Gretel (un_sweet) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-12-16 08:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 3: day 4, hansel & gretel: gretel, the hunger games: gale hawthorne |
Who: Gretel & Gale Hawthorne
What: These two decide that the best time to talk about feelings and relationships is when Gale is sick and Gretel is holding a knife. Because of course they do.
When: Day 4, evening
Where: Room 31
Rating/Warnings: Low (some blood/gore related to animal butchery, some references to illness/germs)
Status: Closed/Complete
“Couch.” Gretel’s voice, backed by steel, did not allow for argument. The set of her jaw said Gale was better off not trying, not that it had stopped him once, all day long, from trying to assert that he was fine, he was okay, he could work in spite of the fever and the way his head obviously ached (because Gretel knew what that half-lidded, pinched look meant, thanks, she had an idiot brother who was regularly ill and never wanted to admit it). She’d met that insistence with her own pigheaded brand of pull the other one, see where it gets you, and that left them sitting on the same part of an assembly line all afternoon, stuffing corks into pop guns while glaring at one another.
It wasn’t angry glaring. It was Gretel’s way of worrying and Gale’s way of pretending there was no reason to worry. Maybe it looked bad, but it also meant no one bothered them all day, so… that was an unexpected bonus that Gretel appreciated. She wasn’t in much of a mood to be social.
At least there was a hare in Gale’s trap, which she’d plucked loose and shoved into the bag he’d refused to let her carry before re-setting the trap for tomorrow. They’d have protein for dinner, which might stretch into rabbit stew as well as another pot of bone broth. With Ronan in the yulelag, Gretel was down a roommate and wary of how his family might be reacting. If nothing else, she could offer them a meal. She had no pretty reassurances, so food would have to do.
Relieving Gale of the game bag, Gretel stalked into the kitchen, dumped the rabbit onto the counter, and went rummaging for the most serviceable knife she could find. She missed her own blades, but anything with an edge would do for skinning.
Gale definitely wasn’t angry at Gretel - no, he was angry at the situation, the way whatever sickness was moving from apartment to apartment like a traveling salesman, and overall just as unwanted. Angry that everyone was starving, angry that no one knew how long it would be until the option for the next door came to them - they were all being fucked with and he was angry about that too.
His body ached, his cheeks burned with the flush of a fever, yet an unsettling chill made his skin crawl. The same olive-toned skin that radiated the heat in his blood - all he wanted to do was roll up into a blanket fort and lie still until this passed but he had people counting on him, he hated feeling useless, he hated feeling weak, and maybe he could just - sweat it out. Yeah, that was fine. Sweat it out.
“But - “ Oh yeah, he tried to protest when Gretel told him to sit on the couch then relented. He did sit, taking off his boots and his coat and wrapping a blanket around all 6’3 of him. Though he didn’t stay still for long.
He sniffled, shuffling into the kitchen on socked feet, eyes flickering with interest, pupils looking like moons within a nuclear snowstorm sky - grey and sloshy. “Are you sure you don’t need me to help you?”
Gretel had a knife, he probably shouldn’t test her - but he was stubborn, okay. She already knew that.
Oh, Gretel was getting more familiar all the time with Gale’s particular brand of stubborn. It wasn’t so different from her own, and it probably came from the same place: survival instincts. She and Hansel had been on their own since the tender age of eight. They’d learned to scrounge, to scavenge, to hunt, to make every bad situation work because the only other option was to lie down and die and Gretel would be damned if she ever gave up.
If she was the next person to pick up this sickness, she’d push through it the same way Gale was trying to do because life didn’t wait for sickness to clear. There was always something else to do. Sometimes Hansel could persuade her to take a break, but that was rare and he used tricks Gale didn’t know.
Not yet. He could probably figure them out. He was clever enough, when he wasn’t being a complete idiot.
Coat thrown over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled to her elbows and hair in a messy bun, Gretel turned to give Gale a thoroughly exasperated look. “You realize I was doing this a few… I don’t know. Hundred years before you were born?” If she understood their respective timelines correctly, anyway. Maybe she was off, but she didn’t think so.
