i'm just a man, but i know that i'm damned (open)

[oceanborne]

Who: Annie Cresta and OPEN
Where: All over
When: March 17-28
What: It’s a lot harder to deal with ghosts when they aren’t figments of your imagination, who knew?
Warnings/Notes: THG is in no way a nice canon -- kids fought to the death, so assume mentions of violence, blood, death/murder, and psychological trauma. Will match either prose or brackets, whichever!

Lobby/hallways/breakfast room, 17th-23rd

For the first few days, they’re easy to avoid.

...Well, less “avoid” than “ignore,” as best as she can. She goes about things with a kind of determined normalcy, though anyone in the vicinity might notice how intently she avoids anything reflective. It’s simple to dismiss the faces she glimpses in her tablet or mirror or window as figments of her overworked imagination, when reflections are all they are. She’s not the first victor to be haunted by the other tributes whose deaths were the price of her own life, after all.

Annie just didn’t think she would ever literally be haunted by them.

She’s eating breakfast when she sees him, standing in the corner of the room. He looks just as he did when she last saw him -- no, that’s not quite true. His head is once again firmly attached to his body, though there’s a bloody line encircling his neck to mark where the sword made contact. Her district partner, the boy whose vicious death broke an irreparable something within her mind, with blood on his skin and accusation in his eyes. The sound of breaking glass startles Annie into looking down (she didn’t even realize she let go, but the hand that held her water glass is empty now), and when she looks up again, he’s gone.

Or was he even there to begin with? “Not real,” she whispers, bending to clean up the shattered glass. If she tells herself that enough times, maybe she’ll believe it.

Lobby/Stairwell, 24th-28th

Eventually, she starts to see them everywhere. Her district partner stands at the foot of her bed when she wakes from a fitful slumber. The Career pack waits outside her door. In the lobby, where she hopes that the company of flesh-and-blood people will take her mind off of her ghosts, she finds the tributes whose names she never even knew -- the ones who died at the Cornucopia, who drowned when the arena flooded, whose projections in the night sky had meant she was one step closer to going home.

Okay, so the lobby isn’t a good choice. Annie hurries from the room, glancing back over her shoulder and breathing a sigh of relief when it seems that none of the tributes have followed. She heads for the stairs and jogs up the first flight... and stops cold on the landing. This ghost is a tiny, frail old woman, her face devoid of its usual warmth and kindness.

She doesn’t speak, instead raising a hand to point at Annie and then at herself, but the motion strikes more deeply than any words could. “I didn’t ask for you to take my place!” Annie protests, voice echoing in the closed stairwell. “I never wanted that, Mags, please, you know I wouldn’t...”

When she turns to flee downstairs, her path is blocked by the tributes she thought she’d left behind. Rather than force her way through them or around Mags, Annie backs into a corner of the stairwell and sinks down, hands over her ears. “Not real, not real, not real.” It’s broken and desperate, more plea than determined statement now. Why couldn’t this all be a trick of her mind?

Comments

25th

[villainously]

He also knows his ghosts aren't real. It doesn't make them any easier to ignore. At first it was just Milah, always watching and staring, never speaking. He felt as if she were judging him, waiting for him to confess all his sins to her memory and to her son, but no matter what he said she never spoke. He couldn't touch her or hold her, she just disappeared, ghostly fragments of his name in her voice ringing in his ears. A part of him even, in a sick way, treasured having her around. Seeing her again. So much of her had grown fuzzy and distant in his memory, it'd been three hundred years and all he had left of her was a picture.

He'd rather have a ghost of her than not have her at all. Lately it felt like all he had left were his ghosts, why not be haunted by them?

Seeing Liam. . . somehow that was different. Milah seemed angry, Liam seemed disappointed. Even the way he said his name. Killian, like he barely recognized the man he was looking at. There was nothing he could tell his brother, there was no lie or excuse for how terribly he'd tarnished the lessons his brother had given him. Milah he'd tried to enjoy, in the most broken of ways, but Liam he tried to escape, and he never seemed to manage. He didn't want his brother to see what he'd turned into, even if some part of him was aware that he wasn't really there.

