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)
sixthiterationlogs2017-07-03 08:14 pm
treadswater) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-07-03 08:14 pm
when the flood calls you have no home, you have no walls [Closed]
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: #House 57
WHEN: 2nd, 3rd and 6th July
OPEN TO: Finnick Odair, Beverly Crusher, Natasha Romanoff and Percival Graves
NOTES: Most starters in the comments
WARNINGS: Anxiety - disordered thinking, intrusive thoughts, etc. Potential panic-attack, discussion of Panem.
2nd July | Finnick Odair
She has to watch.
There's no question of it in her mind, not this. She has to watch. Hearing also helps but trees muffle things, buildings muffle things. Water muffles water, so the rain might mask the sound of the approaching deluge.
There might not be a flood. She can appreciate this. She can. There wasn't a flood last time. But last time she could run and now she's hampered, tied down by the birds and the weather. It's raining. Raining makes it worse. It never rained in her arena, never had to, but here there is mud, more buildings, a river half-dried out and what if things died? Roots no longer holding the ground together? Except, no, it wasn't a drought, it was just hot, but the waterfall came from somewhere and the water had dried up, it hadn't been hot enough or long enough for it to just be the weather, so something was blocking the flow of water. And now it's raining, after an earthquake. Water builds and builds, water has weight, water is strong.
So Annie watches. Uselessly. She can't see the river from here, not really. She's sitting in the bedroom she and Finnick have claimed, sitting on a chair with her arms folded on the windowsill and she's watching.
She can't move. No, not even to make a trap, which she thought about, because Peeta Mellark is here. He arrived last night, when she was bad. Finnick's call. Finnick wouldn't make a bad call, he wouldn't, but she doesn't really know Peeta and she has her back to the door. Open door. Closed would muffle things. Open means she can listen to the creaks of the floorboards but she can't turn around because she has to watch. If she leaves, something might happen. The flood might come. It doesn't matter that she's been sitting here so long, she needs to go pee, she has to watch.
So Annie sits and watches and tries to pay attention to every tiny sound both inside and out.
WHERE: #House 57
WHEN: 2nd, 3rd and 6th July
OPEN TO: Finnick Odair, Beverly Crusher, Natasha Romanoff and Percival Graves
NOTES: Most starters in the comments
WARNINGS: Anxiety - disordered thinking, intrusive thoughts, etc. Potential panic-attack, discussion of Panem.
2nd July | Finnick Odair
She has to watch.
There's no question of it in her mind, not this. She has to watch. Hearing also helps but trees muffle things, buildings muffle things. Water muffles water, so the rain might mask the sound of the approaching deluge.
There might not be a flood. She can appreciate this. She can. There wasn't a flood last time. But last time she could run and now she's hampered, tied down by the birds and the weather. It's raining. Raining makes it worse. It never rained in her arena, never had to, but here there is mud, more buildings, a river half-dried out and what if things died? Roots no longer holding the ground together? Except, no, it wasn't a drought, it was just hot, but the waterfall came from somewhere and the water had dried up, it hadn't been hot enough or long enough for it to just be the weather, so something was blocking the flow of water. And now it's raining, after an earthquake. Water builds and builds, water has weight, water is strong.
So Annie watches. Uselessly. She can't see the river from here, not really. She's sitting in the bedroom she and Finnick have claimed, sitting on a chair with her arms folded on the windowsill and she's watching.
She can't move. No, not even to make a trap, which she thought about, because Peeta Mellark is here. He arrived last night, when she was bad. Finnick's call. Finnick wouldn't make a bad call, he wouldn't, but she doesn't really know Peeta and she has her back to the door. Open door. Closed would muffle things. Open means she can listen to the creaks of the floorboards but she can't turn around because she has to watch. If she leaves, something might happen. The flood might come. It doesn't matter that she's been sitting here so long, she needs to go pee, she has to watch.
So Annie sits and watches and tries to pay attention to every tiny sound both inside and out.
no subject
There were times, back in Panem, when one or the other of them would retreat in on themselves and only emerge when prompted. But earthquakes aren't familiar to him, not like this. Not big ones, and not knowing what to expect from Annie and how to deal with her fears after her Games. It had been different last time, when they'd still been out in the woods, and mobile, and he'd been able to talk her down, a little.
She'd barely slept last night, if at all. She hadn't been in bed when he'd gone to sleep, and she'd been at the window when he'd woken up. He's kept track of the meals she hasn't eaten, the chores she hasn't helped with, the hours she's spent there while he'd tried to fix the hole in their fence where a tree-branch had fallen on it. It can't last.
