ten_fwd | (no subject)

To say Lacey is getting a little stir-crazy would be an understatement.

It's true that she'd much rather be on this ship than in Panem; she'd rather be anywhere but Panem. No one who's been through what she has would have any special love for their home world, either. But Enterprise still feels claustrophobic, and it's not as if there's anywhere she can go that's not the ship. Out there is only stars.

So she's taken to a few small projects in order to distract herself from the way her mind gets when there's nothing to do. She'd gotten an embroidery hoop, some linen, a few yards of silk ribbon, thread and needles from the replicator, and started on a simple piece. She's done more difficult work than this before, but it's been a long time and she wants to be sure she still remembers how.

Yesterday she'd spent working on this in her room, but that had started to feel too cramped, and as much as she would rather isolate herself here (because she can, because here she can be anonymous and no one's watching her or expecting her to do anything), the lounge gives her a little more space to spread out.

She can be found at a table in one corner of the lounge, currently in the process of stitching some green ribbon leaves onto the linen set in the hoop. Periodically, she glances up, assessing the room, before returning to her work.

It's not only distracting, it's calming, and she feels something like herself for the first time in a long while.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In contrast, Gaila's been run off her feet the past couple days. Petty disagreements, minor and yet annoyingly persistent computer errors - little things building up and up and up until by the time her shift's at an end, she'd practically ran to her quarters to shuck off her uniform and get dressed in a defiantly flimsy and colourful tunic and skirt.

There. See if they call her into work now.

(They would, if it was an emergency, and she'd pull her grey uniform back on quick smart, but still.)

She goes to Ten Forward to grab something to eat, something to drink to the relaxing murmur of the afternoon crowd, and heads for a corner. She stands out, still and forever, but again. It's the principle.

For there, eating her stir-fry, she chances upon the Human woman's work. Ribbon, not thread.

Hmm.

Gaila swallows her mouthful, takes a sip of green tea to clear her throat, and then says, "That is gorgeous."

Having acquired himself a proper drink - to help him sleep, he'd tell anyone if they asked - Trip looked around the room and spotted his roommate. He wandered over to say hi, then looked at what she was doing. "That looks complicated." He'd done plenty of things himself that other people might find complicated, but sewing was not something he'd ever been much good at, beyond the basics.

If anyone is going to understand the constant vigilance of a victor, it's Bucky Barnes. He walks into the bar, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets, with the metal arm peaking out from under a red t-shirt. His eyes rove the room, noting where everyone is, narrowing when anyone passes to close to him. On board this ship, it's hard to disappear like the ghost he is.

Lacey's picked his usual corner, and he takes a seat at the table one away from hers. "That's pretty fancy." He can darn, he can makes socks last longer than they have any right to.

Watching someone needlepoint from the back side of the linen is an interesting pastime, Sinthia is finding. She's more fascinated than she'd like to admit by the steady movement, the tug and pull of the needle and ribbon, and so she'd stayed watching rather than move on to the next person.

People-watching was rapidly becoming one of Sinthia's more practiced abilities, really. "That's pretty," she says abruptly, eyes unmoving on Lacey and her embroidery hoop. "What kind of flowers will they be?"

If Lacey hadn't already noticed the girl watching her, she might have been startled to be so suddenly addressed — and it's never really a good idea to startle a victor. But she'd caught Sinthia's eyes on her earlier; it's still uncomfortable, to be stared at, but she's also used to it. People stare at the victors all the time in the Capitol.

She finishes a stitch before speaking up. "Roses," she says, "eventually." There's a lot of ribbon on the table in front of her, mostly green, but also some pink for when she starts on the blossoms.