Annie Cresta | Victor of the 70th Hunger Games (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
treadswater) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
farsickness2021-02-28 09:07 pm
treadswater) wrote in farsickness2021-02-28 09:07 pm
have we ever thought that being lost is our destination? | Locked + OTA
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHEN: 28th February, first part of March
WHAT: Arrival
WHERE: Gazin
WARNINGS: Anxiety attack in Arrival section + general anxious thinking in other threads. Will add if anything more shows up.
NOTES: Feel free to add a wildcard situation if you want! Annie will be scoping out Gazin a lot.
ARRIVAL | Locked to Lyanna Stark
She wants to be anywhere else. She wants to be somewhere away from the television, away from her house, away where she can't be found at all. No one. No journalists to ask her awkward questions because oh no, oh no, it's the Quarter Quell and the arena will soon be down to the final eight. And Finnick will live. He'll live past that. And then Annie is going to be in world of trouble because... Because...
Because they made the jabberjays scream in her voice. Because Finnick had been mad with desperation.
Because Snow had made the rules very clear and then he'd given the nod to force whats-his-name, that fucker of a Gamemaker whose name she can't remember right this very fucking second, she's so fucked, they are so fucked, and they hadn't done anything wrong. And now, and now there'll be journalists asking questions and Annie had bolted from the living room as soon as her feet let her. Bolted where? She doesn't know.
She just wants to be somewhere else-
The cold shocks her. Her feet trip as snow suddenly clings to her ankles, and Annie stumbles onto the ground. The cold, wet, snowy ground. Her gasp pulls cold air into her lungs and she starts to cough at the sudden icy conditions. Maybe it's a good thing: it stops her from screaming.
In a daze, Annie reaches out to push herself up from the ground, her other hand still clutching her shawl to her chest. She'd. She'd been running through a doorway, down her hall and, and had something blurred? She can't remember. But she can't have been drugged. Her steps had moved smoothly from one to another. No pause. Just suddenly... This.
Snow. A forest. A wooden crossroads and a cold wind chilling her through the thin cotton of her blouse.
Now I really have gone completely insane, Annie thinks, and she starts to laugh.
LATER | OTA
Gazin is strange. Annie can't make sense of it. She has a room now, on a loan from the tavern. She'll have to pay for board in a week. She has clothes. The faded dress is too big, the stockings patched and mended, the boots will need a repair soon, the cloak smells musty. But they are clothes and if she puts them over her own blouse and skirt, she's warm enough. It's enough. It's enough to be another data point because oh, no, the Capitol would not put her in such things. She knows how the Capitol works, how the arena fashion works, and none of this is what they'd do with her.
She's worn out from her bout of hysterics in the forest, so for a few hours that first night, Annie can be found in the tavern's main room listening in on conversations. Watching the dynamics at play. Trying to work out what, actually, is going on.
(When she goes to bed, she makes sure the door is blocked and she already has an idea of where to run if she has to climb out the window.)
The next few days, Annie can be found walking around Gazin. She's put on that old cloak but only sometimes wears the hood up. It restricts her vision and she is still jumping at shadows. Maybe this isn't all some new and excitingly detailed hallucination, but she's on edge enough that she's risking the cold to broaden her field of vision.
She visits shops, including a jeweller to get a price on the bangle she's least attached to. Not that she trades it in just yet. You only do that if you can't afford to bargain, and Annie has a week. She can look around to see where she'd get the best price. Once she can talk without nervousness, without her awkward laugh. She walks around the market, still watching, and one day, she even ventures out to the river. If she's to pay the loan, she'll need money, and trading bangles will only last her so long. She can fish. She can.
She'll just have to work out what she can fish in this ridiculous weather.
WHEN: 28th February, first part of March
WHAT: Arrival
WHERE: Gazin
WARNINGS: Anxiety attack in Arrival section + general anxious thinking in other threads. Will add if anything more shows up.
NOTES: Feel free to add a wildcard situation if you want! Annie will be scoping out Gazin a lot.
ARRIVAL | Locked to Lyanna Stark
She wants to be anywhere else. She wants to be somewhere away from the television, away from her house, away where she can't be found at all. No one. No journalists to ask her awkward questions because oh no, oh no, it's the Quarter Quell and the arena will soon be down to the final eight. And Finnick will live. He'll live past that. And then Annie is going to be in world of trouble because... Because...
