stillplaying: ([neutral] the mockingjay)
ExpandShe's spent the last week hiding... )

Effie's last post remained fresh in her mind as she turned on the video recorder in the journal. Her hair was neatly braided in its custom side braid. The mockingjay pin pinned high on the chest of one of her nicer blouses, displayed where everyone could see it. She stared resolutely at the camera for a minute before she nodded.]


Today, back in my home of Panem, would have been the first time in seventy-six years that a reaping of contestants for the annual Hunger Games would not have occurred. As many of you know by now, every year, on this day, the names of two children from each district - a boy and a girl between the years of twelve to eighteen years of age - would be selected to fight to the death in an arena days later. The Hunger Games served as entertainment to those who lived in the Capitol. People like Effie Trinket who didn't know better. An honor to those in the richer Districts, the ones favored by the Capitol. For the rest of us, it was a punishment, a reminder of the cost that came with rising up against our government.

[She took a deep breath, lips pursed together for a quick second as she remembered. She spoke without thinking. Determined, she only realized later, to take the heat off of Effie for her suggestion of games here in Luceti. Her mockingjay wings twitched behind her. But once she started speaking again, the words tumbled out. She held her gaze steady, grey eyes showing all the emotion her stoic expression hid.]

Many of you were angry when Effie suggested the idea of gladiatorial-like games here in our prison. But Effie was only acting like everyone else here, trying to make the best out of a horrible situation. Looking for something that would make her feel more at home. Just like the rest of us. You have no right, no right at all, to judge her for that. You don't know our world. You don't know what it could be like.

The 75th Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell, were the last official games held by President Snow and the Gamemakers. But they weren't the last Hunger Games. Because after the second uprising ended, after we won, the surviving victors of previous Games met. There were only seven of us left. Me and Peeta. Our mentor, Haymitch. Johanna, Enobaria, Beetee, Annie. We were given a choice by President Coin - the new leader of Panem, the leader I executed in revenge for my sister's death. One last Hunger Games, this one played by twenty four children directly related to those who held the most power in Panem.

I think the way the vote fell was obvious. Peeta and Beetee and Annie voted no. The better of us. Johanna and Enobaria voted yes. And Haymitch and I? We had the last votes. But he's as unlikable, as bitter as I am. I suspected how he'd vote. And I voted to kill those Capitol children anyway.

I am not a good person. Maybe... maybe I thought I could change. Maybe I thought I could put all this behind me. The Captiol, the Hunger Games, Peeta... But girls like me don't deserve to be happy. They don't deserved to be liked. Or loved.

So do yourselves all a favor and think before you make a judgement about someone. Because as wrong as you are about Effie? You're just as wrong about me.
stillplaying: ([fear] hesitant)
[She had watched them arrive, hope getting the better of her every time she had heard of the arrival of a new feather. Every morning she awoke and reached for the journal. Checked it multiple times a day. And, of course, before she went to sleep at night. Before hunting, before cooking, before any responsibility that she had, she looked. Looked and hoped.

But it was to no avail. Peeta didn't return. Neither did Rue or Haymitch. And no new familiar face from home graced the journal's pages.

With the exception of Cato and Clove - dead tributes who tried to kill her once, who still haunted her nightmares at night, who were now reluctant allies - she was alone. There was no one else from Panem here. No one else who knew what it was like to grow up in a district, to know of Hunger Games and Hollow Days.

Instead, it had been holidays. Celebrations and unexpected gifts. So many gifts, more than she expected. It had made her flustered, given Katniss more reason to keep to herself for the days (make that nearly the weeks) that followed. There had been contact here and there but for the most part, she had felt better alone. Or as alone as she could be with Buttercup still refusing to leave her company.

But the solitude could only last so long. Peeta's not here. There had been no bittersweet reunions for her this time around. But she wasn't alone. She didn't understand it, but there were people here who liked her. Maybe she still didn't understand. Maybe she'd never understand the effect Peeta claimed she could have.

Her grin is a little crooked and a lot bittersweet when she turns on the video feed. She sits on her couch, a snow frosted window behind her. With this heavy snow falling, it's impossible to hunt. She's grown restless. And, yes, lonely. But where to start. That's the hard part. And the grin fades as she thinks, as she once again loses herself in thoughts rather than focus on the present.

But, finally, she does speak.]


Does anyone know how to work the battle dome? I can't hunt. While it snows like this. [It's awkward, strange to admit to her restlessness, her inability to do the one activity that helps her cope. Strange, more so, to willingly ask for help. Someday, somehow, she'll accidentally owe a debt here she can't repay.] And I can't use the targets outside of the smith shop.

I have my own bow. [Two now, though she's still not certain if she's grateful for the arrival of the Mockingjay bow.] And arrows. I just need the targets to practice with.

[She hesitates. There's something else she should add. So many debts. Too many. Maybe it's time to start repaying. There's not much she can do well, but that she can, she can do very, very well.]

I'll teach you how to shoot in return. I'll teach anyone who wants to learn to defend themselves against the Malnosso.