hymn 101 // { lex oneshots }

i come here to get high, to do more than just get by
i've come to test the timber of my heart

She takes a picture of the Murder Tree before she starts dismembering it.

Its spiny limbs come off easier now that it's turned to snag. The thing has gone from greenwood (or is it crimsonwood when the thing bleeds?) to seasoned timber quick as rigor mortis. Past the armored bark, the spiny tree has an unexpected give to it. Vascular and almost spongy, not unlike cork. It's peculiar. And it kills Lex a little bit that odds are against her ever learning more about it. Even its name. It's all over the broadcasts — it has to be — so everyone in the whole nation must know by now: what it's called, how it behaves, where it lives, its properties that made it uniquely suited to feature in the Games or to stab Denali in the stomach or whatever. Whether or not Lex is going to wake up covered in welts from trying to work with it. Suspicious or no, it's the most interesting timber here. Besides, whittling is the best distraction that Lex sorely needs right now.

and i've come to know the manger that you sleep in
i've come to be the stranger that you keep

She takes a picture of the combat boots she's left out in the woods.

After active days of sweating into the leather with no change of socks available, Lex's boots — and feet, for that matter — smell exactly the way you'd expect. One of Denali's terror birds gives a horrified caw, when the gentle breeze carries the scent towards its perch on the Trolley Problem. No one else complains, which is fortunate for them. With her feet kicked up, the fresh air between Lex's toes feels so spectacular she'd have no choice but to tell them to put a sock in it. And she's got two particularly pungent candidates airing out over the edge of the landship.

She rolls her shoulders and picks up the spar of Murder Tree wood, once again co-opting the paring knife (now with more scorch marks!) for an evening of relaxed whittling and no more thinking.

and i come here to ignore your cries and heartaches
i've come to closely listen to you sing

She takes a picture of the cherrywood splinter that's lodged under her thumbnail.

Distraction comes easy to Lex Lionel tonight. Isn't that the way it goes? She'd started whittling to keep her hands busy and her mind clear. (Which, of course, sounds like an affirmation straight out of Denali's morning yoga... which helps nothing.) So here she is, with her mind busy and her knife and branchlet set off to the side.

The sliver is a keepsake of an end table she'd taken over from her dad when he'd torn something in his shoulder a month or so ago. The fragment dug all the way to the base of her nailbed and promptly broke off, leaving behind the small memento near the base. It wasn't the first time — but it might very well be the last. She could do without ever getting another nailbed splinter. But the idea that the half-finished puzzle desk in the Lionel woodshop will be her last piece — ever — weighs heavier tonight than it has the whole Games. And the thought of that beautiful purpleheart relegated to some back corner, collecting dust while Arthur musters the heart to finish it, is somehow worse.

(She picks the branch and the knife back up, shallow strokes shaping the spar of Murder Tree into the head of some monster.)

Lex doesn't know who she thinks she's kidding — that isn't how Arthur Lionel grieves. The man who sent his only kid off to the slaughter with a firm handshake has probably finished the thing by now. And he's probably halfway into his next project, whatever that might be. Black walnut casket. Domed lid, brass handles. Reed molding — no, too flashy. Bead molding. Best-case scenario, it isn't like he'd be upset to sell it. That's the style of affection Lex knows. Attention to detail. Pragmatism. Handshakes. Hugs? Out of the question.

She looks down at what her absent hands have carved. The beast is an uncanny likeness of the lion embroidered on Denali's jacket. Lex frowns, tries to trim the critter down to a house cat. It's not always so easy to pass one thing off as another, but she's had enough practice lying to herself.