Chapter Text
I don't know how long I've been dreaming, but unlike most of them, tonight's off to an odd start.
The girl in front of me is new though, that I know. I don't recognize her from anywhere in the waking world I can think of, but somehow she seems...familiar. I can't remember having seen her anywhere around during or after the Games or the Quarter Quell. And her face doesn't remind me of anyone I've met who's died. Not in the Districts, nor the Capitol. Though admittedly, most of my time spent in the latter was not about sightseeing; not even on the Victory Tour did I really get a chance to meet people up close. And if I had met this girl in my waking hours, I don't think I would've forgotten her. She's pretty, in a down to earth kind of way, not like the flash and flair of the Capitol and certainly not the struggling, desperate looks I'd seen on many faces in the lower districts, including 12.
She's got dark hair, loose and long, curly and cascading down her shoulders and back. She's got dark brown eyes, that are currently calmly observing me as much as I am her. I see a sort of fire in them too, a lot like Johanna's, and even scarier, like my own; which is simultaneously a little worrying and somehow, strangely comforting. She's holding some kind of stringed instrument in her lap. But the most eye-catching thing about her is what she's wearing. Her dress is a long, frilly thing, with colors that are vibrant and remind me of Effie's makeup, of the Capitol’s citizens. It's a rainbow, I realize. Reds and oranges, yellows and greens, all stacked on top of each other, ending in an ombre of blues and purples that would make Cinna's eyes light up.
“Well hello there,” she says, adjusting the instrument so it’s lying face up across her lap, crossing her legs; her voice is calm, curious. She has an accent, one I remember my mother teasing my father about, when Prim and I were small. It sounds like District 12. It sounds like home. “And who might you be?”
She smiles, and despite her light tone, I can see the analysis going on behind her eyes. She’s sizing me up, maybe? Trying to figure me out. Instead of answering right away, I narrow my eyes at her and fire back a question of my own. “What is this place?”
She chuckles, bemused but not surprised by my meeting her question with a question. She shakes her head, sighs, and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, darlin’. I’m just as confused as you are.” The girl looks up and around then, at the area where we sit. I, with nothing else to do for the moment, follow suit. Everything around us is a dull whitish-gray, no color outside of our clothes and hair to speak of. No furniture is present, no pictures hang anywhere around. It’s…unfamiliar, detached from reality, even. It seems like somewhere The Capitol would love, the cold sterility and uniformity of the place seems like the perfect place for experiments.
Like hijacking. Some suspicious part of my mind supplies, as the girl turns back to face me. Like what they did to Peeta. Remembering those awful days in District 13, after the Revolution, sends a shiver through me. And then it hits me.
Peeta. Where’s Peeta?
There’s a pit in my stomach, my heart starts to race, and then I remember: I’m dreaming. I sigh, relieved, and the girl looks back at me. “Well, we may not know where we are, but we do know who we are, at least, I hope you do. Anyways, my name is Lucy Gray Baird, but most my friends just call me Lucy Gray. Nice to meet you.” She sticks out a hand, and I flinch at the movement, a holdover from, well, everything. Embarrassment swiftly follows, but Lucy Gray, to her credit, says nothing, just nods and brings her hand back to her lap, running it gently over the side of her instrument, a look of understanding passing over her face. My cheeks heat, and I can feel my face getting red, so to distract us both, I finally introduce myself.
“My name’s Katniss,” I say, hunching my shoulders a little, waiting for recognition to dawn, already leaning away from the comments I’m sure I’ll receive when I finish saying my name. “Katniss Everdeen.” I watch Lucy Gray’s face for a reaction, and she surprises me by not giving me one. Is she pretending not to know me? I wonder. Is this some sort of trick? Some sort of ruse cooked up by some higher-ups in the Capitol to get me to reveal myself? I search her face for a few long quiet minutes, barely holding back my discomfort, and then again I remember I’m asleep. This is all happening inside my head. I want to smack myself at my own stupidity, but I’m spared the brain-scrambling effects of my palm against my forehead by Lucy Gray’s voice, saying, “Katniss, huh? Beautiful name. We’ve got plants by that name where I come from. Technically they’re tubers, roots really, but if you cook ‘em right, they’re edible, even good in a pinch, like potatoes. Were your parents farmers, then?”
I shake my head, and then eke out the word: “Miners. My father was, at least. He taught me how to hunt and harvest plants in the woods near our house.” I laugh a little, the sound of his voice coming back to me from what seems like so long ago, it feels like a different lifetime. Lucy Gray is smiling a little too, and so I go on, finish the joke. “He used to say, ‘There’s the plant I named you for, Katniss. As long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve.”
I laugh again, but it’s bitter, bubbling up past a sudden lump in my throat. The one that always shows up when I remember my father, when I remember losing him, and all that happened after. Lucy Gray laughs too, but hers is genuine, and warm. Like my mother, on her better days, before-
“My parents were Covey,” she says, tugging the instrument in her lap upright and close to her chest, hugging an arm over it protectively. Her words pull me out of my reverie of darker times. “This dress belonged to my mother. This guitar-(so that’s what it’s called)-was my father’s. At least, according to the others anyway. I had some older siblings too, but I don’t really remember them much. I was so young, and they were a few years older, maybe six or seven, by the time I was born.” Her voice takes on a bitter note. “Then after the Rebellion in the Districts, the Capitol killed my father, and my mother died while having me. So, all I have left are my cousins.”
Lucy Gray sighs again, the noise wistful and quiet. There's silence again, and before I can fill it, she perks up a little, a smile curling one corner of her mouth. “But they’re not so bad. We take care of each other, and we’re all related one way or another anyway, either by blood or by bond, so we’re basically a family either way. And besides, nothing to be done about the past, all we can focus on is living in the present, right?”
I nod, but my mind has already begun to tune her out, stuck glitching like one of Betee’s propos, repeating a single phrase, “After the Rebellion in the Districts, the Capitol killed my father.”
I shake myself out of my stupor long enough to ask what I feel like I already know. “And where are you from, Lucy Gray?”
She smiles again, and says, “Well, Katniss, I’m not really from anywhere in particular. Like I said, my people are Covey. Meaning, we move around a lot, we’re musicians by trade. We used to live like that just fine for a long while, following where the fancy took us, until the Peacekeepers rounded us all up and made us settle.”
I’m not sure why, but my palms are sweating. I’m nervous to know her answer, but it seems that unlike me, she’s a professional when it comes to dodging questions. “So,” I say, curiosity turning into a biting thing under my skin, making me itch. I scratch at my arm, absentmindedly trying to curb the feeling. “Exactly where did the Covey settle?”
She smirks, and some part of my mind says she knew I was going to ask her that. And then she confirms what my brain has already realized.
“Well, it wasn’t our first choice, believe me, but after we were all rounded up, the Peacekeepers just kept pushing, until eventually we ended up in District 12.”