Peeta Mellark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
victorbychance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lucetilogs2012-05-03 06:58 pm
victorbychance) wrote in lucetilogs2012-05-03 06:58 pm
I've cost you a lot of trouble.
Who: Peeta Mellark, Adele LeBlanc, Hiccup Haddock, Sabriel, Helios Sprensonne, Katniss Everdeen, and probably Rue.
What: Peeta arrives in Luceti and gives everyone the wrong impression.
When: Evening of May 3rd.
Where: The Barracks and around it.
Summary: A second ago, Peeta was entering the arena. Now, he believes he's there already.
Rating: Let's say R for violence. Blood does make it an R-rating automatically, right? Won't be too bad, though. More like PG-13. Or something. There's a reason I don't do this professionally. More than one reason.
Portia stands with hands at her sides, a muscle in her jaw working to keep her face even despite the moisture already glinting in her eyes. Peeta, in his last moment outside the arena, touches his fingertips to the soundproof glass of the tube. In a fit of sentimentality, Portia touches her own fingertips to her lips and sends the kiss his way.
With three fingers.
Peeta has exactly enough time to see the color drain from his reflection’s face before he begins to rise.
Between the dressing room and the pedestal, there’s a brief moment of utter blackness. Peeta has, both times he has been a tribute, resolved never to close his eyes going into the arena. But that moment of blackness comes, when the only light is that being blocked by the platform he’s standing on, and the next time he sees light, he’s not standing on a pedestal, but lying down on a cold floor without knowing he ever went horizontal.
It takes him a moment to get his bearings. Did I pass out? he asks the ceiling. The ceiling does not give any clues. Peeta sits up, and wonders for a moment if he is inside the Cornucopia, dragged there for his own safety after being clocked on the head during the bloodbath. But if that were the case, whoever cared so much for his life wouldn’t have left him. Not unless they were already dead. And shouldn't he have an enormous headache? Besides, there’s a door, and the Cornucopia doesn’t have a door. It’s also, well, cornucopia-shaped, whereas this building is as rectangular as they come. Still, maybe it’s different this year. The weapons hanging on the walls would certainly indicate a temporary residence in the Cornucopia.
His old instincts take over and urge him to make haste. First goal: arm yourself. Second goal: find Katniss. He doesn’t note his half-nakedness until he tries strapping a knife to his belt. One of the other tributes must have stolen his clothes while he was out. Smart. He carefully examines the knife, keeping one eye on not only the door, but the shadows of the room. Anything could come out of those.
The knives look normal. He sniffs, making sure there’s no toxin on them that can absorb through the skin. Quickly, he chooses one, unsheathes it, and slowly approaches the door. When he cracks it open, he sees cobblestone streets being walked by people.
People. Streets.
The Gamemakers are sick. Setting the Quarter Quell in a town, with innocents being caught in the crossfire. Is this a way to create obstacles for the tributes who care about sparing lives? The Careers will take advantage of that.
As one person walks by, Peeta glimpses something that makes his eyes go wide. Wings. Another weird Capitol fashion, maybe, except that everyone has these things. Some of the people outside don’t even look like people.
Mutts. All of them mutts, maybe made to look like terrifying monsters, maybe made to look like someone you love. And there are lots of them. He can’t possibly fight his way past that many, not when he’s as exposed as he is. He has to wait till this street is clear, then sneak out and find Katniss—if she’s still alive. He ducks behind the door, eyes squeezed shut, trying to breathe slowly and quietly in spite of his hammering heart.
The person passes. Everyone else seems to linger in the distance. Peeta slips out, knife in hand. The moment the door is closed and he starts in the opposite direction of the crowd, he nearly runs right into the arms of a thin French woman.
What: Peeta arrives in Luceti and gives everyone the wrong impression.
When: Evening of May 3rd.
Where: The Barracks and around it.
Summary: A second ago, Peeta was entering the arena. Now, he believes he's there already.
Rating: Let's say R for violence. Blood does make it an R-rating automatically, right? Won't be too bad, though. More like PG-13. Or something. There's a reason I don't do this professionally. More than one reason.
Portia stands with hands at her sides, a muscle in her jaw working to keep her face even despite the moisture already glinting in her eyes. Peeta, in his last moment outside the arena, touches his fingertips to the soundproof glass of the tube. In a fit of sentimentality, Portia touches her own fingertips to her lips and sends the kiss his way.
