Event: Curses!

[applesaucemod]

The twenty-seventh of August dawns bright and clear, but when your characters wake up, they will immediately notice something wrong. They've woken up the wrong size, or species, or age. Or perhaps everything seems normal until they take a bite of their apple-flavored toaster strudel, or attempt to speak, or wander into the woods, or bump into that old crone in the subway and fail to adequately apologize. However it happens, there's no getting around it: your characters are cursed, like an unfortunate out of a fairy tale.

On the bright side, many curses can be broken. Unfortunately, none of them come with user manuals, so how they might be broken isn't clear. Perhaps true love's kiss will do it, or a heroically sacrificial act, or some serious reflection followed by revelatory insight into your own soul. Or, y'know, whatever. But it's far more likely that your character will just be stuck with whatever it is until sunset, when any and all remaining curses will be broken.

[OOC: Feel free to use this post for initial reactions to whatever curse your character has found themselves suffering. Any additional posts for more specified shenanigans can go up under the 'events: curses' tag. Sunset is a little after 7:30 PM. Backdating and backtagging are the best and you should do both of those things if necessary.]

Comments

[wildmage_daine]

Daine picks her way down to the edge of the Lake, still silently apologizing to her guests. I'm really sorry, she says to the several frogs, handful of toads, and single snake secreted away in her bag. I don't know what's going on - some sort of rift mischief, I expect, but I never meant to interrupt your mornings like this.

Not your fault, says one of the frogs. She expects they're inclined to be accommodating because of the truce she brokered between them and the snake.

We didn't go far, another adds.

Still. Daine sighs, kneels down in the undergrowth, and opens her bag so the assorted creatures can hop and slither to freedom. What a terrible bother for all of them. Bad enough that the rift is displacing her friends without it also doing so by way of her own mouth, whenever she attempts to speak aloud. Mind-speech doesn't cause any problems, but explaining this to her two-legger friends won't be easy.

Well, she doesn't have to do any explaining just yet. It's still early, and she's not giving up on her rounds. Standing and squaring her shoulders, she strides back toward the path.

[ooc: feel free to run into Daine here if you're so inclined. Otherwise, she's got plenty of other nonsense to do.]

[biscuit_powered]

Nearby, a startled rodent the size of a cat abruptly appears, takes a step forward, and lets out a pained squeal as he jerks back from whatever sharp thing he stepped on. He backpedals, which turns out to be a mistake because he keeps stepping on something sharp with every footfall, and he lets out an anguished shriek before sinking back on his haunches and sitting there shaking.

It's bright out, and green. Why is it bright? And why is it out? Last he knew they should have been walking out into the hallway, and --

Where is his witch?! Biscuit's breath catches in his throat and he sits bolt upright, ears swiveling. His heart beats fast and hard as he listens with all his senses (including the extra one), and he relaxes only fractionally when he realizes he can feel her responding spike of anxiety. "Mistress!" he calls, the name coming out as a long, whistling call. "I'm here but the ground is all sharp!"

[wildmage_daine]

The new creature's arrival is impossible to miss. There's a flare of copper fire in her mind, like the birth of a tiny star, and then a high-pitched squeal and a stab of sympathetic pain in her mind. Oh, dear. New and injured, right off the bat - and an animal. The rift, from what she's seen, tends to go for two-leggers and inanimate objects, not the People.

And he's calling to someone - his 'Mistress,' it seems. Is he someone's pet? That's unfortunate, if his mistress didn't make it through with him.

Hello? she calls silently as she makes her way towards the frightened creature. It's all right, I can help you - my name is Daine.

And there he is, some kind of overlarge rodent quaking in the leaves. She can't see any blood, and there's no broken glass she can see that he might have stepped on, but for all she knows, he was hurt before he came through. She slowly drops to her knees and holds out a hand, close enough for him to get her scent but not close enough to crowd him.

[biscuit_powered]

Biscuit is listening for a reply, every inch of him straining to hear a voice that doesn't come. If he can feel her, his witch cannot be very far away, but he has no way of knowing which direction he should go to find her. Then a different voice answers, one that sounds so kind he can almost forgive her for not being Asmodia, and it takes him a moment to realize it's not really a voice at all.

"I'm Biscuit," he says, huddling lower in the leaves, gaze roaming upwards as it occurs to him that he's out in the open without the protection of his witch. He stretches his front end forward, flinching a little as he softly sets down each of his front paws, and sniffs at the hand offered to him. At least he's found someone who seems like she can help, but he can still feel Asmodia's fear for his safety and he feels bad for her as well as worried for himself. "Where am I? We were home before but now we're here and I don't know why."

