Melody 2 : Action

[rutagraveolens]

[Morning]

[Ever since the fireworks the previous day, Rue was on edge. The fireworks were too much like cannon fire, each boom a notification of another tribute gone. That the fireworks were to announce the departure of people didn't help any.

Nor she get any sleep the previous night. Rue dreamed of whippings and executions, a reaping she couldn't escape from, a game she couldn't win. She saw the boy from District 1 - Marvel - raise the spear, throw-- and woke up tangled in blankets on the floor.

Silence surrounded her as she had breakfast in House 34. She left Melody sleeping in her room and made sure her knife was on her before she slipped out for the day.

She did her usual rounds - library to return some books, bakery to pick up a snack, convenience store for a drink - before wandering the south path parallel to the river. She'd never traveled down the road before and was curious where it went. Eventually Rue found herself by the Art Gallery. After some hesitation, she entered the building. It was nice and quiet, peaceful inside. She roamed the gallery, taking her time looking over the different pieces of artwork there.

When she came across Peeta's paintings and found herself staring at her own face, her face crumbled. She reached up to touch the paintings, drawing back she realized she shouldn't do that. The wings were the right color; the yellow of her own feathered wings, the blue of the dress she wore on stage in the Capitol. Her breath quickened and caught as Rue burst into ugly sobs.]

[Afternoon - behind Slash 'n Crash]

[After calming down, Rue went to Slash 'n Crash for target practice. Bow in hand and a quiver of arrows on her back, Rue methodically shot arrow after arrow into the targets. Her aim wasn't the best, but she was still hitting the target each time. She remembered Katniss' lessons as she drew, notched, and shot each arrow.

When she shot the last arrow in her quiver, Rue went to the targets, pulled out every arrow, put them back into her quiver, walked to her starting place, and began shooting again.]

((ooc; Now with links! The first painting is the one of her looking over a puddle and her reflection, the second is her holding a bouquet of flowers.))

Comments

[rutagraveolens]

This is my second time here.

[The statement is flat, but underneath the question is "did I not do a good job? Was I not important enough?"

Rue marched over to the target and began pulling out her arrows.]

...I don't want to leave again.

[shenevermisses]

[And those are questions the Career can't answer. She knows only her plan, what she feels she needs to do to stay. Even that, she's too aware, doesn't mean she'll always be here.

Or that she won't wake up one day to find Cato gone.]

It's like the interviews in the Games. You have to make them remember you.

Only way I know to think about it.

[She frowns, shaking her head.]

People here'll give you a hard time. Ask why you're pandering to them. Tell you not to do anything for them.

They're self-righteous. Think their morals on an issue are the only right ones. But they don't get it, okay? They don't know.

[rutagraveolens]

[Make them remember you. Rue remembered her stylists dressed her up in light blue chiffon and made her a beautiful delicate butterfly. They told her to smile and be sweet and demure, win the sponsors over.

Rue knew what wouldn't work here. She had to be crafty and fast, prove she was smart and helpful.

Rue returned her arrows to the quiver before she pulled Clove's knife from the target. She walked over to the Career and held her knife out.]

Can you teach me to be a Career?

[shenevermisses]

[Clove looked down at the knife then took it.]

Probably not.

[There's no use lying.]

Someone from Two? We go into the Academy young. We're raised to be what we are.

[The implications of which she's only just begun to understand in the last year.]

But I can try. Teach what I can, let you combine it. Probably better that way than being one.

[rutagraveolens]

[Rue had a hunch that would be the case. She remembered what Clove said about the training Careers went through. It wasn't the sort of thing you could pick up. But she was glad Clove was willing to give her a chance at least.

A small smile broke across her face.]

Thank you.

[shenevermisses]

We'll start tomorrow, then.

[It's what she would've done if she hadn't gone to the Games, probably. Taught. Been an instructor at the Academy she'd lived in most of her life.

What else would she have been good for?]

[rutagraveolens]

Where should I meet you? And what time?

[shenevermisses]

Ten AM work for you? Room 4, Wind Building.

[rutagraveolens]

Ten works. And Wind building... [Rue tried to picture the map of the village in her head.] That's... south of the village?

[shenevermisses]

West and sort of south. North of the Battle Dome, that's a pretty good marker.

[rutagraveolens]

[Rue nodded again. North of the Battle Dome, got it.]

Should I bring anything?

[shenevermisses]

Not this time. There'll be a lot of talking. Explaining. How we see the world, that kind of thing.

[rutagraveolens]

Okay. [She considered asking if this was something she should let Katniss know about, but changed her mind. It wasn't a question Clove could really answer. Rue would tell Katniss, yes, but she also needed to make her own decisions too and live by the consequences.]

Thank you for agreeing to this.

[shenevermisses]

Yeah, well.

[She puts her knife away and almost smiles.]

Maybe I'm going soft.

[rutagraveolens]

Oh, I don't think you're going soft. [Rue paused as she choose her next words carefully.] You're doing what you would have done if you won. And by training me, you're proving you're useful by showing you can teach others how to survive.

[shenevermisses]

Hopefully they'll see it that way, then. Either way -- we'll see what we can do about making you... something like a Career.

[rutagraveolens]

Something like a Career. [She'll accept that.]

I should probably get back to the house. Tomorrow, at ten, room four, Wind Building.

[shenevermisses]

I'll see you then.