She rolled her eyes and reached to deftly behead the rabbit. It had been dead in the snow long enough that blood wasn’t an immediate concern, so there was no spray or mess. The head tumbled into the sink and Gretel hooked fingers into the throat, slipped the knife beneath the skin there, and started working her way down the belly.
“I know,” Gale chuckled, but that was a bad decision because that little raspy laugh turned into a full-blown cough a second later. The really sexy kind, loose and wet, like thick mucus was slipping and sliding up and down his throat with each violent expulsion of air.
He at least did it away from the kitchen - no, he actually scuffled into the bathroom to spit into the sink, because he didn’t want to give Gretel his germs even though he was breathing near her all day. But she was also skinning a rabbit that was going to be part of their dinner, so why germ that up?
Now that he was back, blanket draped over him like a cloak and the bottom of it dragging on the floor, he gave in and went to the sofa. Though he sat on it in such a way so that he could still observe, somewhat, the sterling flint of his hazy gaze resting on her. “You look nice doing it too,” he said. “I mean. With that knife. Maybe I just like to watch.”
Skinning a rabbit wasn’t supposed to be a turn-on. Not like he knew the rules about that, all he knew was that he was into it - though it could be more along the lines of her being capable, and helping to make sure neither of them were completely wiped out by sugar rations and forced toy labor.
Skinning an animal took focus enough, and much as Gretel felt her stomach sink at the sound of that cough, she made herself stay put and keep working- down the belly, opening wide flaps she could peel back, because even if they didn’t need this skin it was habit to work to keep things intact. She wasn’t going to think about how a cough could kill a grown man as easy as bullet but not half so clean. Gale had medicine. Gretel didn’t know what it was supposed to do or how it worked, but it was going to help. That was the whole point of it.
“You like to watch me with a knife,” Gretel repeated, sparing an arch look into the other room. She wasn’t glad Ronan had been arrested, but she was abruptly glad he wasn’t around to hear this. He would laugh at Gale for sure. Even Gretel had to fight not to smile, but she had a handy excuse to look down and focus on the aforementioned knife.
There was enough meat on this rabbit that all the work wouldn’t be a waste. She could make a few meals from this, provided she worked carefully.
Ronan had no room to talk, Gale was pretty sure - and also pretty sure he was googly-eyed over that one guy. They could make fun of each other and, well, Gale could take the ribbing. He liked someone who liked him back (maybe? He was going to ask about that, really), and that was actually a new and novel thing.
“I like to watch you with a knife,” he confirmed, leaning back against the armrest - it was difficult to get comfortable on the sofa, mostly because he didn’t fit on it very well - too tall and broad-shouldered, and his only hope was to pass out in one position and pray he didn’t fall off the edge.
Though if he passed out now, dead asleep, it was very likely he’d stay that way until tomorrow. When he had to trudge to the border again for more potential toy weapon assembly.
He stuffed a sorry excuse for a couch pillow behind his back. The medicine had been ingested during a break, after Gretel smuggled it while on lunch, and he’d take another spoonful with dinner. It tasted like dirt and moldy cheese, he was loathe to continue the regimen, and much preferred the herbal remedies back in District 12. But it was medicine so he wouldn’t waste it. “You’re pretty with a knife.”
Was he delirious? Maybe. Jury was still out. “I - have you ever been with someone before? Like in a girlfriend sort of way? I mean, boyfriend sort of way?” Or it was possible he didn’t need to correct himself and Gretel went that way. Huh.
Bloody fur and skin joined the rabbit’s head in the sink, a wet squelch that might bother someone else, but sounded like the prelude to dinner to Gretel. She gave the knife a rinse, quick, and rolled the rabbit’s naked carcass around so she could get on with gutting it. Once she got a look at the innards, she’d feel more confident in determining if they could be cooked as well. So far, the animal seemed healthy enough, but better safe than sorry.
People were already sick without throwing contaminated meat into the mix. She’d seen a whole village felled by grain-sick deer once. It hadn’t been pretty.
Glancing up, Gretel blinked at the question, squinted at Gale as if she could tell if he were more feverish than he’d seemed earlier, then snorted quietly. “Men don’t like me,” she informed, dryly. “Women, either, for the most part.” Neither bothered her, particularly. Gretel wasn’t built the same as the girls who grew up, practicing to be wives and mothers. She was too hard in all the wrong ways.
