[open]

[stillplaying]

It's been six months and five days. One hundred and eighty-six days since she had watched her sister burn like a pyre. One hundred and forty-five days since she sought out her revenge. Since she executed Coin and secured her freedom, her only chance to be free of anyone's strings and no longer be a pawn in their games. Less days than that since she returned to District 12. Only sixty-seven there. Fifty-three since Peeta's return and her first attempt to leave the house. She had made it as far as the fence and had to get a ride home in Thom's cart, sitting where all the dead had earlier that day.

The numbers roll through her head as she makes her way through the familiar forests. Reminders of how far she's come. Of life and living and that need to keep moving forward. It plays through her mind along with other words. Her name: Katniss Everdeen. Her age: eighteen. She lives in District 12 again. Commander Paylor is now President Paylor. There are no more Hunger Games. No more war. And somehow, she survived. She survived and others didn't and no matter how hard she tries, she still doesn't understand.

So it's easier to leave every morning right at sunrise. Before Dr. Aurelius can call her or Peeta can stop by. Before Haymitch might be out of his drunken stupor and before Greasy Sae or anyone else might stop by to check on her. Even in the May sun, she wears her leather jacket. Because it's easier to cover up, to hide the scars that might attract attention. Quiver and bow are slung across her back and her bag bounces against her thigh as she walks slowly along the edge of the meadow, carrying her supplies. She takes another step forward and...

...and she stops.

Gone is the fresh air. Gone is the slight breeze and the sickly sweet smell of corpses yet to be fully buried. Mockingjays no longer make noise in the distance. There's a different sort of chatter now. A different smell in the air.

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. There are people here. People in a place that looks like a bar but... but can't be a bar. Because there's no bar that looks like this in District 12. There's no time for the people of 12 to just sit around, doing absolutely nothing. Not with all the cleanup and the rebuilding and this can't be possible.

She takes a breath and forces herself to move. Her eyes dart around, aware and alert, already assessing the people in the room and the room itself. Looking for weaknesses, for entrances and exits, for anything she can use for defense in addition to her bow. She doesn't understand it. She doesn't know how she got here, why she's here, or even where here is. But she refuses to be caught off guard. She refuses to have survived this long only to die in... in some new game?

Did they change their mind? Decide that she was too dangerous to be kept in District 12 after all? Bring her back... someplace, alongside all the other unwanted and dangers from the old Capitol? She looks around and tries to spot someone familiar. When that fails, she forces herself to speak loudly, in as firm and threatening a tone as possible.

"I want to talk to President Paylor. Now."




It's only later, after matters are explained, that she's found herself sitting at one of the tables in the corner nursing a cup of tea, that she might be a little more approachable. But there's still a suspicious and angry look on her face and a steel glint in her eye. Her bow and quiver and bag are on the floor next to her but she keeps the skinning knife beside her hand.

Just in case.

The odds have never been in her favor.

Comments

[miniclaws]

"I do not have enough data to answer that," Laura says. She does not to spin a false tale.

"I only have one incident to base it on. They manhandled the two fighters away and put them in the brig. When we saw them again, they did not have any additional bruising or marks."

[stillplaying]

That doesn't necessary mean much. She knows how good they are in the Capitol. They had repaired the hearing in her damaged ear. The body polish erased scars and other marks on the body, leaving a person the ideal image of Capitol perfection. It's entirely possible that this place has a medical staff just as good.

"That doesn't mean they weren't beaten."

[miniclaws]

"No it does not," Laura agrees. She has a healing factor, and any beatings, or injuries she sustains vanish within minutes. "They do not exhibit fear around the guards, and their heart rate does not increase when they see them, which is typical after a beating." Her eyes narrow. "I will not get complacent. I will keep watching and inform you of any new information, if you wish."

[stillplaying]

She hadn't considered seeking out allies in this place. Katniss prefers acting alone, not relying on others even when it's a more logical step than being by herself. But she's gotten so many people injured and tortured and killed because of her actions. More than that, debts can cost a lot to pay back.

Still, maybe this isn't such a bad idea. So Katniss nods. "What do you want in return?"

[miniclaws]

Laura understands why Katniss would expect to give something in exchange for information, she knows nothing is for free. "Information. You will see notice different things than I do. I do not need anything else on board."

[stillplaying]

It's a fair deal, one that she thinks Haymitch would be proud of her for making. Even if Katniss is reluctant to have allies as any sort, it might not hurt to have at least one. Even if she hates it, hates playing any sort of game these days, she knows the necessity. And she knows how to play by her own rules.

"Okay."

[miniclaws]

Laura nods and takes a step backwards. "I will find you when I have information." She will not actively seek Katniss out before that, but she will not ignore her if she sees her around.

"Goodbye."