Ami-chan Writes

 I have been issued two sets of clothes and a two pairs of pants to wear at night and, of course, there's a dresser to keep them in. A nurse drops them off while Johanna and I are eating a roasted fish that she made somewhere on the surface and brought back down.

She tears pieces of flat bread and wraps it around chunks of fish and offers it to me. It's crispy and very rich in flavor compared to anything I've eaten in as long as I can remember. It's so much for a moment I feel my stomach might reject it. I go slowly and drink lots of water, still Johanna eats the at least twice as much as me. She advises me to save room because she has a small pouch of raspberries as well. They pop and taste so sweet in my mouth. I realize why the gruel was so odd to me. The Capitol would give us the salty paste and the gruel wasn't salty at all.

“So, tomorrow,” Johanna says, “I will be gone, right?”

“Right.” I feel like I should write this down.

“I was going to ask Finnick to come and work with you. I thought I would bring him down here before then though. So, I will be back. Finish the raspberries—if you can. Fruit is good for you.” She pats me on the head before she leaves.

I take one of the charcoal ended sticks and write on the wall by the dresser. I'm sure to see it in the morning when I get dressed.

Johanna in Twelve today. Finnick will be here.

Then I sit back on the bed and wait, eating a couple more raspberries.

Finnick. Annie's Finnick, Johanna had said she was held there with us in the Capitol but we hadn't known. I don't know what that really means though. Someone he cares about, I imagine. Finnick. Finnick.

He must have been in the 75^th games with us if they took someone he cares about and someone Johanna knows from before. She wouldn't be bringing him here if she didn't trust him. She wouldn't be bringing him here if she didn't trust him, I point out to myself again. If I repeat it maybe I'll listen and maybe I'll stay clear and present.

 

The door beeps and then nothing happens. It beeps again, then there's a rapping at the door. What are they waiting for? Oh. I get up and cross to the door and open it.

“There we go,” Johanna says, “You get to let people in. This is your room.”

There's a man with curly red blonde hair hanging back behind her a little, “Hey, Peeta,” he says giving a smile when he sees me studying him.

For a moment we're outside salt in the are and he's urgently showing me a gold bangle on his arm and urging me into water but then he's over me as I'm tingling, numb all over, light hurting my eyes.

Oh, good. She'd be useless if you were dead, you know. You have to be alive or we'll never get her through this. She's what's important. Come on then, up and at 'em.

“Blondie?” Johanna asks as I back away from the door towards the safety of the bed.

Is this how it's going to be every time I see someone? Sugar cubes and tridents and burning?

“Yeah, it was a good call,” I hear, “but again, did you see me not going along with it?”

“Blondie--” I feel hands on my hands and I pull away but they pull back, “Well, hey it went this way and not the other.” Johanna is in front of me. When did I get down on the ground? “Hey--” she says, “What did you see? What was happening to you?”

“I—I—burning. There was burning, and claws, holding, holding so she could...and, agh, it's all a jumble.”

She pulls my hands down away from my face, “It's okay,” and holds them together with one hand.

He wants to know all my secrets.

She runs her fingers over my hand after resting my own on my lap. I hear him crossing the room.

“Finnick's going to sit near you,” she says, “It's alright. You're safe. He's safe.”

Slowly, knees covered in teal fabric come into view.

“This is why I wanted to bring Finnick by before I left,” Johanna says, “I wasn't sure what you remembered of him, what they might have screwed around with...”

“You trust him.”

“Yes,” Johanna says, “I do. I told you in prison, remember. He wouldn't have hurt you. She wouldn't hurt you.”

My hands clench on my legs, “Yes, she would. She has.”

“Alright,” Johanna takes my hands, “but Finnick is safe.”

“I just want to help, like Johanna does. Ask me anything you want, okay?” he says. He offers a hand towards me but he doesn't touch me.

He wants to know all my secrets.

Dragging ourselves along the ground into the pool, burning being pulled out of our limbs into the water. The screaming can't be helped. It's almost worse than the fog was in the first place. Don't be a fool! If we go mad from thirst and turn on each other do you really think you'll be the one who survives? Has the spile arrived yet? Where's the spile? The monkeys...they'll get here and we'll be sunk—the poor morphling.

“The spile came in a parachute the first night of the games,” Finnick's voice sounds different than before, soft instead of harsh, “Monkeys came at us the next day, after the fog, after Mags...” when there's a hitch in his voice I look at him, searching his face for the blinding light, but everything is dim, faded, nothing hurts my eyes. I take his hand. It feels warm. The grip is gentle, no tenseness, no readiness to strike. Not right now. Keep him in sight.

He shakes my hand, “Good to see you again, Peeta.”

“Finnick,” I manage.

“Finnick and I caught the fish we just ate,” Johanna says.

“Thanks,” I tell him, “It was...” what's the word? “tasty.”

“You're welcome.”

I lean back against the edge of the bed frame. Silence stretches through the room but the noise in my head continues. I don't like the way my head feels or the way my thoughts are bouncing off each other.

“You think you and Finnick are going to be okay tomorrow?” Johanna asks.

I pull myself to my feet and go back to my note.

Finnick is safe.

I add to the bottom of it.

“Hopefully,” I say, bracing myself on the dresser, “Everything is so jumbled right now I might as well be doped up again.”

“Don't you dare say that!” Johanna snaps, “It took a long time for them to get everything all fucked up in your head so unfortunately it's going to take a while to straighten it back out.”

“Don't push yourself,” Finnick says, standing up.

“I don't know what to believe half the time,” I point out, turning back towards them, “sometimes I'm not even sure about you,” I tell Johanna, “and then I feel terrible.”

Johanna points to my left leg, “Did you master that all at once, or was it ups and downs?”

I'm not sure at first. Then it seems logical—what the answer would be. Bits and pieces come together, the thing with the stairs and the practice that we were talking about with Delly the other day, and the things I want to do with it now that don't seem to apply, differences in how you have to stand up from the floor, a cane, internal grumblings about ice and mud, and, “...no.”

“So, what makes you think this is going to be any different? Only instead of hurting and falling over, you're hurting and having things confused in your head.”

“Annie's said her head is her own worst enemy when she's been...lost,” Finnick says, “It's been five years for her, and it took months and months to make real good headway in the beginning so don't push yourself, like I said.”

Johanna comes to stand next to me, and carefully, gently puts a hand on my shoulder, “We'll let you get some rest, okay? Finnick will be here tomorrow morning, yes?”

“With bells on,” Finnick says.

Johanna gives him a look, but it's half mischievous.

“Bells is too much?” Finnick asks, “Should I just stick to ribbons?”
He's a peacock, “What about feathers?” I find myself asking.

“I'll have to see,” Finnick remarks, “Perhaps both—if you're lucky,” he winks as he and Johanna head towards the door.

I lean against the dresser and give him a nod, “Sure.”

 

The room is so empty now. I still have fish and raspberries left and but I think with it being smoked the fish should be okay until I'm hungry again, whenever that is. I wrap the raspberries back up in the fabric and the fish in the leaves Johanna had brought them in and thread the sticks back through to hold it together and put them at the back of the dresser.

I should actually shower. It's been a long time since I've been properly clean, I'm sure. I gather things and go into the bathroom. I have to prop the door open because I feel my heart pounding as I set my things down on the counter and then check for towels. I stand for a while leaning against the edge of the sink taking deep breaths. It's just a shower. Why am I so scared all of a sudden?

Thirteen is safe. This is not the Capitol. This is not the Capitol. This is NOT the Capitol.

“This is not the Capitol,” I tell my reflection before I pull off my shirt and then pants and instinctively sit down on the toilet to take off my leg. Right, this is not that leg. I was in water soaking out fog pain in this leg, wasn't I?

Alright.

I turn the water on and check the temperature. It's soon warm enough to climb in. Was that a noise? Thankfully I thought to prop the door open. No. No one is there.

This is not the Capitol. Thirteen is safe.

I start to wash myself. This is when I can really see scars: score marks on my chest, burns. I knew the bands on my wrists, of course, from the lengthy restraint, but deep gouges have healed on my side here...I put my hand to them.

You're not the only one who made new friends.

I can't catch myself when I slip, feeling her stabbing me with claws deep in my side. I wind up in the bottom of the shower. Snatches. Bone being pulled out of my leg, being stabbed into my chest—but there's no scar there. What are the rebels planning for eight now?

No. I'm in Thirteen. That was before. This is now. That is not happening. I scrabble for the railing and pull myself back up. Let's just get clean. Can't even enjoy a shower. What's wrong with me? I lean my forehead against the back wall for a moment. Get it together.

That feels familiar too. A train? An apartment?

I hit my fist against the wall. When will things start to make sense?

Don't push, they say, but they're not stuck in here with all this—this—this...

I wind up at the bottom of the shower again. I can feel the water hitting against my back. It fluxes between comforting, painful and terrifying and I fight the urge to hit my head repeatedly against the stall wall.

Maybe if the water pounds on me long enough I'll mush into pulp and I'll just wash away.

Was that a noise? No. Nothing. There's no one else in here. I need to stop this though. This is nonsense and stupidity. I pull myself up and slam the shower into off, dry quickly. I'm putting pants on when there is a noise: the door beeping. Now what?

Prim is there with the cart again, “Meal time and check up,” she says, “Though I'm told you probably have something tastier left in here still,” she wheels the thing in and shoves it into the corner as though it's a child in trouble, “How was the shower?” she asks.

“It was different.”

“I bet,” she says, “Well, if you don't mind sitting on the bed I have to record your vitals for the evening. Did you want me to leave you some sleep syrup?”

“No!” it's a snap before I really realize, “No.” I amend, “Sorry. No.”

