stillplaying | 12th Game [voice/action]

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12th Game [voice/action]

[There are some nights where she can't sleep. Can't fall asleep to begin with, can't stay asleep once she's there. The nightmares become too intense. She awakes crying, screaming, gasping for breath. Curled up in a ball, clutching her knees to her chest in as tight a fetal position as she can get. And alone. So very, very alone in the dark, dark room.

Those kinds of nights have grown more and more common since Peeta's departure, since her death. Even Buttercup's plaintive mewling in the night hasn't made it any better. The pain and fear doesn't fade. It lasts long, long into the morning on the nights she's unable to go back to sleep. Turns into another fitful nightmare otherwise.

In one short month, there's been a lot to think about. Too much to think about. She's been stuck here a year now. Seen various shifts and experiments. Fallen in love and then lost that love. Died. In the most recent shift, while she hadn't been forced to fall in love against her will, she had watched it happen, even observed it first hand in once case. All of it, more than anything, had made her think of Peeta.

Think and mourn until she thought that she would burst from all the heartache.

During the early morning, she awoke screaming, thrashing in her bed as her nightmares played Prim's death out for her again. Prim's death followed by that of Rue's. And Peeta's electrocution in the clock arena. How she had screamed and rushed forward, how he would have been dead if not for Finnick's quick thinking.

So, so many deaths. And all because of her.

As she moves about in the bed, screaming and crying, she knocks the journal down on the floor. Buttercup mews and she just screams again, a wordless, animal scream. Whimpering and sobbing, she does eventually come to her senses. Her body remains cocooned in the sheets as she reaches for the journal, face tear-stained and lost.

She misses him. Maybe more than that, she misses having someone to comfort her in the night when the memories get to be too much.]

Gale was right. [The words are whispered, an acknowledgment to words long past that she once overheard. It's never going to be about love for her. It'll only be about who will extend her longevity in the end. Who'll make her life easier to bear. And if Peeta's not here, how could it possibly be him?

She stares at the journal a few minutes more before clearing her voice and finally speaking, wiping away any lingering tears.]

I know that when you die here, they'll take things from you. And they'll change things during the shifts. Hijack you and alter your memories.

Can you get them to do that even outside a shift? How would you contact them? I-- I want them gone. The memories of Peeta being here. I don't want to miss him anymore, miss--

[Being in love. Being loved. But she doesn't know how to say that part aloud. She wishes for a brief moment she had kept some of that candy from the spa. The stuff that made her open up more. It'd make this all the more easier.]

Is there a magic? Please? Something, anything? I don't have much to offer, but I am a good hunter. I'll trade game and pelts. Anything you want.

I want to move on. I want to forget. And I don't know how else to do it. [Richard's advice comes to mind. She's already thrown herself in hunting, thrown herself in anything and everything she can think of to distract her. It hasn't worked. Not at all. So that leaves only the other thing he recommended: moving on.] He might never come back. I might never go back. I-- I don't want to be lonely anymore. I want to move on.

[With that, she closes the journal to go get dressed. Her hair is pulled back in a messy braid before she heads out. Not to hunt. Not today. Instead, she goes to the library. She has research to do.]

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[It would make for a lonely life. But sometimes she still thinks that that's nothing less than she deserves. A killer, a poacher, a girl that had never been all that good at being nice to others. But then, at other times, she does remember to stop and think. To wonder if an uprising would have been successful without her assistance.

She doesn't know yet if it had been worth it. If all the deaths would be made up for by the end of the Hunger Games, the end of the Capitol's tyranny. And as long as she's here, she might never know.

But with the lingering nightmare, with the feelings of self-hatred and doubt still plaguing her, she can't bring herself to stop and think.]

Maybe.

...at least I'd be alive.

[The little that the camera expresses makes clear the doubt on her face. Eyebrows are raised and her lips are quirked to the side in thought. Pepper knew Peeta, yes. Works at running the art gallery Katniss knows he would have given more to if he had stayed here longer.

