(i feel like i've been living in a city with no children in it)

[burnwithus]

Has it really been a year? I wasn’t expecting it to pass by so quickly, not when every day was a battle. But it has to be true, because I counted the days, not knowing why. Something to keep me busy, I guess. Keeping the madness away used to be a priority for me at one point

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[with_diamonds]

Pausing upon seeing Katniss in the rec room was practically instinct for Lucy, though she couldn't have said why. Half the time, she wasn't even sure quite what to make of her based on the times their paths had crossed in the past. She couldn't ignore the sense of kinship that she'd felt from the very beginning, though, not even if she had wanted to (and she definitely didn't want to. Just because there was a ring on her finger and she had a wedding to plan didn't mean her priorities had changed entirely), and so it was that she slid into a seat across from the other girl.

"Hey," she said, quiet, light, not wanting to startle, though she suspected she would have been noticed already. "What are you making?"

[burnwithus]

I'm trying not to be suspicious of everyone. I'm trying to trust people again, but it's easier said than done. No one has done much to betray my trust -- yet. I keep waiting for the inevitable. There are no gamemakers here, no more manipulating people for other ends, but it still feels familiar.

Every time I feel the panic rise, I try to count off all of the memories. All of the kindnesses I've seen so far. It helps keep me sane. So when Lucy sits, I don't flinch. For once.

"A book."

[with_diamonds]

"Oh?" Lucy lifted her chin a little, unable to help being curious. Whatever it was, it looked engrossing, serious, and while a part of her wasn't sure she should be intruding, she figured that Katniss would say something if she really didn't want to be disturbed. This was a public place, anyway, about as crowded as it got. "What kind of book?"

[burnwithus]

It's easier with people who have known loss. Instead of the nosy doctors back in District 13, the ones who would tell me that I was safe. As far as a Victor is concerned, it's never safe. This book isn't something I want to show, but I'm not ashamed to be writing it. There are some things I can't talk about yet, though. Not easily.

I decide to keep things purposefully vague. "A book of things I don't want to forget."

[likedtheodds]

Gwaine's in a twilight state of half-sobriety and half-drunkard. It's just on the edge of being intelligent, but not quite to where he's capable of being contemplative. It's why he's not exactly his most sensitive when he finds Katniss. "Little Kit!" he greets her joyously, adjusting his sword as he drops into a sit near her. "And what are you doing, hmm?"

[burnwithus]

Even if I hadn't spent so much time with Haymitch, I'd still be able to tell that he was drunk. Some people in the Seam were more drunk than sober on any given day, because white liquor was so cheap and readily available. And because it helped distract them from how miserable they were. I've been there. I can understand.

Maybe he's doing the same thing. My nose wrinkles when he sits next to me. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"It's the middle of the afternoon and you're already drunk."

[likedtheodds]

"It's the middle of the afternoon, you're not my mother, and I haven't got anything else to do today," he replies easily, hardly taking the offense. "It's been two ales," he clarifies, when he can't take that look on her face any longer. "With lunch," he adds, sharper. "I do like to pretend I have a modicum of control, especially after what happened to me in the pit."

[burnwithus]

He sounds like Haymitch, defensive and sharp. Surprisingly, I don't mind all that much. I'm more used to that than gentleness and friendliness, anyways. So I roll my eyes, shifting in my chair in order to turn and look at him. He mentions the pit. That much is self-explanatory.

Fighting to the death. Being forced to fight. Why is this such a common thing, in our universe or any other?

"I didn't say I minded, did I?" I retort, shrugging my shoulders to show him just how little I do. "I was just pointing out the time."

[cibosity]

Memories can be poison, and don't let no one tell you any different.

In stories, we're made to think that the people who let fires rage on in their hearts are the ones to follow. Like letting some cause burn on regardless of death and time is noble somehow, proves that you've got something worth fightin' for. Dying for. But the truth of it is, time wears everything away, makes monsters into longings and loss into nightmares. Letting it all simmer in your heart, it changes a person, twists them 'round until you know they ain't ever gonna be whole again, ain't ever gonna be right again, and I can't think of a single person I'd wish that on. I can't think of a single good thing it's done for me. Sure, maybe I had every damn right to kill Tom Sawyer in the end, maybe I put those bullets in the Others for a good reason, I ain't gonna try and dispute that.

But what good did it do me?Not a single lick

[burnwithus]

I hear him come in, and it registers briefly in my mind before he touches me. Honestly, on most days I wish he wouldn't do that, because I've already shot him once, but somehow today it's comforting. Like something a parent would do. Even if it is childish and I haven't been a child for years now.

Sawyer never does seem to understand that, though. And it occurs to me now that I don't even know what his real name is.

I drop my pen. It clatters on the desk and promptly rolls off. I'm grateful enough that it didn't leave a stain on the page, at least. "I haven't been writing for that long."

[cibosity]

There's a whole bunch of mixed messages that I sense right away. She isn't putting up a fight, for one, not even when I pat her head- doesn't even try to pull away, and it makes me wonder if maybe I've hit something on the head for once. Like this is the one day out of hundreds where she finally feels that she needs someone around. I'm not going to be the person to deny her that.

