stillplaying | 19th Game [written/action]

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19th Game [written/action]

[How long has it been since she last opened the journal not to peer at the other entries but to make one herself? It feels much longer than the couple of months that somehow managed to move by so quickly. Forever, perhaps. And yet, in that short time, so much has changed. People have left. More importantly, people have arrived. Rue, Johanna, Peeta... And none of them have yet disappeared.

Two months of knowing Peeta's so close. A trip across town to his apartment. Walking by the bakery. His memory is no longer a ghost that haunts her. Instead, he's something real. Something entirely too real. Two months and she hasn't yet figured out if she's relieved to have him back. Or if she's more frightened of losing him. There's limits to the filial magic, as she's starting to discover. And those limits worry her. Will she lose him all over again? Lose Prim or Rue or Richard or Teddy?

If there's one thing that hasn't changed in these two months, it's her growing weariness of the disappearances in Luceti. Even Sokka, Sokka who had been here for four or more years, was now gone.

Who was next?

It's a nightmare that wakes her. A nightmare of losing everyone she loves. Watching them die at the hands of lizard mutts, necks ripped out by wild dog-like creatures with the eyes of lost children, others murdered in drafts against the Third Party. She wakes with a start, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes wide and frantic. Her throat is soar from screaming in her sleep and she gasps. When her senses return, she turns on a lamp and reaches for her journal.

She can't lose anyone. Not even to something like returning home. But she takes the coward's way out and she pens her thoughts rather than admit to them aloud:]

There was someone here once who asked if it was possible to bring people here from home. Has anyone ever tried the opposite? Tried to keep people here instead?

action;

[That done, she throws on a leather jacket and boots over her sleeping clothing. She can't go back to sleep. Not right now. And she can't be in here either, not wanting to disturb her housemates any more than she already might have. Her bow is slung over a shoulder with her quiver, just in case.

It's cold out there but she doesn't care. There's something comforting about being alone in the night, no longer surrounded by oppressing walls. The nightmares don't seem so bad now, away from her bed. She can almost pretend things will be okay, regardless of whatever responses she might have to her inquiry when she gets back.]

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You see them and all they do is remind you that they'll be gone soon, don't they?

[Souji kept his hands in his sleeves, fingers gripping his forearms a little tighter. He knew that from waiting every day for Ayumu to disappear - when she did leave, it hurt so much he withdrew from Luceti entirely. And then Hijikata...too many times to count, too many holes in his heart left behind. He kept the smile on his face even as he felt his nails dig into his skin.]

It'll never be easy, but it doesn't have to be impossible.

[It's exactly that. Which makes it hard to vocalize that aloud. She knows that's not how it ought to be. That she ought to see these people and be thankful that they're here. And she tries that, every now and then.

But then it all seems to fall apart rather quickly.

Her eyes narrow. There's not a whole lot she's comfortable with saying aloud. But the boy doesn't seem to be speaking for the sake there of. ]

How do you know?

Four years.

[His smile falters at the edges, taking on a faked quality - the sort one would expect to see from a mask. He wears it so well that sometimes no one notices, but when it comes to talking about things like this, he can't maintain it forever. The only thing he knows he can't do is mourn openly. He can never let himself cry for anyone. He made a promise.]

I've watched everyone I know leave this place - my friends from home and friends I made here. I've seen new people come in, take their place, and leave again. I know the names of people who no one here even remembers anymore - like the ones who first started the Welcome Center, and quieter ones that wanted to be alone but couldn't refuse some comfort in company. [Sasurai, the Medic, Ramirez, Martel, Buffy, Jack, Smoker - names that he would likely never speak again. Even when he returned home, there were some who would not be there, and others who would - but not for much longer.]

For some, it's easy to cope with. For others, it's a struggle not to want to die and follow after them. You have to choose the path you follow on your own - the one of mourning, the one of hope, or the one of something in-between.

[Four years. That's far longer than her near two. She almost doesn't want to imagine that scenario, a scenario where she's lived here that long. She's lost so many in two years. But four?

And then she remembers Sokka. Sokka who had been here for that long and yet, yet he had eventually left too, hadn't he? What made it that this boy was still here and others weren't? How did the Gamemakers, or whoever it was in charge here, decide? Was it the land? Or something else entirely?