It can't last, and he doesn't want it to. So he'd made a sort of porridge of seeds and berries that they'd had stored, and he's cut a couple of slices of bread and set them on the side, and he's carrying the plate and a glass of water up the stairs and into their bedroom.
He approaches gently, but with loud enough footsteps she'd be able to hear him.
"Hey," he says quietly once he's close. "I brought you something to eat."
no subject
"Thank you," Annie manages, swallowing. She glances at him, a furtive little look that doesn't last long.
She has to keep watch. It'd be a dereliction of her duty not to watch, you don't fall asleep in the wheelhouse or there is hell to pay and the boat runs aground, or slams into a wave wrong and all that water comes crashing down. All hands lost.
She moistens her lips.
"I-"
She wants to shut her eyes, but she can't. That'd mean she isn't watching.
"Help?"
no subject
It's no less tight and sore around his chest, though, and he steps up beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.
"Help you watch?" he asks, gently, careful to stop the ache inside from seeping into his voice, because it would hurt her to see how much he's hurting. "I can take a shift."
He's appealing in the language they'd been taught as children, the language of the Careers, because if he can get her to relax enough to stop this for a bit, maybe then he can work out just what's happening in her head.
no subject
But he said he'll watch.
"Th, um. Thank you. I. I need to pee first."
Not that it's easy getting up. Her muscles are stiff, joints protesting. They've never liked stress, not after what she did to them in her games, and no matter that they haven't been hurting here with the rain, she's abused them sitting here, tense, all locked and keyed up. Stupid of her, to keep herself so tense. Tense means you move slow, slow gets you killed.
She manages to get to her feet, though. It's only then that she really notices that he had his arm around her shoulders. She had noticed before, but just as a weight. Now it's gone and the comfort of him is gone, too. That's too much for the churning mess that is her mind, though, and she just blinks her eyes rapidly to clear them before making an unsteady way to the bathroom.
It's hard coming back. Not physically. It's just across the hallway. But the dread of seeing what's in the room, what she's left and what she's coming back to. Nothing she tries to herself, nothing will be wrong.. It'll just be Finnick, and he'll be watching, and it'll be fine.
She manages a shuffle, finally. A shuffle back into the room, and she hates the cowardliness of it.
no subject
"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."
He is, though, watching her rather than looking out the window as she slowly makes her way across the bedroom. She's stiff and uneasy in her walking, and she knows she needs to move more than this for the sake of her muscles, but he knows that she can't, because she couldn't move, she's been frozen in fear for a long time, and he has to look away from her, back out the window, not because he needs to watch (though he does, he promised her), but because his vision is blurring with tears.
He can't cry. He can't. He needs to be the one holding it together. So he looks away, out the window, staring into the woods for anything that might need attention. He's still watching when he hears Annie's slow steps scuffing on the floor as she returns. It's been a long time, longer than going to the bathroom should take, but he knows enough about these moods to think that could be simply because it's taking time for her to persuade herself to come back.
He knows that feeling himself.
"Hey," he says, when he judges her footsteps are close enough that she's back in the room. "Nothing to report."
no subject
No.
No.
She left and nothing happened, nothing will happen she comes back in. Nothing. Nothing will happen except then there'll be Finnick and the food Finnick brought and the water. The water because suddenly, she's so dreadfully, horribly thirsty.
It's the water which gets her to move. She can't sit, not with the pins and needles still flaring through her muscles, but she can stand and she sip the water and she can not cry. Crying will only make her throat and everything worse.
Silently, carefully, she leans against Finnick's arm and keeps sipping the water down her painful throat.
no subject
It's movement he hears, a resumption of the slow, uneasy steps she takes when her muscles aren't working properly, her old injuries from the Games never quite healed no matter what the Capitol would have anyone believe. He hears it, but he still doesn't turn, not even when he's aware of her presence at his side. He waits, while he hears her bend to pick up something he left, and then he feels the warmth of her side press against his arm. Very slowly, he lifts his hand, careful not to dislodge her, and presses it against the small of her back, his lower arm pressing against her.
"Hey," he says. "Feeling better?"
He suspects the answer will be no, but it's said for something to say.
3rd July, Morning | Peeta Mellark
It takes her a while to calm down after that, and some of it is spent trying to muffle her hysterics with a pillow. Afterwards, she wears the shirt with something of a defiant air, daring her mind and the world to punish her for it.
