out in the woods

[treadswater]

WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: The Forest
WHEN: 14th-25th September
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: General warning for anxious tendencies and homicidal thoughts
STATUS: Open

NOTES: Feel free to catch Annie anywhere mentioned! Or feel free to have your character caught in a snare. If nothing strikes your fancy, just drop me a comment and I'll come up with something.

---

They'd had to move, after the earthquake. Branches had damaged their camp, and the only fresh water easily found was that spring, down in the south-west. So Finnick and Annie had moved, north to south, setting up another camp closer to the water. But not too close and not in direct line of the village - they aren't, after all, stupid. Setting up camp between water sources and the main camp of others is an excellent way to get killed. Neither of them intend to die. Even if there's been no deaths announced. Even if the strangeness is adding up and up to something not even Annie can puzzle out. They aren't dying.

But even with her paranoia whispering and sometimes shrieking, even with fear making her jump and startle and giggle, Annie is settling into a pattern.

She and Finnick take watches during the night, judging time by the moon and stars (and, by now, the howling of the wolves). Before dawn is when they gather water, using stolen water jars and the baskets they've woven tightly from grasses. Before dawn, which means before the others (the other tributes?) come down with their buckets. Food is more haphazard, and only cooked when it could conceivably be safe.

Safer. Not safe.

Nothing here is safe.

Annie fills her day with gathering food, which includes checking the various snares they've placed around. It's a jumpy time for her, because the snares aren't just for game. They are also protection. The area around their camp is booby-trapped, which is the only way she can stand for her and Finnick to be separated. If she stays in the camp, repairing their shelter and containers or just unable to move from her mind's self-sabotage, she's safer with the snares. With the traps.

But she does get out. She goes for scouting trips, the same as Finnick. Exploring the terrain. Trying to find traps, mutts. Trying to find some more water, preferably a stream with fish. The fish in the now polluted river have gone. Oh, there are some suspiciously floating the surface, all so obviously dead, but the rest are gone, gone, gone.

That nothing has resulted from this disappearance, nothing, nothing driving the tributes together, hasn't helped Annie's nerves at all.

She also spies on the water gatherers, and the village. Her uniform might have been white when she scrambled out of the fountain, but by now Annie's rolled in enough dirt and mud that she's dulled it to dirty brown-grey more than white. And she's a small woman, barely 5', who spends a lot of her time up in the trees. But she's got that vibrant red hair and it's not yet autumn, so she's achingly aware of how visible she can if anyone looks up.

Comments

[zomboligist]

Ravi had figured out very quickly after he'd arrived that this isn't a vacation to some less-than-tropical resort where your drinks and meals were included. The instant Ravi had found the garden, he'd understood the purpose behind it and he'd thrown in his efforts to the cause. More than allowing him to stay alive, it has the helpful benefit of also taking his mind off the fear that not being at home given the current crisis doesn't mean there's a zombie apocalypse.

He trusts Liv to keep things in check. The trouble is that without a cure, how long can it really go on?

Which is why he's digging and plowing and planting and watering. He's in the midst of that last one when he cranes his neck upwards to stretch out the kinks of his absolutely not tempur-pedic mattress when he catches sight of the redheaded woman staring down at him, in a tree.

Opening his mouth, he isn't sure how you greet someone like that. In the end, as always, he's quicker to a joke than he is to sense. "Me Ravi," he deadpans. "You're creepy," he accuses.

[treadswater]

It'd been stupid to get so close to the buildings. Stupid, stupid, reckless careless she knows better than this. But she's spent so long frightened (and oh, hadn't that fucking earthquake just sent her to new lows) that she can't tell if it's starting to dull or if she wants to prove something. Maybe both.

But there'd been a clear line of protecting foliage from the forest to the back of the... hall, she thinks it is. The large building, with the makeshift farm behind it. And she'd wanted to get closer, see what's going on. Maybe hear something.

For a moment, she just presses herself to the branch and closes her eyes, like a child. If she can't see him...

But no.

He can.

