6th Design [accidental video]

[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.

Comments

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[ 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. ]

[threadthefire.livejournal.com]

[Making tea is a habit, he drinks it from time to time, but he really keeps it on hand for Katniss. That and the hot chocolate. But his hands move of their own accord, portioning out the leaves into the pot, setting the water to boil. He moves on instinct, but even those instincts fail him when he hears her admission.

It's so rare that she confides in anyone, at least anyone he can see, that he's almost uncertain he heard her right. He has to stop and make sure that he did hear something before he finally speaks.]

I don't think any of us have.

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[ True -- he must be right about that. Her eyes rest on one of his shoulders. The usual braid down her back is nonexistent, hair the tangled slightly waved mass that happens when a braid unravels in a fitful sleep, but even just being in the presence of another person is having a quiet if decent effect on her. She feels more alert, if nothing else. Better even, if something. Cinna is all right. Peeta, Finnick, Rue.

She forcefully does not think about anyone else.

Not here. Not here. Don't think about them. ]

Are you working today?

[ To some it might seem to be a stupid question, but not to Katniss and -- she guesses -- not to Cinna either who values his work because it is his art as well. A love even, Katniss would venture if she felt she knew much of it, which she doesn't again. Something people seem to consider crucial to the centers of their lives and she doesn't get it.

Well that's not entirely true.

Prim. She will always love Prim, more than herself, more than anyone, more than life. Prim.

Okay maybe she understands a little.

And there are others she would put before her too, but that's not quite the same. She promised she would live for Prim after all, and that on the whole is a much harder thing to do than agreeing to die for someone, when you think about it. And Katniss does. A little too much and almost always at the wrong times. ]

[threadthefire.livejournal.com]

Probably. I have things to get done, I need as much time in the shop as I can afford.

[Not to mention that his work is his only escape. Fabric doesn't lie, it can't kill. It doesn't spy on his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake. He can control it utterly - the only thing he really can. And when he says that he pours his emotion into his work, it's not a pithy saying. He pours his soul into those garments because it's the only freedom he has.]

Can't leave my customers without their wares.

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[ Lips pressing thin together, she nods; that's the answer she expected and it's a little comforting for all that it's something simple to predict. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, or what of it that she can, she begins to braid it thoughtlessly. ]

Costumes?

[ It's a guess based on the approaching end of the month holiday they've all heard so much about, but she figures there are other things he might be working on. ]

[threadthefire.livejournal.com]

For the holiday and a the play.

[The kettle whistles and he pulls it off the stove, pouring the boiling water over the leaves in the pot and setting them to steep. Pulling a mug from the cabinet he brings the pair to the kitchen table and sets them near his... well, his ward he supposes. He really has no idea what to call this young woman in his life.

Friend sounds almost too... friendly.]

I have something special for you, I hope you'll like it.

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[ At this she can't help but arch a brow, tilting her head. ]

I like everything you design. And so does everyone else.

[ Not flattery, because it's true. ]

But you didn't need to make me anything.

[ She cups her hands around the mug he presents her with, her shoulders thoughtlessly softening in posture at the way the warmth seems to seep into her palms and spread up through her. ]

[threadthefire.livejournal.com]

It's a holiday, I hear there are celebrations.

[He pauses, considering his next words carefully, wanting to make them count and not offend.]

You could join them, meet more people your age, perhaps - there are some in the play I'm designing for.

[How does one ask another to live? To grab their life by the reins and enjoy every second, heeding nothing but their whims for a little while?]

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[If one can watch a pause, then that is what Katniss does here, watches and then considers both the silence and his words. Her fingers interlace around the mug before she lifts it slowly, sipping, buying a bit of time to think of an answer. To a certain degree she understands something of what Cinna is not saying -- that there may actually exist people she could like at all, period, for instance. But mingling, getting to know people, these things are exactly the sorts that Katniss' life has excluded first by lack of need and then by the very reverse and now...now she guesses it's a little bit of survivalist necessity and old rotten habit. Maybe not rotten. Distrust isn't unwise per se.

But it's not exactly a way to 'live' either. ]

Maybe. Rue might want to go.

[ It's the best she can do, at least for now, without lying and she's no good at lying anyway so why bother? If the City isn't a raging asylum the night of the holiday, who knows. Her gaze flickers up and over to Cinna briefly again but she doesn't say anything this time.

She just smiles a little. It's so subtle that it would only be noticed by someone attuned to her in some way or looking for it, but it's there. If there is one thing she doesn't want right now, it is to add to Cinna's shadows. This is the man who gave her an edge in the Games when she had none of her own, a flair -- bright, burning, and most importantly: memorable. It's not just that she owes him though, even though that's part of it. ]

[threadthefire.livejournal.com]

I'm sure she will, I'm making her something, too.

[He smiles a little, accepting Katniss' concession and giving his own. He often questions the fate that tossed her in his path, but Cinna thanks it as well. Frustrating and confusing she may be, but she seems to have forgiven him his home and upbringing.

More than he deserves.

He doubts he'll live to see the woman she'll become, but it's nice to wonder about occasionally.]