[whofrownedthisface]

The Doctor has much more pressing a reason for his early morning wandering than the shepherding of small animals. Not that he needs a reason, as a super-intelligent insomniac trapped in Manhattan. But there'd been some anomalous rift readings, and he'd had a feeling there might be something to check out, maybe a fresh riftie even, though he wouldn't like to make any bets. Unfortunately the riftie he runs into isn't new in the slightest; she has been here longer than he has. "Ah yes, the leader of the smug talking animal rebellion. You must be on your way to a meeting now. Please, don't let me keep you from your smarmy marmots and whatnot."

[wildmage_daine]

Oh, wonderful. Daine opens her mouth to say something rude and well-deserved, then shuts it. Even the most blunt, dismissive phrases she can think of would still require displacing several of her friends, and she'd be giving the Doctor a show that she'd just as soon avoid. If he knew she was spitting up animals, she'd never hear the end of it.

Sighing doesn't have any unfortunate consequences, though, so she does that - heavily, and with as much weary scorn as she can give it. Then she sidesteps him and continues down the path. She won't let him keep her, thanks ever so.

[whofrownedthisface]

What, nothing? That's all he gets, for smarmy marmots? His gifts are wasted on these people. "Oh, just so you know. There were some strange readings, probably nothing, that's what I'm checking out right now. Probably nothing." Repetition aside, he manages to make it sound almost like it really might be nothing. No reason to think otherwise so far. Could be all kinds of nothing. Swamp gas, sports fans, never know what can set off a false alarm, really. "You haven't seen anything, have you?" Course she hasn't. She's at least as smart as all the animals she can turn into, she'd have mentioned.

tw: panic and claustrophobia and minor self-harm

[lottawork]

He wakes in the usual fashion, unable to determine when, precisely, he fell asleep. One hand is splayed across tile, uniform and cool. He does not recall falling collapsing in his bathroom, but this is entirely plausible given his purposefully erratic schedule, his essentially arrhythmic circadian rhythms. Irritating, but not atypical for him. Not unnatural.

He snaps into a greater level of focus to the unsettling sight of his bathroom, hard-angled, searing whiteness and bare walls, reflected back at him with unnerving clarity. The corners are blazing. The edges are scintillating, glaring holes into the corners of his eyes. Perfect arrangement. Perfect symmetry.

Lacking the core subject.

He is not in his own reflection.

The incredible, fundamental wrongness of this strikes him immediately and viscerally.

Rush extends one hand, wrist trembling, to reach at the parallel space, only to find his motion impeded. His fingers strike a barrier, icy to his touch. He strikes it flatly with the butt of his palm once, then again. Then again, harder, then he slams both fists into it with an abrupt surge of frenetic panic, searching out the fracture of release that should that should that should that should crack cleanly across the clear surface and break it, shatter it.

Glass.

Glass.

He backs away panting, the stinging in his wrists and palms and fingers and the hot, dense prickling behind his eyelids a dire indication of this situation's reality. Its unquestionable reality. He digs fingers into the back of his neck, nails scraping over skin, teeth gritting on an aching edge, fighting back the encroaching seep of unbearable dread into his throat and stomach and chest.

He isn't looking into a mirror.

He's looking out of one.

[for Melanie]

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale is in a reasonably good mood as he watches the sun rise. He actually made it through the night without sleeping against his will for once, and he spent the time reading peacefully. As good a morning as he could hope for, all things considered.

Melanie will be up soon, so he proceeds to the kitchen to set up for tea. She rather seems to enjoy making it for him. He smiles faintly to himself as he reaches for the kettle.

The moment he touches it, something happens. The kettle is now a book.

He did not do this. He would never cause a miracle by accident, and even if he did, this was something altogether different. The sensation was bizarre, unrecognizable. There was no will behind it. It reactive. An external force generated by him.

"What," he blurts, and drops the book on the stove in his surprise. He moves it quickly, peering at it. Something special? No. A book about thermodynamics.

He frowns at it and tries to change it back. It's as though the book does not even register that he is an angel. It remains stubbornly the same.

With a disgruntled huff, he miracles himself up another kettle, but it only exists for a fraction of a second before coming another book, this one about tea. Yes, very amusing. He sets this book aside as well, disgusted and more than a little alarmed. What is happening, here? Ordinarily he'd be quite happy to have books, but he'd much rather have them under conditions to which he's accustomed.