She wants to reply with something clever, something vaguely witty. Instead, crazy, creepy Cresta just shrugs.

What can she say?

"I know."

[zomboligist]

He narrows his eyes and isn't sure where to go with that. Most normal people don't really get very proud when they're accused of creepy, but the girl seems to be owning it. All that red hair makes him think of Liv's frenemy roommate who turned out to be a spy, which isn't exactly where he wants his mind to be going.

"Is there an indigenous tree people around here that I haven't met yet?" he wonders. "Or are you just special?" he whispers the word, eyes wide, like he's trying to keep a secret.

[treadswater]

Two mental breakdowns in the very, very public eye (and one, maybe, she'll admit to herself and Finnick alone, done to protect her from the Capitol, even with the damage it did) does tend to make a girl aware of how she comes off.

She hates it.

But also, it's...

Safe. In a way.

Harmless, harmless, Crazy Cresta.

Still, this man is rapidly reminding her of just why she gets so nervous meeting strangers. Going out in public unless it's a good day. The uncertainty. The mocking.

"It's safer up here," is what she manages, finally.

[zomboligist]

She doesn't react with a witty retort back or any kind of indication that humour is the best avenue here, which makes him feel a little bad. In his defense, he has been working with people who are very quick to mock him right back. And his patients, of course, never mind his bedside manner - what with the being dead and all, for the most part. And when they're Blaine, it's not like he cares about how Blaine feels about him.

"Safe from what?" he asks, more serious this time. He's new, after all. He could just be missing out on a great number of threats he just hasn't catalogued yet.

[thekittenqueen]

Margaery had never seen Annie before, the young woman and Finnick having avoided detection overly much. She had seen traces of someone living in the woods, but had never gotten a look at them until now.

Returning to her usual work of gathering, Margaery stumbled upon one of the snares set up by the tributes. A rabbit was hanging by its feet, clearly dead. The sudden kill shaking Margaery from her thoughts and routines.

Glancing around quickly, she managed to spot the woman's bright hair and frightened face. "I believe I found your supper. Please, don't let me intrude."

[treadswater]

It's a good rabbit, too. A solid bit of meat, and Annie is so keenly aware that Finnick needs so much more food than she does. He's bigger than her, so much more heavily muscled, and all of that needs more fuel. She doesn't want to part with the rabbit, not for Finnick's sake.

But the woman is there. A woman who moved through the forest confidently, like she knows this area. A woman who isn't showing fear, only surprise.

Annie doesn't know how to read her. Not well. But she's seen this brown-haired woman before, in the village. Collecting water. Being sociable. Well connected within the group.

A group, who could to her defence. Or avenge a slight, and that's a thing, too, isn't it? What's a slight and what's not.

Annie shakes her head. "You can have it, if you're hungry."

[thekittenqueen]

The woman's apprehension was a stark contrast to the ease and friendliness of the others in the village. That the two never crossed paths was less of an anomaly now. Given how she responded to the mere sight of Margaery, she didn't seem like someone who would want to socialize with the others.

There was something about her that reminded her of the rabbits that populated the woods. She was watching and waiting, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Stepping away from the snare, Margaery cleared a path for Annie, allowing her to get closer to her prey, if she wanted. "Thank you, but I have food waiting for me back home." She pointed towards the direction of the village. "I have fruits and mushrooms, if you like? You could look through and choose what you want. What's mine is yours."

[treadswater]

For a long moment, Annie doesn't move. Then she does: swinging herself lightly down one branch, climbing down a couple more. She doesn't reach the ground, but she does stand on one of the lower branches, close to the trunk more for protection than the need for balance.

She's used to climbing on boats: a tree, which doesn't even sway with the waves? She can handle that just fine.

"You're... Um. Offering?"

It might just be repetition, she knows. But she wants to be sure. Sure, before she jumps down to the ground and leaves the safety of the tree.

[thekittenqueen]

Margaery watches Annie with a level of admiration and wonder evident on her face. She had seen others climb trees, but never move about with such ease, as though she were floating through the air. Her movements resembled a bird's, matching all too well her shy and startled manner.

