For Terra

[porcelainandsteel]

It wasn't meant to happen this way. None of this was meant to happen. The Capitol is meant to keep them safe, and even though she's stood in the crowd for the Reapings three times now, she's never really believed she would be the one called to pay for it. That isn't how it's supposed to go. You keep your head down, you follow the rules, and the Capitol keeps you safe. Of course there's a price, and it has to be paid - but some part of her was always sure that the people who paid it had done something to earn it. Even the ones she'd known, part of Sansa had always been able to find an excuse for why it was them. Something they'd said, something they'd done, something she might not even have known about...

But she'd played by the rules all her life, and it had still been her name that had come out of the bowl. It had still been her who had had to smooth her dress and neaten her hair and force herself to hold it together as she went up onstage. It had still been her saying what she knew perfectly well had to be her last goodbye to her parents, to her sister and her brothers; still been her taking the little carved wolf necklace from her mother and knowing it would be on her when she died.

It still happened. And she still can't believe it.

She'd cried a little when she said goodbye, but she was careful about it. They show the goodbyes, sometimes. She didn't want the whole of Panem to see her red-faced and puffy-eyed. Being pretty and composed and likeable was all she had now. So she cried, but only a little, and she waved and smiled when they got on the train - it's only once she's on the train, settled as much out of sight as she can from the Escort and Mentor and from Eoin, her fellow Tribute, that she lets herself cry for real. She curls up in the corner, puts her head in her hands, and cries until she can't cry any more, in great gulping sobs that aren't at all pretty or perfect.

By the time she rejoins the others, ten or twenty minutes into the journey, she's finished crying. She's washed her face and neatened her hair, and the only sign of her earlier distress is the red rims of her eyes. Still, she smiles brightly and apparently genuinely, sitting down opposite Katniss. She's a little afraid of the grim-faced older woman, but she isn't about to let that make her standoffish. "I'm sorry. I had to go and clean up."

Comments

[intotheblack]

"A good idea."

Already she is impressed with this girl, which is a queer sorta of crushing excitement Katniss has never adjusted to. As she and Haymitch, a dinosaur now that she was beginning to believe would never die, still stood as the only District 12 mentors, it was an excitement she knew she shouldn't invest in. It was a hope that was simultaneously hoping for the death of 23 others.

It would never sit right.

But here was a girl who, without a word from either mentor, was already performing. And protecting herself. Because that was what the performance really was, wasn't it?

Gray clouds, like the flat low clouds that promised heavy snow in the winter, studied the girl silently, long enough to stretch into discomfort.

"Do you want to win?" She finally asked.

It was, after all, the most important question.

[porcelainandsteel]

"I want..." Sansa said, and hesitated. Do you want to win? She doesn't want to think that far ahead. Whether she wants to win or not, she knows she doesn't have a chance: she'll do her best, of course, but she's more suited to dances and diplomacy than to the brutality she's watched every year. Even her little sister can beat her in a fight, and she can barely stand to watch Tributes die on the screen, let alone in real life.

She wants to be a Victor. She wants the glamour and the glitter of a life as part of the Capitol, wants to be adored the way the Victors are adored, wants most of all to be able to contribute to her family. She wants to go home to her brothers and her sister, her parents and her wolf-dog. She doesn't want to die.

But does she want to win? She's not at all sure of it. After thirteen years of watching, she still covers her eyes every time the camera pans over a dead Tribute. The thought of killing someone - several someones - is almost worse than the thought of dying.

You've been quiet too long. She clears her throat, forcing a smile back onto her face. "I want to see my family again," she says, quickly. That, at least, she can be sure of. "And I don't want to die." It might not be a direct answer to the question, but it hopefully sounds enough like one, and it's honest. If there's one thing her father drove into her, it's that you should be honest.

[intotheblack]

"That's a good start." Katniss said slowly, in a voice that implied that a good start was clearly not enough.

