Fatima Merali (
dust_of_life) wrote in
ten_fwd2015-08-20 09:08 pm
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Entry tags:
Wishing you were somehow here again... [OPEN]
((OOC: Figure she's going through this routine every night this month. Feel free to forward-date or back-date tag-ins.))
Growing up among the Cainites of the Order, Fatima had picked up on mechanisms for coping with stress from all across the world and across time. But not a single one of them was making it easier for her to deal with the emptiness of the space next to her in her bed. She'd been stuck on this flying Hilton for months now. But sleep still didn't come easily. After knowing what it was like to hear someone breathing beside her on the pillow, Fatima was having more than a little difficulty letting go.
Fortunately, growing up among the Cainites of the Order had also provided Fatima with a few extra outlets she could use.
It was usually after midnight when she would slip into the leotard Beverly had given her. The halls were quieter at night. Fewer people. Fewer judgmental crew members staring after her like the invader that she was. And the training facility was usually empty.
First, she'd start with a few yoga stretches. Some aggressive chin-ups. Knuckle push-ups. And then the real work would begin.
Somehow, her iPod had managed to survive her ordeal in Zelien. Fatima had doubted very much that she'd ever be able to coax any music out of it, but it was working now. All of her songs were there. Well, they weren't exactly her songs. The classical music was from Liam. The rock-and-roll was from Denise. And the oldies were from Auntie Diana. Didn't matter though. She always listened to the same song anyway. Survivor's Eye of the Tiger on repeat, the earbuds shoved deep into her ears, like she wanted to block out the rest of the world.
The punches she threw against the punching bag were precise and powerful. Fatima had fused the martial arts styles she'd studied with street boxing. And despite the work-out clothes, she always trained in her high-heeled boots. As she used to argue to Arty, you never knew what you were going to be wearing when someone attacked you. Better to be prepared for anything.
If only her loneliness could be punched in the bag.
Growing up among the Cainites of the Order, Fatima had picked up on mechanisms for coping with stress from all across the world and across time. But not a single one of them was making it easier for her to deal with the emptiness of the space next to her in her bed. She'd been stuck on this flying Hilton for months now. But sleep still didn't come easily. After knowing what it was like to hear someone breathing beside her on the pillow, Fatima was having more than a little difficulty letting go.
Fortunately, growing up among the Cainites of the Order had also provided Fatima with a few extra outlets she could use.
It was usually after midnight when she would slip into the leotard Beverly had given her. The halls were quieter at night. Fewer people. Fewer judgmental crew members staring after her like the invader that she was. And the training facility was usually empty.
First, she'd start with a few yoga stretches. Some aggressive chin-ups. Knuckle push-ups. And then the real work would begin.
Somehow, her iPod had managed to survive her ordeal in Zelien. Fatima had doubted very much that she'd ever be able to coax any music out of it, but it was working now. All of her songs were there. Well, they weren't exactly her songs. The classical music was from Liam. The rock-and-roll was from Denise. And the oldies were from Auntie Diana. Didn't matter though. She always listened to the same song anyway. Survivor's Eye of the Tiger on repeat, the earbuds shoved deep into her ears, like she wanted to block out the rest of the world.
The punches she threw against the punching bag were precise and powerful. Fatima had fused the martial arts styles she'd studied with street boxing. And despite the work-out clothes, she always trained in her high-heeled boots. As she used to argue to Arty, you never knew what you were going to be wearing when someone attacked you. Better to be prepared for anything.
If only her loneliness could be punched in the bag.
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"I...should?"
She's honestly not used to being invited to things any more. Not as herself, as just Annie. Annie Cresta the Victor, yes, but only official things and then most of the time the invitation is issued with the understanding that it's all a formality, that she'll turn it down.
But, Beverly.
"What, um. What kind of party?"
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"Well...actually, there's this tradition from earth. It's called a New Orleans funeral. It's...a wild party. Sort of. Dancing. Laughing. Lots of music. In New Orleans, they like to send the dead off in style and..."
She paused, scowling. "Okay, I know this is going to sound really weird but...Beverly and I...we kinda went through something. Something really, really terrible. And we thought it would be a good idea to sort of...get over it by metaphorically burying it. Having a funeral to say it was over, you know?"
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She thinks of Mags.
She thinks of watching, helpless, for days, as two of the people she loves most were tortured by the Capitol's gamemakers.
But not too deeply. Too deeply, and she'll start to cry. Just...just enough.
"I like that," Annie says, softly. "It's. It's a good idea. Um, is. Can I bring my fiancé, too?"
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Well, there was nothing to be done about that.
"Of course," she said, nodding. "Bring anyone you want. A party needs loved ones."
If only she had more of her own.
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All she has in the world is Finnick, and he's lost more than her in many ways. In ways that a funeral party might ease things, even if a little.
And, Annie thinks to herself with a trace of amusement, it's not as if they've ever really gone to parties as themselves. One or two here, but not explicit invitation. Not together.
"If...If you need any help in setting things up, too, I'd be happy to help."
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Still. No wonder Fatima was drawn to her.
That was what happened when you were raised by Malkavians.
"Yeah," she said with a smile. "I'm sure Beverly and I will need some help. Neither of us has exactly done anything like this before."
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She's good with numbers, and numbers keep her busy. They, the other victors, found that out after her games, and then repeated it after her tour. Tossed her to Naia to keep her busy with the accounts and paperwork that came with running the Academy.
It helped her mind start to help from the fractures the games, and then herself, had put in it.
"It...helps to write things down. So you can check them off, and then, um. Remind yourself what you're missin'. And. You might be surprised how many folks turn up, if you have an open invite."
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So she'd help.
"I got something we could use help with," Fatima said. "I mean, since it's gonna be open to all the people stuck here from other worlds, Beverly and I want to make people feel welcome. Feel comfortable. It would help a lot to have a list of the different kinds of foods people expect at a party. So everyone will have something familiar. We'll replicate it and all, but it would help if we know what to replicate."
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"And how much," Annie adds, quietly but hopefully. She could do this. Help.
"I could. Um. Ask around, a little. Get you a list."
Read, mostly. But she'll ask. It'll be good practice.
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She just didn't care.
It was her natural state of being, really. Over her head. She couldn't imagine living any other way.
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