This isn’t Panem, is it? [Her voice is soft, a little scared – but she’s standing strong.] I thought it might be a trick of the Capitol, at first; taking me away from Katniss. But the buildings are all different. And the technology isn’t as good.
Besides, there’s no reason for them to trick me, is there? It’s Katniss they want to torture. They’d want her to see me hurt. Or afraid, I suppose, if they were just holding me hostage… I don’t think they’d give me powers either. Not without putting me to work.
[She pauses a moment, brow furrowing. She isn’t in Panem anymore. But if she’s not…]
Katniss might not be here either. If someone sees her, would you tell her I’m here? Not for free; I could pay you, with healing; or talk an animal into helping you, if you want.
[If someone’s desperate enough, they’ll do anything – that's the advice she gave Katniss, about making demands. Prim needs someone to be even more desperate than she is.] If you can find her, I’ll heal anything. For anyone. No matter how bad it is.
[She can’t let Katniss think she’s dead; she won’t. She knows that family is one of the only things that's keeps her sister going.] Promise.
LOGS POST (PROSE) SAMPLE Prim sprinkled bread upon the floor, more than aware of how Katniss would cringe at every crumb. Food was something precious, and she found her own eyes flicking occasionally to the bread, painfully aware that she wouldn’t be getting any more of it tonight – that she couldn’t afford to give up much more, if she was going to last the night. She was considering giving up when the first bird appeared – a plain pigeon that brought a smile to her face, when it lead its friends to the miniature bounty she had laid out, their beaks angling immediately for the crumbs.
Opening her thoughts to theirs, she gently probed at their minds, biting her lip in the hope that they would react to the thought of Katniss; the girl with the bow; the mockingjay. Her images brought no response – or at least none that were useful. A thought or two about how her hair might be used in a nest, a curiosity if the bow was a perch to sit on… one of them expressed a sudden urge to use the restroom, which at least made Prim smile. Her sister would curse if she knew what was going on in their heads.
Almost all their chatter was like that; useless information, with the occasional exclamation of “Food!” thrown in. But Prim didn’t even try to shutthem out, as she bit into her own measly portion of the food. It was coarse and plain, but it reminded her of Peeta – and through him Katniss. That, and the bird’s inane chatter, brought another small smile to her lips. They were reminders that not everything in this world was terror and pain; that in small ways like this she could make a difference, even with everything that had happened; and so long as she kept her head… she had to believe she could do some good, and still get back to Katniss too.
A sound in the distance interrupted her peaceful moment, sending the birds scattering; she stood quickly, wishing her moment of peace could have remained; but her eyes locked quickly on a man, lying on the ground, blood pooling from his form. Someone else was dealing with the one who had hurt him, but no one had moved towards the injured human – and from the rush of blood loss, Prim didn't think he had much time.
Prim rushed forward, for her part, refusing to hesitate, despite the sudden fear rising in her throat. The fear wasn’t for herself, anyhow. It was for what would happen to the man if she didn’t reach him in time, How he must be suffering, with no one besides him… it was, in a way, the same drive that pressed her to search for Katniss – the desire to relieve that hurt, which afflicted so many people in her world. Not to mention some of her own, in knowing her sister was safe again...
Sliding into place besides the injured man, she dismissed other thoughts as she moved to the wound; a horrible gash, though she didn’t see anything that had caused it – whatever it was had probably passed cleanly through the other side; good, though not good enough if she couldn’t stop the bleeding. She pressed her hands quickly against the wound, lifting her head to call for help – herbs, morphling, anything that would dull the pain.
The tingling glow spreading from her palm stopped her cold, the words catching in her throat when she felt the injured skin beneath her fingers slowly begin to knit itself together, the muscles shifting as they attempted to fix themselves. Was it a third power? Was that even possible? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to question, not while the flesh was still repairing itself, in case she interrupted the process. After there would be time to analyze.
It seemed to take forever before the blood stopped, and the wound shifted to something less mortal – though still hazardous to his health; then people arrived, to take the injured man away. She considered chasing after, telling them what she could do – but the glow from her hands had stopped when they took him, and she wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Besides, it was at that moment when she heard a squeak; a rat not too far away, an image in its head of a familiar face, somewhat distorted by the Rodent's odd angle. “Katniss,” she whispered, stirring immediately.
