stillplaying | 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

I'm sure they don't, but are you willing to risk the chance that he will return with memories of Luceti?

[ She can tell this woman sounds young. Younger than her at least, almost like a frightened bird. Marita's voice keeps it's usual steely reserve, but she does not patronize her; diplomacy is a two-way street and negotiations are handled with both rationality and the ability to see other peoples hardships. ]

Memories can be painful, but they constitute who we are. Even if you were to be rid of them, there is no guarantee that they would stay gone... [ She shifts a bit, as if she's crossing one leg over the other. ] My advice would be to wait until you were absolutely sure that being rid of them would benefit you.

[As much as she's reluctant to admit it, it is sound advice. Advice that comes without accusations or any kind of patronizing. It's also advice that doesn't fully rule out her own desires, encouraging her to think instead.

Wait till the nightmares are long gone. Wait until she can separate the different pains and fears from one another. It does make sense.

She sighs.]

I don't... I don't want to do anything that might hurt him.

[ There is a slight distinct sound that may be a nod. ]

There are times where sacrifices must be made for the sake of everyone else, but... your personal feelings belong to you, as do your memories. [ A pause. ] Think of it like this: If entire countries were willing to erase their history and what makes up their losses and gains, who they are, there is a high guarantee that whatever happened prior is bound to happen again.

Hindsight holds importance, it keeps us more level-headed in our decisions. Whoever was here before may hold importance to your memories, but those memories are yours and yours alone. It may hurt him if you forget, but it may hurt you more if you have the chance to remember what you wish to make yourself forget. It may hurt the worst now, but over time it will serve as a stepping stone... a middle-ground.

[A lot of what's said is familiar to her. The talk of sacrifices, of hindsight and hurt and how a country must remember and honor its past. Some she heard before coming here. A lot of it, she's already heard repeated to her multiple times today. It's a reminder that she should have known better, should have stopped to think before airing pains on the journal. Too many people are too quick with their opinions here.

But there are other parts of the woman's reply that doesn't make sense. The idea that personal feelings belong only to one's self. Clearly, this woman has never seen something like the Hunger Games. Has no idea how easy it is for some to find entertainment in the emotions and memories of others.]

That's not true. [There's a dry sort of pain in her voice. Anger and bitterness.] My feelings haven't been mine for years.

Edited 2013-03-22 19:06 (UTC)

[ Although she does not openly admit it, she cannot remember the last time her own feelings were her own. Falling into the sinkhole that is the Syndicate, Mulder's mission, the masks she put on and the parts she played — until she finally played her own part and was severely reprimanded for it: two and a half years of experimentation for a vaccination, watching her own body rot away nearly into nothing. The end of the Syndicate is not enough validation or justification for her bouts of weakness, for giving up control of her entire body to an alien virus.

It is a long road into the darkness of the void and when she arose, there was no one there for her. No one there but the person who punished her in the first place. ]

Those feelings you talked about in the journal... those belong to you, don't they? [ Her fingers flex against her skirt, as there is a shifting noise. She's crossing one leg over the other. ] While our captivity has both it's freedom and limits, we're still given the chance to our beliefs, our memories, and emotions.

Not everything is as hopeless as it seems. [ Not everything dies, Mr. Mulder her own words echo in her mind. ]

[The nod she gives is slow and reluctant, even if the woman can't observe it through the still picture. It's thoughtful. And while the nod might not be observed, the silence is. The time she takes in thinking over what the woman has to say.

For once, these emotions are her own. The guilt and fear and worry. And the love. Especially the love. It's not an act being put on for the sake of the Hunger Games. Of survival and of protection. That alone makes for such a huge difference.

But she doesn't know if it's enough.

Quietly,] Yeah.