But they had some time. Time for Katniss to learn if this girl had any chance in hell. If she should even bother to mentor her, or just tell her to live it up the next few weeks. It was tempting, looking at her. But then again, it was always tempting for Katniss to try to convince herself there was no reason to bother, no reason to get attached.

It hadn't worked once. She hadn't forgotten one single face. The line started with a 14 year old blond haired, blue eyed baker's son, and lead right here to the girl in front of her.

"Well, there's only one way to do either of those things. And it's the worst way. But it's your only option." It was cold and straight forward. Compassion would be later. Comfort helped no one now.

[porcelainandsteel]

"I know," Sansa says, quiet and meek. Truth be told, it stings to be told that so harshly. She does know it's true - and, for that matter, she knows she isn't going to win - but it would be nice for Katniss to at least try to soften the blow. She won't let it make her impolite, but her discomfort shows through in the way she withdraws into herself, almost without noticing.

She worries at her lip for a moment, eyes downcast, then looks back up at Katniss from under her lashes. She's a pretty girl, and she looks older than she is, but there's an undeniable fragility to how she looks. She isn't just younger than Katniss was; she's a fundamentally gentle person, sheltered by her family's relative wealth, with none of the hardness that's needed. This is going to take a lot of work.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks at last, keeping her voice as steady as she can.

[intotheblack]

'I want you to be home, with your family, heading to bed.' Was the correct answer, but she knew how cruel it was. To both of them.

The girl had been hurt...and pushed forward. A small, but important choice. Katniss considered, before nodding.

"I want you to fight."

She settled back into the plush chairs of the train, watching, wanting to see how Sansa would take it. If she would rise to the challenge...or shy away.

If she shied away well...the Capitol, at least, could provide a good last few weeks.

[porcelainandsteel]

Sansa did shy away, at least initially. It was visible, the way she pulled back, the way she pressed her lips close.

Then she remembered her father, and how he used to say that sometimes there were no choices, not for an honest man. And her mother, sitting and telling her she must look after Arya, that she was needed - and Lady, too, her wolfdog. She wrapped a hand around the necklace she wore. I am a wolf, she told herself, closing her eyes for a moment. I am a wolf, and I will not be afraid.

She was afraid, of course, and couldn't quite keep the quiver out of her voice, but she managed to meet Katniss' eyes again and hold them.

"I don't know how," she said, quietly. "I... my sister is the one who fights, and my brothers. I know how to sew, and draw, and how to make a dress hang right, and what herbs you add to what meals. And how to be pretty and smile and say nice things. I don't know how to kill." She swallowed, then added, all in a rush, "Blood makes me feel faint and I can't run fast enough and I know I'm going to lose, I do, but I want to do it properly if I lose so... so..."

Whatever energy had just rushed through her, it left just as quickly, and she trailed off, biting back treacherous tears she'd thought she'd shed the last of.

[intotheblack]

Here was the choice, then. Katniss nodded her approval, because deep down, she wanted all of them to fight. And to win. But that one wasn't as easy.

"Well, that we can work on. You said you cook? Do you know anything about what herbs and plants are poisonous?"

It wasn't something worthwhile in every arena, but she had learned long ago, that finding one place to succeed was the easiest way to lead to other success. She could feel her internal gears shifting already as her brain formed this plan. Sansa would need trained in methods that didn't require physical strength, mush like Katniss' own training. And she would have to talk to Haymitch, see what the old bastard had learned about the boy tribute.

[porcelainandsteel]

"Some," Sansa say at last, with a little nod. She's still struggling not to cry, her voice thick and her lip trembling, but for now, she's got control of herself. Now she just has to keep that up for the rest of her life. "And I know what they look like, not just what they're called. Some that aren't so common, as well. My mother has a herb garden."

That wasn't what she was asked, but she figures the more information she can volunteer, the better. It isn't just that she wants to survive, either: on a much more instinctive level, she very much wants Katniss' approval.