She makes it down to the kitchen, doesn't manage to make breakfast. She tries, but dressing has taken her energy and all she can do is follow Finnick's quiet instructions. That's fine. She can do that. Except Peeta's here, and oh, oh, oh, he must have heard her earlier.
Annie wants to run. Bolt. Run outside, never mind the rain. Run back upstairs and hide, let Finnick deal with being social. She can't. She can't, she can't, she can't. But something of her pride lingers, grimly hanging on. The same desperate edge which made her pull on the adorable shirt despite the violent visions behind her eyelids.
So when she sees Peeta, she straightens and looks at him. She tries to gage his mood, his likely reactions. She tries not to stare too long, too intensely, and is dimly aware that she's failing spectacularly. Everything in her head is going too fast and too slow, all at once.
But she has to try.
"Hi," she says.
No, no, no, she needs to say something else. Something neutral. Sociable. Not crazy, she's been too crazy lately and the cliffs aren't coming down, the arena isn't breaking, no one's died. (That she knows of.)
"Why did you picking painting?"
3rd July, Afternoon | Beverly Crusher
She's not sure how long she spends out there, sitting on the steps. Time is difficult, has been difficult since the first earthquake. She's like a buoy, tied in place but bobbing this way and that with the waves, unable to control anything or do anything except simply be. A little while, she thinks. Maybe. She's brought back to herself by the sight of a woman, walking down the road.
The house that Annie and Finnick have claimed is at the end of their particular road; to get it to, either people are coming back from the forest or wanting to get here. Annie squints, watching. Waiting. Trying to puzzle it out.
Oh. She knows the woman. Nice, spoke of ice-cream, but she can't remember her name. The geese honk a bit, the casual overtones that can turn into a warning if the passerby insists on coming closer, and Annie is sure she should do... something. Call out. Maybe apologise for her birds?
She doesn't.
She just watches, and waits for the woman (B something, wasn't it? Be, bee) to make her move.
no subject
So that's why she's walking down the lane to Annie and Finnick's. She doesn't step into the fence just yet, preferring to stop on the edge to wait for either an invitation or a go away sign from Annie, but she does sort of lean on it a bit as she offers a smile at the girl on the porch.
"Hi, Annie," she calls. "I wanted to see how you and Finnick were doing. It's been a while since we last talked."
no subject
"We're still here," Annie manages. Her tongue feels heavy, as do her eyelids and her thoughts. Woozy, drugged, tired. It's exhausting when she's this crazy; another reason to hate it.
She doesn't say Peeta's here. Need to know, that. Habits.
"You're all right?"
no subject
She'll just have to go dry off right after this.
"You and your birds," she offers with a warm smile. "They're pretty protective, aren't they?" They seem to be, but at least they aren't trying to chase her off.
She takes a deep breath at the question and lets it out slowly. The best answer is that yeah, she's fine, but it's so much more complicated than that these days. "I'm fine, personally. A little worried about everyone else, but fine. I guess life here is never dull. It's not exactly the good kind of interesting, though."
no subject
Home. It's a strange word to say, in reference to this place. It feels heavy on her tongue. An anchor. But the only people who think anchors are only good things are those who've never been on the water proper. Anchors can sink a boat just as much as save it. If things go wrong. Things can do that, go wrong.
"Same with Star, and the other, um. Peabirds."
But no, no Annie, Beverly's talking about other things now. She has to focus.
"Did anyone die?"
no subject
"They're all very lovely. I can see you've been doing a good job with them."
She might not be an expert on birds, but she can definitely see that much.
"Not that I know of," she says, in answer to the question. "There were a lot of injuries, but no fatalities. I'll take it. I don't think I could handle a death right now."
no subject
"We're tryin'," she says. "We know fish more, but birds are okay."
As if knowing she's being talked about, Aloft lifts her head from where she's been tucked into a small ball of goose and nuzzles at Annie's elbow. The gesture is demanding: pet me, human, pet me.
Annie does. She's well-trained.
"No deaths? Oh. That's. That's good?"
Yes, yes, Beverly said she couldn't handle a death, so it's a good thing. But she thinks about Gamemakers, and worries.
no subject
Something about Annie seems a little different, though. Like she's been shaken a bit and by something. Though why might be hard to say. The what seems obvious. Earthquakes aren't easy for anyone. Some more than others.