She didn't know. But if she did, despite all the losses, she'd fix it so she'd never leave. So Prim would never leave. Her sister deserved that. Deserved so damn much that Katniss had failed to give.]

It's been two for me. [She doesn't quite meet his eyes when she admits that. Opening up has always been hard for her, let alone when she feels this low.] There's been... a lot. A lot that's happened in two years.

A lot can happen in two years, especially here.

[He kept his voice soft, understanding, and he watched her even if she didn't want to look at him. He smiles faintly and moves forward cautiously, going to sit on a fallen log.]

Do you need someone to listen? I've been told I'm good at it.

[She watches him move to the log and considers for a second joining him. Though she takes a few steps closer, she doesn't sit. It's still more comfortable, safer, to stand. Just in case.

Always just in case.

But she does consider his question and offer. It's nice of him, but there's still a problem with that. She smiles wryly.]

I'm not very good at talking.

[If it hasn't already been obvious.]

You don't have to talk to be listened to.

[Souji folded his legs to the side and propped his elbows on his knees, chin resting in both hands.]

I had a friend at home who spent more time glowering than talking and we still understood each other well. [He smiles up at Katniss.] And you're much prettier than he is, so I wouldn't mind having you grump at me if you needed to.

[She doesn't want to smile, but something about his words trigger a smile nonetheless. Maybe it's the mention of his friend, a friend that sounds very much like her. Someone who spends more time glowering than talking. Someone, she presumes, who probably isn't very likable. Just like herself.

Though she doubts that sh'es prettier than the boy's friend. Because she's not all that pretty. Far from.

With a little reluctance, she rests her bow against the log and takes a seat on the other end.]

[It's a good sign that she sits, even if it takes her some time to release her hold of the bow. Souji smiles at her when she sits, straightening up a little so he can better see her. Since the dig at Hijikata seemed to have gotten her to smile a little, Souji pressed on, pointing to the spot between his eyebrows.]

You see, he's been frowning so much that he has a little wrinkle right here. I like to tease him about it, but he only frowns more then.

[He lowers his hand, laughing.]

I don't think it helps him any when I do that.

[She pays attention to him while he talks, happy to have someone fill the silence. It makes it a little less awkward. Makes her feel a little less awkward. She resists the temptation to touch the spot between her eyebrows, feel around for a little wrinkle of her own. She doesn't smile much. She never really has. But she doesn't think that she has much in the way of wrinkles.

Albeit, did it really matter? She has so many scars on her body. What's one more line?]

Why do you do it then?

Because if I don't tease him about it, who will?

[He's someone to fill the silences for Hijikata, the one who knows when to be quiet and when to push the man. He understands him and his proclivity toward playing the villain even among his friends, and he understands how much it hurts him. Moreover, he has the girl's attention and so he smiles even if she won't.]

And someone needs to tease him, otherwise he'd just write bad poetry all day long.

...that seems like a waste of time.

[Though she's not entirely specific, that her brow wrinkles as soon as he mentions bad poetry serves as a good indicator as to what she considers a waste of time. Teasing... sometimes, sometimes that can be good. Beneficial even. But writing bad poetry?

She shakes her head. No. Not something worthwhile at all.]

Not at all. It gives me something to keep entertained with when he's ignoring me.

[It's good to see her opening up a little, even if it's a tiny, tiny bit.]

You can imagine how he reacts when I recite one of his poems that he thought was a secret, yes?

[It's a warring conflict inside of her, torn between wanting to protect herself from forming future friendships and not wanting to be alone. Practicality wants to win out. The need to protect herself, to survive without further heartache.

Maybe it's the practice this boy has had with his friend so similar to herself. But there's something about him that makes her continue to listen. And smile at the thought of secret poems not being so secret after all.]

Does he even react at all if he's always so serious?

[Souji took a chance and leaned in a little, as if sharing a conspiratory secret with the girl on the other end of the log.] That's the fun part, isn't it?

[He leaned back and moved his legs out straight in front of him, hands in his lap.]

It takes skill to push his buttons in just the right way, but when I do? The last time he chased four people around the entire village for hours.

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