Course, with the way she drops her pen right after, I can't help but wonder if she ain't also trying to be difficult. I get it, I ain't the best guy at being comforting, or maybe she just feels an obligation to try and get along after she shot me with her arrow. But hell, I've dealt with stubborn people before, and I don't anticipate that'll stop anytime soon.

So, I walk around and plop myself right down in the seat next to her.

"If you say so," I drawl, trying to light. Failing in the next couple of seconds. "So, what're you writin'? Secret love letters?"

[burnwithus]

"Do I look like the type to write secret love letters?" he takes the seat next to me and I just shrug, picking up my papers and drying them by letting them flap into the air. It isn't very pretty, but it's the best I can do at this point and it'll have to be enough. I wonder why he's still hanging around me after the whole arrow debacle - in fact, I wonder why he chooses to hang around me at all, with everything that's happened and everything he knows.

So I ask him. "You should probably stay away. Who knows, I might shoot you again."

[chose]

"I didn't take you for the literary type," remarks Buffy, her tone as wry as can be while somehow remaining soft, hesitant. She stands over the threshold between the hall and the rec room, arms and legs crossed with one shoulder leaning on the edge of the doorway. Katniss is a loaded gun - or crossbow, if you're as opposed to bullets as Buffy is - that is liable to go off at any moment, and it does her good to remember that. But at the same time, there's too much of herself that Buffy recognizes in Katniss to keep her distance, even if what traits they seem to share don't bode well for the safety of others. As much as she has appreciated having Giles along the way, there were times when Buffy would have given anything to speak with an older, more experienced slayer, but some degree of loneliness has to come with the gig. The circumstances are undoubtedly different, but maybe she can occupy that role for Katniss, inasmuch as anyone just a few years older can offer any kind of wisdom.

[burnwithus]

"You were right."

I'm never sure what to make of Buffy. She's seen my world, and that's enough to cause me to be wary about her, because she knows who I really am. She saw me kill those peacekeepers without a second's thought, and probably knows that I would do it again. Unlike most of the people on the island who think that I am merely unfriendly, or cold, she knows that I'm a killer, and all that goes along with that.

It's fine, though. I'm too tired to avoid her right now.

"I'm not."

[chose]

Similarly, Buffy still doesn't know how she feels about Katniss. Threatened. Protective. She's starting to realize how it would have felt, despite having come here before she got her chance, trying to train all those girls to fight, preparing them to go to war. It's never fair, being chosen, and maybe Katniss wasn't shafted by destiny in the same way that Buffy and the line of slayers before her were, but the details don't matter much when the end result is just the same. Broken, dangerous girls forced to fight others' battles. Forced to sacrifice their lives and so much more.

Yeah. Protective is a good word for it.

Buffy tilts her head, adopting a wry, curious tone. "So, the reason you've suddenly gone all beatnik on us is...?"

[burnwithus]

"I don't know what that means," that's not surprising. There are a lot of things from the past that I don't understand. Stupid words that people just decided to make up, that don't exist in Panem anymore. From what I've pieced together, the past is generally a nicer world to live in.

Not always, though.

I look down at the page, and then back up at her, trying to decide if I want to take the extra effort and not be difficult. But it's exhausting. "I'm writing a book."

[notapiece]

When Peeta first saw Katniss at one of the desks, he thought that maybe he should turn around and leave before she noticed him. They could go on avoiding the baggage between them, even if most of the avoidance had been largely unintentional.

That wasn't like him. There was no way that he was going to start being that guy right now.

It couldn't hurt to say hello. Crossing the room, he stopped on the otherside of the table, hands nervously drumming against the back of a chair. "Hey Katniss."

[burnwithus]

I've been looking out for him. Silently, of course, because he seemed so much happier here and I wanted to be the last person to ruin that for him. But every so often, I pass by the bakery on my way to hunt, just to make sure that he's alive and okay. After all, a year ago I was supposed to die to keep him that way.

Things didn't exactly go as planned.

"Hi," I take a deep breath and try to arrange my features into something that best resembles contentment. Which is hard. And I figure I might as well swallow my pride now and ask him for help while I can. I've left him out of things before, and I'm not going to do it again. "I'm making a book. About home. And I was wondering if you wanted to help me with it."

[notapiece]

Peeta wasn't usually the sort of guy who planned what he was going to say. He hadn't been looking for her, though that didn't mean that he hadn't seen her from time to time. How was someone supposed to deal with a person whom their life had been so tightly entwined?

"Are you?" A book about home was something that he had thought about, but like most things associated with his life before it was painful and had a tendency to ache like an old wound. "I would, if I can. What sort of book?"

[burnwithus]

"A book about...things we shouldn't forget," he wouldn't know some things. Finnick, for example, was only a myth to him. Someone he saw on television from time to time. But he'd known Rue, and he'd known Prim and...maybe we could figure out the rest. There's something about having Peeta here that makes it seem as though it could be possible, even if it's ridiculous to think so. "I was hoping you could...draw some things."