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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[ not moving, no. just shifting and bumping in the bag itself. sharpe lowers the sack and opens its mouth, revealing a dim interior. but even still, a few crudely formed shapes can be seen.

the bag is filled with animals. wooden animals, clearly carved by himself. they show a progression of skill, as some are better than others. some he's particularly proud of.

sharpe fishes an elephant out of the bag and holds it up to the light. sheepishly, he explains: ] You live here all alone, lass. I thought you could use a few billetmates.

[ but there are so many here! he must have been working on them for months. and now, in the wake of her outburst over the journal, this is the only gesture he can imagine making. he isn't good with words; he isn't very good with gifts, neither, having only given on his whole life before now. but the little animals lived in a box in his apartment and never ever saw the light -- perhaps they and katniss could use each other. ]

Edited 2013-03-12 11:25 (UTC)

[It's cold out and yet Katniss doesn't make any attempt to open the door and let them both inside. She should. It'd be the right thing to do even if she had caught Richard attempting to break into her house. But even as her stomach prowls in protest, she remains standing on the front steps, eyeing his bag.

When he opens it, she immediately peers inside. She lets out the breath that she didn't quite realize she had been holding to see that there was nothing living in there. Buttercup's enough of a pain. Instead, there's... pieces of woods? Shapes. Animals. One or two she even recognizes.

An expression of awe crosses her face as he pulls one out. She thinks once she might have seen an animal like that. In a Hunger Games some years ago. But what Richard holds out is truly beautiful.

Quietly,] These are for me?

...Made the elephant over Christmas, only I -- [ chickened out, really. had felt more awkward giving it to her than not giving it. but he'd kept on whittling because what else did he have to do with his hands when he was no longer slicing open french bellies? ]

Aye. They're for you. To keep you company, I suppose. [ he rubs at the back of his neck. ] When I can't.

[Elephant. That's what it is. She thinks they might have called it something different in Panem, but she can't remember. Because she's too distracted by an awful flashback to one of the tapes she and Peeta watched in preparation for the Quarter Quell. One of these creatures, tall and large, with madness in its eyes. Charging at a tribute. Not stopping its run until the boy had been pinned to a tree, the ivory tusk of the elephant rammed through his stomach.

How the Capitol audience must have cheered.

She shakes her head quickly, trying to snap herself out of the memory. But it's with a shaky hand that she reaches for the toy. Unable to really speak.]

I rode one, once. [ he tries to fill the tense silence with somethingi so innocuous.

after all, better to tell about the time he rode one than the time he saw a couple break free of their ordered ranks and crush a good portion of an army to death. nor about the time he wilfully left a man's head under one of their great feet -- hoping the beast would pop hakeswill's head like a grape. ]

[How could anyone ride something like that? How could it possibly be tamed?

She shakes her head as she stares at the small wooden creature in her hand. It looks so safe like this. Almost even kind of cute. Like the sort of toy her father would make her when she was little; Katniss never showing the same sort of interest as her sister in dolls.]

I saw one kill a boy. Pin him up against a great big tree. I think... I think it was the 65th Hunger Games. I was seven and... [Her voice cracks and she does her best to suppress a sob.] ...and I remember watching that. We all had to.

[ guilt floods him and his mouth -- once almost smiling -- bows into a frowm. ]

Aye. They can be monstrous, so they can. Armies used them in India. In battle, and as beasts of burden. But I didn't mean to upset you with the wee thing, love. That's the last thing I wanted.

[Damn it. What's wrong with her? She can't even accept a gift properly, can't even show how grateful she really is. There seemed to be so many little wooden figures in there. How long had he been working on them? Even before they met?

And he gave them all to her. To cheer her up. So she wouldn't be alone.]

You didn't know. [She whispers the word, clutching the elephant tight in her hands.] You couldn't have known.

...I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I?

That's assuming there's a right way to do it all. And I'm not so certain there is.

[ he holds out the rest of the bag. ] But they're all yours.

[She smiles shyly in response to his answer. After a year, she ought to be used to this. She ought to be used to all the kindness and friendliness. People wanting to do things for her for no other reason than to make her smile.

Sometimes, she hates herself for being incapable at times in accepting it.]

Thank you.

[The words are whispered by the gratitude is clear. And seconds later, she decides actions are better than words. Clutching the bag tightly, she wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him just as tightly as she clings to the bag.]

[ he clears his throat and wraps a strong arm 'round her shoulders, surprised yet again by how comforting a firm hug can be. a rough thumb musses at her hair.

and he hazards so gently: ] You shouldn't be living so lonely-like, love.

[She doesn't look up when he speaks, doesn't move her head from where it rests against his chest. It's almost safe like this. Almost as if she can pretend for a moment that someone other than herself can protect her. Even if extending that kind of trust anymore is rare. And so very difficult to do.