“It's alright,” she says, “I'm sure I'd feel the same way. I just wanted to offer. If you change your mind some time in the night there's a button here,” she points behind the bed to a small metal panel, “push it and it'll tell the station in the main ward.”

“Okay.”

She checks my eyes, ears, mouth, breathing, heart rate and notes things down on a screen that she pulls up on the window and then shuts it down again, “Johanna wanted me to check if there's anything you might have remembered about that you wanted us to look for when we're in Twelve?”

I shake my head.

“Well, if you do...”

“Button?”

She nods, “I'm sorry I can't stay. There's a transport coming in from Two,” she takes the covered bowl off the cart and puts it on the table by my bed and then leaves, “I hope you get some rest.”

“Me too.” 

 

Is that someone walking? I'm vaguely awake but I don't look up at first because I want to assess.

“Peeta?” the query is nervous, but the voice is familiar, female. Safe. Internal monologue assures me. I'm safe. Thirteen. Safe? Prim. Safe, “What did you do?”

It must look strange to her. I'm not on the bed. I couldn't sleep. I tossed. I turned. The bed was uncomfortable. I took myself off it. I tried lying on the ground. I couldn't get comfortable there. I wound up threading my arms through the bars on the bed and sitting up. I finally fell asleep, facing the door in case someone came in. So, I would hear. So, I could prepare, or some part of me could, anyway, I suppose. In case it wasn't Prim, as promised; because it might all be wrong.

It might still be wrong.

Wrong.

I look up slowly.

It's Prim. It's Prim when I close my eyes and open them again. I un-thread my arms slowly. She kneels down by my side.

“What were you doing?” she asks, taking each arm in turn and inspecting them.

“I couldn't sleep.”

She sits back on her heels looking thoughtful, “Well, let's get you some breakfast then. Do you want to wash up first? I can bring a little water in as well.”

“Okay.”

She stands up and goes to the door wheeling out the cart that's by it.

I pull myself up using the bed and walk around the room again. There's the window that's not a window. That's where they show the stupid videos. There's the walls and a couple of cabinets and drawers. I'm debating whether I should try to open the drawer when Prim comes back in with a little cart again, a small bowl of water, a small towel and a bowl of the porridge/gruel and a slice of something that's supposed to be bread.

Right. No spoons in this room.

Spoon. Ear.

I shudder.

“They say we might have a little bit of fruit soon, so it won't all be supplements. The greenhouse area is producing but also they should have the trains running if all goes well with Two,” Prim says.

This is the first I've heard of anything going on outside the walls of the room, “With...Two?”

Prim gives a slight smile, “What do you remember of the Districts?” she asks, “I don't want to overload you with information.”

“They—they would ask me about Seven a lot, and Eight—there was major trouble in Eight because of...” I feel my hands starting to tighten up and that redness crawling up my back, “Let's just not, right now,” I decide, “I don't...I don't...” I pick up the towel and put it in the water and ring it out, “Trains and food are good.”

“Yes,” Prim says, hastily, “Yes, they are. Let's just say a lot of the Districts are working with us now against the Capitol and Two is where the fight is at right now. How's that?”

I mop my face and the back of my neck, “That—that's good. Best of luck to them. May the odds be in their favor.” It's out before I really realize what I've said.

Prim laughs, “Good one. Eat your nutritious goop. I'll go see where Johanna is. She's officially in command of your care now. I've no idea what she said to Coin. I haven't seen her. I just got the message handed down to me from a very irritated Keller about an hour ago. “On the upside” he said “It'll save us on morphling and halozapine”. He's not completely off things. He's says he's going to be reading our, Johanna's and my reports, and checking in bi-weekly. In the mean time, if you want tonight, when I come on shift again, I can check in and give you sleep syrup, much less side effects and much less you sleeping in that painful position?”

I feel myself getting embarrassed, “It's not painful...”

She gives me a look, “Just because you're used to that sort of pain...”

I'm not sure what...

“We'll revisit that before I go off shift to attend lessons,” she says, “In the mean time eat. I have to go check where Johanna is, and I think we were going to move you one over so you can actually have a bathroom.”

 

I've eaten, cleaned myself again and washed out the bowl by the time Prim returns. Johanna is with her. She has a bag over her shoulder and the smell of...it's firewood, lingers about her.

“Hey, Blondie,” she says, “Ready to see your new digs?”

She and Prim take either arm and we walk a few paces down a faceless gray corridor under the stern and watchful eye of two guards one at each end and to a door with the number H-4 on it. I feel a beating in the back of my mouth at us being outside of the confines of the room, things might cave in on us. The H-4 door opens when Prim separates from us to put in her key card and she leads us inside. It's a similar room. Another window that is not a window and a bed, but this one has no straps, and has sheets and a pillow and a folded up blanket. There's a chair and a table and a cabinet lined up in front of the not window, and a small room to the left of us. Prim opens the door and shows the toilet, shower and sink.

“See,” she says, “No more cloths. You can bathe like a real person.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her, “I don't think I remember how.”

They both look at me for a moment.

“Was—was that a joke, Blondie?” Johanna asks after a moment, hand on her heart, “Did—did you just make a joke?” She makes a show of falling towards the bed, “Prim! Prim! Check me! I think I've died!”

“I think you're fine,” Prim rolls her eyes.

“I'm not fine,” Johanna retorts, “I'm a fucking genius. We have more proof.”

“Oh, geez,” Prim says, “I'm going to leave now. You do whatever it is you're going to do.” 

 Tree branches try to grab me, tear at my clothing, razor sharp, slicing.

Slip down a hill, vines tangling me up, a snare hanging me upside down. Have to bend up to grab knife, cut myself free. Too late. Someone's coming.

“Oh, a pretty package! All tied up like it's a birthday.”

 

The air is a cloud of buzzing, horror, screams and yelps.

People running around in chaos.

I can't move to get them away from me.

I'm stuck. I'm stuck. I have to move.

 

Someone catches my hand.

“Oof. I'm so glad you've still got those shackles on. That would have got me right in the face.”

Lights are low. I think she has red hair, maybe brown. She's in to have me pee. The weird contraption they use so they can keep me in the bed, and then wash me down. What have they got planned that they need to bathe me?

The lights are turned up a little more as food is offered. My stomach is knotted in a ball but she persists I must eat. She tries to chit chat with me as though this will make me eat. I feel itchy but I can't move to scratch. She hums. I snap at her.

“Not very polite this morning, are we?” She chides, “Come on. You need to eat more. Dr Keller has a new medicine he wants to give you and it won't do to have an empty stomach or then you will throw up.”

“I care, why?”

“Plus, you're going to have a visitor later.”

“Dr. Keller?”

“Well, yes, but someone else too; but I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Thanks so much.”

She scoops another spoonful of the gray lumpy goop and puts it in front of my mouth. I reluctantly swallow it down. This stuff never tastes right but I don't know what it is, then she offers me water. The door opens and a man comes in.

“Good morning, Dr. Keller!” she says, cheerfully.

“Nurse Melda,” he answers, “How is our patient?”

“In a foul mood,” she says, “and I've been furnished with no explanation!” as though this is a travesty of epic proportion, “We're being difficult about eating too.”

“I see...” This Keller says, “Well, how much has he eaten?”

She shows him the bowl, flattening the contents with the spoon.

“That should be okay,” Keller says, “Unless we're willing to eat more. It's important for regaining your strength as well, Peeta. You've been through quite the ordeal.”

“Because you care,” I point out.

“I do, actually, believe it or not.”

“I don't.”

“You're making that quite clear today,” he sets something down, on the food cart, that he has been carrying, “You can go, Melda, just leave the things.”

She does so.

He busies himself with whatever it was, “Now, I hope that you'll try and improve your attitude when Miss Cartwright comes to see you later. Considering how things ended last time it's very gracious of her to agree to come back. You're lucky to have such a good friend who is able to be understanding and considerate of what you've gone through—to come back and want to help you.”

“Cartwright?”

“Yes,” he says, drawing liquid up into a syringe, “Delly Cartwright?”

I feel like I should know that name.

He opens something and wipes my arm with it despite my initial resistance, “This is the new medicine. We're going to try this to help your mood, and the flashbacks and things, yes? It should help you respond to the new therapies better.”

“Because you've been so satisfied with everything else it seems.”

Keller sighs, pulls my arm straight and injects me with his vaguely yellow liquid, “Alright. We'll let that work it's way into your system for a little while to check on your reaction and then we'll send in Miss Cartwright.”

 

Are my fingers still there? It looks like they are but I can't feel them. When I push my thumb and finger together there are little stars and explosions under the skin. The curtains are sliding down the wall on to the floor—this can't be right. It can't. It can't.

Let's not watch this.

I close my eyes. There are still so many colors swirling around. I'm falling through them, a pool into nothingness, so quiet.

 

“Peeta?” the voice is over the hill and far away, “Are you sure he's okay?”

“Yes. It's fine,” a man's voice.

I'm rocking on a boat. My head is floating as I open my eyes and turn. The man's hand on my shoulder. Two faces coming into focus, the man's: red and blonde. A blonde girl, her's concerned. The man's more passive.

“Peeta--” she says, relief.

“See,” the man says, “he was probably just napping. He didn't eat much breakfast,” their voices are coming to me through water, all goopy.

“That's silly of you,” she laughs, “You know you need to eat.”

“I'll leave you two to talk,” the man says—Keller? That's it, “There's the videos if you want,” he points to the window, “controls are on the cart here, and there's some food,” he whispers something to her and leaves.

She comes close and hugs my neck. Her breath makes my ear tingle. She sits back. I turn slowly to look at her. My head will fall off if I move too fast. She gives a small smile.