"Of course," she held out the bag for Annie, allowing her to inspect it from her position in the tree, if she preferred.

"Perhaps some time you could teach me how to make snares like that?" It seemed an even exchange and would allow Margaery to catch more than fruits and mushrooms.

[upinhisnest]

Clint knows how rarely people look up, it's part of how he's done his job so well for so long, and part of how he kept out of trouble when he was a little kid. But, as someone who is often up himself, and whose children have inherited a tendency (not for the same reasons, thankfully) for up, he tends to look there instinctively.

Which is how he spots Annie, just as he's walking near the treeline.

She's the only other person he's seen in white (at least... he thinks it's white, under the mud), and she's not someone he's seen yet, and she seems to be wary. She reminds him, just a tiny bit, of Natasha when he first met her.

He glances around him to make sure no one is around, then waves subtly with a small smile. "Hey," he calls, as softly as he can while (he hopes) being heard by her. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

[treadswater]

She hears him. She's seen him, too, and has been watching him. Like so many men here, he's solid, muscular. Broader shoulders than most here, proportionally. Not as strangely tall as a lot of the others. Efficient way of walking, but not a Peacekeeper's march. Just steady.

He looks up when she knows, this time, she's well hidden enough that he had to have been looking. Or have an instinct for it. It's something she tried to get across to the Careers-in-Training, on the (very few) times she's called into the Academy to cover someone. Don't mistrust instinct.

Annie tries not to let the rest of what the Academy and a lifetime of the Hunger Games take over, fill her mind with all the ways this man, approaching her so calmly and not unkindly, could hurt her.

"How do I know that?" she replies. She's aiming for a little bit of sass, a little bit of archness(see, see ladies and gentlemen and Gamemakers, I still have a little spark), but it comes out a little thin. Her voice, flavoured by the futuristic Southern-Hispanic accent of District Four, sounds small, even to her ears.

"Could be lying."

[upinhisnest]

Her voice is small, and scared. It makes him think of his daughter.

"Well, I guess you don't," he admits. "How about I stay here and keep my hands in front of me," he says, folding his hands in front of him, "and maybe we can talk a little. That okay?"

[treadswater]

Annie watches him, eyes narrowed a little as she weighs him up. Weighs up the offer, and the risks, and the possible motivations and everything else she can. Finally, she nods.

"That's okay," she says.

Not that she stays exactly as she had been when he saw her. She lies down against the branch, making herself as small a target as possible.

Just...

Just in case.

[upinhisnest]

That's good. That's safe. He hates to think about what a kid like her has gone through to be this wary and good at keeping herself safe, but if they're ever in danger here at least she's got a leg up on anyone who doesn't have that knowledge seared into their bones.

"I'm Clint," he says, starting pretty easy. "Haven't seen you around town before. Are you new, or are you staying out there?"

19th

[booklegging]

It would surprise no one back home to learn that Jess, when faced with the hard road versus the path of least resistance, had gone for Option A and was obstinately holding to it as best he could. The only fresh water easily found was the spring, but Jess hadn't trusted it a week ago, and he doesn't trust it now. The need for a water source other than that spring to keep Raven going while she works had drove him into the forest that morning, seeking another source. There are only so many times he can tie a canvas bag around a sprig of leaves to collect the moisture. It just isn't enough.

Much later on, Jess would wonder if a case of mild dehydration on top of his already skimpy diet had factored into his blunder. Maybe it'd been pure arrogance--that he had grown too lax in the familiar forested areas. Either way, he'd missed all the signs like a fool.

The shuffling of a large animal in the brush had, at one point, sent Jess off course, and to play it safe he'd cautiously given the animal a wide berth. In doing so, he'd been paying attention to what he was leaving behind, not what was in front of him. Amateurish. He'd heard the trap spring before he'd felt it--and by then it'd been too late. One minute he'd been setting his left foot down, the next ropes were lashing around his leg, hauling him forward--

Then up. Dizzyingly up.