Eyes closing, she shakes her head a little, making her messy braid even messier. But she doesn't care. It's not as if it had been a very good braid to begin with.]

I don't want to leave the house.

[ he suspects she's waiting for certain souls to return and populate her empty rooms. sharpe can sympathize, for although he made no effort to keep house he nevertheless waited for the day harper would show up and take the room at the front of the hall. a room to himself? it would be luxurious for a sergeant.

he steps back. and takes a deep breath. it's rude to invite yourself anywhere. he knows that. but at the same time... ] You don't have to leave it, darling. But you don't gotta be alone here, neither.

[She forces herself to open her eyes. Forces herself to take enough of a step back as to be able to look up at him and meet his gaze. She's not certain that she's following. She doesn't have to be alone here. Is he referring to all the newcomers that need shelter? Newcomers she doesn't know, can't trust in any way?

Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head. She doesn't understand what he's suggesting. Doesn't know anyone who possibly needs a home.]

Who?

[ he clears his throat, more self-concious now that her eyes are on him. ]

I suppose I can keep a tidy enough house. I don't own much, you see.

[ he doesn't quite go far enough to blatantly name himself. ]

[She blinks a few times, trying to piece together all the words not said. He can keep a house tidy enough. He doesn't own much. Is that...? Does that mean...? She's hesitant to really form a clear thought. Doesn't want to hope too much. Because that would be nice, wouldn't it? If he moved in here and she didn't have to live in the big house all alone anymore.

It'd certainly make sharing stew much more easy.

But she doesn't want to get her hopes up. Rarely has it seem that anything has worked in her favor lately. Why should this be any different?]

There are two rooms upstairs. [She speaks quietly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.] Peeta's studio and a room that belonged to a little girl we knew. Rue. She left first.

[ he mistakes it for a refusal: ] I understand you not wanting to give either of those rooms up to an old soldier, love. If you're waiting for'em...

[It's strange and uncomfortable, that feeling of something catching in her throat. She doesn't expect that. She doesn't expect the way her eyes sting in the face of possible rejection.

If he doesn't want to move in with her, why did he hint at it to begin with? Why get her hopes up like this?

She shakes her head and blinks back new tears. It might have been nice to have someone share this house with her again.]

It's okay. You don't... you don't have to move in. Those are just the rooms available. I can't give up the downstairs room. Not... Peeta painted it. He painted it to look like the forests outside of 12. It's why I haven't moved out of the house.

[ her reaction drives him towards a more obvious act of compassion: ] Christ, lass. Don't look at me like that. I'll take the room, won't I? Gladly. I only want you to be glad as well, eh?

[She wants to believe him. She wants to believe him so, so badly. That he'll be glad to take this room from her. Glad to live with her. But a large part of her is afraid that he's just saying this to make her feel better. Saying it so she won't start crying again.]

You sure? [Asked in a small voice, hesitant and nervous. But her grey eyes look up at him filled with the hope she's trying so hard to fight.] Are you sure you'll be glad to?

Edited 2013-03-22 19:16 (UTC)

...I admit, it's been a long while since I've lived in a house with a woman -- [ a gentler, jokier edge. ] But seeing as you're not the sort what goes in for doilies and fine china, I believe I'll survive it. It's rubbish living alone. And I ain't only talking 'bout you...

[ for he, too, has been living alone. ]

[A smile starts to cross her face. It starts out small but quickly blooms into something much more excited, much more pleased and happy as he continues to speak. So maybe he's not just saying this. Maybe he really does want to move in.]

I'm not much of a woman. I leave my hunting gear by the door or in the living room. I don't treat my cat very nicely. And I'm not very good at keeping the rooms spotless.

[And then she remembers the whole reason for Richard's visit. And she ducks her head, a bit ashamed.]

...I also wake up screaming a lot.

...So did some of the lads, though they'd shoot me for saying it. [ a shrug. ] I can't say me being there'll help, but it can't hurt neither. Aye?

[She nods. It wouldn't be like with Peeta. It wouldn't be a warm body to hold her in the night as she cries. She hadn't lied to Zevran earlier in the day when she had said she wanted that. That she was selfish enough to want someone to love her in that same romantic sort of way Peeta did. Without, that is, the cost of loving him back.

But to know that she wouldn't be alone in the house, that there was someone aside from her and Buttercup occupying the dark space.]

You're right. [And then, quickly, she wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.] Thank you.

Ah, Katniss.

[ he sighs and wraps his arms about her once again, growing more comfortable with each hug. comfortable by piecemeal, really. and when he finally releases her, he reaches for the door. he tries the knob. ]

I'll need a bloody key, won't I?

12th Game [voice/action]

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