Annie Cresta | Victor of the 70th Hunger Games (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
treadswater) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2015-07-05 09:58 pm
treadswater) wrote in ten_fwd2015-07-05 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
Gym - OTA
There was a time when Annie was in a gym at least six days out of seven. Ages eleven to sixteen, during her time at the Career Academy (a slightly grandiose name for quite a glorified school club, but it wasn't until Annie was a victor herself that she recognized the self-depreciating humour in the name). Before school and after school, training and training and training. After that, when she was washed out, no gyms, but she kept up the physical activity - and exceeded it, fishing being what it is. As a victor, she ran most mornings, or swum. Worked out. Sparred with Finnick. She'd noticed if she didn't, her mind got worse, her fits of hysteria (anxiety attacks, Beverly had called them) more frequent.
But it's been six months since she's done anything properly physical regularly. When her mood's been stable, she's turned the holodeck into a running track, but that hasn't been nearly anything like five or six days out of seven.
She's twitchy, which goes a way to explain how she winds up in the gymnasium, trailing her fingers over the bo staffs in their rack. She'd been good at spears in the Academy, and although the idea of stabbing now makes her uneasy, she's still good at wielding a staff. She can get her fiancé (tall, built, twice her size and lethal) on his back.
Annie picks up one of the staffs and hefts it, giving it an experimental twirl. It's well-balanced, and she smiles, quiet and shy and delighted.
But despite that delight, and how practically she's already dressed (boots, trousers, simple blouse under her loose jacket, hair braided), she doesn't make any further movements towards any of the practice mats.
But it's been six months since she's done anything properly physical regularly. When her mood's been stable, she's turned the holodeck into a running track, but that hasn't been nearly anything like five or six days out of seven.
She's twitchy, which goes a way to explain how she winds up in the gymnasium, trailing her fingers over the bo staffs in their rack. She'd been good at spears in the Academy, and although the idea of stabbing now makes her uneasy, she's still good at wielding a staff. She can get her fiancé (tall, built, twice her size and lethal) on his back.
Annie picks up one of the staffs and hefts it, giving it an experimental twirl. It's well-balanced, and she smiles, quiet and shy and delighted.
But despite that delight, and how practically she's already dressed (boots, trousers, simple blouse under her loose jacket, hair braided), she doesn't make any further movements towards any of the practice mats.
no subject
He shrugs. "I never really thought about any of this before. It's all very... science fiction. Multiple Earths, being in the future, or past... Kidnapping aliens. But hey," Steve offers her a small smile, "at least we have a well equipped gym right?"
It all still seems very surreal to him.
no subject
"At least that," she says, and smiles back. A little. "But. What's science fiction?"
no subject
Steve thinks about that a moment before answering further. Several looks pass over his features as he gathers his thoughts - amusement, contemplative, wonder, more amusement.
Clearing his throat he says, "Well, before coming here for me it was space ships, time travel, alternate realities, parallel universes, life on other planets... That sort of thing. Basically anything that you can imagine but can't explain scientifically pretty much falls into science fiction. Being here though pretty much blows most of it out of the water. Except for maybe the supernatural part..." He looks unsure. "Maybe."
no subject
It's not.
It's wistfulness over all the ideas he's talking about, all the other possibilities that were allowed to be read, written about, dreamt of. Alternate worlds, where things happened differently, not as a fact just as an idea.
What if things were different.
What she actually says, though, is a faintly teasing, "Not really something you were interested in?"
no subject
Steve was always much more of an active child. When he and his sister were young their father enjoyed reading to them but it didn't take long before that was more of a father / daughter thing. Steve couldn't sit still long enough. Instead his Dad had gotten him into sports to help burn off all that excess energy.
Pausing, he doesn't want to ask something that reminds her of her home world, but he's still curious to find out her opinion. Instead he phrases his question for the present. "How do you find being out here, among the stars?"
no subject
Until she won the 70th Hunger Games, and had nothing really much to do. Her book-buying rapidly became A Thing.
(But not as much as Windlass Ward. The man practically lives in a library. Useful to borrow things from, though, and she can always give him her book lists when it's his turn to mentor.)
Steve's question makes her pause.
"I. It's. Strange, I guess. Nothing I could have ever imagined. I just really wish I had a window in my quarters. I could sit there and watch the stars for hours. I never expected it to be so clear, you know? Without the air. The technology, it's mostly what's in the Capitol. A bit more high-tech, but it's not strange. The ship's strange. Wonderful."