The Girl Who Was On Fire

( earlier that morning... )

Mid-morning, she conducts a second unsuccessful search of the bakery for signs of her boyfriend. If he had wandered away for supplies earlier, he'd be back now. Back for a full day's work. But there's nothing. There's nothing. She manages to get outside without crying. Manages to make it halfway back to the house before sinking to her knees behind the weapons shop. She leans back against the wall, fumbling in her jacket for her journal. Frantically, she searches it.

Nothing. No sign of him. He's gone.

After what seems like forever, when all the tears are done, she opens the journal again. Without a pen, she's left little choice but to speak. Her voice is a little shaky but otherwise devoid of emotion. Monotonous. Its too hard to feel right now.]

[Voice]

Peeta Mellark has returned to Panem. He's not here. I can't find him anywhere.

For those that knew him -- he'll live.

[There's a long pause. It's stupid to say, she thinks. But she remembers his arrival. Remembers how he thought this was the 75th Games. He was from her past, from a past with a horrible, horrible future to look forward to.

But he'll live. She has to cling to that. Even if he'll hate her, never love her like he did here. It was a love she didn't deserve. And a love that she'll never, ever have again.]

Rapunzel, the bakery is yours.

[Action]

[She has to force herself up to her feet. There are other things she needs to do, belongings she ought to sort through. Somehow, she makes it back to House 43. The door is left open as she goes upstairs to his studio. Paintings. She should get rid of the paintings. The art gallery. Or something. But as soon as she sees the half-finished portrait of herself, of a girl that appears infinitely more beautiful than she's ever felt, she knows she can't stay.

The door is slammed shut to the room, Buttercup ignored as she runs down the stairs. She grabs a backpack and stuffs it with a bare minimum of clothing and provisions. Her quiver and bow are slung over her arm and she steps outside. She turns around to regard the house - the house once shared with the small girl from District Eleven and the boy from her own District, her everything. On afterthought, she locks the door.

And then she begins her trek in the western woods towards the treehouses by the Western Lake.]


[ooc: regarding action sections - feel free to catch her in any of the bolded areas!

Also - WARNINGS for the Katniss and Clove thread. Please do not read if you have troubles with depressive and suicidal thought and violence and death.]

[Action]

[The bakery is a mess. She never meant for it to end up that way. It just sort of happened. Flour covering hair and body, the smell of something burning from the kitchen, flecks of pink frosting teasing her cheeks. Peeta's normally presentable window displays are less than ideal; a poor attempt at recreating the alluring cakes that always caught her attention back in District Twelve. The frosting's melted from the summer heat on one that's sat out since Friday. Another is poorly covered with a grey color -- an attempt at mixing food dyes gone horribly wrong.

Ingredients for various baked goods have somehow escaped the kitchen, piled up on the counters, half covering the note cards Peeta had left for her. Cookbooks borrowed from the library lie open elsewhere, pages now far from pristine. Half baked pretzels stock the shelves along with burnt chocolate chip cookies. Deformed cheese breads and crumbled brownie bites still in their trays sit nearby. Even Buttercup, easily pleased by any free food, ignores the easy pickings.

She tried. She had tried so hard. Peeta had left her recipes. Had tried to teach her how to bake on lazy days when she was more content to spend time with him in the bakery than go about her own thing. It seems that every lesson has been forgotten. Any skill she might have had in the kitchen, utterly gone.

The rain pours outside as she plucks at the rock hard shortbread cookies she's recently retrieved from the oven, trying her best to peel them from the tray. It's a halfhearted effort as she leans her head against her hand and stares out the window. She'd rather be hunting. But it's been raining ever since Peeta left for his mission, raining so hard, all she's been able to do is check a couple of the traps in the river behind their house. And she had promised, hadn't she? Promised she'd look after the bakery?

Look how miserably she failed, the worry making it hard to breathe, harder to concentrate. Shouldn't he be back by now? Shouldn't he?

Every few minutes, she checks the journal for signs of life. Ignores Buttercup begging for real food. Glances at the door to see if Peeta's finally return. No luck. No luck at all. He's supposed to be back today. Why isn't he back yet?]

[Voice]

Why do you bother? [The words aren't meant to be recorded in the journal, but they are, anyway. It barely processes to Katniss that she's left it laying open, close enough to pick up any mutterings.] Going on these missions? Being a piece in their games?

It's stupid. This is all stupid.




[ooc: timed to after mission is over, when people start arriving home. but if you want to tag during -- feel free to have katniss in the bakery making a mess from friday on!


also, edit for warning of sexual content in the Peeta thread.]

[It's not something she understands. Where she is, how she got here, why she's no longer in District 12. How she woke up in the forest that was not the familiar source of sustenance she knew so well.

Or the book she finds beside her, where she would have expected her bow. A book is of no help in the forest. But it's the book that catches her attention, especially when she flips through it and sees a face she never thought she'd see again. It makes her chest hurt and she wipes a way any tears that threaten to spill.

Maybe she's dead. She doesn't feel dead, but how would she know what death felt like?

Katniss doesn't know if she's safe. She doesn't trust anyone. Except Rue.

So she knows what she has to do. Before anything else.]

Rue? Rue, can you hear me?

[Can people find her through this journal? She doesn't know. But even if they can, she should be safe in her tree. Is she even using this right? Katniss has never seen anything like it before, something that can write and record and even takes photographs. Not even in the Capitol.]

I'm looking for a girl. She's small, with dark skin and eyes. And when she stands, you can almost see her taking flight. [Katniss closes her eyes. It's so easy to picture. Was that really her in this journal?] Her name is Rue. Tell her... [And she pauses. What if she's already said too much? But it's so important to find her.] Katniss. Tell her Katniss is here.