He casts around the apartment. This requires more experimentation, he supposes. He eyes the fridge but opts against touching that just yet. Instead he returns to the sofa, picking up the book he'd been reading, a lovely and only somewhat apocryphal biography of Christopher Mar-

It changes into an entirely different book.

"No!" he yelps, dropping it in surprise. Oh dear, oh dear. He quite liked that book! What is it now??

He picks it up again - the transformation only happens the one time, he notes - and inspects it.

An illustrated version of the story of King Midas.

"No," he repeats, aghast. It is suddenly horribly, abundantly clear what is happening and he does not like it.

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie wakes to the sounds of angelic consternation, and is instantly on the alert. What could be wrong? Does she need to hide? Or help? She slips out of her bed on silent feet, but a quick glance around the little flat reveals nothing out of the ordinary. No guests, no intruders, nothing's on fire. Aziraphale has his back to her, but it seems the focus of his distress is the book in his hands. Her brow furrows. What could be so bad about a book? He can miracle any book he pleases into existence, and any damage one might suffer could be instantly repaired, so what's the problem?

She doesn't exactly mean to sneak up on him, but she makes very little noise, and the book he's holding has most of his attention. She doesn't want to startle him, so her hand is gentle when she lays it on his arm, and her voice is soft as she says, "Azir--"

And then she's falling, landing hard on her back with a loud clap of noise. What was that? She lies there, stunned, unable to pull in a breath, or speak, or move. All she can do is stare up at the ceiling in silent astonishment.

[bibliophale]

Oh NO. He spins around sharply, he didn't even realize she was awake, didn't hear her approaching, oh no, oh no, and now it's too late. He should have left the apartment the moment he realized, the very moment, but now-

Well, now he's turned her into a book.

"No," he says again, much more fraught, and drops down to his knees, picking her up gingerly. "No, no, Melanie..."

He can't change her back. He can't fix this. He feels an unspeakable sadness well up in him, why is this happening, why did it have to happen? He brushes his fingers over the smooth, hard cover, her name mockingly embossed on it in gold leaf. What if she's like this forever, what if - what if he killed her?

Maybe she's still in there? Maybe she can communicate? Somehow?

"Melanie?" he murmurs with only the barest trace of hope, and opens the book up.

[all_the_gifts]

Oh no, he's upset. She's still not sure what's happened to her, but she hates to see him upset. He lifts her off the ground, and... this is strange. Has she shrunk? His hands enfold her easily, and while he's never had a difficult time picking her up, he generally has to try a bit harder than he seems to be trying now. She attempts a confused frown when he runs his fingertips over her face, but she's not sure she succeeds. She feels different.

Well, maybe she can still speak, at least.

Aziraphale? I don't know what happened.

Well, that was a bust. She didn't make a sound. She tries to sigh, but can't manage that, either. Maybe she's shrunk and paralyzed.

Who's got nine lives now? [closed]

[powerdealer]

[Warning: Lots of body-horror-esque induced panic.]

In the past week, Seth's gotten used to having Daniel around without too much interference from his heart or body that (if he were to act on it) would mess up this whole close platonic buddies thing they have going on. His apartment feels a lot homier with Daniel's books in them, and he's actually getting cooked meals instead living off take-out and instant dinners. And it's not just his days that have gotten better, his nightmares have decreased as well. And even when they're bad, it's better to wake up to the quiet sound of Daniel's breathing, or even to Daniel looking at him worriedly - though the time that happened, Seth mostly felt guilty for waking him.

It kind of makes him want Daniel not to move out, even though his new apartment is just about ready - they've managed to get him some basic furniture as well, so it won't be completely bare once he moves in. On the other hand, they're really both too introverted and independent to share an apartment that only consists of one room. But even with that in mind, it's been a pretty good week. So of course it couldn't last.

Seth wakes slowly, opening his eyes and stretching. He notices almost right away that something's off, something's wrong, but he's not yet conscious enough to determine what. Then it hits him like truck just how wrong everything is.

His body feels completely different, what even is his skin touching, something is wrong with his limbs, his mouth, and god, the smell of this place is overpowering. It whips him straight into sensory overload and a state of panic, which his body seems to decide is best dealt with by fleeing immediately.