But none of that gives her any reason to believe the woman. How can she possibly know what it would have meant to Peeta?]

You don't know that.

Katniss.

[She almost nearly doesn't give a name. Almost closes the journal without another word. She's growing tired of talking. Tired of trying to figure everything out.

But that small part of her desperate for more contact again, the part of her that led to begging on the network, has her speak. Has her provide that much.]

[She doesn't hate it always. Sometimes it's nice. It's nice to be somewhere where no one knows her name, no ones knows what she did. She even likes some of the friends she's found here.

But she won't ever forget how much Luceti resembles a team. How much the Malnosso are just new Gamemakers, manipulating their pieces for the sake of science instead entertainment.

And while the girl isn't entirely off with her guess, Katniss is still reluctant to say anything at first. Finally, she settles on:]

Partially.

Don't be like me, Katniss.

[It's out before he can stop himself, and after a moment's thought? It's precisely what he needs to say.]

Find what you need to fill your days with joy and comfort without the risk of affection and sentiment- but do not be like me. Your chaste manner is a part of your charm. I would hate to see you lose that.

_{[ Sometimes tough love is what you need. He doesn't particularly like being ass, but he spent a long time being angry. Not in the way Katniss is, and he won't pretend that, but he doesn't want to see a young girl spend her life angry and depressed either. Especially not here. ]}

Hey, all I'm saying is you have options, I just highlighted one of them for you.

[Chaste. She wasn't certain she liked that word. But at least was better than pure. Anything had to be better than pure.

Still, she couldn't help but make a face at that word. Even if she appreciated the sentiment behind what he said. A sentiment that deserved another quick squeeze.]

I like who you are, too, Zevran.

[Oh, how fucking delicious a little tit for tat could be. A snarling smirk of bitter satisfaction curls his lips at the thought.]

My, such a fierce young thing you are.

I'm sorry, I didn't know you were dead back home.

[ She sighs. ] Well, if you change your mind and want to talk, you can usually find me at the library. I'm helping shelve books there now. I just hate to see somepony as upset as you.

[ with a sigh that was more playful than serious: ] Aye. But I'd teach you at night, instead.

[ the door is once again locked and sharpe drops once again to his knee. ] Pay close attention.

Incredibly dumb wench.

[And Loki leaves it with that. He has the last word, and Loki loves having the last word.]

And if you go through this again? You'll have to relive the pain. You won't have this time of your life to learn how to deal with things.

I know this place can hurt, trust me. But forgetting about it isn't the right way to go about it. It's the easy way out, and that usually means it isn't the right thing to do.

Of course you do. I am too charming for you to not!

[It's an easy, comfortable joke to crack, and one he makes gladly.

By now they have made their way to the kitchen, and with one last squeeze he steps away to rummage through the fridge for what he would need for Katniss' meal. Cooking had always been soothing to him.]

And I am incredibly fond of you as well, because you are easily flustered and somewhat...oh. what is the word- ah. Prudish. It's charming.

Actually, I do.  [The skepticism is understandable, and Pepper keeps her calm.  She’s no less certain in the face of Katniss’s disbelief.]

The person I’m with couldn’t tell me he loved me for a very long time.  Even after we’d been together for over two years, he just couldn’t get the words out.  Not until I nearly died on the last draft.  [She hesitates then, not only to find the right words, but to keep back the emotion that accompanies the memory.  It had been one of the worst experiences of her life, yet also one of the best, and she smiles faintly as she describes it.]  I was infected, but they gave me the protocure so I wouldn’t lose my mind.  It meant that I was aware of everything happening to me:  all of the pain, and the…hunger.  [She swallows, hoping that Katniss knows enough about what happened to understand what that means.  Pepper isn’t willing to explain it.]