“I'm glad to see you again. I was worried I wouldn't be able to, but—but they say you've been much more even tempered lately.”

“Okay?”

She's fidgeting a bit, and we sit there. I can see the light rippling around the edge of the window that is not a window, maybe there are bubbles trapped beneath the surface of it. I can't see where they are though. Maybe it has something to do with the curtains.

“Ahh,” she says, “I'm sorry I'm not sure what to talk about. Is there anything you want to ask me about? I mean,” she takes a deep breath. She looks sort of worried when I turn back to her, “Dr Keller was telling me I should try to talk about things we did when we were kids but I keep feeling like that stuff is just sort of, I don't know...how am I supposed to know what's good to talk about? I'm not good at this but I want to help you. I'm worried about you. You went through so much.”

“Yeah...” What am I supposed to say to that? Keller did make this big deal about her coming in though, “Thank you for coming back.”

“It's okay,” she says, taking my hand. Hers is shaking a bit.

“No. I must have scared you.”

Her hand is still shaky as she tries to grip mine, “You still are to be honest,” she forces a smile and turns her chair so she's facing more towards me and is also pulled a lot closer to the bed, it scrapes across the floor sharply and she winces, “sorry,” then she takes my hand more fully with both of hers, “Peeta, how do you feel right now?”

I don't know how to answer that.

She sighs, “So, do you want to watch any of the videos he says he has?”

“No.”

“Me either,” she shakes her head, turning away towards to the cart and looking at something on there and pursing her lips, “They mostly look to be about the Hunger Games anyway and I really don't see how that would be helpful in any way. I remember how you talked about that stuff when you came home...”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she looks back at me, “Of co—yes, when Guwar or I weren't at work you would come visit with us because your Mo—because we were friends. We would do things together. Every once in a while we would come to your house but I think, never mind, but anyway. Some times we could get you to talk about things that happened. I...I know it made you uncomfortable, but at the same time you would say “can't keep it all bottled up”,” she gives one of those watery smiles from inside the bubble that's forming around her distorting her words, but when she breathes in it pops and things become clear again, “I think you didn't like telling us about things you had to do. Things that weren't shown—or things that we hadn't seen...”

“Oh.”

She makes a strange sigh, “Are you hungry?”

“No?”

“You don't sound so sure,” she brings a bowl around in front of her looking at it sort of sadly, “It's not the greatest, but it's okay,” she starts breaking whatever it is into smaller pieces, “and it is food.”

“What was your job?”

“What?” she seems surprised I spoke to her.

“You said when you and Guwar weren't at work—what were your jobs?”

“Oh, right. My father was a cobbler—we owned the shoe maker, like—like your parents had the bakery, so I would help him. Guwar's family we—were the smiths.” Her voice is going strange again, “They—they fixed things for the miners made new picks and things,” she sets the bowl down on the bed because her hands are trembling, “Repaired mu—mine carts. They'd—they'd make hinges for doors, pots—pots and pans.”

“Where are they?”

Her face is wet as she looks at me with an odd expression, “They—they didn't make it here either, Peeta.”

“Oh.”

She wipes her face with the edge of her sleeve, “Peeta—you're not okay, right now. You knew Guwar longer than you knew me!” as she stands up the bowl tips over and things spill, “Why—why aren't you—? Say something!”

“You knocked over the bread,” I point to it as the bowl clatters off the bed and onto the floor, rolling in a small trailing circle.

She gasps a little, but at the same time she turns to me, curls of hair bouncing around her face, “I know you went through a lot!” she says, “I can't even imagine, but you're just—this is—I think I preferred it when I thought you were going to kill me!” and she goes and hammers on the door with her fist.  

Eating is getting easier. Throat not so sore. Can eat more which they like.

This one doesn't nervously watch the window like others. Maybe no one is out there this time of day. This one also likes to blather most of them are quiet. Flat. Spoon. Spoon. Drink. Spoon. Spoon. Drink. This one has offered to let me try and feed myself once now but was told against it by someone else but now we're alone.

“Do you want to put on the tapes?” She says, “I know they showed things to you in the earlier session but I don't think it'll matter too much if we review them again...”

Do you know how many times I watched the tapes, Caesar. Do you?

“No.”

“Oh.” Disappointment. Good. Sad, though. Bleeding heart. Exploit.

“I'm hungry,” Look at food, “Can't think much else.”

“Oh, of course, I'm sorry. Silly me and tapes,” she brings the food over next to the bed and sits nearby offers the spoon of food. Eat obediently. Give her sad eyes.

She looks around after a moment, “They're never ones to give anyone chances; but how are you going to get any better if they don't let you do anything at all.” She comes around to the left and loosens the middle of the strap. Still fastened but there's give between the bed and arm just enough to eat if distance is closed between bowl and mouth. Eat a few spoonfuls. She watches happily.

Shaky hand. Drop the spoon close by side of bad.

“Oh, oops!” She laughs and comes over to pick it up. Hit her with the bowl. Throw her off guard. Choke. She slumps.

Undo the cuff from the bed on the left. Undo the cuff on the hand on the right. Undo the legs. It's not like she has any weapons. They wouldn't bring that in. Take off the wrist thing from the left. Listen at the door. No sound.

Open the door. Corridor. Guard at end of corridor. Have to get out. Have to get out. Must find her. Guard turns. Sees.

“Stop.” Hand up, “Stop right there.”

Spring. Pin him against wall. Spoon in ear. No more. Down. Go on.

This room is low lit has many shadows, many beds. Empty. Across to the side no exit.

“What the fuck just happened?” Voice familiar.

To the back then.

“I'll check.” Male voice. Not familiar.

“You? Really?” Snort, “Okay. Should be fun, huh, kid?”

“You?”

Turn.

“How are you ou-?” Grab head. Hand over mouth. Pull down.

To his ear, “Don't scream. Just say where she is.”

Pull hand slightly away. Other hand on throat tight, “Wh-who?”

Useless. Discard. Carry on. No scream.

“What was that?” A whisper. An echo.

“Someone being useless and stupid and probably dead. Stay here. Stay down.” 

Movement from right. Shape pounces near on empty bed. Lithe. Bald. Female.

“Blondie! Look at...you...” head tilted to side, “Shit.” Off the bed.

Noise to the left.

“No—No,” Familiar she says, “You know it's me you want to take,” she moves odd. Feet lifting too high, “Fucking bare feet,” movement behind, “shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. Fuck.”

Keep it real with me, Blondie.

“I told you stay down,” she points, “stay,”

Screams in the dark. Back for more, are you?

“Gonna take your shot, at me?”

Batshit. I can work with that.

Shove the bed towards. She jumps up on it. Then over. Fall back. Roll her. Not the right her. All spike and harsh. Not trying to play nice. Not tricking. No mutt.

“What's with you?” she says.

Hit her face. Throw to wall. Kip up.

“Oh? play time?” She cracks her neck.

Keep moving. Have to get out.

Attack comes from behind. Arms round neck. Legs round waist. Breath on neck. Reach to grab to throw but:

“Come on, Blondie,” Fingers tapping on chest, words right in ear, “I thought you wanted to play. You gotta keep it real for me though, right? You promised.” Hands don't want to work.

You know these assholes cut off my hair?

As much as any of us were sane to begin with.

Speak for yourself.

There you go. It's working already.

Get her away. Get her.

Don't be sorry. Be pissed.

Where is this? Who is on me? Get her off. Throw her. Drumming on chest. Grab. Pull. She twists round. Facing me. Face to face. Johanna.

Do I get to call you Baldie instead of Blondie?

“Ahh—you knew me for a second there?” Fingers tapping shoulders. Hold on neck one hand. Smacking hand on shoulder. Throw her. Grab her ar—no. Johanna and I must get out of here. The odds are not in our favor. We're prisoners of the Capitol. Have to find her. The mutt. Ground. Ground meets knees. Johanna jumps off and sits in front of me.

“It's too loud. It's too loud. Have to get out.” Move her...together. We need to leave—wait..., “How—how did we get out of the cells? Did you—did you break out?”

Johanna takes my hands, “We're not in the Capitol, Peeta. We're in District Thirteen.”

“No,” That doesn't make sense.

“People came from here and got us out. They got us out. You and me and Annie. The bastard's had Annie too. Finnick's Annie.”

Movement behind.

“Is-is he okay?” quiet voice.

“Thirteen was destroyed.” Thirteen was destroyed. No. We're in Thirteen. I have to tell you this every time I come in and it's getting tiresome. Thirteen was not destroyed. Do you know any other districts that are underground? There was a fire in Twelve. It was her fault. No. No it wasn't. It was fire bombed. It was bombed. The Capitol bombed it. The sky exploded. Was it because of me?

“Didn't I tell you to stay back, baby sister?” Johanna turns ever so slightly. We're not in the Capitol. We're not in the Capitol.

“I need to check on, Holvy. Someone else will be up soon.”

“I really don't think you do.” Johanna answers.

“Holvy?” I ask.

“Don't worry about it,” she tells me, “Where have they been keeping him anyway?”

“I-I don't know. I've consulted on treatment options but I've not been allowed to see him. Too risky. They don't want anyone in there who might remind him of...of, you know. You've been making me stay back.”

“Until he calmed down,” she sighs, “Fine. Go check on Holvy. This might be as much as we get.”

My hands are taken hold of and pulled down away from mine. I see her face in front of me, bobbing around.

“Come on, Blondie. Tell me what you think of the look. Can I pull off bald or what?”

Footsteps go round. Who?

“Blondie?”

“Johanna?”

“Yes. Come on. You're gonna be an ass and not say hello the first time we see each other face to face in months after just being screams through a wall?”