Instead of pointing it out, Beverly tries to work the conversation naturally and let Annie take whatever solace and comfort she can. "It's very good. Otherwise... I'd have to figure out what they do here and everywhere is different." She knows what Starfleet would do, but each of these people seems to come from different places and cultures, so there's no telling what might be right to do.
"Do you keep fish or just have a lot of experience with them?"
no subject
But Annie is a Career, still. It comes across in a number of ways.
As Beverly talks, Annie looks at her. Squints, and squints in blank bafflement. What do people... do? Do with what?
There's something there she could maybe analyse, pull from words and context and stitch together, but it's too hard right now. There's too much fog.
"Keep... fish?" That also is strange, not quite right. "Um. We're fisherfolk? Brought up in District Four, with fishin' with our parents. Trained, too. But it's different, here. Not enough infrastructure."
no subject
"There's not much infrastructure for a lot of things here," Beverly agrees with a shrug and a slight frown. "It's strange to see it working at all."
But with so many people from differing cultures and backgrounds, it's not all that surprising in the long run. Maybe this village will work better than a lot of Earth history. She hopes so. No tyrannical rule. But mob rule won't be much better, either.
"From fisherfolk to geese-keepers. Nothing like keeping occupied, is there?"
no subject
The stronger voices in the group aren't ones to tolerate cruelty or violence. She just hopes that they stick around.
"I'm, um. Being busy is good. It fills in time. But if fish are gonna be farmed more, needs to be like, digging? And pools made, off the river. That kinda infrastructure. What do you do?"
no subject
It would give the villagers more control over their own food supply, she thinks. That sort of idea would be a lot of work, but good in the long run.
She doesn't comment much more on the society they're in now or the earthquake, opting to let that fall by the wayside. Instead, she focuses on Annie's question.
"I'm a doctor here. I just patch people up and lecture them until they take care of themselves," she jokes lightly. "I've also been making and keeping a garden in my spare time. I'm something of a botanist on the side."
6th July | Natasha Romanoff
She takes a walk.
Not far, she doesn't leave the garden. She's wearing boots, because solid and study, and shorts so she can feel the air on her calves. She talks to the birds because they are easy and simple, and she greets Finnick from where he's repairing the fence. That's better. That's easier. All right, so, maybe she stays here, outside, and she'll get to stay in her body.
She walks, always accompanied by some of her geese at her heels. She walks until she's done several circuits of the house, then she crouches down on the path from the road to the house. Her first thought had been to insect the rough, lattice-worked gate she and Finnick have devised, but Port has other ideas. There's something vitally important that Annie needs to know, apparently, and the only thing that stops the conversation between woman and goose is the changing sounds of the flock. Someone approaches.
Annie looks up, but doesn't stand up. She's all right, she thinks. Shaky, a little distant from herself, but anchored enough at the moment. Still, standing means acknowledgement, and she wants to see who it is and what this person wants before she does anything like draw more attention to herself.
6th July | Percival Graves
Except she's itchy now. She'd tried to be coherent for Natasha, be helpful, and it's used energy. She wants to stretch and stretch until her body clicks back into shape, until it snaps out all this pent up feeling. She wants to do something. Move. She wants to move but everything is small, confined now. The wall around the garden she and Finnick made is tight, a cage, a trap. There's more space outside.
How long has it been since she's left the house and its surrounds? A week. Maybe a longer. A week, a whole stupid week.
A week in which nothing bad has happened. No one has died, the flood hasn't come, the earthquake hasn't fractured the house and collapsed it on her and her love. No, just the aftershocks and the earthquake but they survived because she was here.
No, no, Annie tells herself. That's crazy thinking. It's not to do with her, she can leave. She can. She can just step outside, now, just to prove it too herself.
Her hand stops before it reaches the gate.
She can't.
She can't she can't she can't she can't. It'll be awful. There's fear slicing through her, skull down to her heels. If she touches the gate, she'll die and Finnick'll die and the birds will die and the whole careful thing will be swept away because then, because then it'll break. The dam or whatever it is upstream, behind the waterfall. It'll break and the water will come down.
No, it won't.
But she can't do it. She can't touch the gate. She can't move. She's caught, hand just above the gate and shaking. Except no, she manages to move. Slowly, slowly, like escaping quicksand, she pulls her hand back towards her. She can do that. But she can't move, she can't look around, there's nothing else in the world but her and what's in front of her. Her vision is blurry around the edges and she wants to close her eyes, but that'll be bad, too.
"Shit," Annie says, voice a tiny whisper.