Porrim Maryam (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fusshionable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2016-06-24 10:53 am
fusshionable) wrote in thearena2016-06-24 10:53 am
Entry tags:
[closed] one more time with feeling
Who| Porrim and Nick
What| One last meeting
Where| The streets of the Capitol
When| Backdated to early morning, day 3 of the final battle.
Warnings/Notes| Language, will update.
Porrim’s second night in the Capitol is rough; even surrounded by the deep, even breathing of her unit, she’s jumpy, over-alert to every noise, every buzz of radio static, and she feels the strangest sense of relief when it’s her turn to take guard duty. She sits near the door of the building her unit has taken refuge in, gun propped on her lap, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion, keeping watch for anything out of the ordinary—movement, sounds, anything at all that might signal danger.
She loses track of time easily, the minutes sliding together in the heavy stillness of the witching hour; she’s beginning to think that maybe her watch will pass uneventfully when she spies movement on the far side of the street. Her instincts kick in immediately; Porrim is on her feet with her rifle on her shoulder before she can even think, but she says nothing; she looms in the doorway to the bombed-out storefront with her gun aimed squarely at the human-shaped shadow, until it’s just past her and she can identify it as a Capitol soldier. Her blood runs cold, and then hotter than ever, and she lets herself step out of the shadows so she’s behind him, their steps synchronized so as to minimize sound. It isn’t until she gets right up close that she lets herself say anything.
“Halt, if you know what’s good for you.”
What| One last meeting
Where| The streets of the Capitol
When| Backdated to early morning, day 3 of the final battle.
Warnings/Notes| Language, will update.
Porrim’s second night in the Capitol is rough; even surrounded by the deep, even breathing of her unit, she’s jumpy, over-alert to every noise, every buzz of radio static, and she feels the strangest sense of relief when it’s her turn to take guard duty. She sits near the door of the building her unit has taken refuge in, gun propped on her lap, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion, keeping watch for anything out of the ordinary—movement, sounds, anything at all that might signal danger.
She loses track of time easily, the minutes sliding together in the heavy stillness of the witching hour; she’s beginning to think that maybe her watch will pass uneventfully when she spies movement on the far side of the street. Her instincts kick in immediately; Porrim is on her feet with her rifle on her shoulder before she can even think, but she says nothing; she looms in the doorway to the bombed-out storefront with her gun aimed squarely at the human-shaped shadow, until it’s just past her and she can identify it as a Capitol soldier. Her blood runs cold, and then hotter than ever, and she lets herself step out of the shadows so she’s behind him, their steps synchronized so as to minimize sound. It isn’t until she gets right up close that she lets herself say anything.
“Halt, if you know what’s good for you.”