His cry of surprise had been quickly aborted, when the world lurched, tumbling end over end. No, he'd been the one tumbling, and painfully at that. Something in his groin felt pulled out of joint by the time sense returned to him and he'd realized he was bouncing from a rope some feet off the ground.

And that's how Jess now finds himself looking upside down at the spot he'd just been standing. More to the point, at the spot he'd just set off a booby trap. "Bloody-- fantastic."

Deep breaths. Don't pass out.

Someone had set this. Now he's in it, exposed and helpless. Someone could be coming. He needs to get out now, forget the wounded pride.

Don't you dare pass out. Focus, get with it. Get out.

Lifting his head with some difficulty, Jess sees to his immense relief that his survival knife--a gift, his first real contact with his abductors--is still in its sheathe where he'd left it. Thank God. This isn't a complete loss yet. Lifting the rest of his body is more difficult still, but he's dragged himself up worse climbs than his own bent and lashed body.

It'd be simple enough to grab the knife, cut the rope, and make the fall. It's not that far to the ground, the bruises would be bearable. But what if the noise had drawn someone? What there's worse than a townsperson on the other end of the trap?

Jess dismisses the idea of falling at the feet of whomever's people-hunting. Down isn't his only option here. Panting hard against the ache in his head, Jess pulls himself up to grasp the rope between his legs. Once he's right side up with a mostly steady grip, he uses the knife to free his leg. There he hangs for a second, stomach revolting. He'd forgotten how nauseating whiplash could be.

It's a straight climb up to reach the branch overhead, and he spends the time nursing an urge to punch the person responsible for this. Or himself, for falling for it.

[treadswater]

She shouldn't come near. She should just stay away, hope that whoever it is gets out and leaves her and Finnick alone. Learns to leave this area alone. But she's a Career, and she's a terrible one. The Career side of her needs to know who it is, if they'll get out, if they've got the message. The worst Career part of her wants to offer whoever it is the chance to get away.

No animal would make that quick cry she heard, otherwise she'd be hurrying forwards to see if it's dinner for a few days.

Instead, when she comes out of the bushes, she sees a boy (Tribute-aged) climbing the rope up to the branch.

Quickly, hopefully without him seeing her, she darts backwards and around another tree.

Stupid, Cresta.

Stupid, walking straight like that. Stupid, because hadn't she sort of hoped that whoever it was would get out of it before they got killed?

She should run, now. Clear off. But the boy had cut himself free and is climbing up and that denotes skill and she can't move. She can't. Her joints have locked together and all she can do is lean against the trunk and curse herself out in screaming mess of her mind.

[booklegging]

As he concentrates on moderating his breathing and getting an ironclad grip around that sickly panicked feeling that comes after a fatal slip up (it could be fatal, a mistake like that could always be fatal), Jess takes shelter against the trunk of the tree. As far as cover goes, it's a vast improvement on dangling like a worm on a hook and gives him room to survey the area. Looking for Annie without knowing who, exactly, he's looking for.

The trees are silent. Nothing moves.

Taking the opportunity, he shakes out his sore leg. The trap had caught one foot more thoroughly than the other; from the burn in his muscles, he suspects a sprain in his groin or hip. Manageable. At least nothing's dislocated. With that reassurance, he turns to the rope itself, untying it from the tree. Immediately Jess can see it's a handmade rope constructed out of natural fiber, like any of the kinds they've been making in town. And expertly done, too.

Had one of their number put this here to capture other prisoners or... a shared enemy, just maybe? Jess could admit his instincts had jumped to the worst possible scenario--their abductors rounding them all up again, or someone else intending harm like a cannibal in every "deserted island" story ever--but it occurs to him that more likely than not the trap could be acting as a deterrent, not an attack.

Weren't there people taking shelter out here?

Now that Jess is on relatively stable footing, he thinks it over with a clearer head, winding the rope up so he can take it with him. There's only one way to find out. Jess ignores his body's complaints and starts to climb down.