We found out the Malnosso were going to bomb Vaskoth to end the infection, and Tony—Tony refused to leave.  [Adamantly refused, and Pepper remembers all too well the conflicted feelings that overwhelmed her, along with the sense of helplessness.]  He could have, because he wasn’t infected.  He just would not let me die alone.

Then he helped me dance.  Dancing together is something very special to us, and he wanted to help me forget everything that was happening, even for a few minutes.  That’s when he said it, and just hearing it made me happy.  In spite of everything else, all of it—I really was happy in that moment.

And that’s how I know Peeta was too, when you said it, and why I think it’s better.  That you’re better, for being able to trust another person that much.

[And that's why she made a promise to herself not to fall in love again. She couldn't go through that kind of pain again. But it'd be different, she thought, if someone loved her. Someone she only liked. It'd be selfish but at least it'd keep her safe from any future heartache.

Her own survival needed to start coming first again.]

I'm not going to go through this again.

[She listens quietly to everything that Pepper has to say. She doesn't know who Tony is - hasn't made that much effort to remember the names of every single person in the town. But she can understand the man's motivations. That was what being in love was, wasn't it? Sacrificing your own survival to make certain that the person you cared for would be all the better for it. Not letting them die. Or die alone.

Maybe she does know how Peeta feels then. But she has no idea if that makes all of this worse or better.

It takes her a long time before she replies.]

Is he still here?

[While she lets Zevran make himself at home in her somewhat messy kitchen, she leans against one of the counters to watch. Maybe she should help. Hospitality, manners would dictate as much. But she doesn't really feel up to it right now.

And she concentrates instead on his words. And the way they do make her a little flustered. She never considered this response of hers charming. She doesn't understand why all these men do.]

...Peeta called it pure.

[Really, she's not certain that she has much left to say. While maybe a part of her recognizes what it is that he's trying to do, she's not really in the mood to care. Not right now.

And so she scowls at him and shakes her head.]

You're right. I do.

[And with that, she closes the journal.]

[She shrugs in response to what she takes to be a simple truth. Did she ever have much of a choice in her life? Sure, she could have given up. She could have let her family starve, could have given up in the Games and died. But her own survival had always come before anything. And then, the survival of those closest to her.

To survive in Panem - to survive the Hunger Games and to survive an uprising - you had to be fierce. You had to let that fire burn. She's not proud of that. Nor is she ashamed.

It's indifference that colors her features. Indifference and determination.]

So?

[That hadn't exactly been what she had meant and for a moment there, she's confused by the man's response. A lonely life, in her eyes, would still be a life. She'd still be alive. Unlike so many others she knew. So many who died within the past couple of years of her life. In part because of her actions.

It was guilt she doubted would ever go away.]

I'm not. [She paused, attempting to think words through before saying them aloud.] I died here but I'm not dead anymore. I just... I know a lot of people who've died.

[It's not the answer he had expected, but his own comes without him missing a beat.]

In the end... 'tis only the fiercest who survive.

[His mind drifts back once more to the castle and the brutal pecking order among beasts.]

And the weak grovel at their feet.

Edited (feckkkkin' typo... >:I) 2013-03-31 20:47 (UTC)

[She had never been tempted to have anyone grovel at her feet. Never been tempted to rule. She had been happy with her exile to District 12, content to live the rest of her life in relative solitude and anonymity. Let the others decide the fate of Panem. She had done enough.

She can't keep from making a face at the thought of having others grovel. No, she'd much rather kill her enemies. In the end, that would be the key to ensure her survival. To keep from being made a piece in any more games.]

What if you just want to be left alone?

You have a tongue, don't you?

[There's a sharp, mocking note in his voice.] Use it.

[That gets an angry scowl in response.

Oh, she had used her tongue. Had used her wits. All to survive and ensure others she cared for would survive, too. And what had it gotten her? The destruction of her home. The blood of far too many on her hands. Whatever affect she might have on others, she doubted that it was worth it sometimes.

For a game piece, she had been awfully influential.]

They don't always listen.

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