“You're going to say that to him?” She's over behind us now in the slight light I can make out blonde hair tied up around her head and the blue pinafore. It's familiar. Drop the spoon. Choke. No. No. No.

“No point in sugar coating shit that happened,” she keeps tight hold of my hands with one and turns my head so I'm not looking at what the blonde girl is doing. There's someone on the floor. Odd angle. Not moving.

More footsteps. Three sets.

“I hear them too. Stay still.”

Get up. Get up. Threat. Soldiers.

“Son of a bitch.” Three. Guns.

“He's dead,” she says, from the other side, “His neck...”

“Shush...no wait. I'm sorry, Blondie. Baby-sis. Say what happened.”

“His neck is broken.” Useless. Discard.

No. No. Useless. Discard. Carry on. No. No.

I sink back down. Johanna wraps her arms and legs around me.

“Why is he out of the secure room?” a voice asks.

“I don't know!” Johanna snaps, “But he's not a threat. I have him.”

“You can contain him?”

“Yes!” She shouts.

Footsteps walking away. Sound of a comm activating.

“What did I do? What did I do? There was a spoon...There was a woman in the room. I can sort of see her, and the corridor. He wasn't useless. He wasn't. He worked in here, didn't he? How is that useless?”

“I'm sorry, Blondie. I'm sorry. But if she didn't tell you—you—the guards...”

“It won't shut up.” It repeats now. Spoon. Ear. I can hear it squelching in through there. The push of him falling against the wall and the shimmering spoon I got it from the room. I tricked her. I got her to let me eat. I choked her. Is she dead too? Three people? Oh. Oh, I'm going to be sick.

“Keeeee....Keeeeee....” is she scratching my head or drumming me? I don't--

There are people talking behind us. Hushed voices. More people coming. Footsteps. Closing. Threat. Threat. Turn.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

“I'm sorry,” soft voice, “They want to take him back to the room, and that requires morphling.”

“The hell it did!” Everything is already getting—

“It's not up to you, Mason.”

“I told you I had him.”

I knew the fog would get here eventually. 

 

 This goes between parts of the other two sections as shown: 

------

“Stay still! Do you want to bleed everywhere?”

“Where is this? You aren't the same!” Have to go. Have to go. Not safe. Not them. Not the same. Pop thumb. Then back in place. Grab. Throw over bed into other one, “Stay off me! You're not right!” I can undo the legs get the other hand out. There'll be more. Guards, but things fade. Unexpected.

“You didn't expect measures? Have fun with that...we'll get the blood anyway.”

#%#%#%#%#%#

Thirteen. Seven. What do you know about Seven? Thirteen doesn't exist.

It's a trick. It's a trick. She's lying. She's tricking me.

I have to get out.

 

Claws come out of the dark, climbing up onto the bed.

Glowing eyes and a mouth spitting roaches.

Then nothing. Just darkness.

 

I can hear it all around, chattering, clicking, nattering, whispering, everything, too much, overlapping, chittering, hissing, buzzing, bustling, fizzing and it won't go away. It won't go away. It's inside my skin and my teeth and crawling up my nose and down my throat. Mutt. Snow. It's inside my chest and my stomach. It's bleeding out all over. I feel hot and wet and cold and everything is heavy and yet I'm tied down so I don't float away. It doesn't make sense and there's so much noise.

 

Moving shadows flicking.

 

Prods and pokes. Familiar. I understand it.

 

No words or questions. Just the buzz and clicking. Everything blurs. Reds and blues. Brights and shadows. Itching.

 

Where is Seven? What is Thirteen? Snow? Caesar? Are you upset? Make it quiet. Destroy. Get rid of her. Where is the mutt? It's icy and my brain is melting. I feel my ears boring through my skull. Out. Out. Out.

 

I must get out.

#%#%#%#%#%#

Mouth is thick. Everything is scratchy.

The door has opened and someone is coming in with something on wheels. Things chink together. They wear gray, all gray, long sleeves, long pants, short red hair. Letters on their shirt I can't read. Their movements are stiff.

“Good morning,” They say carefully, brushing down the front of their clothes, “You may not remember where you are. This is District 13. We rescued you from the Capitol,” the words seem clunky, “I brought you food,” They point to the tray, “Attendants will come in to help you eat,” They slap their feet together, spin and leave the room.

Two other people come in now. One is the same one I've seen each time so far. The other is different again and looks uneasy with their red hair and pale skin. Does no one see sun?

“Are we going to behave today?” The known one asks.

I don't say anything. I just look at him.

“We-we have water and porridge for you,” the true red head says. Both of them with the gray overalls and the blue pinafores. It's so strange after the way everyone looked in the other place. The Capitol. Right, this is not the Capitol. This is District 13. That sounds odd. Why does that sound odd?

“We're not going to remove the restraints. Until we know you can be trusted to remain calm. So, Brenda will feed you,” he says.

Brenda does not look entirely happy with this arrangement but picks up the bowl and spoon and brings it to me after the other has pressed things and the bed has changed so that I'm in a sitting position. I can see the room now. It's small. There is a glass panel in front of me which has a curtain on the outside, fully drawn and other panels on this side that are partly open. Cabinets below this panel. A cupboard on this side. The door behind me to the right that's where they always come from but I can't turn enough to see all of it now or when lying down.

The porridge is a familiar consistency but it's taste is different. It seems flat. I eat though. But I can't eat much of it before I feel sick. He makes notes on his thing. Brenda is told to give me water and then they leave.

Well, I'm sitting up now. I can move a little easier my wrists in circles things pop and crackle as I do so. Same with my right ankle, my right knee, all my joints I can't get things to feel smooth; but then nothing is smooth in my head so why should my body be different?

Thirteen. Thirteen. Twelve. I remember it. I'm in Thirteen. I'm from Twelve. Why am I in Thirteen if I'm from Twelve? Thirteen. That's what doesn't fit.

My name is Peeta Mellark.

I'm from District Twelve.

I remember it. I remember saying it. In the dark to myself.

I remember screams and shrieks and banging noises.

The mutt pulling pieces out of my legs and stabbing me with them.

I need to be clearer.

I need to get it out, but it's all buzzing and chittering and leaves crackling and popping.

I'm from District Twelve.

I am a guest of the Capitol.

Remember who the real enemy is.

But this is not the Capitol.

Have I really been rescued?

 

#%#%#%#%#%#

 

He's back again. The one who has been here each time. The one who comes in with every group. His name is Keller I am told when I demand it. I have been told this before, I am told. Repetition of things irritates Keller. Repetition of things irritates me, like the clacking of the pen thing on the plastic thing he carries it drums through my ear and coils around my eyes so that when he scrapes his chair across the floor I want to crack his neck but I can't get out.

“How are we feeling today, Peeta?”

“Constricted.”

“Do you remember where you are?”

In a room chained to a bed, “District Thirteen.”

“Good.”

“Thirteen was destroyed. How am I in Thirteen and not in Twelve?”

“Everyone who survived the fire bombing of Twelve is living here in Thirteen now and so are you and the others we rescued from the Capitol.”

I see her standing in the rubble. Laughing. It's a trick. Skulls cracking under feet. Laughing as planes drop bombs from the sky. Another trick. She called them in. Or is this not Thirteen? What are they doing?

 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.  

While Peeta opened the tubs of frosting and laid them out on top of the dresser in the room that served as his bedroom in the tribute center the others pushed his bed against the far wall and laid sheets down on the floor that they'd stripped from his bed and Katniss'. Johanna stripped off the rest of her clothes and laid down on the floor given they had been through Capitol prep she was clean shaven except for a small gingery brown triangle of pubic hair. She shook her head as though tossing her hair even though her hair was short and didn't move in that way. She pursed her lips towards Finnick and winked at him and then stuck her tongue out at Katniss who was now sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come on, Kittylips,” Johanna leaned her head back, “He's not going to paint your clothes. Avox lady!” she shouted.
“Her name is Lavinia,” Peeta remarked.
“Lavinia! Bring us the alcohol!”
“Seriously?” Katniss asked.
“Seriously, the Avox see much weirder, believe me,” Johanna rolled her eyes, “and nothing's really started yet.”
Dutifully the red-headed woman brought the remaining bottles into the room on a tray with the glass tumblers and set it down in the space on the dresser left free from frosting. She signed towards them.
“No, nothing else, thank you.” Finnick said.
Lavinia nodded pointed to the food dialer on the wall and a button by the door and then bowed her way out. Johanna poured liberal portions of three different bottles into one of the tumblers and gave it to Katniss, “Drink up,” she said, grinning, “Good for the nerves.”
Katniss treated her to a slight glare before taking a large gulp of the drink and striving to not pull a face at the strength of the drink. Johanna took one of the remaining bottles and took a drink from it and then offered it to Finnick before she flopped back down onto the floor like royalty waiting to be fed grapes.
Peeta went into the bathroom and came out with several towels and dropped them on the floor near Johanna, “Alright,” he said, “Who's going first?”
Johanna looked over at Katniss and patted the floor next to her, “It's your turn to start things off.”
“It was my idea!” Katniss said. She swallowed some more of the glass and then passed it to Finnick before sliding down on to the floor between the tributes from 4 and 7 and began to lift her shirt over her head. There was a half pause for a moment as it came up to the line of her breasts but she took an internal breath and then lifted it the rest of the way over her head. Her braid caught in the shirt and then flopped back down her back as the shirt was thrown on to the bed.
She felt a little self-conscious for the moment after that while Johanna had a tan and Finnick practically shone, Peeta was the pale white of the Merchant side she had the darker complexion of the Seam and that set her apart and was especially obvious now that she was shirtless in front of everyone with all her natural darkness but then she realized she wasn't being looked down on she was being admired. She had expected it from Peeta but at the same time had been afraid that once he saw her partly naked he would decide that he didn't actually want her after all, but now that neither Johanna nor Finnick was snarkily laughing at her but actually looking at her with desire she was...confused that was the word.
Peeta brought a few of the tubs of frosting down to the floor and a couple of the lids as well, and after asking and receiving a kiss in response to the question began to work on Katniss' stomach, mixing a few of the colors of frosting together wiping his hand on the towel in between taking shades out of the tubs so as not to cross contaminate a reddish brown color formed. Katniss found herself giggling here and there as his touch tickled. Johanna and Finnick curled around either side of Peeta to watch, and were then recruited to pass other colors Peeta lightened the brown here and there to add dappling and then to add a long patch along one side, a neck sprang up from the central mass going towards his fiancee's breast and then Peeta hesitated for a moment.
“I'm going to...”
“It's fine,” she said, blushing a little and, cautiously, worried that she might smudge something on her lower body moved his hand towards her breast and he painted the head of the animal.
“It's a deer!” Johanna said, “Well, a doe,” at Peeta's affirmation Finnick swiped a stripe of red frosting on Johanna's cheek. She countered with blue on his and then licked it off.
“Is it my turn next or Johanna's?” Finnick said, threatening her with a handful of green frosting.
“Are you sure you want more painting and not just a war?” Peeta asked.
“Both,” the both said.
“If you're going to be fighting I can't paint,” Peeta pointed out, “You need to be still for the work to be done.”
“Fine,” Johanna said. She lay down next to Katniss, licking her fingers where blue frosting remained.
Peeta held his hand out to Katniss to help her stand up. She kissed him deeply once she was standing, keeping her chest away from him so as not to smudge his creation and ran to the bathroom to look at it in the mirror. Finnick lay down close to Johanna. Peeta surveyed them deliberating a moment, and then put a large daub of blue and a large daub of white on one of the lids and partially mixed them giving himself a range of blue shades.
He began the blues around Finnick's waist line easily forming water and waves and then wiping off his hands picked up a separate lid and began looking at shades to begin forming something on Johanna when she saw him picking up some of the green she eyed him suspiciously, “No trees.”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said, “Did you see Mockingjays or fire on Katniss?”