If one of them did this, there will be signs--ones he'd blindly missed the first time. If someone roughing it in the forest did this, there will be signs of that, too. It isn't long at all after Jess' feet touch the ground that he ends up heading in the direction of Annie and Finnick's camp.

[treadswater]

No, no, what is he doing? He should be leaving. He's only got a knife on him - but then he's a strong boy, to twist himself up like that. And there are branches on the ground, occasional rocks. He has his hands. But oh, isn't he thinking about what if she had a spear to throw? A sword? More allies to gather around and kill him?

Go away, she whispers silently. Go away, go away, go away.

Hopefully he won't go in the direction of the camp. She doesn't follow him. Instead she slips away, heads back to the camp to...

She doesn't know.

Gather things in case he finds her? Gather things because she and Finnick will have to move, again.

She's busy, shoving things into her backpack, when she looks up. She can hear him. She doesn't run. She can't.

She just stays here, frozen, kneeling on the ground and whispering.

"Go away, go away, go away..."

[booklegging]

Jess would be the first to admit tracking in the wilderness presents vastly different obstacles than the other kinds of tracking he's familiar with, like hunting down contacts in dark alleys, or ferreting out stolen books during a Library confiscation. Looking for footprints or broken branches from someone walking past is all about small clues and keen eyes.

He has the latter, but finding the former proves to be a tall order. Finnick and Annie have done this before and they move like ghosts; Jess doesn't immediately find tracks outside of his own, no overt sign of who had placed the snare or what direction they'd come from, and he soon realizes he's looking at an optical illusion--it's what he's not finding that's the clue, like the negative space around an image.

It's the traps that ultimately puts Jess on the trail. Now that he knows to look for them, they're easy to spot, spaced at intervals. A perimeter.

A perimeter would mean there's something worth finding.

Spears or swords aren't at the forefront of Jess' mind, but he's dealt with guns and gangs--caution is always a good idea. The closer he gets to obvious signs of life, the quieter he becomes; by the time he's close enough to be on Finnick and Annie's doorstep, he takes the least obvious way in and circles around on silent feet rather than blunder his way in through the front door. He won't be getting trussed up twice in one day if he can help it.

He's expecting... Honestly, Jess doesn't know what he's expecting, but it's not to come up behind the redhead from the town meeting kneeling in the middle of what looks to be her camp, alone, not moving. He waits to see what she's doing, but after a moment or two she still doesn't move, a still life sculpture of herself. It's an eerie pose, if he's being truthful, and his first impulse is to see if she's all right.

One thing's for certain: she's not the threat he'd been looking for. That factor helps makes his decision for him.

"Knock knock," he calls, standing out from the thick bush he'd taken shelter behind. "Hey, you there. You still haven't come in out of the cold yet?"

[paragon]

Steve's been around for a couple days now, and aside from stew in emotional turmoil in his room at Sam's place, he doesn't really know what to do with himself. He doesn't appreciate the uselessness, but isn't sure what to do about it, either. He's familiar with getting by with what you have, but he's still from Brooklyn, born and raised in the city, and even in the army they'd had MREs, canned meals — food that could be eaten without a fire that would draw the enemy to your location as soon as warm you up. What does he know about gardening, livestock? There are things, buildings that need repairing after the earthquakes that'd happened before he'd arrived, but the most he knows of carpentry is throwing a slab of wood over a bathtub and calling it a table. Whoever brought them here, they're keeping well out of reach.

In truth, he's feeling a little sorry for himself. He knows it, isn't proud of it, but they've got things pretty well in hand here. He's not sure what someone with his qualifications has to offer.

There's sure as hell plenty he'd like to get his mind off of, though, so he'd left the house with some vague notion of mapping the area, trying to find a way out — there's gotta be one, even if no one's found it yet. Even if Steve doesn't find it right off the bat, it'll help to know where things are, and so he finds himself south of the village, about to walk into a booby trap.

