[She gives a quick nod, stealing a glance up at him. Her own father had been the center of her world for years and years. No matter how bleak and depressing life in the Same seemed, she had had him. She had had his beautiful voice to sing her and Prim to sleep at night. She had his strength and knowledge to rely on every weekend they spent out in the woods together.

And then he had died. Stolen from her far too early in her life. She had only been eleven when the accident had occurred, that explosion in the mines. Too young to lose him. Younger still to take on the burden of supporting their family.]

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