“Do not get yourselves into any more trouble,” Haymitch had growled at them before he left with Effie, Cinna and Portia to Effie, Cinna and Portia they were heading down to join the rest of the prep team at an event on the ground floor of the training center that was being put on for the mentors and stylists.
“What else could we do?” Katniss asked. She was curled up on the couch in the main room. Peeta emerged from his room and looked at them curiously.
“I wouldn't put anything past you, sweetheart,” had been the answer.
Katniss treated him to a scowl.
He bowed to her before leaving, “I'm counting on you,” he pointed at Peeta, “No trouble.”
“What?” Peeta asked.
“I expected more is all,” Haymitch said and the door closed behind them.
Katniss stuck her tongue down into her chin towards the door as Peeta sat down beside her, “Why could they possibly think we'd be getting in trouble?” he asked.
“Maybe they know of my insidious plot to hang dummies of Seneca Crane throughout the tribute center to incite a riot.”
Peeta eyed her suspiciously, “Where are you going to get that many dummies?”
The question went unanswered because there was a beep from the door.
“Not it,” Katniss remarked, “If Haymitch forgot something I am not letting him in.”
The door beeped again, insistent.
“Fine,” Peeta said, standing back up. By the time he got to the door there was an insistent banging, and someone on the other side who was definitely not Haymitch was going.
“HEY! HEY! OPEN UP! I KNOW YOU TWO HAVEN'T GONE ANYWHERE!”
He recognized the voice instantly, “Johanna?” he said, opening up the door.
“Hey, Blondie!” she said with a wide grin. She had two bottles one green, one opaque white, behind her was a bemused Finnick carrying three more bottles and with a bag slung over his shoulder the strap braided rope.
“Are you going to let us in?” Finnick inquired, “Or do we start the party out here in the corridor?”
Peeta stepped to the side to let them in to the room.
Katniss stood up, surprised and confused, “What's going on?”
“Is that anyway to greet people who come bearing gifts?” Johanna asked, setting her bottles down on the coffee table after jumping over the couch between her and Katniss. Finnick moved by Peeta slapping him on the shoulder and sliding onto the couch by Johanna and setting down his own packages. There were now five bottles on the table and the mysterious bag which Johanna opened. It contained fruit and a circular device with a pointy middle and sieve holes which Peeta realized after a moment would allow fruit juice to strain through, and a small funnel.
“I'm still not--” Katniss started.
“Oh, now, Kittylips,” Johanna said, “Be still and be quiet.”
“Hark whose talking!” Katniss retorted.
“Peace both of you,” Finnick said, “Now is the time to eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die,” he popped the cork on one of the bottles and turned to Peeta, “I'm sure you have glasses somewhere...”
“You can't just show up and...”
“Katniss,” Peeta countered, turning to look for where glasses might be and finding that Darius had already brought some tumblers from the kitchen area and was handing them to him, “Thank you,” he murmured and walked back down to the lounge area and set them down on the coffee table.
“Don't 'Katniss' me,” Katniss told Peeta, “You weren't invited,” she turned to the other two Victors.
“All the more fun,” Johanna replied with a wink, “Invitations are boring.” She pulled a strawberry from the fruit assortment Finnick had tipped out and popped it into her mouth pulling the stem and leaves off and flicking it across the room just by Katniss face, “Besides what would you be doing if we weren't here. A riveting night of looking longingly at each other from across the room?”
Katniss glared at her more deeply, but Peeta shifted his eyes away a little, looking mildly embarrassed. Johanna let slip a wicked grin. She and Finnick exchanged knowing glances.
“Poor sweet babies,” Johanna teased. She patted the seat, “Are you gonna sit down, Blondie? I won't bite unless you ask me too.”
Finnick was rolling an orange between his hands, having poured a generous portion from two different bottles of drink into each of the four tumblers. He winked at Katniss as he did so and she rolled her eyes.
Peeta sat down across from Johanna next to where Katniss had been sitting. Katniss sat down next to him and crossed her arms and one leg over the other. Johanna laughed. Finnick pulled a knife from where it was attached to his ankle and began to cut the orange. Where juice slipped out of the orange he licked it and then licked his lips until he had the whole orange cut through and then he squeezed it into the glasses. Johanna popped a cherry into each one and Finnick cut two strawberries in half and dropped each half into a glass, then pushed two glasses across the table to the tributes from District 12.
“Come on,” he said, “Try it. It's sweet and delicious. Just like me.”
“What is it?” Peeta asked, picking the glass up and sniffing it.
“The ticket to a fun evening,” Johanna replied, “You guys really could do with loosening up.” She heaved a pointed look in Katniss' direction.
Peeta turned the drink around in his hands a few times and in the end swirled the strawberry around in the liquid and ate it, finding it definitely sweet but also very tasty, “S'good,” he said.
Katniss and Johanna had their eyes locked on each other.
“Seriously.” Johanna said, “I don't think you could get any tighter.”
Katniss picked up her glass and drank until it was empty and then set it back down, “Your move,” she said unable to keep the wicked grin from forming as she wiped the corner of her mouth and forced herself not to hiccup.

[/posted as chapter 1]

 

“Ah...got one!” Katniss pointed at Peeta, “I—I—I do not sleep in one room in my house!” Katniss said.

“Fine,” Peeta drank a shot, “I don't know how to hunt.”

The other three drank. Johanna picked up one of the green bottles and refilled the shot glasses on the coffee table. She had long since slipped down from the couch and on to the floor. The Avox had taken away the tumblers and replaced them with a dozen shot glasses about an hour ago hearing the game of “I Never” being proposed. Katniss was still on the couch. Finnick had moved to one of the comfy chairs and was lounging across it. Peeta was also sitting on the floor, head rested on his arms which were rested on the table, winding a finger through a pool of condensation that was on the surface.

“I do not have a room in my house dedicated to axes,” Finnick said, pointing with one finger from his now empty glass towards the tribute from District 7.

Johanna laughed, drummed her hands along the table top and took a drink from one of the shot glasses on the table, “I still say we should be stripping and not drinking,” she said.

“There's always time,” Finnick remarked, “Though some of us would be at a disadvantage.”

“You're—you're the one who goes around prac—practically naked,” Katniss managed.

“Well, then, maybe we should play truth or dare?” he offered.

Johanna rapped her hands on the table, the harder vibrations across the table, causing Peeta to sit up, “I am all for that!” she said, “What about you two?”

“Sounds fun,” Peeta said.

“Excellent!” Johanna rubbed her hands together, and topped off the few empty shots, “Alright, everyone take three and finish them! And then we'll start. Finnick can go first! Show you guys how it's done.”

“I think it's pretty self-explanatory,” Peeta remarked, downing one of the shots and failing to not pull a face as it burned his throat. Katniss slid down onto the floor by Peeta to drink her shots, steeling resolve to keep as straight a face as possible. Finnick and Johanna did their shots with no trouble, and then Finnick declared that he wanted a dare.

“Of course you do!” Johanna laughed and applauded, “Let's do something light don't want people chickening out,” she eyed Katniss again.

“Why...why is this always going to be...to be me that you say these things to?” Katniss demanded.

“Because,” Johanna said, “You're the one with the stick up your ass. So, the dare for the fair Finnick,” she looked between Finnick and the others at the table, “kiss...” she looked back and forth Katniss, Peeta, Katniss again, “...Peeta,” she said, “and make it a good one.”

“Who? What?” Peeta asked, looking about the table.