He was en route to the courtyard, hoping for a little bit of air, when he caught sight of a girl cowered in the corner with palms pressed over her ears. Really, it's shocking more of them haven't ended up the same. He draws closer, but not too close. "They aren't real, sweetheart. Annie, isn't it? Come on, they can't hurt you." If she's half as tortured by ghosts as he is, well, he knows how hard they are to ignore. Maybe he can help her escape her demons, even as his lick at his heels.

[oceanborne]

Can't hurt her? Annie giggles, the sound muffled where her face is pressed against her drawn-up knees, because that's funny. Really, it is. Her hands come down from her ears and she peers up at the, thankfully, real live person who spoke. It takes her a few moments to actually see him through the panic that left her wide-eyed and gasping for air like a diver who just broke the surface, but recognition eventually overtakes fear. Recognition and... amusement?

Amusement, yes, and that's definitely the sound of laughter coming from her mouth. So the ghosts are real (not real), meaning she isn't going crazy (any more than she already is), but Annie can't help herself. Laughing at odd times was part of what got her branded as mad in the first place, and she doesn't think there's really an odder time than this precise moment. "They couldn't hurt me when they were alive anyway," she confides in a bleakly matter-of-fact tone, very pointedly not looking at the silent group of dead tributes. Never mind that some of them could have hurt her, killed her like they killed the silent boy whose sad, accusatory eyes have never left her. They didn't, and she's the victor, and they have been her ghosts since long before the hotel gave them shape.

"And they can't hurt me now because they're not real." But what was meant to be certain comes out like a question, and she looks up at him with a desperate, expectant kind of hope. "They're not real. Like the little girl wasn't real."

[villainously]

Laughing at odd times is certainly a time of madness, he'd agree with that. He's guilty of it himself on occasion, and he's met people far more guilty of it, actually. Villains are just the sort to cackle at the wrong time, aren't they? Her laughter does seem distinctly out of place in a hall apparently crowded with ghostly figures, yet he has the good grace to not hold it against her.

He doesn't quite understand what she means. It just doesn't seem to be the time to ask. If he's trying to do the good thing, as fuzzy as that margin can be sometimes, he's fairly certain that doesn't involve inquiring about the horrors she's trying to escape. Talking about them probably won't help; not that he knows. He hasn't spoken of his angry shadow and she's only gotten stronger since.

She looks hopeful and despite how real Milah feels to him, he knows the answer. "No, love, they're not real. They're just here to torment you, and we can't let this place win." Nevermind that he's been letting this place beat him since these ghosts started, he gives better advice when he's not expected to follow it. "Come on, Annie, let's leave them where they belong." Behind them, at least for a little while.

[oceanborne]

Honestly, she wouldn't be upset if he did decide to ask her to elaborate. As bizarre as it is, Annie's growing accustomed to the idea that there are more people in the hotel who don't know about Panem and the Games than people who do. The theory that this is another arena won't hold much sway over people who don't know why they should be so afraid of those arenas, and having to explain the Games doesn't mean she has to divulge her particular connection to them. Not yet, anyway.

But even if she doesn't want anyone to know she's a victor, that's the part of her that his words reach first. They can't let this place win, he's right, they're made of stronger stuff than that. So when she nods, there's determination edging out the fear in her eyes. "Where are we going?"

Not that there are many places to go, here, but anywhere that's even briefly ghost-free is better than this.

[villainously]

Where are they going? Good question. He imagines she was running to her room before she got cornered by her demons; still, in his experience, there's nothing safe about their rooms, even when ghosts aren't roaming the halls. The locks might as well be made of wax, if their hosts want in they get there, be it by magic or some other convoluted means. His ghosts have found him every where in this place, it's possible there's no sanctuary to be had, and yet he's still going to give it a try.

"Let's try the fire, shall we? My brother used to say a good fire made him forget all his troubles." Speaking, thinking of Liam always hurts, and yet to take control of the memory instead of being haunted by it is liberating. Liam is likely just behind him, if he closed his eyes and listened he'd likely hear his voice. . . it's just that he won't stop to listen, for once.

He offers an arm so they can walk together. If she can still see the crowd, then they'll go through them together.

