vera vision / 96th watching thread.

v e r a .

"gimme just a little bit (more)
a little bit of excess"

BLOODBATH

Bloodbath. My baby sister was about to get killed. She was gonna go out crying. Mom had one of Tina's hands in both of hers. Pleater was sitting on the ground, but behind the back of the couch, where he could hear but not see. Him and the other ones around his age were morbidly fascinated with the Games. Kids always were the older they got. I was interested too at his age, but I had to sneak peeks at the Games at friends' houses back then. Mom and Dad never watched it when we were all small for obvious reasons, but there was no getting around it this year. The rest of the kids were either camping out with Pleater or were running in and out; the younger ones were being hurried away by the rest of my sisters. They were still too young, they said. I had to laugh. They were still small enough that they could pick them up and carry them home while they screamed and kicked. Wasn't so easy with the older ones, was it?

I looked over the back of the couch, out into the hallway. They corralled their little troupes together, brats hoisted under their arms as they yelled goodbyes and good lucks. It must've felt good to be on the other side of reaping age. I turned back to the television. They had a whole log cabin thing set up this year. How cute. What a cozy little set for all these kids to die in. I sat further back, brushing hard past Tina. Dad was pacing the room, driving me nuts. But I ignored it. I ignored it like I ignored all of Mom and Tina’s muttering and praying and craziness. Tina was pregnant again. She was following in Mom’s footsteps anyways. Did she enjoy going through this every year? Why else give them so many names for their stupid draw? Freaks. I put my hand on my Mom’s back and rub it gently. A freak, but still Mom.

Her shoulders shook as the cabin floor opened up. I wasn’t sure how much longer she’d still be Mom.

There were a lot of faces to remember, most of them hardly recognisable cast in the half light of the flickering fire. Caesar Flickerman wasted no time supplying their names, but I tuned out his voice. I was only watching to see Marceline, and I’d know her face anywhere. She appeared, looking like a whole different girl than either the one we knew or the one we saw getting interviewed. But she was still pretty. She was still Marceline. But like with Mom, I didn’t know how much longer that would be the case for.

I didn’t know how little time she had left. A smile tugged at her mouth, an awful watery looking thing without a hint of joy behind it. Then she was off. The whole thing was a blur. Knives and fists swung, Marceline’s included. For a moment, she was caught up with some girl, a blonde from Five, and –

She didn’t die. By some miracle, she wasn’t dead. I jumped to the edge of my seat, hands over my face. My baby sister was alive. Frozen in place, looking down on the dead body of another girl, but alive. Mom screamed. The kids jumped up from behind the couch. Nobody tried to stop them. Dad quit his pacing, tumbled forward to his knees in front of the television. My heart skipped a beat. At the same time, Marceline finally moved. Others took swipes at her on her way out – someone caught her in the leg. Her allies were up, barely. The other girl’s leg was hanging off her.

But she got out of there. She fell on her ass. But she was out.

v e r a .

"gimme just a little bit (more)
a little bit of excess"

DAY THREE

I could be cheeky and say I'd seen the mines collapse coming from a mile away, but I doubt anyone else would find it funny. My apathy is growing much more quickly than I'd like, but I don't know how to make it stop. There's not much I can do in that respect. It's either steel myself or turn into a crying mess. I know people are already whispering about us, about Marceline, and how she was always a strange child. It's up to me to keep things turning. I go to work, I rake in the extra sympathy tips, I bring home food for Mom and Dad and whoever else has decided to camp out in the living room.

How has it only been three days? Less, really. But this routine has been developing since the day Marceline left Eight. Everything stopped then and there. Now, if anything moves, it turns in place. 

She manages to escape the collapsing mine... and then she fucks off from her allies. Typical Marceline. She was always such a loner... and always had such a good idea for random shit on the side of the road. Her allies don't even know how lucky they are to have a natural scavenger like her on their team. But maybe they do know, and maybe I'm just projecting.

I do have to wonder what she's playing at though. This is the 96th Hunger Games, not the 96th Best Friends Games. Having allies is one thing, but Marceline is so attached to that girl from Twelve, and to Garnet Beauford too. I know his face from around town; he's handsome, and a decent guy by all reports, but what does any of that mean when only one of you can ever see the smoggy skyline of District Eight again? Is clinging to your District partner worth it? I seriously have to wonder. Thinking of everyone I know in town, I can't really land on a single person from Eight I'd want to link up with.

But hey, that's easy to say from the discomfort of the sweaty, overcrowded living room. The clock hits five thirty. Time for work. Dad doesn't approve of the fact that I'm still going to work, but he'll still happily eat and drink anything I bring home, which proves me right; somebody has to go out, act normal.

For my entire shift, I think I feel dust from the ceiling landing on my shoulders. When I get home, I feel it there too. Just how sturdy is anything? The Capitol can blow this up anytime they like, just like those mines.