They occasionally saw white birds in the forest, shot them easily through long necks. That's what she reminds him of in the hallway, standing there in her skirts and her white feathers. He's got a brace of birds in his hands, bringing them in for dinner.
"What are you?" he asks, smile playing around the corner of his mouth.
"Confused as all hell," Lily answered, turning toward the sound of a man's voice. "Unless you mean the costume, in which case I'm a White Swan. Or I was."
They'd been in the middle of opening night and now, instead of dancing, she was standing in an unfamiliar hall, talking to a man carrying a bunch of birds. As situations went, this one was sort of weird.
"Yeah. It'll do that to you." He shifts his grip on the string of birds in his hand and glances down the hallwa. It's incongrously quiet. "Did you just get here?"
"Whatever that means, the answer is probably yes," Lily said, not making any attempt to hide her confusion. Wherever 'here' was, it wasn't the studio and maybe it wasn't even New York, although she wasn't going to even start thinking about that until it became necessary.
"An island," says Gale, gesturing to her to follow him. "You're in a better state than I was when I first got here. It's not a bad place. People are kind." He pauses and offers her his hand.
She considered the extended hand for a moment, then shook it and said, "Lily." He didn't seem dangerous and even if he was, they were in a well lit hall and she could hear other people.
"You probably don't mean Manhattan, do you?" she asked.
"I don't even know where Manhattan is," admits Gale, shaking her hand warmly. Dimly, he knows that the place that was America became Panem later in it's future, but, other than that, he draws a blank.
"I've been told that they call this place Tabula Rasa," he tells her, continuing his walk down the corridor. "Which apparently means something to do with a blank slate. People arrive here all of the time, from all over the place. Sometimes, someone you know is here already,s ometimes, not. I got lucky."
He says it, but a shadow flickers across his face. Sometimes, he's not sure.
"Yeah?" Lily asked, watching him, but she decided against saying anything. There was a lot about this place she didn't know and she didn't want to offend the only person who was helping her by offending him. Making assumptions about people usually worked out for her, but she also knew when to keep those assumptions to herself.
"A blank slate," she said, considering. "How can it be a blank slate if there's someone here who already knows you? They're still going to view you with their preconceived ideas of who you are from... before."
"And sometimes they show up knowing about things which you haven't even done yet," he says, no idea why he's saying that other than it feels good to say it to someone who knows nothing about anyone.
"And how does that work?" she asked, her brow creasing as she considered that. "Knowledge of something you haven't done yet. If you haven't done it, how could anyone know about it?"
After a pause, she winced and said, "Or is it kind of like how I just appeared here?"
"Everyone fucks up," Lily pointed out. "That's a guarantee. It's what you do after you fuck up that really counts. I mean, that's when you find out who people really are. But it's especially unfair to hold it against you if you haven't really done it yet."
She'd only just arrived and was already trying to wrap her brain around divergent timelines, if such a thing really existed.
"You've clearly never met Katniss if you think that matters," says Gale. He walks into the kitchen. "Let me get you something. And then I'll explain, if I can."
"Get me something?" Lily repeated, standing in the door of the kitchen, her hand on her hip as she looked around. It was extremely strange to be standing in a kitchen like this, when she'd been in New York only minutes before.
"Tea or coffee. There's...juice?" he makes a beeline for the coffee, himself. He puts the wrapped meat into the fridge to keep while they're talking. He'll clean it later.
"Coffee," she said, because if it was being offered, she was going to take it. Maybe it would jolt her out of this, if it was really a dream. "Black. Jesus, there's just coffee and tea and juice and a gigantic kitchen here. It really exists."
"What are you?" he asks, smile playing around the corner of his mouth.
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They'd been in the middle of opening night and now, instead of dancing, she was standing in an unfamiliar hall, talking to a man carrying a bunch of birds. As situations went, this one was sort of weird.
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"So where, exactly, is here?" she asked.
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"Gale Hawthorne."
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"You probably don't mean Manhattan, do you?" she asked.
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"I've been told that they call this place Tabula Rasa," he tells her, continuing his walk down the corridor. "Which apparently means something to do with a blank slate. People arrive here all of the time, from all over the place. Sometimes, someone you know is here already,s ometimes, not. I got lucky."
He says it, but a shadow flickers across his face. Sometimes, he's not sure.
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"A blank slate," she said, considering. "How can it be a blank slate if there's someone here who already knows you? They're still going to view you with their preconceived ideas of who you are from... before."
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"Maybe it's easier to be a new person here."
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After a pause, she winced and said, "Or is it kind of like how I just appeared here?"
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She'd only just arrived and was already trying to wrap her brain around divergent timelines, if such a thing really existed.
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"It might help."
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