6th Design [accidental video]
Oct. 23rd, 2010 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threadthefire[The video opens, angled strangely as if the video is accidental. Only half a face is visible - pale, sunken eyes, and a stubble'd cheek. The normally put-together Cinna looks positively taken apart. A hand comes into view, rubbing over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he begins to speak in a bitter tone.]
Bravo, City. Not even the Capitol could have conceived that little torture - after all, who better to harm us than ourselves? Who knows better what fears we harbor, sins we cover-up.
Well played. Really, well played.
[The feed ends with an angry click.]
[He sits at the kitchen table, cradling his coffee in one hand as the other casually tosses the device to the side. Taking a sip, he winces, even after several cups he's not used to the flavor without sugar and cream, but today... there's nothing comforting about today so the coffee's as black as his mood. From the moment he woke up, before the sun had even hit the horizon, he'd been sitting in this chair, contemplating his own... foolishness.
How could he ever have believed he had a grasp on what happened to those children in the arena? How could he ever have thought he could help? It was arrogance to the nth degree to have ever thought he understood. To have thought that he could help erase the scars. He should have realized sooner how deep they go.
Now with the sun several hours up, he's still hardly moved, looking out the window, more determined than ever to see the Capitol fall.
Bravo, City. Not even the Capitol could have conceived that little torture - after all, who better to harm us than ourselves? Who knows better what fears we harbor, sins we cover-up.
Well played. Really, well played.
[The feed ends with an angry click.]
[He sits at the kitchen table, cradling his coffee in one hand as the other casually tosses the device to the side. Taking a sip, he winces, even after several cups he's not used to the flavor without sugar and cream, but today... there's nothing comforting about today so the coffee's as black as his mood. From the moment he woke up, before the sun had even hit the horizon, he'd been sitting in this chair, contemplating his own... foolishness.
How could he ever have believed he had a grasp on what happened to those children in the arena? How could he ever have thought he could help? It was arrogance to the nth degree to have ever thought he understood. To have thought that he could help erase the scars. He should have realized sooner how deep they go.
Now with the sun several hours up, he's still hardly moved, looking out the window, more determined than ever to see the Capitol fall.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-10-23 08:13 pm (UTC)Private;
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Date: 2010-10-23 08:41 pm (UTC)Did you...
...you won't tell Katniss, will you?
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Date: 2010-10-24 02:50 am (UTC)You...you did pretty okay in the Arena.
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Date: 2010-10-25 04:06 am (UTC)[ooc: so sorry for the lateness of this ;_;]
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Date: 2010-10-30 01:28 am (UTC)She thinks he looks worn, which is only to be expected, but it goes blood and bone deep and to Katniss it looks rather like guilt; she guesses this much at least on her own experience with it even if more of her own guilt is shame. It doesn't occur to her that Cinna has anything to be ashamed about, but she's not been a fighter by her own choice. It's just what had to be done at the time, no show of great courage or a paragon to fighting the good fight. Often it's just the case of wanting to live and to make sure certain other peolpe also live.
Device turning between her palms she steps with her trademark lack of sound until she stands to Cinna's right, at his shoulder. Her nose wrinkles at the sight of the coffee but it makes sense that sleep isn't necessarily what any of them want.
In a way she might have it easier; nightmares have been a part of her regularity for some time now. If it was worse this time, she doesn't acknowledge it except perhaps in a certain paleness to her skin that usually denotes sickness. ]
Hey.
[ Words aren't her specialty, but she would rather be beside her friend than not, at the moment. ]
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Date: 2010-10-30 01:42 am (UTC)Just for my sake, can you try to make some noise when you move?
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Date: 2010-10-30 01:49 am (UTC)[Her nod is simultaneous with that word and Cinna is one of just a few people who could get an 'I'm sorry' from her, but she conveys this today with the furrow of her brow and a look that isn't quite sheepish. Sheepish is too light-handed. Apologetic may be the only word for it, in fact and she makes it a point to pull the chair out like a normal person and sit in it, adjacent, which still manages to feel very far away right now.
Did he walk into other's nightmares? Or have his own? Both?
Her hands curl on her knees, fist, and fingers dig into palms-- hidden by the table. Her eyes focus on the coffee. ]
It tastes as bad here as it does in Panem.
[ Small talk. She's not so good at it, but that doesn't always rule her out of trying. It just means the attempts are usually rather poor. This time, perhaps, it is not as bad if only because things are already so bad to begin with. ]
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Date: 2010-10-30 01:58 am (UTC)It does it's job. There's tea, but I haven't made it, would you like me to get you some?
[He runs a hand over his face, and gets up without waiting for a reply. Somehow sitting there, having her across from him makes the guilt feel worse. How can he even pretend to take care of her? He was obviously worse than useless against the City's tricks.]
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Date: 2010-10-30 02:10 am (UTC)But it sickens and chills her to think there's something still upset in the balance of their waking hours and it has simply to do with Katniss being herself and Cinna being himself.
Then she thinks of how she saw him when they first met.
Understated. Young. But even then he looked tired, like he'd been waging his own kind of invisible battle. Not one of the Games. But there are other plots easy to get tangled in.
Just living in the Capitol, anyone with any remote sense of integrity--and Cinna's sense of it isn't at all remote on that note--would find it tiresome, difficult, and a dozen other things.
What did you dream about?
Did someone die?
Did no one die?
What are your nightmares about?
But her own reply to this entire line of thinking keeps her from voicing any of that. Because she knows: I wouldn't tell you mine.
Some things should be kept quiet.
Glancing down at her hands she sees that they are not just red from fingernail indentations. Curious bruises up her right forearm, and it's no wonder she hasn't noticed them until now because in her room she didn't want to turn on the lights. It was that horrible moment of waking when everything is a fear. That passed, she folds her hands again. ]
I've never had a nightmare like that before.
[ The words are out of her mouth before she realizes and then it's too late to take them back. Where did that come from?
Maybe, she thinks darkly, I'm still half asleep after all. ]
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