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[Rue is gone.

If anything, it's for the best. Objectively, Katniss knows it's for the best. Rue was never meant to be a piece in anyone else's game; that's the least she could've been ensured. Because she's more than that. It'd been the ultimate insult to bring her here, to mess with time and discredit everything her death had meant.

Good and safe. She clings to the mantra like a lifeline, lets it reverberate in her brain for so long that it practically becomes a part of her. We don't have to worry about her anymore. Good and safe.

But whenever she manages to drift off, the nightmares are worse than they've been in months.

The scene begins tranquilly enough. There's a meadow full of daisies under a cloudless sky. A comforting warmth on her skin from the sun. Mockingjays, which provide a soft melody in the background as they occasionally fly across her view. Maybe the most defining feature, though, is an overwhelming feeling of safety.

The kind of place that only exists in songs.

A little girl laughs, carefree, somewhere out of her field of vision. She turns toward the sound, but that's when everything goes to hell. Spontaneously, without warning, the entire meadow bursts into flames around her. Comforting warmth gives way to burning flesh. Smoke begins to fill the air, to choke her, to obscure almost everything around her.

There are a few things she becomes aware of. The mockingjays no longer sing; instead they become jabberjays, and inundate her with cries of her own name in a voice that's all too familiar. Just barely visible, nearby, the profile of a little girl transforms into a wolf mutt.

She doesn't even have time to react before it bounds for her. Before it pins her down to the ground, bares its teeth at her. Glares at her with Rue's eyes. --

Her throat is too obstructed for the screams to come. Sweating and rapid breathing accompany her abrupt return to consciousness as they always do, but the silence is filled with panic. Wild panic. The only clear thought she can form is that she has to get out of this room. If she doesn't, she'll suffocate. She'll be trapped. She'll...--

Her feet hit the floor and carry her away so quickly it might as well be reflex. She hardly has the capacity for thought to where she's going, so they'll move on their own. Until they stop in front of Peeta's door.

Equally as unthinkingly, she raises her hand to rap her knuckles against it.]

Peeta, it's Saul. If Effie seems upset or mad or like she wants to kill someone, it's my fault and that "someone" is me. We broke up.

[Anger has a way of taking over everything.

In the instant that her face appears on the network, the last few weeks, the last few months, years, become irrelevant. All that registers in her immediate reality is the distinct sensation of blood pounding in her ears. A clenched fist. Shortened breath.

Anger has a way of giving rise to impulse, which replaces conscious thought as a driving force of action all on its own. Specifically, it moves her feet down the hall until they reach room 121. Raises her hand to the door to pound on it.

There's no hesitation. Not even one single pause.]

Edited (what the hell i can't words) 2013-12-03 03:44 (UTC)

Oi, Peeta, it's Lea, got a second? Wanted to ask a small favor.

[It's a stupid decision, calling Peeta like this. Saul knows how exhausted and sad he sounds; he can see it in Steph's eyes every time she looks at him.

So he tries to cover it up, instead just sounding like someone who's concerned.]

Hey, kid. How you holdin' up?

[Sometime today there will be a bag left for you, Peeta. In this bag is a fuzzy grey scarf and a flat box wrapped in turquoise paper. In the box is a set of sketching pencils and a note.

['paying it forward, in case i need to borrow your art skills again in the future.
-Lea (and Dusk)']

[There'll be a bright blue box left outside your place, Peeta! Inside, you'll find an intricate ice sculpture of a cake with a note that reads:]

Merry Christmas, Peeta.

-- Abbey

[Sure, the sculpture won't last forever, but it'll definitely be around for several days! Abbey's got skills like that -- after all, this is the same yeti who knows how to make snowmen that never, ever melt! B)]

Edited 2013-12-25 04:56 (UTC)

action; dated to like the wee-ish hours of the morning on the 13th?

backdated like whoa, text;

action; dated to shortly after That Post

backdated, early afternoon on the 3rd

voice;

[Christmas Day]

christmas day!