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

Private;

[risetwice.livejournal.com]

Cinna?

Text | Private

[protects-her.livejournal.com]

Cinna.

[fallenbrownbird.livejournal.com]

...Thank you for helping me yesterday, Cinna...

You...you did pretty okay in the Arena.

text ][

[adamantined]

Personally I don't think it should get an encore.

[ooc: so sorry for the lateness of this ;_;]

[aimandfire.livejournal.com]

[ Katniss happens to have been listening this whole time to his network entry, though via her bedroom doorway rather than the network itself. When she walks into the kitchen she catches the device, surely meant to be discarded or at least hit the wall with a satisfying crack but it would be a waste and they might need that. Cinna might, that is. She doesn't like the idea of not having a way to be in touch with him, here of all places, as if Panem wasn't bad enough. Some days she has no real say on which one is worse.

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. ]