[oceanborne]

It's as good a destination as any, she supposes. Probably better than going back to her room and hiding under the blankets like she's been doing, tying knots in her piece of rope until her fingers are raw and aching. She climbs to her feet with the same sort of determination that led her to agree to go with him, and if she doesn't look to the side then she can almost, almost pretend her ghosts don't exist at all. (Killian is a great deal taller than Mags ever was, and Annie might have purposefully angled herself so that he stands between her and her mentor, blocking the old woman's ghost entirely from her view.)

"I hope your brother was right, about forgetting his troubles by a fire. I used to go out on the beach when I needed to forget, but..." She shrugs, because of course there's no going to the beach when they're still on lockdown in here. Who knows if they're even near a beach, or any kind of water, or what sort of terrain surrounds this place at all?

When he offers his arm she takes it with the smallest hint of a grateful smile. There's a distinct chance that she may end up with a white-knuckled grip on his sleeve when they pass through the still-present tributes, but other than that she doesn't directly acknowledge them at all. "Is it odd that I miss the cold? I mean, that I'd rather have it than... this?"

[villainously]

He smiled a little at that, but it was sad enough that it hardly seemed like a smile at all. "Ah, well, Liam seemed to think he was always right. I think that's just a part of being an elder brother." In so many things, Liam had been right. His wisdom and guidance had brought Killian quite a great deal of success in the Navy. He had not always been right, though, in fact his stubborn trust had brought about his death, even with his little brother trying to convince him to see the dark alternative. If Killian hadn't questioned, would Liam have felt the need to prove him wrong? Liam was always taking grand strides to prove him wrong, and the very last one had killed him.

If her grip is strong, the pirate doesn't comment. He can be her anchor, for a little while. Emma had been his, and he knows how easy it is to get lost in the visages of ones dead. He can't stop seeing Milah, or Liam, but he can stop giving them power over him. They wouldn't haunt him, they weren't really there. They were a cruel trick, just another of many in the hotel, and he didn't intend to lose his head any more than he already had. "I've always favored the ocean myself," he agreed, leading her to the bottom landing. "You can lose nearly any trouble in the ocean. Or, at least, forget about it. For a little while."

If the ocean were an option he'd be there constantly. Sadly, there wasn't one, and they had to make do with what they did have. A warm fire was as good a place as any. It'd never be an ocean, but there was comfort to be had there. He laughs at her words, and for once it's more good tempered than strained or forced. "I bloody hate the chill and I'd take that without any complaint."

28th.

[ingrantitude]

Christian doesn't have to threaten him. He can just hold the rope, a visual reminder that it is a Ward's duty to burn, to cast out away and aside, and that it's his turn now after Grant has taken his revenge.

The plea, "Not real, not real, not real" makes him want to shout, want to scream, "I know. I know!"

He turns the corner to look at a person, a cowering person.

"...s-sorry."

He grimaces, "Sorry."

[oceanborne]

The shouting, as sudden and unexpected as it is, is a good thing. Really, it is. It startles Annie into silence and snaps her back into the present moment -- as reluctant as she is to open her eyes and risk seeing the ghosts, withdrawing into her own mind wouldn't be a very effective solution. Luckily, the only person she sees when she warily looks up is the man coming around the corner.

A stranger, yes, and a possible threat just because of all the unknown that comes with that, but he's not a ghost and right now that's a huge point in his favor. She studies him curiously, nodding a little at the apology.

"No, it's -- I didn't realize anyone was here." Anyone alive, that is. "It's fine. Don't be sorry."

[ingrantitude]

"You see them too?" He grimaces, "...It helps to have someone with you. Is there someone here I can take you to?"

His hands shake slightly, ever so slightly.

[oceanborne]

Rather than answer aloud, Annie nods. Where she only used to see them in her nightmares, now they're everywhere and there's no escaping them -- but she hears the way he adds that "too" to the end of his question, and knows she's in the company of someone who has a past of his own to haunt him. It's oddly comforting, in a way. If he's seeing them, and the people who've all posted to the network have seen ghosts, then for once it isn't just her mind getting the better of her.

She stops to think before answering his next question, watching the way his hands just barely tremble. "Maybe Cashmere? I don't know if the others would... they have enough to worry about." Well, that and the fact that she barely knows the others from Panem, despite their alliance here. There's not much safety in numbers when their enemy is something none of them can fight.