It's a good trap, and it's probably only because he's unfamiliar with the terrain that he's remaining vigilant enough to notice something's off in the first place. He's not sure what made him clock to it even after he sees it, except that he'd spent a lot of time both avoiding and setting them himself back in the day, and apparently that's still worth something.

The change in Steve's body language — for anyone watching — is subtle. He doesn't suddenly become overly cautious in his movement, doesn't even step back from the trap so much as sidestep it, keeping to the perimeter of the camp, small as it is. It didn't seem to be connected to any kind of trigger, which means whoever set it wants people to stay out, not get killed. There's an awareness to the set of his shoulders, but after pausing again he looks up. He doesn't have a shield this time, to knock her or anyone else down into the open, but he doubts she's the enemy, as much as Natasha might look at him askance for choosing to trust small redheads hidden in trees. So he just calls to her instead: "You one of the kids living in the woods I heard about?" He gestures to the camp without actually looking away from what he can see of her, strands of red through the green of the leaves. "Seem to have a pretty good setup here now."

[treadswater]

When Finnick's not in the camp, Annie feels safer up in the trees. Even with all the traps and snares they've set, people can see them if they are good or lucky, avoid them. And what if she freezes on the ground? Can't run? If she freezes in a tree, at least she's already high.

Besides, hopefully it shows she's being clever. Using her natural disadvantages of short stature and light weight to remain higher than others might, particularly as she's seen no children here.

So today, she's up in a tree - her favourite tree here, if she's allowing herself to have favourites - repairing a net, when she hears a voice.

Masculine. Addressing her.

Annie freezes, fingers tangled in line. She's frozen for too long, silent for too long, but she does manage to turn her head, look down.

Large man, strong man. Maybe a trained man, to stand here without her noticing, but he doesn't sound like he's from a Career District. Or, truly, any district.

What to say? Should she say anything?

"...Thank you."

[paragon]

"Welcome," Steve says easily, like the silent pause either hadn't happened or he wasn't too worried about it. He does look away then — not to deliberately give her the drop on him, if she wants it, but also not completely unaware there's a certain risk-reward benefit to the gesture.

"Doesn't look like you want anyone to get too close, though," he continues. "Too bad. We could probably use a couple smart kids like you in town."

Maybe from someone else it might sound like condescension or manipulation. But from Steve, if there's a point to his words it's at least more honest, a straight line from observation to practicality that tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment that he's probably asking for more than she's comfortable with. The latter's more than he usually offers — he knows he asks a lot of people and without flinching from it — but she is just a kid.

[treadswater]

She watches him, her green eyes sharp, intense. Trained, too, in the way they focus on this part of him and that. On how he stands, moves, the expressions on his face. He appears to be maybe early, maybe mid thirties, but in the Capitol, anything is possible. If he's the former, than he's older than her, but she wouldn't be surprised if she gives off the impression of being a teenager instead of early twenties. She's all dirty, tangled hair, big eyes and small stature. Tiny stature, really, because she's next to something and she knows that always makes her look smaller than normal. And she's frightened: that takes years off one's maturity.

But it's telling, too. Everyone knows how old she is. How old Finnick is. And Finnick's barely been treated as a kid ever since he won at fourteen.

It's.

Interesting.

So is the way that the man, here, doesn't continually watch her. Confidence or a peace-offering?

"I trust him," is what Annie says. She's aware of the weight of her words, implied history and unstated other meaning: she trusts Finnick, not anyone in the town.

"Anyway, um." This is her attempt at a stronger voice, but even she can hear the waver there. The high-pitch of taut nerves. "Fish have gone. And doesn't much seem like anyone wants a glass statue, or, uh. Hah. Anything like that. What, um. What use are we?"

There's an honest question wrapped up in there, if he can pick it out.

[paragon]

The question of the hour, apparently. He doesn't answer her right away, because it's obvious enough when it comes to a stranger in a tree, so once he does he'll probably have to take his own advice.

So he focuses on something else, for the time being, finally looking up at her again, trying to make her out through the leaf and branch cover.

"Glass statues, huh? Are you an artist?"