“Men at home want a wife to keep a home. They want someone soft, someone sweet. Someone to raise babies and warm a hearth and who thinks the biggest risk they’re up to managing is a trip to the market.” Gretel’s mouth twisted, tugging hard to one side. “I’m none of those things.”
“No, you’re not,” Gale agreed, but his tone - scratchy and raw as his voice happened to be - was fond. He didn’t want a wife whose sole responsibility was keeping a home - if he ever got married, he’d pictured it as something done together. Like equals would, a partnership. They’d keep a home together, hunt together, provide for each other, and if there was a blob of fat with eyes involved, they’d do that together too.
The raising of the blob of fat with eyes, that is. He was only nineteen and he was already sure he wouldn’t want more than one kid. Granted, it wasn’t something he considered much - before the Capitol fell, the idea of reproducing was abhorrent. Bringing children into a life where they could potentially be sent off to die in an arena at age twelve? No thanks. But things changed and - well, who knew.
He blinked, smokescreen eyes still watching Gretel gut the rabbit - innards, the best part. “I know you say men don’t like you, but...I like you,” he admitted, fever-flushed and embarrassed-flushed. “I think that makes me already a lot smarter than those other men.”
Gretel never gave any thought to a home or a husband. She and Hansel weren’t the stationary sort and she couldn’t see that changing. It was rare enough they made friends, so finding someone who might want more than that seemed like it would no less impossible than finding a unicorn, or a tree that bore golden fruit.
It wasn’t going to happen, so there was no reason to worry about it.
Blood-slick fingers deftly plucked out organs, measuring and testing the heft of tiny kidneys and a liver. Everything seemed healthy and the smell was only copper and offal- nothing to discard here, so that meant another meal. She made an approving sound and slid the knife up, parting delicate ribs in search of heart.
Her knife didn’t quite stutter at Gale’s pronouncement, but it definitely paused. Her eyes flickered up, surprise reflected there for a beat. “What?” He’d kissed her, of course. She could’ve taken a cue from that. Still, they hadn’t spoken about it since, and Gretel wasn’t the kind to daydream about romance even when she wasn’t preoccupied with things like when the next meal might come. “You do?”
Gale had really not expected to have this conversation while he was a blob of sickness on the couch, and Gretel was assessing the state of rabbit organs. But here they were - he might have laughed, nervously, if he wasn’t sure it would send him into another coughing fit.
“Yeah, I do,” he confirmed, standing up - carefully, slowly, so he didn’t do something stupid like let the whole inner ear balance problem because of clogged sinuses get the best of him. “Ronan called you my girlfriend, and I mean - I didn’t correct him but next time he says it I can correct him, if you want? Or if you don’t want me to correct him, we can just go with that...”
He took a step closer, looking hopeful. Not that he would get any closer than this, however, since there was an invisible germ barrier and also because he half expected Gretel to tell him to get back on the damn couch. And he would probably, actually listen to her.
“We’ve looked out for each other since the beginning.” She healed his arm with magic that she was reluctant to tap into, with magic she didn’t quite understand yet - and she trusted him with the secret of it all. That resonated with Gale too, just like the aftermath of their endless dance which felt like so long ago. “Plus, it’s not a lie - you really are good with that knife,” he grinned.
There weren’t a lot of things that absolutely left Gretel floundering, but this made the list. She forgot to snap at Gale for getting off the couch again, even, and instead stared at him with big, saucer-plate eyes. It would probably look comical, if her hands weren’t bloodied and she wasn’t holding an incredibly sharp knife.
Of course she liked Gale. He’d been the first person in this completely bizarre world-upon-worlds that she’d developed any trust with, based initially off of the fact that he seemed almost familiar. He was a hunter. He was a survivor. Those were things that Gretel understood and appreciated.
And maybe, okay, during that endless dance that left them clutching one another to stay upright and mobile, it had crossed Gretel’s mind that she might feel more than an appreciation of Gale’s ability to solve puzzles and explain what a phone was… but she’d set that aside. It wasn’t important. Her feelings rarely were.
“I… probably should’ve guessed when you fell out of a tree trying to kiss me,” Gretel observed, lips twitching slightly. Not one of his finest moments, but she hadn’t been in a good place either, so there was no judgement at all. “And I like you, too.” The admission prompted a flush that had nothing to do with fever.
