Feather feet [Junie x Safina]

Feather feet [Junie x Safina] Jun 16, 2024 21:34:46 GMT -5

Post by D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] on Jun 16, 2024 21:34:46 GMT -5

[googlefont="Cinzel Decorative"]

Safina Roy

Feather feet - I

Again.

I launch back onto the field of tiled squares, stepping from tile to tile and careful to try and avoid the tiles with dangers lying beneath them. Trial and error has taught me that seemingly most tiles are to be avoided; one had been uncomfortably hot to the touch, the pain still slowly ebbing from the sole of my bare foot. Another had collapsed away, dropping me down a few feet into a pit below. I swear the training center padding lining the bottom for our safety was designed to still be as painful as possible.

Finally though I was almost through to the end, but these last few rows seemed to be simply impassable. Each step I had taken has led to another "trap" another return to the start. Again. I try a jump only to slip flat on my ass and feeling the protests of my tailbone. Again. I try a side step and find myself wrapped in a net. Again. Fail. Again. Fail.

The frustration is mounting with each go. There must be a solution here! My mind is computing so hard you could probably hear the whirring and clicking in my head if you stood close enough to me. This is on par with some of the toughest obstacles to my projects back home. Once, it took me a solid month to crack the cause of the circuitry in an electronic clock for Tevin's birthday bursting into flames when it powered on. This time, though, I don't have a month to spare.

Again.

I make it to the impenetrable wall of trapped tiles and stop to think. It seems like no matter where I step, the rest of the field is traps. It doesn't make sense: why would they design an impossible course and call it training? What skills would it teach me to get to this point and just fail? Is it some cruel way to remind us that our fate is out of our control? No, the Games teach that plenty on their own already. What am I missing?

A thought crosses my mind: Maybe it's not about avoidance. Realization begins to trickle down like an egg cracked on the top of my head. Of course! The traps weren't designed to be found over and over again so I could learn to avoid them. In that arena, one of these traps could easily spell death, and there is no second run to learn to avoid it on. I've approached this station all wrong; I need to learn how to stop setting these traps off in the first place.

I take the lightest step possible onto the tile with the net (the least painful should I be wrong), and quickly shift my weight across it to land back on the tile I know is safe behind me. The net doesn't trigger.

Eureka.

I turn to go back to the start, my proper training about to begin, when the wisp that is Junie St. James. The youngest girl going into the arena, so tiny and still so fresh to the world. Whose name sticks to my mind, haunts me to think of where we're about to be. The weight of thousands of nets falls over me when I think about how my beating heart will come at the cost of hers. Asking myself if I'd have what it takes to be the one to still its beating, if push came to shove. It scares me to know that I don't think I could do it.

I walk up to her gently, like I'm trying not to spook a wounded little bird as I get closer and closer. Every part of me wants to turn and put as much distance between me and her, push her out of sight and mind. Every part of me also wants to know Junie St. James, and never forget her in life or in death. As always, knowledge wins the mental tug of war.
"Hey Junie," I give her a smile of genuine warmth, "Do you want to practice this course with me? It seems we have to try not to set off the traps, and so far I'm not so good. Maybe you'll have better success."

[WC: 707]

Feather feet [Junie x Safina] Jun 17, 2024 5:44:52 GMT -5

Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Jun 17, 2024 5:44:52 GMT -5

Junie St. James.

Junie can fit all of her hopes and dreams inside of her pocket, alongside breadcrumbs and scraps of ribbon.

They are bunched up there, overlapping one another. She has screwed them up into a tiny ball with her fists, and tucked them away. It's easier not to think about them. Once upon a time, she had many more than she has now, but they have fallen away.

She left one in the District Square on reaping morning, another in the justice building when her Father had cried. She pressed one into the palm of her older sister, telling her, Keep this safe for me! and discarded several in the carriages of the train that brought her here. There are more in her suite, one in the rooftop pool, and one she gave to the Gamemakers, a gift, in exchange for her training score. Now she is left with only a handful - even less, if she squishes them real tight.

She does not dream of going home.

She does not dream of seeing her family again, or feeling her brother kiss her forehead. She does not even dream of feeding the stray cat she loves best, does not even consider padding to the kitchen at midnight to pour it a forbidden saucer of milk. The cat will starve, now, unless it can dream up another lonely child for itself.

Mostly, Junie watches the other tributes and wonders about their dreams. Did they, too, leave them at the door? Or do they have a different sort of voice in their head, one that tells them they can do it, rather than sabotages every next step?

Today, she watches Safina - from District Three, Junie knows - attempt a puzzle over and over. Junie sits atop the gymnastics bars, swinging her legs, and turning her head back and forth as Safina tries and tries again. She is polite, she suppresses her giggles.

Junie does not expect that anybody will speak to her. They rarely do; she is invisible, in many ways. Not a threat, nor a useful ally, and so ignored as unfortunate debris, cannon-fodder, a regretful but fortunately easy hurdle between each other tribute and their dream of a crown. She wonders how many of them keep this dream in their back pocket.

Safina surprises her. She stops what she is doing as though she can feel Junie's watchful eyes upon her - she likely can, Junie has never once in her life been subtle - and moved closer to her. Everybody approaches Junie as though she is a stray dog; slowly, one step at a time, bracing themselves for her to flee or attack.

"Hey, Junie," she says, softly. (Here, kitty, kitty.) "Do you want to practice this course with me? It seems we have to try not to set off the traps, and so far I'm not so good. Maybe you'll have better success."

Junie looks doubtfully at the elaborate maze. She had decided she was done with games, back when she faced the Gamemakers. This looks, to Junie, suspiciously like a game.

She turns back to Safina, offers her a weak smile. The girl looks so hopeful. Junie sneaks a glance at her pockets. They do not appear to be overflowing. In fact, Junie does not notice anything perceivable there. That does not mean, of course, that they are empty.

Junie jumps down from the bar. "You show me, first," she says, although she has watched Safina ten or fifteen times already. "I don't really understand what it's for. Do you know? Do you know what the point of any of this is?"

There is no point, whisper the faeries. Junie shushes them, wanting to let Safina speak for herself.