miranda tern (fins) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-15 10:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - arena, tribute: 56th miranda tern, tribute: 56th zipporah vast |
WHO: Zipporah Vast [D2] and Miranda Tern [D4]
WHAT: Chicken soup for the tribute soul
WHEN: Night 6 (backdated to after this log!)
WHERE: Career camp
"Hold still," Miranda said to Zipporah, licking the edge of the thread and pushing it efficiently through the needle. "This is going to poke a little. Not too much, hopefully, but like… it's a fucking little piece of metal, right? Not sure how much I can make it not hurt." She paused, leaning forward to begin working on one of Zipporah's deeper cuts. "Anyway, where was I? Right, Alonso. He's a lot funnier than my other brother -- that's Ferdinand -- and always used to help me practice with knives and swimming and shit. He has this awful fucking habit of making up terrible sayings to explain things, like 'a fish in time saves nine.' What does that even mean? So I was about seven when we went fishing, just the two of us, and this giant fish or something nudged the little boat we were in -- the boat's name is Tempest, not that that's important -- and I fell overboard." Miranda glanced up with mild concern. "Still alive?" The more injuries that were gracing her body, the harder it became for Zipporah to be stoic as, once again, a member of her alliance reigning from District Four stitched her up as though gaping wounds and deep gashes were as commonplace as fishhooks where they came from. Usually the girl from District Two didn’t reflect on things like that: their pasts, their futures. But there was something about this moment - drunk on pain or endorphins or maybe just companionship, she had listened tiredly to every word the other girl had said, trying to ignore the fact that it was making her heartsick in a way she’d very much intended to avoid ever since she left her district for the Capitol. “Still alive,” she answered, voice too tired to be much more than present - it took all of the concentration she still possessed to keep from jerking away every time Miranda threaded the needle under her skin again. To force her thoughts away from the pain, she went on, unnaturally loud as though that would block out the sensation, “My brother’s a good swimmer. For District Two, anyway,” interrupted herself with a wince and a continued, “probably not compared to you fish-people in Four.” Forcing the corners of her mouth to turn up so that it was communicated that she meant it in a friendly manner, she closed her eyes a moment later, concentrating on a mental image and not when the next tug at her flesh would come. It must have been the dizziness, the drunkenness, that caused her to add without thinking, “He’ll be in the Games someday too.” "Where do you even swim?" Miranda asked, genuinely curious. "There's nothing like swimming in the ocean, you know. I don't even know how to describe it, but it's just…. miles and miles of blue and green and purple out to the edge of the world. And it glitters." Her eyes squeezed shut for a second. "None of my other brothers wanted to be in the Games, but I don't think my dad would have let them, anyway. You need enough people around to fish." It was almost difficult for her to hold onto the question with the image of the sea, vast expanses of water - water that was green and purple and went on forever, apparently - spread out before her; her voice was too loud when she answered, asked, she wasn’t sure, her tone indicated one or the other, “Did you want to be in the Games?” A stupid question, usually, in a Career pack, but for the girl who’d been Reaped rather than volunteering... it was clear she’d been trained, better than Zipporah in some ways, given that she was the one patching her up, but still the question fell from her tongue almost curiously. As if she gave a damn. Miranda sat back on her heels, expression suddenly becoming tight and closed. It wouldn't work, she reminded herself, to forget about where they were and what they were doing, and pretend to be real friends even for a little while. It was all well and good to share stories about home and favorite brothers, but at the end of the day, it was all working towards the inevitable. It wouldn't work to look weak. "Of course I wanted to be in the Games, Zipporah," she said with a laugh, and her smile was a little frozen, and brighter than ever. "Didn't you hear my interview? I was hoping to volunteer, and I was reaped instead..." Miranda cut the thread and examined the stitches, before glancing up again. "It's completely true." It was that reminder, a little jolt in the conversation, a shift in tone, that seemed to indicate they were back to falsities. Or at least, they were back to acting, like they had to be almost every second in the arena, it seemed. It had come back to the fact that one of them was going to die here: making friends, or even pretending to, never did anyone much good in the Hunger Games. “It’s a shame, that we’re in here at the same time.” she sighed out anyway, closing her eyes. She was only half aware of the drowsy words that left her a moment later, basking in the pains she had now that never went away and the absence of the needle now that Miranda was finished. “I think we would have been friends.” |