REVISIONS
This isn’t Panem, is it? [Her voice is soft, a little scared – but she’s standing strong.] I thought it might be a trick of the Capitol, at first; taking me away from Katniss. But the buildings are all different. And the technology isn’t as good.
Besides, there’s no reason for them to trick me, is there? It’s Katniss they want to torture. They’d want her to see me hurt. Or afraid, I suppose, if they were just holding me hostage… I don’t think they’d give me powers either. Not without putting me to work.
[She pauses a moment, brow furrowing. She isn’t in Panem anymore. But if she’s not…]
Katniss might not be here either. If someone sees her, would you tell her I’m here? Not for free; I could pay you, with healing; or talk an animal into helping you, if you want.
[If someone’s desperate enough, they’ll do anything – that's the advice she gave Katniss, about making demands. Prim needs someone to be even more desperate than she is.] If you can find her, I’ll heal anything. For anyone. No matter how bad it is.
[She can’t let Katniss think she’s dead; she won’t. She knows that family is one of the only things that's keeps her sister going.] Promise.
LOGS POST (PROSE) SAMPLE
Prim sprinkled bread upon the floor, more than aware of how Katniss would cringe at every crumb. Food was something precious, and she found her own eyes flicking occasionally to the bread, painfully aware that she wouldn’t be getting any more of it tonight – that she couldn’t afford to give up much more, if she was going to last the night. She was considering giving up when the first bird appeared – a plain pigeon that brought a smile to her face, when it lead its friends to the miniature bounty she had laid out, their beaks angling immediately for the crumbs.
Opening her thoughts to theirs, she gently probed at their minds, biting her lip in the hope that they would react to the thought of Katniss; the girl with the bow; the mockingjay. Her images brought no response – or at least none that were useful. A thought or two about how her hair might be used in a nest, a curiosity if the bow was a perch to sit on… one of them expressed a sudden urge to use the restroom, which at least made Prim smile. Her sister would curse if she knew what was going on in their heads.
Almost all their chatter was like that; useless information, with the occasional exclamation of “Food!” thrown in. But Prim didn’t even try to shutthem out, as she bit into her own measly portion of the food. It was coarse and plain, but it reminded her of Peeta – and through him Katniss. That, and the bird’s inane chatter, brought another small smile to her lips. They were reminders that not everything in this world was terror and pain; that in small ways like this she could make a difference, even with everything that had happened; and so long as she kept her head… she had to believe she could do some good, and still get back to Katniss too.
A sound in the distance interrupted her peaceful moment, sending the birds scattering; she stood quickly, wishing her moment of peace could have remained; but her eyes locked quickly on a man, lying on the ground, blood pooling from his form. Someone else was dealing with the one who had hurt him, but no one had moved towards the injured human – and from the rush of blood loss, Prim didn't think he had much time.
Prim rushed forward, for her part, refusing to hesitate, despite the sudden fear rising in her throat. The fear wasn’t for herself, anyhow. It was for what would happen to the man if she didn’t reach him in time, How he must be suffering, with no one besides him… it was, in a way, the same drive that pressed her to search for Katniss – the desire to relieve that hurt, which afflicted so many people in her world. Not to mention some of her own, in knowing her sister was safe again...
Sliding into place besides the injured man, she dismissed other thoughts as she moved to the wound; a horrible gash, though she didn’t see anything that had caused it – whatever it was had probably passed cleanly through the other side; good, though not good enough if she couldn’t stop the bleeding. She pressed her hands quickly against the wound, lifting her head to call for help – herbs, morphling, anything that would dull the pain.
The tingling glow spreading from her palm stopped her cold, the words catching in her throat when she felt the injured skin beneath her fingers slowly begin to knit itself together, the muscles shifting as they attempted to fix themselves. Was it a third power? Was that even possible? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to question, not while the flesh was still repairing itself, in case she interrupted the process. After there would be time to analyze.
It seemed to take forever before the blood stopped, and the wound shifted to something less mortal – though still hazardous to his health; then people arrived, to take the injured man away. She considered chasing after, telling them what she could do – but the glow from her hands had stopped when they took him, and she wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Besides, it was at that moment when she heard a squeak; a rat not too far away, an image in its head of a familiar face, somewhat distorted by the Rodent's odd angle. “Katniss,” she whispered, stirring immediately.
She was close.