Gale and OTA
Gale had already told the only story that he wanted to tell. He didn't want to relate to others what it had been like to grow up in District 12. He didn't want to explain what it had been like when his father had died in the mines and he'd had to take care of his mother and his younger siblings. He didn't want to talk about how he'd felt leading the remnants of his shattered people out of District 12, bloody refugees with nothing left to their names.
He wasn't ashamed of the things he'd done, but he didn't feel the need to share them, especially since he was fairly certain that hardly anyone here would understand first hand what he'd been through. And if there was one thing Gale wasn't looking for, it was pity.
But he'd come to the bonfire anyway, more out of boredom than out of any real connection to these people. Gale wasn't a guy who made connections easily. He was reserved, and knew that he could be harsh at times. But he was who he was. And if people didn't like it, well, they could jump his ass like that Lydia girl had.
And sure, maybe he'd had a point. And maybe if she hadn't been a total bitch about it, he would have backed off a little more and apologized to her. But she'd made it into a war, and Gale didn't like losing.
Sitting in front of the fire, he stared into it, watching the flames dance and tell their enigmatic stories. If anyone wanted to talk to him tonight, he wouldn't push them away - in fact, he'd probably enjoy it, but he was also content just to sit here and think, and just enjoy being in the proximity of others.