#everroots

"i wanted to kill wiress, actually. i just wanted to cuss you out." since that's all i can do. in truth, she has no idea if she'd have a sure win against katniss if the circumstances were different; a shot arrow was quicker and probably more accurate than a thrown axe when aiming for a target. johanna thinks katniss would lose if they weren't at a distance, though. she saw how easily that little girl from two pinned her to the ground in the last games. "you really should be thanking me, you know. i still haven't heard a 'thank you, johanna' in the past half hour — and you should be thanking me not just for bringing nuts and bolts here in relatively great shape, but for managing to tolerate both of them for as long as i did."

❛ neither am i . ❜ abilene sighed , sitting down with a huff . she spooned some of the soup into her mouth but didn't chew . thirteen seemed to serve the same few things on rotation and dinner was almost always some sort of soup . she expected the chewy beef from the color of the broth but a different flavor sparked across her tongue . rich and gamey and abilene searched her mind for anything that it could be , brows furrowed in thought .

₍ ⠀ THE DUSTY TOYBOX. ⠀ ╎ ⠀ *͟𓉸 ྀ ⠀₎ ↷↷ ↳ @everroots said : “ . . . why are you looking at me like that ? ”

katniss everdeen is some sort of jigsaw puzzle , created from stray pieces and parts of every ghost who still haunts him in the dead of night , and even those who walk alongside him whenever he's awake. his hand manages to shovel forkful after forkful of food into his mouth , though he isn't really tasting any of it. too many thoughts have resurfaced and he'd much rather prefer the sharp sting of alcohol as it slides down his throat ⸻ but he's trying. for the first time in years , he's trying. he has to try for burdock's girl.

her words hardly register in his mind , though he vaguely makes out the movement of her mouth moving and the almost - glare that seems directed at him. she's a tough egg to crack. he's silent for a long moment , lost in thought , lost in the resurfacing of far too many memories for his liking. it's burdock's eyes looking back at him , louella mccoy's braid still dangling over her shoulder. he sees some of maysilee's fire in her , too. he wonders if asterid ever sees the same.

instead , he forces a cheeky if slightly strained smile to his lips , one of those ones that seems to infuriate her the most. “ you've got mashed potatoes on your cheek. ” an amused snort escapes him as he shoves his cloth napkin across the table towards her. “ is that really the strategy you're going for , sweetheart ? ” spoken in that tone that she always seems to read as condescending , though he imagines that's as much her fault as it is his. “ if you think trying to look scary will get you far in that arena , you're sadly mistaken. ”

she has half a mind to fling one of the small potatoes on her plate in katniss' direction, but there were only three, and she was hungry. for once, whatever charm she had in her was noted because of the absence of the former instead of the latter. "well, now you know why that word is never used by anybody to describe me. no matter if they've only heard of me instead of met me." johanna couldn't say the people who knew her really called her charming before the games either. she does think they'd say that she smiled more, though, and that her smiles looked different after. "i always need to be one or the other to function properly. i'm not built to be completely relaxed for long."

Where would she go? If Arista could be anywhere else right now, where would she be?

Home. Nine. Dad out in the backyard. Rylan in the living room. Sadie walking up to the front door. Ben sitting across the way on his porch.

No more dad. No more Rylan. No more Ben. No more Sadie.

Where should she go?

Never once did Katrina ever think of herself as someone who would be written about. Someone historical. First, she was going to either die young or fade into obscurity working at a logging camp, alone and aimless, nobody. Then, she was going to die in the arena, a number. Then, she was going to try and fade into the background amid the tapestry of victors, a background character. Then, to die in war. Being written in history is for people who are important. That's something she's never claimed to be.

There's people who seem to think she deserves a few words, though. Maybe it's better to have a hand in what's written about you. She just doesn't know where to start. It's hard to know where to start with something you've never liked talking about, never considered. Even if it might be important to.

"I dunno." She'll happily supply information about Blight (only the things she thinks he wouldn't mind people knowing, of course), what she remembers of the other victors from seven before (it's not much, so many of them died before she could meet them, but it's something). When it comes to herself, she sits here quietly, thoughtfully, that air of vague discomfort settled over her. What do you want history to know about you, Katrina? Her hands work at a little lump of wood and whittling knife.

Arista smiles. "No." Of all the thoughts she might have during the games, that's not often one of them. When the berries had come out, she hadn't thought Katniss was insane. She had thought she was desperate. And fucking gutsy. Everyone who ends up in that arena loses it in there, even just for a couple moments. Anyone who says they didn't is in denial or lying to themselves. Maybe both.

"I thought you were going to make it out." There's no way they would let the games end with no winner. It's just not going to happen. They would make it happen, create a narrative to fit around the cuts if they needed to. So the other option was to send in some natural disaster, mutts, something, and Seneca was no doubt already under pressure for pulling that 2-victor rule in the first place. Not thinking straight. Not in the right mind to come up with something off the cuff in a moment like that. He was going to fold. And it was going to cost him.