dear_mun | (no subject)

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You did this before and she'd forgotten me. And now- I don't care that it'll be different, because it won't.

[ Not to Prim. The circumstances might be different; the place, Katniss's memories (or rather nothing being different there) but it's not home, and that makes it just as - or more - dangerous ]

Katniss was right - there's always going to be a game. [ And she didn't like it. Prim had never liked the Hunger Games, no one did (no one that was in them, mostly) but she didn't like what they did for either. And this is what Katniss had fought for, had gone for and had kept fighting for: to keep her out of it, and to keep her safe ]

She's not a liar, and I know she tries. But you're different - you're worse. [ The Gamemakers and the Capitol she can fight, but this... ] She won't stop. She'll keep me safe. Always.

[ And to Prim that's not just a hope but truth: Katniss always has done this, and Prim knows that she'll always try to ]

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[There will always be a game. That's the reality.

No matter where she goes, no matter how hard tries to protect Prim from it, it's the only constant. The only thing she can ever count on. The mechanics may be different, the ones pulling the strings may be different (and here, unclear, which renders the whole thing more dangerous), but at its core, it's the same thing she's always known.

There's only one choice. Only one way to ensure that Prim stays safe. She has to play.

But that doesn't mean she has to condone.]

I don't like it.

I know.

[ Her voice is quiet, admitting, acknowledging. She'd know that Katniss wouldn't like it, but it certainly doesn't hurt to hear it - it can only help ]

I don't either.

[ She- they're smart to, Prim knows, but she also knows that knowing this in advance might not help them in the long run - it doesn't usually ]

What do you think will happen?

[The certainty in Prim's voice... it causes something to tighten inside of her. Because Prim shouldn't have that certainty from experience. Because it's her job to protect her from it. She hates that she can't. That the whole nature of it prevents her from accomplishing the only thing that matters.

Even more, she hates that she doesn't have a proper answer.]

Anything could. [A chill runs through her at those words. That's the worst part of it. That the only thing that's predictable is that it's completely unpredictable.]

Will it be alright? [ Will you make it alright? Even with everything that they've been through Prim knows that Katniss will try, and usually everything is alright because of her. There's one exception to that: the Games, but this time she hopes it will be different ]

[Of course, the unspoken question is obvious. An unspoken question conveying a faith that she can't possibly live up to. What was tightening now begins to twist. She can't control the unpredictable. She can't anticipate the moves of this variety of opponent; they're not an animal she can track. She can't foresee the patterns of these Gamemakers, because they're not even Gamemakers. They're something much worse.

But she will do what she can. She will always do what she can.

She tries for what's meant to be a reassuring smile, but it only manifests in a sliver.]

We'll be all right. [Despite that careful evasion, there's a resolve. A promise. The same promise that she made all those years ago, the one that she'll always keep.

The one they'll have to forcibly pry from her cold, dead hands.]

We always have been. [ Together. That's mostly been Katniss's doing, keeping her safe, fed and therefore alive as a child, but when Katniss was gone Prim learned a few of her own things, and grew a little more. She still needs Katniss, though, especially for something like this. Something that scares her ]