[ Katniss bites back on a 'no thanks', remembering with a sudden and harsh kind of clarity the way she revenged herself against her mother by not letting her do anything for her unless she had to. This is in no way that, and she doesn't want it to become that out of sheer carelessness, ignorance. So she nods again, mumbles something like 'thank you' and tries to remember not to bite her tongue too hard. Watching him, she wonders if she makes him uncomfortable and it is equally startling to her to find how much the idea of it dismays her. There aren't many people she personally cares about, who she trusts, and who thus she wants trust from in return and if she's completely honest, something else. Maybe there's no one word for what friends provide each other. She's certainly no expert. Enemies are far easier to come by.
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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timeasmymeasure
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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. ]