With three fingers.
Peeta has exactly enough time to see the color drain from his reflection’s face before he begins to rise.
Between the dressing room and the pedestal, there’s a brief moment of utter blackness. Peeta has, both times he has been a tribute, resolved never to close his eyes going into the arena. But that moment of blackness comes, when the only light is that being blocked by the platform he’s standing on, and the next time he sees light, he’s not standing on a pedestal, but lying down on a cold floor without knowing he ever went horizontal.
It takes him a moment to get his bearings. Did I pass out? he asks the ceiling. The ceiling does not give any clues. Peeta sits up, and wonders for a moment if he is inside the Cornucopia, dragged there for his own safety after being clocked on the head during the bloodbath. But if that were the case, whoever cared so much for his life wouldn’t have left him. Not unless they were already dead. And shouldn't he have an enormous headache? Besides, there’s a door, and the Cornucopia doesn’t have a door. It’s also, well, cornucopia-shaped, whereas this building is as rectangular as they come. Still, maybe it’s different this year. The weapons hanging on the walls would certainly indicate a temporary residence in the Cornucopia.
His old instincts take over and urge him to make haste. First goal: arm yourself. Second goal: find Katniss. He doesn’t note his half-nakedness until he tries strapping a knife to his belt. One of the other tributes must have stolen his clothes while he was out. Smart. He carefully examines the knife, keeping one eye on not only the door, but the shadows of the room. Anything could come out of those.
The knives look normal. He sniffs, making sure there’s no toxin on them that can absorb through the skin. Quickly, he chooses one, unsheathes it, and slowly approaches the door. When he cracks it open, he sees cobblestone streets being walked by people.
People. Streets.
The Gamemakers are sick. Setting the Quarter Quell in a town, with innocents being caught in the crossfire. Is this a way to create obstacles for the tributes who care about sparing lives? The Careers will take advantage of that.
As one person walks by, Peeta glimpses something that makes his eyes go wide. Wings. Another weird Capitol fashion, maybe, except that everyone has these things. Some of the people outside don’t even look like people.
Mutts. All of them mutts, maybe made to look like terrifying monsters, maybe made to look like someone you love. And there are lots of them. He can’t possibly fight his way past that many, not when he’s as exposed as he is. He has to wait till this street is clear, then sneak out and find Katniss—if she’s still alive. He ducks behind the door, eyes squeezed shut, trying to breathe slowly and quietly in spite of his hammering heart.
The person passes. Everyone else seems to linger in the distance. Peeta slips out, knife in hand. The moment the door is closed and he starts in the opposite direction of the crowd, he nearly runs right into the arms of a thin French woman.
no subject
No, the real concern here was the level of violence one might expect to come across on a daily basis. Adele... sort of answered it for him.
"Yes - what did happen?" Excellent choice for change of subject, Miss LeBlanc.
no subject
"I called for help- he bolted. I'm fairly certain he's a New Feather." That or someone finally had a psychotic break. The former was far more likely.
no subject
He reached up, lightly tapping the skin near the cut. "Can you feel that?"
no subject
Adele blinks down at the cut, watching him tap and feeling nothing. "...that is always so strange. But no."
no subject
There's a reluctant little tug at his lips. "Biochemistry is neat," He allows. "I'm going to start the first suture. You might not want to watch."
He pulled away long enough to tie a surgeon's knot to the end of the strand, then got up to wheel the suctioning tool over. If one could afford to have those tools, one might as well put them to use.
Stitching a wound shut, one had to connect live tissue by layers. The depth of the cut suggested he had three layers to do.
no subject
All the same she lets her head loll back against the pillows, letting him work without scrutiny. She knows well enough that were she treating a physician she wouldn't want them bothering her while she works.
no subject
John does want to concentrate - she's absolutely right. And when he's moving aside the gauze and stitching up the wound, he's silent, focusing on doing the work as quickly and cleanly as possible while occasionally having to suction blood out of the way.
He does speak, however, when the first line of stitches is done and tied off, because he has to clean the affected area again and apply another treatment against infection.
"Is it Miss or Doctor? Just a surgeon is a 'Miss' in England." And you said you were divorced, so he assumes it's not Missus.
no subject
The quiet is familiar, as is his focus, enough for her to start to drift in her own thoughts before he speaks up again. "Mm?"
A beat. "Doctor, really. I worked just as hard as my contemporaries to earn that much."