Katniss drew herself up straight backed, “This is a dare for Finnick.”

“I know.” Johanna answered, “and this is how the game works oh dear person who hasn't played it before. So, Finnick, do you accept your dare?” She treated him to a cat-like grin.

Finnick slid off the chair so that he landed next to Peeta and put his hand on the blonde boy's thigh. He leaned in, closing the distance between his face and Peeta's, “You're okay, yes?”

“Does this count as my dare too?” Peeta inquired with a half smile.

“Sure, why not?” Johanna laughed, “I'm game.”

“You just--” Katniss started.

“Hush, hush, Kittylips,” Johanna waved a hand, “Enjoy the show.”

Finnick put his hand under Peeta's chin and turned his face up towards his own and then pressed his lips onto the younger boy's gently, then more firmly. He moved his hands to cup the back of Peeta's head. Peeta found he had one hand on Finnick's back and one on the back of Finnick's head as he returned the kiss. Finnick's tongue pressed between his lips searching for Peeta's, found it and toyed with it and then left it alone, toyed again and then moved away again, back to simply kissing and then tongue simply teasing lips enticing Peeta's tongue to seek out his mouth instead which it did almost on reflex. Both of them had hands gripped on each others heads now and rose up onto their knees, the kiss deepening, pressure intensifying on each others' lips, breath hitching slightly.

Johanna let out a whoop.

Katniss felt her cheeks burning.

At the whoop the two boys broke apart. Peeta sank back down towards the floor feeling his cheeks redden.

Finnick wiped his mouth with his thumb and gave a sly smirk towards Katniss, “I can see why you want to keep him to yourself,” he said.

Peeta reddened slightly more, wondering how that was even possible.

“I think we need food,” Finnick remarked, “Miss Avox, if you please! I know I worked up an appetite!” He elbowed Peeta conspiratorially.

“Your pick,” Johanna remarked.

“Katniss,” Finnick said, popping a cherry into his mouth and chewing on it, while watching her and grinning, “Truth or Dare.”

“Truth,” Katniss answered.

“Boring,” Johanna remarked.

“Not necessarily,” Finnick said.

Katniss swallowed, nervously, remembering through drunken haze who she had just said “truth” to.

Finnick pulled a knotted cherry stem from his mouth and set it down in the middle of the table, “So, dear Katniss, tell us the truth. How far have you and Peeta gone?”

“Gone?” she asked.

“Wow,” Johanna said, “Do you really not? Kissing? Groping? Eating out? Blow jobs? All the way?”

Katniss chewed on the question for a moment.

“Truth. Remember.” Finnick said.

“Kissing,” she answered, “and a little bit of hands, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Johanna was clearly disappointed, “Be still my heart.”

The Avox came back, carefully slid the shot glasses to one side of the table and set down a tray of sandwiches and a tray of small cakes. There had been another empty tray underneath the tray of cakes and they put all the empty shot glasses onto that tray as it rested on the table. They made some signing motions.

“Yes,” Finnick said, “I think more of the tumbler size would be good.”

The Avox nodded and disappeared again.

“So, it's my turn?” Katniss said.

“Yes.” Johanna said.

“Okay. Johanna, I pick you.”

“Dare.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Finnick said.

Katniss chewed on her lip, and then looked towards the window and then back at the other victors seated around the table.

“Come on, Kittylips, we haven't got all night.” Johanna said, drumming her fingers on the table again.

Her mind was blank. There were so many things she could think of but they weren't truly dares. Johanna had been naked in the training center before. She'd stripped in the elevator when they first met even.

“Alright. You're taking too long. Blondie, come here.”

Peeta looked over, confused.

“Come here,” Johanna said, waving her hand.

Peeta stood up carefully, bracing his hands on the table, afraid that alcohol would make him extremely unsteady on his prosthetic, and stepped around Katniss and then carefully sat down again between Katniss and Johanna who whipped his shirt partly off before he knew what she was doing. It stopped at his arms because of how he was sitting, but his chest was bare.

“Johanna!” Katniss shouted.

“What are you--?” Peeta got out.

Johanna just grinned mischievously, picking up one of the cakes that was a puff pastry filled with whipped cream, “You've forfeited because you took too long to come up with something,” she told Katniss, “so you get the dare instead.”

“What?” Katniss sputtered, “How is that?”

“It's in the rules,” Finnick said.

“You never said.”

“You never actually asked what the rules were,” Johanna pointed out, sticking her finger into the cake and scooping out a huge daub of cream, “So, really, that's on you,” she wiped the cream onto Peeta's bare chest making sure that it was across his left nipple which was closest to Katniss, “Lick it off him,” she said, licking the remains of the cream off her own finger the cat-like grin returning. 

The mood is more upbeat climbing back on the train after dinner in nine. I think it helps, somewhat, that we had nothing at all to do with the deaths of their tributes. They were killed in the Cornucopia on the first day, something we avoided thanks to Haymitch's advice. Things to remember for the future trainees. Just grab a bag and go, don't be lured in to the shiny because it is full of sharp, pointy death. Maybe you'll last more than twenty minutes, like Cambria. That was her name. The girl from District 8. Her partner, Tanner, he died in the bloodbath though; but she survived, until she got too cold and started a fire and then they found her.

Effie had summoned pie from the dining car when we got on board and met back up with the rest of our team. Cinna even stayed on the train this time along with Portia and the rest of the stylists. We were sitting around chatting and playing cards, eating pie, drinking milk, and Effie started going on about outfits for tomorrow, “It's textiles, after all, we have to make sure to look good,” and that's when I remember Cambria, gagging and choking on her own blood, red flecks on her auburn hair and her jacket in the firelight behind her, eyes wild with fear as they laughed and hooted.

“Cinna and Portia always come up with wonderful things,” Katniss comments.

“I'm sure whatever is decided will be great,” I tell everyone, “but I'm tired all of a sudden. I think I'm just going to go to my room,” and I'm excused after Effie grabs my hand tightly. Haymitch gives me a half-nod I'm not sure he's fully paying attention. The look from Katniss is slightly annoyed but she has Cinna there to keep her company against any onslaught of ostentatiousness that might occur.

Thankfully there are bathrooms up and down the train because I'm only part way to my room when the recent pie, and the meal we ate with District 9's mayor and his family finally escapes despite my constant wishes against it. I sit there for a while breathing slowly and trying to keep the memory of it out, but that's the worst thing you can do really, because it just cycles around.

She'd lit a fire.

I remember Haymitch telling us early on how that was basically a big call for attention. How you had to find other ways to keep warm, layer yourself under things to keep the heat between the layers, find a hollow to hunker down in and bury yourself under leaves, something, anything other than light a fire, unless you knew you could do it in a way you were absolutely not going to be seen, like a cave because you light a fire and it's just a big HEY KILL ME NOW, and that's what it was and they swooped down on her, but it was a kindness. They were torturing her and then they just wanted to walk away and leave her there choking on blood.

When I leave the bathroom I find Portia waiting on the other side of the corridor. She's leaning against the wall, a splash of crushed magenta satin against the dark wood, holding a folder to her chest. She doesn't wear as ostentatious of wigs as Effie does, but neither is she as unobtrusive as Cinna. Her hair is in a tight blonde bob today, it has streaks of magenta through it matching the dress, “Need me to call someone?” she asks.

I shake my head, “I think that was a one time thing.”

“Ah,” she says, with a rueful smile, “Clothing decision has been made.”

“I'm sure it's fine.”

“Are you?” She asks, and I know she doesn't mean if I'm sure about the clothes.

“Yes.” I nod, “Things are a lot better now.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder, and then on my cheek. I wonder how much older than me she is. It's hard to tell how old any of the Capitol people on the train are. They don't age the way our families in the districts do given they have their skin peels, surgeries, and restructurings; but given she and Cinna are new on the fashion design scene I imagine they can't be that old. Cinna seems so different to them all though: muted, deliberate and somewhat calculating. All of our outfits so far have been muted compared to other years' tribute tours, where they've been fairly bright and gaudy. These are elegant but still as though we're in mourning, and nothing to attract too much attention. We're sorrowful along with you not we're celebrating the death of your children. If only there was some sort of outfit that could help us act more emotionally and romantically in sync with each other. I don't think anyone's believing anything. Of course it's hard to convey things in three minute speeches compared to days in a cave together.

“You don't look like things are fine,” she says.

“I'm not feeling sick any more.”

We start walking towards the area where everyone's sleeping quarter's are, “That's something,” she says, “I wish I could give you more advice—but I have no idea. I've never been through anything like this. I had no idea what I was getting into.”

“Well, 12 hadn't won in 24 years,” I point out, “No one knew what they were getting into.”

She hugs me at the door to her room, “I was supposed to be making you feel better.”

“You did.”

“Liar. I'll see you in the morning,” she waves the portfolio at me, “You want to see what you'll be wearing?”

“I'll take the surprise. I'm sure it'll be great as always.”

 

Once I'm back in my room things start to circle back to me and I try to find ways to distract myself given sleep proves to not be an option. We have access to books now, more books than ever before, but a lot of them are vapid and dull. Effie has a lot of history of fashion designers and things of that nature that she keeps dotted about, but there are others I've found that are much more interesting. I'm not sure if they're hers. Honestly they more likely belong to Haymitch, Portia but probably Cinna, but there's the one I've been reading, or trying to called “Losing the Power: Democracy's History and Failure,” there's no signed author to it because it's more a compilation of bits from various other books but it's hard to follow as tired as I am. It looks like it's saying at one time there might have been more than even thirteen districts, each of them had their own separate rights and ruler ship apart from the Capitol and there was a college people went to so they could vote in elections or something. I've read the same paragraph about four times and it's still not making any sense, but drawing was mostly just me drawing swirls on paper which is just a waste so I erased that, gave up and started reading.