Because they made the jabberjays scream in her voice. Because Finnick had been mad with desperation.
Because Snow had made the rules very clear and then he'd given the nod to force whats-his-name, that fucker of a Gamemaker whose name she can't remember right this very fucking second, she's so fucked, they are so fucked, and they hadn't done anything wrong. And now, and now there'll be journalists asking questions and Annie had bolted from the living room as soon as her feet let her. Bolted where? She doesn't know.
She just wants to be somewhere else-
The cold shocks her. Her feet trip as snow suddenly clings to her ankles, and Annie stumbles onto the ground. The cold, wet, snowy ground. Her gasp pulls cold air into her lungs and she starts to cough at the sudden icy conditions. Maybe it's a good thing: it stops her from screaming.
In a daze, Annie reaches out to push herself up from the ground, her other hand still clutching her shawl to her chest. She'd. She'd been running through a doorway, down her hall and, and had something blurred? She can't remember. But she can't have been drugged. Her steps had moved smoothly from one to another. No pause. Just suddenly... This.
Snow. A forest. A wooden crossroads and a cold wind chilling her through the thin cotton of her blouse.
Now I really have gone completely insane, Annie thinks, and she starts to laugh.
LATER | OTA
Gazin is strange. Annie can't make sense of it. She has a room now, on a loan from the tavern. She'll have to pay for board in a week. She has clothes. The faded dress is too big, the stockings patched and mended, the boots will need a repair soon, the cloak smells musty. But they are clothes and if she puts them over her own blouse and skirt, she's warm enough. It's enough. It's enough to be another data point because oh, no, the Capitol would not put her in such things. She knows how the Capitol works, how the arena fashion works, and none of this is what they'd do with her.
She's worn out from her bout of hysterics in the forest, so for a few hours that first night, Annie can be found in the tavern's main room listening in on conversations. Watching the dynamics at play. Trying to work out what, actually, is going on.
(When she goes to bed, she makes sure the door is blocked and she already has an idea of where to run if she has to climb out the window.)
The next few days, Annie can be found walking around Gazin. She's put on that old cloak but only sometimes wears the hood up. It restricts her vision and she is still jumping at shadows. Maybe this isn't all some new and excitingly detailed hallucination, but she's on edge enough that she's risking the cold to broaden her field of vision.
She visits shops, including a jeweller to get a price on the bangle she's least attached to. Not that she trades it in just yet. You only do that if you can't afford to bargain, and Annie has a week. She can look around to see where she'd get the best price. Once she can talk without nervousness, without her awkward laugh. She walks around the market, still watching, and one day, she even ventures out to the river. If she's to pay the loan, she'll need money, and trading bangles will only last her so long. She can fish. She can.
She'll just have to work out what she can fish in this ridiculous weather.
shopping
Still, this girl seems cagier than most and he tries to give her enough space before he speaks to her. There's nothing scarier than having someone mostly silent sneak up behind you so Bucky makes sure to be loud enough before he calls out.
"Not used to seeing people trying to sell jewelry. Usually they're buying it. You've got spares or something?"
no subject
Well. Okay. There are multiple aspects to the trouble Annie is in. But here's a couple of them. Point the first: her mind is a bastard and plays tricks on her. She can easily mistake a casual glance for something studied (even mocking), pull together coincidences into a paranoid pattern until she's jumping at shadows and convinced of conspiracy. Point the second: she's a stranger here in this city, in clothes that only sort of fit her, with an accent that is completely different to anything she hears around her. She's worthy of some glances even without it being suspect. Point the third: Annie still has no idea what the fuck is going on and she trusts absolutely no one here.
It's a problem.
It's a problem because when this man talks to her, she still jumps, a little, because she's been too busy trying to filter out everything to assess an actual threat that she missed him. And he's not a small man.
She possess enough of herself not to fiddle with the bangles under her sleeves when he asks about them, at least. And that's a loaded question. No she hasn't got spares, and maybe she's desperate enough to be cheated. Yes, she has spares, which means she's rich enough to rob. Which is the line she's been walking all today and Annie? Annie is tired.
"I might," she says, after a moment of looking at him. Assessing him. Eyes to hands, shoulders, build and stance. Then back to his face. "But if no one sells, what's everyone buying?"
(She sounds so painfully, painfully District Four to her ears right now.)
no subject
"I think people make things here but bartering makes sense too. I was just joking around with you, though. It's hard to make gold when you first get here and you don't know what's going on and forgive me for assuming, but you look new."
