threadthefire | 24th Design [text/action]

Peeta Mellark, Finnick Odair and Katniss Everdeen have returned to their home. They left with the rest of the guests. I apologize if this causes an inconvenience for anyone.

Angela, Ginny, Finnick left some things for you. As well as for a Mr. Eames and a Ms. Lucy Pevensie.

[After his trip to the Hall and with his message sent, Cinna returns to his office with a large bottle of alcohol. It's already started, and Cinna feels it in the bones and in his head. Under his skin and behind his eyes. He should go home, but he knows there's no one there for him anymore. An empty apartment. Better to stay at the office.

He holds the glass in his hand tightly, shaking at the realization that there's not hing he can do. His part is played. They've gone back to their fates and he can't protect them anymore. The children will fight and bleed and it will all be for what? For a game, for the entertainment of a corrupt government and a lazy, indulged populace.

The throws the glass against the wall, the shatter and crash replacing the scream he won't let himself give as he sinks into his chair.

With a swig from the bottle (who needs a glass anyway) he pulls out a new sketchpad and starts drawing. Sketch after sketch, a single uniform. The Mockingjay. His last hope, a symbol of revolution.]

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[She'd be a hypocrite if she told him to stop drinking, that it solved nothing, that he'd ruin his liver and whatever other rationale she could think of. It took her time to drink away her demons, months even. None of his problems will be solved in a few hours time. But in the end, she's not going to be another person to leave him tonight.

Angela rises slowly and deliberately, disappearing into the small bathroom off to the side of his office and returning with a glass of water. It's placed on the corner of his desk with a soft thunk.]

Drink it.

[The longer she stays in the City, the harder it gets for her to know what the right thing to say is.]

Later. I'm working.

[A hand reaches out to flip over the completed page, and he rips the current one off to join it face-down. It won't do to have Angela seeing the designs for an army, she had more than enough questions already.

Instead he starts to sketch Rue, other children, in dresses and dancing. A world he desperately wants to see enacted back home. He knows it's a fool's dream but he has to hold onto something.]

[She's learned not to ask questions of him. That doesn't mean she doesn't think of them; it just means she doesn't voice them out loud. Angela wouldn't do it at a moment like this.

Rue, the little girl Angela took a liking to who went home to be dead again. Finnick, the one person Angela told all her secrets to. Katniss and Peeta, two of them she never got to meet. Angela can't look at the sketches he makes of them. These are Cinna's private thoughts and he's allowed them. But still, she isn't going home. She's moving towards the couch, sitting expectantly on the edge of the cushion, elbows resting on her knees. He'll have to physically move her to get her gone.]

[He keeps it like that for awhile, for longer than he should, for long enough for his hand to cramp from the intensity with which he holds his pencil. Dropping it, he realizes it isn't enough. It won't ever be enough and with an inarticulate cry he shoves it all off his desk.]

How am I the one that stays!?

[Cinna, the one that had been touched by fame, honored, pampered. He stays in his relative luxury, and they go to the Arena.]

[Luck. Fate. Chance. The odds were in his favor. She can say any of these, but none of them will fit or make things better. It's a question Angela asks herself all the time for different reasons. Never has she gotten an answer and it won't come now.]

I don't know.

[Sitting back in his chair, he places his hands on the now-cleared surface. He's trying not to shake, trying not to let her see how close to breaking he is. Visible emotion isn't something he does, not like this. She has no idea how bad this really is, what they're facing back home, the real source of his pain. And she won't if he can help it.]

I... appreciate what you're trying, darling, I do... I... I need you to leave.

[He has to work this out. One night to reset the mask, that's all it should take. One night to do what he has to in order to let them go and not think of it until they return.]

I'm sorry. I can't explain, but I need tonight alone.

[If he breaks, he breaks. Angela won't think any less of him or see him in a different light.]

No. Ignore me, pretend I'm not here, but I'm not going anywhere.

[What she can't say is that she's scared that he's next to go or worse, move from drowning his sorrows to something much more life-changing.]

Ange... please. I swear I won't do anything rash...

[His hands cover his face, shaking now. He can see the uniforms as clear as if they were in his fingers. He even knows he has enough muslin in this office to start a mock-up and he knows it's the only thing he can make that can hold his rage.

But he can't start it with her there. He knows she wouldn't ask, but he doesn't even want her to see.]

I need to work and I can't have you see the things I need to make.

[All this does is leave her wondering what it is he needs to make. Angela can get the idea that it's not anything close to his usual work and that alone is pretty frightening. As she stands, the urge to go over to him and touch him, hug him, move his hands from his face is painfully strong, but she knows it'll be unwelcome just like her presence. So she turns and leaves his office, wordlessly closing the door behind her.

She's still not going home, though. There are a number of consultation rooms she can crash in. He can be pissed with her about that in the morning.]

24th Design [text/action]

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;

they’re in the wrong place trying to make it right;