Peeta Mellark (stillbeme) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-05-07 14:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, {peeta mellark, {samantha parkington |
Who? Peeta Mellark & OPEN (!dice if you like.)
Where? The beach.
When? Monday morning.
What? Enjoying the outdoors & a bit of art therapy.
Rating? Nothing bad.
Peeta had never seen anywhere like it. He'd seen a bit of the ocean in District Four on the Victory Tour, and the salt-water pool in the arena... but that hardly counted. It hadn't been like this, being able to sit for hours on end looking out into the distance, if he wanted to. Or to just paddle, to draw nonsense in the sand, enjoy the feeling of the sun on his skin... he felt more relaxed in Tortuga than he had in years. He was still terribly confused, but at least for the time being, he felt safe enough. His conversation with Sherlock had almost cleared some things up, and at least he knew now that he had someone he could ask if he was getting muddled up again.
Perhaps he didn't quite understand where he was, why, for what purpose - but he did at least know now that he was allowed to eat what he liked, roam freely as he pleased, and he was even allowed to use the kitchens and the art supplies that more than one person seemed to have brought onto the train. He'd rediscovered a certain talent, and found that the confusion of his head felt less painful when he painted it out onto paper.
He knew that the train was leaving again, and so instead of painting what was inside his own head, Peeta was taking the opportunity to make a record of the beautiful sight in front of him. Paint glided over paper, and Peeta couldn't remember how long he had been sitting on the sand, lost in painting. It was calming. For once, he wasn't turning the painting into a depiction of the Quarter Quell arena, dividing the page into horrible clock-sections. No - perhaps it was a visual representation of the inside of his mind. Becoming slowly clearer.