Beyond The Arena ~ Looks The Same {WT, Aya}
Jul 10, 2011 15:48:11 GMT -5
Post by Tsarashi 2.0 on Jul 10, 2011 15:48:11 GMT -5
The room that Heron had been placed in after coming to the Training Center was greatly different from the room she had been stationed in during her time as a tribute. It was slightly larger and the décor wasn’t as generic and gaudy as her new home back in District Twelve had been. The bed was large and covered in a simple striped blue and grey bedding, the floor was covered in a soft grey rug that she was not able to enjoy, there was a white lounge chair in the corner and a small mirror on the blue wall next to a few framed black and white photos of her from the arena. The room was hers. There was no doubt about the fact that is was made for her, and she was surprised that she didn’t hate it as much as she thought she would have.
The first things that she had noticed upon her arrival were the photographs. Somehow the Capitol had managed to cut them from the films and change their coloring so that they matched the room, but Heron didn’t question that until after her initial shock of seeing them. There were four in all, all the same rectangle in shape and all about the length of her forearm in size. The first one was a close up of her standing on her platform, looking determined. They must have searched every frame of that scene to find that look, since that was far from how she had felt at the time.
Hung perfectly next to the first one was the second photo, one that gave the victor pause. It was a moment of time that Heron didn’t remember; perhaps it was during the time that her alliance had spent before walking to the Volcano for the first time. She had a half grin on her face as she stood beside Storm who was looking as kind and calm as usual, only Anastasia looked somewhat miffed. They looked like old friends getting ready to go on a walk. If only that were true.
Photos told a story, and the third one told a story about pain and betrayal. It was a picture of the moment after Ana had been killed, when Heron had turned her back on Soren, not knowing that she would never see him again, and held onto Storm’s hand. It was a sweet picture of her and Storm, heart retching, but sweet seeing her not being able to look Storm in the eye, Storm looking vulnerable and Soren in the background with a look that screamed that he was angry but ashamed at the same time. Out of all of the other times that her an Storm had been together she would never understand why they chose this particular moment to mount on her wall.
Lastly was the photo at the end of the row, the photo of her after killing Katie. She had looked up at the sky, not completely realizing that all of the cameras were zoomed in on her and capturing the very open expression of bewilderment, happiness and grief that played there. She looked like an open book, and it was probably the only time in her entire life that she had. The pictures were beautiful, but they were also painful reminders that hurt her to see every morning that she woke up in that building.
It was bad enough that she was forced to stay in the Training Center while the next games were beginning and going on. She was safe inside these walls while the new set of tributes prepared themselves to fight to the death. One of those tributes being a girl by the name of Jaimie Maccon who was staying in the exact same room that Heron had exactly one year ago. Twenty three of those twenty four teenagers would die, and many of them looked up at her for surviving when all odds were stacked against her. The pressure was maddening.
Jaimie Maccon and Dustin Summerfield were only two of the names that rang through Heron’s thoughts as she started her mornings. Before she had been too distracted to learn everyone’s names, too terrified, too focused on surviving. But now that that bone shattering shadow that came with the knowledge of death wasn’t looming over her she had no problem learning every single name of the tributes that would die. She saw them alive now, she saw them talk and train and eat and breathe. They were living humans that in three weeks time would be dead. All but one that is. And nobody knew who that one would be.
For the most part Heron tried to stay away from the tributes. She hid in her room like a turtle in its shell until she was forced to come out and play mentor. When she was not being forced to participate in parades and interviews and whatever the hell else they made her do she locked herself away hoping that it would all be over soon and she would be able to go back home. She would have nightmares and day terrors and flash backs just from being in that building and she was glad that no one was near her to see her in those states of distress. But above all Heron hoped that Arbor and Aranica didn’t hear her screams in the middle of the night from their rooms next to and across the hall from hers.
During her short time being there so far Heron hadn’t been able to speak much with the two other victors from her District. It seemed strange being around them as a fellow survivor. They had practically been through the same things that she had, seen similar things, felt similar things. And yet Heron feared that they would disappear as well if she tried to get close to them. Even though she had seen them on television, had seen them win, she still didn’t know them as people and she hadn’t tried to learn. If she tried to reach out for them would they shatter like Storm does in her nightmares? Would they wilt under her bloodied hands? Would she wilt under their touch that had seen as much blood as her own?
Those were just a few of the fears that were running through Heron’s head as she walked slowly into the elevator that would take her down to the Dining hall. The tributes had already eaten and were training, Heron kept from eating with them, choosing instead to eat at around noon when the hall was empty. She didn’t know what any of the other people were up to since there was more than just her and the two other victors there, but when she thought about it she realized that it didn’t really matter to her. The less people she had to interact with the better.
Though there was a down side to that as well, since time moves faster when there is someone to share it with. The few days that she had been there already has felt like weeks hauled up in her room. There was no one to vent to, no one to hold when she became frightened. There was no Fletcher, and that was probably one of the loneliest thoughts.
But it would be like that every year, right? She would have to leave her home to come back to this place every year; she would need to leave her parents and Fletcher behind so that she could help the dead. She was going to have to get used to it quickly. Fletcher was her lifeline when she was at home, but here her only lifeline was the cold chain of metal that rested under her white shirt against her bare chest. Heron pulled her denim jacket closer to herself in a moment of insecurity as she stepped out of the elevator and up to the entrance of the Dining hall.
Her false legs felt like lead as she moved them forward towards the sharp and savory scents that were wafting out of the hall and towards her. The scents were not of her usual favorites; roast beef, mashed potatoes and raspberry pie. They were completely foreign to her, though faintly she remembered smelling them a few times before. For the life of her Heron was not able to place the smell to the food that it went with, but the smell did manage to make her stomach to flip flops of anticipation. Without thinking to hold herself back a moment longer to determine if the Dining hall was truly empty or not Heron stepped beyond its barrier and into the large open room of tables and chairs.[/size]