Then there's screaming. I bolt up and wind up in a tumble on the floor thanks to trying to set off one-footed. So a cracking thud sees myself in a pile of covers, pillows and shoes. I disentangle myself, sit up, lock it on from it's position next to the bed, kick up, and out the door. We're still on the train and I don't think anyone would have attacked. I shouldn't say couldn't, because hover craft and they might be pissed at us, but surely “the Capitol's sweethearts” or whatever they're calling us now dying during the Victory Tour would do nothing for this precious peace he was on at Katniss about, would it? Hopefully. The screaming is from her room.

“Katniss?” I open the door to her room.

She's got her head on her knees and is sitting up on the bed hugging herself, blankets all around.

“Stupid. Just a stupid nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to bed,” it's muffled, because her head is in her knees. She waves a hand in my general direction.

“I wasn't asleep.”

She looks up then and I can see the sheen of tears in the half light, “Then...would you sit with me? I'm an asshole for asking, I know...” She shifts on the bed slightly, trying to maneuver blankets from beneath her.

“No, that's fine. I will,” I clarify, realizing 'no, that's fine' might not come across as a yes. I come towards her as she pulls her way out of the blankets and nearly hits me in the face with the edge. I shield my face.

She falls back on the bed laughing, “I'm sorry.”

“No, that's fine. Just blind me, that's alright.”

“I am sorry,” she reaches for my hand and guides me to the bed as though I was actually blind.

“Imagine how much sympathy we'd get though. The poor blind amputee...”

“Oh, don't,” she says, “It's not funny,” but she is giggling.

She slides back on the bed and to the side so that I can get on to the bed myself.

“Do you want to tell me what the nightmare was about?” I ask offering her my shoulder. She accepts it and curls up against me. I feel my heart skipping slightly with the pressure of her head against my chest and the feeling of her breathing.

“It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid if it had you screaming.”

She sighs, “It was the muttations—the dog things at the end of the...” she trails off, waving her hand.

“I remember.”

“But they'd pulled us both down and...well, you can imagine,” she shudders against me.

“Yeah,” I partly regret that I asked but it's out of her head now, hopefully it's not trapped in mine but right now, at least, she's here, resting against my chest and I feel as though everything will be fine because of that, “we're safe. We're safe.”

“It was Rue. It was the one that was Rue.”

I rub my hand down her arm. There's a temptation to kiss the top of her forehead, but I pull it back. That is the cave talking, and we're not there. We lay there in silence for a while. She drums her fingers against my chest and I try to keep my thoughts more pure to avoid certain things but then she asks something that definitely kills any risk of that, “Were you okay earlier? You kinda left the game abruptly and you normally have Effie eating out of your hand about all the mundane things about the speeches and everything.”

I sigh.

“Honesty,” she says, patting my chest.

“I...was sick—sickened.”

“Ah,” she says, “Not the food?”

“No. I—I was remembering the poor girl from eight, Cambria, and what the careers did to her.”

She tightens her grip on me. She saw the recap at the closing ceremony, of course, “You did her a mercy.”

“I know.”

“She was suffering.”

“I know. They were monsters.”

“I know,” she whispers, “I...can I ask something?” she looks up at me.

“Of course.”

“Will you stay?” Is it my imagination that she's blushing at that?

“Of course.”  

Everything is tense after we've been drug back on the train by the Peacekeepers who were angry that we got away from them and hid to have our secret conversation. Katniss is still shaky and upset. Effie is seething—not only at our mistreatment but at the fact that our itinerary has been thrown to the wind. Haymitch, of course, goes straight to the liquor. He starts to pour a glass but then just drinks from the bottle. Katniss tuts at him.
“Don't start with me, sweetheart,” he retorts.
“I'm sorry,” she says, turning to me, “I really am.”
“This is exactly what I was talking about, or trying to talk about,” I point out, “If we could ever have talked.”
“I've told you talking isn't something I'm good at,” she retorts.
“Clearly!”
“Come on, come on,” Effie waves her hands between us, “Let's just all calm down.”
She is the unfortunate recipient of three different types of angry look.
She smooths herself down, “Obviously we're not going to get to eat the meal that was scheduled, maybe we should go to the dining car and sort out what we're going to do in ten tomorrow to prevent this happening again. Might I suggest just reading the cards?” She offers, “I mean it's not to say that wasn't a lovely thing that you said, Peeta, I just--”
“No, Effie, I know. Certain things have been made much clearer to me. I apologize for going off script.”
“It's alright,” she walks over, I've no idea how she manages to do this so well in the heels she wears, and takes my hands, “It was very eloquent, and you meant well.”
“Let's just drop it,” Haymitch says, “What's done is done.”
“I didn't mean for it to happen,” Katniss repeats. Her voice is damp.
“We've been over this already, sweetheart,” Haymitch says, but he has softer edges now, “Let's not hash it out again. Everyone knows what's at stake now. Effie's right, and you know how often I agree with her so make the most of it. We should get to the food.”
“I'm not hungry,” she mutters, and disappears towards her room.
Effie starts to say something but Haymitch waves his hand at her and she makes a “hum” noise and then messes with the back of her wig instead.
“It's okay, Effie,” I say, “Let's just give her a half hour or so then I'll take her something.”

I knock on her door with my head, given I'm holding a tray and trying to balance on one foot or the other proved tricky. It had taken long enough to argue against one of the attendants coming with me I don't need to show they were right and spill everything everywhere.
“What?” Katniss asks, it's confusion more than anything else—the noise must sound really odd.
“It's me,” I tell her, “I bring food.”
“I'm not hungry. I said that earlier.”
“It'll keep. Please?”
She opens the door and then steps to the side to let me in. She hasn't changed out of the outfit that she was wearing in eleven. Her hair is still loose about her shoulders but she looks more rumpled. She's thrown a few things about the room but it's more half-hearted than I would have expected from her. I set the tray down on the desk that's right by the door.
“It's mostly fruit,” I tell her, “Though there is a sandwich and some soup,” I point to the two items that are in covered bowls, “in case you are actually hungry and just being stubborn.”
She sits down on the edge of her bed, “I...just don't know if I can actually eat,” she says, looking at the wall on the opposite side of the room. Then she looks at the floor, “I keep seeing that man and there were those other shots, what if Rue's family..?”
“It's not our fault,” I tell her, trying to convince myself as I say the words, leaning against the desk, “The Peacekeepers are the ones who shot him and it doesn't do any good to wonder...”
“I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Snow,” she says, leaning forward.
“And I'm sorry I've been so angry with you,” I tell her.
“You have every right,” she shakes her head, leaning back, “I'm despicable.”
I cross the room and sit down next to her, “No, you're not.”
“I am,” she looks away, “I can't...” she shakes her head again, “You were right about it all. That's what made it worse. You're right to be mad. You were right. I should talk. We do need to talk about things. I just...I don't know how. You're so nice and I've been so awful to you. I hate myself, but I just...I don't know how to do it. This is more than 'what's your favorite color?', Peeta. I know that. I just...” she sighs, “I'm repeating myself.”
“It's okay,” I tell her, “and I'm sorry if I've been pushing you in any way.”
“I need pushing,” she says, “I'm stubborn like you say. I know it. I...” she puts her hands to her head and runs them backwards and forwards across her scalp, “want to be...I don't know how this works.”
“It's okay,” I say again, “You can do this. You survived the Hunger Games you can survive making friends.”
She laughs, “So you say, but you have no proof. I mean it's started with questions about colors, what next foods?”
“That would be a start.”
She shakes her head, “I did like that lamb stew we got.”
“I knew that already.”
“I know...” she sighs. She gets up and goes to the desk pulls out the chair, sits down and starts examining the food that I brought. She dips the sandwich into the soup and takes a bite, “I told you I'm no good at this.”
“Well, then, ask me things,” I tell her, “I'll show you how painless it is.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes glint then, “You shouldn't say things like that.”
“I said it earlier, Katniss. We need to know each other. We need to be able to be friends. At least if we're friends we'll have some sort of positive rapport on camera. It'll help, especially with what's at stake. I don't want to put your family at risk.”
“What about your family?” she asks.
“Of course, I don't want to put them at risk, either.” That's complicated though, some times...
“I thought you said this was painless,” she teases.
I pull myself back a little way onto the bed, “Then ask your questions, milady.”
She pops a grape into her mouth and muses for a moment, “When you talked about what your mother said--”
“You really are going for it, aren't you?”
“You brought this on yourself, Baker's Boy.”
“Fair point,” I bow to her slightly, “Do continue.”
She eats another grape, “What did you like most in school?”
“I thought you were aski--”
“I can change my mind. I'm the questioner,” she goes back to the sandwich and soup, “So, what did you like most in school?”
“Being outside,” I answer, “We could run around.”
She laughs, “Somehow I thought you would have liked school more.”
“I didn't say that I didn't like school as far as the work part. I just liked being outside more. There was so much more color than in the drab classrooms, and we were in the fresh air. We could run around.”
“But not the woods?”
“I don't know the woods the way you do. They've always been full of danger for me, and I think we've established it's not the place for me as far as being able to hunt, which is the main reason to go out there.”
“I was so terrible to you...”
“You're fleet of foot. I am not and it wasn't helping.”
“You were hurt!” she shakes her head, “You couldn't help it.”
“I don't think it would have mattered. I've never had reason to learn. You don't have to learn to be quiet hauling hundred pound sacks around a bakery, and now...now I don't know that I'll ever have the ability.”
“Well, you don't have to worry there,” she says, softly, “We don't have to sneak through any woods on the Victory Tour. Everything's out in the open,” then she comes back over and sits next to me on the bed. She puts her hand cautiously onto my left knee, “and...” she says, as though something might bite her, “this is the other reason I...I had such a hard time. I...I feel so guilty. I cost you, your leg. It's my fault.”
“Katniss...”
She looks away again.
“No, come on.” I can't help but laugh a little and that does make her turn back though she has an angry look on her face again.
“I'm being serious!”
“I know you are,” I point out, “I just...that's part of why I got so frustrated about the whole bread thing and things blew up on that day, because here you were constantly going on about the bread and me dropping food off and things like you owed me for the food and here I was bringing those things because they were some tiny, tiny way that I could possibly hope to repay you for the fact that I'm alive. I'm alive, Katniss. Like I said in that interview the leg is a small price to be alive. It has it's moments of frustration, but there is no way I could ever be angry about that, so please don't feel guilty, okay?”
She gets up abruptly, turning away and looking towards the window covered in shades, “Please go.”
“I...”
“Just go, okay? I'm tired. I want to sleep.”
I find it hard not to sigh at that. I thought things were going well and now she's effectively pushing me out of the room, I want to protest, to angrily point out that this is exactly the opposite of what we're supposed to be doing but as I close the door she turns towards the bed and I see that she's crying and I realize that's why she wants me to leave. So, I just say, “I'll see you at breakfast,” and close the door.
“Thanks,” she answers, “Good night.”

