stillplaying | 12th Game [voice/action]

Entry tags:

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

[The hug is comfortable, is exactly what she needs right now. That sort of comfort provided by a parental figure. The sort of comfort she's lacked in her life since her father died. She had, in effect, lost both parents that day given the catatonic state her mother had slipped into until that 74th Hunger Games.

When it came down to it, Katniss hadn't had nearly enough hugs in her life.

Stepping away, she fishes out a key from her pocket and hands it to him.]

Here. I have Rue's and Peeta's inside the house still.

[ he lifts the little metal key out of her hand. ]

Bless you. I was starting to worry it'd been so long that I'd forgotten how to pick a lock.

[She had just about forgotten about that. How she had caught him attempting to break into her house just a little while earlier. But he hadn't meant any harm then. Knowing what is in his satchel, she can guess how he had probably wanted to surprise her.

Katniss glances down at the lock and purses her lips, thoughtful. It's not a skill she never thought of learning. But...] Could you teach me that? How to pick a lock?

[ he slips the key in the lock, twisting it deftly and letting the door fall open for the pair of them. but then katniss asks her question and sharpe happily holds up the set of lockpicks. ]

Certainly. I suppose there are no laws 'gainst it in this town. [ and he leans in to close the door he'd just opened -- figuring now is as good a time as any to learn. ]

[She watches as he opens the door, a small smile crossing her lips. Of course, just because he has a key doesn't make him her roommate yet. But she'll help. She'll do whatever it takes to move him in. Even help carry furniture too heavy for her by far.

Until now, Katniss she hadn't realize just how lonely she's been.]

You'd teach me even if there were laws, right?

[ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

12th Game [voice/action]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]