Oh, right. Falling out of a tree. That had definitely ranked up there on Gale’s most embarrassing moments - but he just wasn’t good at all this relationship stuff, mostly because he had very little experience. He was doing his best though, so - points for effort?
“Yeah, I should have brought it up sooner - because I kind of want to kiss you again, but I’m a walking plague right now,” he snorted, and then scrunched his face up like one would right before...before...
AH-CHOOO
There he went, a fine and mighty sneeze. Into his elbow, granted, and not just spraying snot all willy-nilly. That, however, was not enticing in the kissing sort of way. “I’ll take a rain check though?”
Gretel wiggled bloodied fingers, amused. “I don’t think either of us are good for kissing right now,” she pointed out, though admittedly Gale’s illness was slightly more off-putting than her hands. Or maybe that was just by her standards. Blood was sort of incidental in her line of work. Sneezing with enough volume to shake a room, that was something else.
Impressive, though. Gretel wouldn’t have given his lungs that much credit about an hour ago.
“But when you aren’t sick and I’m not wrist-deep in a carcass, we can revisit that. The kissing.” A little pink, Gretel huffed a short laugh and ducked back over the rabbit’s split-wide chest. She’d almost cleaned it out, and as soon as she gave it a quick rinse, she could start deboning it.
“Yeah, fair deal,” Gale agreed, feeling himself actually smile - it hurt his cheeks, or that could actually be the fact that his brain was about to leak out of his ears because it cooked itself in its own juices. “I’ll just - “
He backed up toward the couch - of his own accord this time, let it be known. Let’s just say he had a lot of incentive to get better fast, now. “I’ll take a nap and let you do the thing with the carcass? And when I wake up I’ll choke down more medicine. Promise.”
See? Wasn’t he so good? He attempted to get as comfortable as possible on a piece of furniture that clearly wasn’t made for someone of his substantial height, and pulled the blanket up beneath his chin. He’d probably end up flinging it off as he sweated out the fever, but whatever. It was the thought that counted.
“Gale.” Gretel’s lips twitched again, the hint of a smile trying to peek through, and she shook her head as she turned to rinse the knife under the tap and give her hands a quick wash. Clean, and therefore safe enough to prowl out of the kitchen, Gretel made her way around to the couch so she could run cool fingers along his sweaty brow.
“You don’t fit on the couch. Bed. Go on. The blankets are better there and you’ll have leg room.” Fingers slid back, ruffling dark hair, and she tugged gently at an ear when she encountered it. “And you’re definitely getting more medicine as soon as you have something on your stomach.”
She could probably reheat some of the broth, but actual meat would be better. If he was still sick in the morning, they were going to have a serious argument about whether or not he ought to be leaving the bed, but that was a problem for tomorrow.
“Mmmph - Gale made a grumbling sound, all rocks banging around in a can, but it was more because Gretel’s fingers felt nice and his head was on fire. And she couldn’t sit there holding a hand to his head all day. “Okay, maybe I’ll be hungry when I wake up.”
He had borscht for lunch today but it was like consuming sawdust, even though he knew he needed to eat - which was a shame, because under normal circumstances the hot soup would have tasted amazing in contrast to all the sugar. But alright, he wobbled to his feet and shuffled off to the bedroom, faceplanting onto the mattress before rolling up in the blankets like a burrito.
This would do. He was out like a light a second later.
Caught somewhere between exasperated and amused, with a niggling side of worry that she wouldn’t be able to shake until Gale’s fever broke, Gretel shook her head and watched him shuffle off. She’d need to wash all the linens before Ronan came back. The last thing he would need after a brief stint in jail was to pick up whatever illness was floating around.
One thing at a time, she reminded herself, and returned to the kitchen and the rabbit’s carcass. It still needed deboning, and she wanted to roast off some of the skin and organs before getting on with the business of making stew. Their supplies were woefully limited, but she’d done more with less before, and at least someone had already shown her how to use the things in this kitchen. Gretel preferred an open flame, but she supposed that safety was a thing to worry about here and so the oven it was.
At least Gale could have something hot to eat when he woke up. That was worth all the work.