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did you say your prayers?
You can live through anything, now. You'll survive if the world is turned inside out. And it will be. Sooner than you think.
There are days when sleep seems to be a shroud that slips over Faye in waves, occasionally clinging to her shoulders, eyelids heavy as lashes touch her cheeks. It's easy to sleep here. It grow still more so by the day, only the occasional interruption keeping her up at night, but her life has been a transient one ever since she woke up in that chamber, and so she's learned to cope with that long ago. People might disappear. People will, if patterns persist. But she'll survive through anything.
She always has.
A touch, cold like ice, brushes against her arm. Another, against her calf. A hand brushes away the sensation with an irritated flick, only to feel something hard knocking against her knuckles. Brow furrowing, Faye's hand turns, pressing harder still against a smooth, rounded surface, until glass jars against glass and her eyes fly open. Revealing butterflies in the sky.
The most beautiful butterflies in the world.
Her breath starts to shake as she glances down, gold darting between pearls of cerulean blue, marble after marble closing around her from all sides, scattered across the sandy beach, a sharp pain under her hand as she shoves herself to her knees.
"No. I need a knife, I need—"
Hands desperately grabbing through air, she tries to push them away, every one of the butterflies, until a face suddenly appears only yards away.
"Get back."
[ There are a thousand blue marbles scattered across the beach, most of them pooled by Faye's side, her 2012 NDPD. The butterflies mentioned in the narrative are not real; they're the result of nanomachines in her bloodstream. Faye thinks that the marbles are biological weapons as she once encountered in her world, but they're actually harmless, although she's very obviously panicked as a result. ]
There are days when sleep seems to be a shroud that slips over Faye in waves, occasionally clinging to her shoulders, eyelids heavy as lashes touch her cheeks. It's easy to sleep here. It grow still more so by the day, only the occasional interruption keeping her up at night, but her life has been a transient one ever since she woke up in that chamber, and so she's learned to cope with that long ago. People might disappear. People will, if patterns persist. But she'll survive through anything.
She always has.
A touch, cold like ice, brushes against her arm. Another, against her calf. A hand brushes away the sensation with an irritated flick, only to feel something hard knocking against her knuckles. Brow furrowing, Faye's hand turns, pressing harder still against a smooth, rounded surface, until glass jars against glass and her eyes fly open. Revealing butterflies in the sky.
The most beautiful butterflies in the world.
Her breath starts to shake as she glances down, gold darting between pearls of cerulean blue, marble after marble closing around her from all sides, scattered across the sandy beach, a sharp pain under her hand as she shoves herself to her knees.
"No. I need a knife, I need—"
Hands desperately grabbing through air, she tries to push them away, every one of the butterflies, until a face suddenly appears only yards away.
"Get back."
[ There are a thousand blue marbles scattered across the beach, most of them pooled by Faye's side, her 2012 NDPD. The butterflies mentioned in the narrative are not real; they're the result of nanomachines in her bloodstream. Faye thinks that the marbles are biological weapons as she once encountered in her world, but they're actually harmless, although she's very obviously panicked as a result. ]
no subject
"I got into a few close shaves when the activity was at its worst down there," Faye says, "but it should be more than enough now, unless you find something better. Whatever you protect yourself the most well with. Not everyone goes down with guns; not everyone needs to."
Arching a brow, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Though honestly, an extra pair of eyes is better than anything else. Plus, it'd spare you the worry of having me to answer to if you lost that Glock in any way."
no subject
He studies the piece for a moment, turning it this way and that before glancing up at her again. "You're just going to let me use your gun?" he asks, slightly bewildered. He isn't worried about finding someone to go down with him. If he can't convince Jason, he'll go down himself despite this woman's warning. If Finnick can survive two rounds in the Games, he can survive some abandoned, underground city.
no subject
And Faye would rather not find herself as caught up over such details, she thinks to herself. The past doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.
"Consider it a loan. It's not my only gun, anyway."
no subject
But he does slip off the bracelet on his wrist, the one Haymitch gave him prior to entering the Game, decorated in flames.
"Collateral," he says, handing it over. His lips slip into a smile then as he adds, "And name's Finnick, by the way."
no subject
But she knows how much the most seemingly inconsequential of items can mean to a person.
And so she slips the bracelet on for safe-keeping.
"Faye," she replies. "Faye Valentine. Pleasure to meet you, Finnick."
no subject
Compared to a firearm, it's nothing. But Finnick isn't about to trade in his trident, and he does have every intention of bringing it back.
His smile brightens when she accepts it, mostly in relief. Says, "I'll take good care of it, I promise."
He doesn't mention that he should probably practice a little first. That, she doesn't need to know.
no subject
"You'd better," she says, even as her expression holds loose and casual. "It's one of the few things from home I actually have somewhat of an attachment to. It's a good gun."