[I think this follows on pretty well after the part after the Caesar interview, really]

I was born in District 12.
I worked in a baker's shop.
I survived two Hunger Games.
My name is Peeta Mellark.
I was born in District 12.

-+-+-+-

Two guards have come in and are unhooking me. I'm so done with this.
"No, let me go! I said-I said I'd be here!"
"Feisty today." They sound surprised.
I can't last long with it. I'm winded quickly and pissed with myself especially because they find it amusing as I try to push off he hits me across the face and I feel that frequent, familiar taste of blood in my mouth.
"Shit," one says.
"No, there's no broadcast. It's just medical."
There's palpable relief on the other's part as he hefts me over his shoulder the way I used to haul bags of flour and we go down the corridor, the swaying motion lulls me out and I'm not aware of much until I'm dropped roughly onto a cot. A bar goes across my middle and there are clamps around my upper thighs and around my right leg, and then my arms are once more chained above me. The cot is rotated so that I'm elevated, almost vertical. If I wasn't strapped every which way, and still without my replacement leg I could step off and walk.
Mr. Purple and Blue is there in the back of the room I can make him out despite the shadows because of the sharp contrast with the clothes of President Snow. This can only mean wonderful things for me, I swallow out of nerves, but it sparks a coughing fit. Snow looks over, and then points at me. A medical technician comes over and checks me over, can't have me choking to death before they're done with me, I suppose.
Snow takes a few steps closer to me, "You've given such passionate speeches for us," he says, "It's a shame they don't seem to be helping. Is it possible you're not truly giving it your all?"
If you can't say anything nice. Therefore I feel it's best to remain silent.
"Hm," Snow says, "You're normally such a wordsmith." He puts a hand on my chin and carefully pries my mouth open, "No. The tongue is still there. Good. I would hate to have to order someone else's execution today. I fear running out of useful people." He tuts.
"Things are ready," Mr. Purple and Blue says. Though today he's wearing mostly green--that's going to be confusing.
"Very well, Mr. Lethate," Snow says, "I'll leave you too it. I expect a full report."
"Of course." He nods to one of the technicians, who approaches with a syringe. They hook one of my arms up to a bag of fluids, which makes my hand cold and that spreads up my arm. The other arm is jabbed roughly by Purple and Blue--wearing green--Lethate, and there's that horrific burning again. I want to scrape and pull but the other arm is just as badly positioned.
"Let's see what you see this time," the light around his head spreds out as he speaks.
"How long do the raise duels last?" Snow's voice melts out of the door frame, "Eye prom ice dome point am door their four din hard you thin canape pan?"
I'm falling backwards.
Black smoke chokes me.


[edit: Lethate from (Lethe, the river of forgetfulness)+(Atë, goddess of ruin)]
-+-+-+-

"What was the plan for District 7?" the shining lamp stand asks. It bends and curves and I have a hard time following it's movement. I want to point at it but my hand doesn't move at first, and then it does like dough mid prep when you're making snakes to braid together.

Braids are pretty.

Katniss braids her hair.

"District 7?" there's a face in my noodle arm. That's not right.

Johanna is from District 7. Unzipping. There was unzipping. Haymitch laughing. Katniss upset in the elevator. We were high up. Too high.

I'm falling forward, stumbling. The riverbank coming up towards me, or am I coming down to it? Either way it's a jumbling mess, tearing at the already open wound on my leg. I stop for a moment taking that in. My leg. My leg is there. My real leg. Flesh. Blood. Blood everywhere. I'm probably leaving a...no, I fell down leaves and mud, that's probably way more of a trail. If he was going to follow and finish me off he would have already, but no...this has already...hasn't it?
"Let's get you cleaned off," Katniss is in the river, washing the blood from Wiress' body.
Johanna is cursing up a storm behind me on the bank, "I found her for you!"
I need to clean my wound too. It'll get infected. I'll lose the leg. I'll lose it.
"Then you fix her!" Katniss shoves Wiress towards Johanna, "I need to tend to Peeta," she waves to me from the water as Wiress spins in circles, "Tick tock, tick tock!"
"Screw you and your tick tock," Johanna mutters, "Drown for all I care. I got her here, whatever."
Other people should be here. Shouldn't there be...sand??
"What...happened...with...District...7...?" Wiress asks, with Beetee's voice as Katniss wades to the edge of the river, complaining that I've not come far enough towards her, "Why...would...they...burn...everything?" the sun on the river is far too bright.
"What are you talking about?" I ask Wiress, "Nothing's on fire here any more. Just the tidal--" No, this is the forest. There was fire in the forest, Katniss told me. The Girl on Fire caught fire.
Sharp pain in my leg, makes me turn, complaining loudly, "What are you?"
Katniss has jabbed her fingers into the wound, "It's deep."
"Of course it's deep. It was a sword. Cato...but Brutus was in the arena with Wiress and Johanna."
"What do you mean?" she asks, "You're not making any sense."
"Did you give rites to Seeder or Rue?"
Katniss shakes her head, "Give rites? Don't be ridiculous. Why would I give rites? Who has time for that? People are killing each other in here. Now come on. We need to get a move on before monkeys or dogs or something come for us."
"Or blood rain?"
"Blood rain? What blood rain?"
"The blood rain that Wiress and Johanna just came through..." I turn. There's no one else with us. We're in a cave. It's just the two of us.
She crawls towards me, "Peeta, you're not making sense. You've lost too much blood. You need to rest...and I can go to the Cornucopia."
"Please don't go to the Cornucopia." I pause, "but you're going to. You're going to drug me and go anyway."
"I don't..." she sits back on her legs, "We can both win, do you really want to die from blood poisoning?"
She's right. That doesn't make sense.
"Everyone else is going to the Cornucopia though. Clove. Cato. Thresh...they're the only ones alive at this point...no Foxface hasn't eaten nightlock yet. She's still here."
"What are you?" she puts her hand to my face, "You're burning up, but if you're burning up and turning psychic who am I to argue. I'm glad you know about nightlock though. That stuff is very, very dangerous. You don't need to eat that and die. Though it is fairly quick."
"That's something."
"Peeta," she says, "You do need to tell me about District 7 though."
"I don't...what am I supposed to know about District 7? We're in the middle of the arena."
"Well, if you're psychic now. You can tell what their plans are. Why they're going to blow up a bunch of Peacekeepers...what they're going to try and do after that. Who they're working with."
"Now, you're not making sense, honey.";
"Maybe we'll just not bother about the medicine." She sticks her fingers into the hole in my leg, pain explodes behind my eyes, "Maybe you can just tell me now. Maybe you can tell me who you were working with. Who we're working with. Pretend I have amnesia. Clarify things for me."
"What are you?"
She gnashes her teeth at me. Long sharp fangs, "Didn't you ever wonder why I was gone so long? You were hiding out with your friends from 1 & 2 and I made some new friends as well." I feel something crack inside my leg. I thought it was painful before but that's nothing compared to know, and it rips and she pulls hard, more tearing and I realize once she pulls broken bone out in her now clawed hand that tearing was muscle and flesh, "Snow says hello!" she cackles as she stabs the sharp end of the bone into my stomach.

She's dragging me by my right leg. I'm not sure where I can't see properly other than flickering of light. My eyes are swelling shut. My body aches, bruises. Though the ground is strangely smooth and cool. My chest aches and I want to cough and clear what feels like phlegm but I'm afraid to. I feel I might explode in blood.
I think I make out her looking back here as though I might have escaped somehow when her claws are digging into my leg where she's holding me and my left leg is dangling at an odd angle given there's bone missing from the middle part and there's just flesh and a few strands of muscle holding my ankle and foot on to the upper part.
I think I have a concussion.
We stop quickly and I'm spun around. My head hits against something hard, and there's a slow shoooshing sound. We move again, brightness becomes darkness, sweaty, fetid darkness, full of other human smells, urine, feces, blood.
She pulls me towards the wall, through a damp patch on the floor and I'm fastened there, arms spread apart above my head.
"Wait here, sweetie. Someone will be here again soon." She puts a hand to my face. It's cool, "Hm. You're kind of warm."
There's an odd noise above me and then a jet of cold water hits me from above. It pulses on and off several times before I'm left alone, shivering in the dark.