He knows that better than most, having hidden for a while before getting stumbled upon by Merlan and offered a job almost on the spot. It's good work, the forge, but it doesn't seem like something this girl might be able to manage. She might surprise him, though.
"Let me spot you some. No payback. Just a gift?"
no subject
It's something.
Annie looks at him for a moment, and decides to take it. You have to take risks in the arena. And she's smaller than him. She can run fast and duck if she has to.
"A gift? Like... lunch, or, or a pair of boots that fit?"
She'd thought about asking him what he was offering, but then thought better of it. Open questions can lead to open answers. She needs something solid to grasp. And she can take either food or equipment.
no subject
"If you want, we can look for the boots now and then I can take you to lunch afterward. It's the least I can do after people took care of me when I came here. For what little it might be worth, you can trust me."
Strange words to give instead of receive but it feels good to be on the other side of it for once.
no subject
But-
His clothes look sturdy. He looks decently feed. He doesn't look hungry.
And... And she can still run. Which is why she wants the boots.
She survived the arena by running into a pack until it was time to split (and she's not thinking about the details of that point, no no no she is not) so she can... She can follow that. Here.
"That, um. That'd be... Nice? Yes. It'd be nice. Thank you."
Then, summoning up her courage, she steps forward and offers her hand. Small, like the rest of her, but with a wrist thickened by years of training and manual labour.
"I'm Annie."
no subject
"Bucky. And don't worry about it. It's the least I can do for someone. I wouldn't be where I am if people hadn't helped me," he explains. "Here and back home. I don't think there's any shame in that. It's nice to be able to pay it forward for once."
no subject
"Bucky," Annie repeats, putting it to memory. It's one of the more normal names she's heard here. And his accent is not completely unfamiliar. Still mostly off, but not as odd as others' have been.
"I... Yeah. I can get that." She's being honestly, too. You pay things forward because that's the only way it all functions. You get lucky, you pay it forward to help others. She's done it herself, when she can.
But. It's not a strategy for the arena. No, it's for the districts. Which is interesting.
"I was, uh, wondering. How do people earn their way here?"
no subject
He assesses Annie and her slim form and decides manual labor might not be her thing. Still, he can be surprised, and she might hold an inner strength he's not considering.
"There's work in the tavern too - bartending, waitressing. There's plenty of stuff. It's just that you have to ask around."
no subject
She laughs, high and awkward.
"I. I'm not....um. Good at people? But. Thank you. I mean that? I, uh, I'll look around. I know how to fish."
Although jewellery suggests something, and she actually pauses in walking to give it more attention. The noise of the market is starting to get to her.
"Is, is there any glassmaking around? You mentioned a forge, so."
no subject
"You know, Annie, I don't think anyone does it. If you decide you want to, I bet there's people who'd buy it. If not, fishing is always needed. Is that something you're particularly good at? The glass thing?"
It seems like delicate work and Bucky isn't built for that. He's all brute force and blunt strength these days.
no subject
"I. Yes. I am. Only been doing it for five or so years? Or was it four." She hesitates and tries to move on. "More arty stuff than practical, but bottles aren't hard. Just gotta make sure the shape is even and that you can deal with the heat of the kilns."
Which is a wonderful way of selling her skills, Annie immediately thinks, making a small face at herself.
"Is, is um, the owner of the forge a decent sort?"
no subject
Bucky grins at her. He's got a metal arm, after all, and he thinks glassblowing is the kind of work that requires a hell of a lot more delicate touch than his vibranium fingertips.
"You could come meet her and see what you think? I can have her come meet you in town and everything."
no subject
But... she's smiling as she hesitates. A little.
It's strange. This stranger being nice. It reminds her of home, which she is Miss Annie and most people in City One are polite and some are caring. She's their broken victor, but she's still theirs. Here it's just. Well. Maybe as Bucky said. Paying it further.
"I, I wouldn't want to be a, a nuisance to her. Or you. I could, um. Come around the forge sometime? And ask."
No one here has any reason to go out of their way for her, even if they are being kind.
"And, uh. With blowing glass, it's. It's not that it's easier than it looks, but if you've got an eye for it and aren't afraid of the heat, you can make simple bottles easy enough? It's the fancy decorations which can be tricky. You gotta work fast."