Which would be fine if he knew how his body fucking worked right now, but instead he immediately ends up tangled in the light blanket and falling off the bed with a thump. It hurts less than he would've thought, but he still lets out a sound of pain that somehow sounds like a high-pitched yowl, and oh god, he's trapped. The blanket's wrapped around him, triggering his claustrophobia just for good measure as he tries to fight it off. Oh fuck.

[peacefulexplorer]

It's a good thing Daniel's accustomed to simply sprawling over the comforter instead of burrowing under it, because when he opens his eyes to the ceiling being a lot closer to his nose than usual, the covers might have been completely dragged up with him. His hands press neatly across something that doesn't really constitute as a surface - more an invisible barrier that just thought to place him a few feet higher than usual.

He's in the process of working out his probably non-threatening if supremely perplexing situation in calm, methodical bafflement when an earsplitting yowl and a flurry of panicked movement tosses him out of that quiet equilibrium and sends him rocketing to his feet. Which is, as it turns out, an even more disorienting sensation, because Daniel gets an excellent view of his bare feet planted firmly on apparently empty air while beneath - beneath -

"Seth?" he says, because that wriggling, howling bundle in the blankets is distinctly not Seth-sized or Seth-shaped. But then, Daniel's floating, so maybe he should start getting used to things not acting in the typical way.

[powerdealer]

Seth eventually manages to break free, and on pure instinct decides to dart for what he deems the safest space, dark and hidden but not completely enclosed, in other words underneath the couch. It only vaguely registers that he's running on four legs instead of two, and he underestimates his speed, crashing into the wall with another thump, turning around to watch the crack between the couch and the floor, and from there on stays completely still.

His heart is thumping about a mile a minute, he feels light-headed - from the crashing or the panic? Probably a combination. It's making it a bit of a challenge to take stock of the situation.

He is a cat.

He is underneath the couch, his hands have been replaced by paws, he has a fucking tail; he can feel it quivering. He is a cat. How is he a cat? Who even fucking knows. He can also see surprisingly well underneath the couch, even if everything looks sort of wrong. The colours aren't right. And smell. The smell thing is particularly noticeable, all kinds of different smells, of dust and books and previously spilled alcohol, and Daniel, he can smell Daniel--

Right, Daniel. Seth has definitely heard him, he can hear really well, can pinpoint exactly where Daniel is even without looking, but it's taken him this long to actually listen, to factor him into what's going on.

Unsure exactly why or how, keeping completely still though his panic is winding down, Seth starts to whine. Another thing his cat body just does, without him really meaning to. This is awful.

[peacefulexplorer]

He glimpses a distinctive brown streak darting from the bed to under the couch, something with fur and a tail and - feline?

"Seth?" he says again, eyebrows scrunching down in concern. He takes a cautious step toward the couch, glances down at his feet taking strides over what feels solid but what is obviously thin air.

The thin, distressed noise spiraling out from beneath the couch is assuredly not a good sign. Daniel takes a few more tentative steps until he's made it to the couch, then inanely tries to crouch on hands and knees to peer under - which naturally doesn't succeed, because he's a clear two feet above the couch.

"Seth," he says again, slightly more firmly. "I, um. I - are you - ?"

There isn't really a dignified way to say this. He rubs at the back of his neck, sighs, and calmly takes stock of the situation.

"Okay. So I'm - floating and you're, uh. You're - something else. An animal. Right?" He shoots an inquisitive look at the couch.

Nancy Drew and the Bakery Phantom Mystery [closed]

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot wakes early, for a change, and spends a good five minutes luxuriating in the sheets before he decides that a lazy morning is incomplete without food and drink, and he sits up to put on some slippers.

Which is when he realizes that he can't see his feet, or as it turns out, any part of his body.

The initial panic is quickly subsumed by Eliot's irritation at the predicament. For one thing, it doesn't make a damn bit of sense that he can see at all, given that light appears to be passing through him and not hitting his retinas. He's still solid, though, not a ghost, not dimensionally displaced, so that's a plus. He is just, somehow, impossibly and cartoonishly invisible.

Frowning, he sends out a text, hoping that either Sunshine or Iman will have some insight on what the hell is going on. He doesn't exactly expect to hear that a spate of invisibility has hit the city, but Sunshine is acting weird as hell, and Iman...Iman is a hot mess. So clearly it's not just him, and not just random visual disturbances, and before long he begins to suspect that these Rift shenanigans are operating along some sort of bullshit theme.

He needs to get up to the bakery, but he doesn't even know how he'll be able to get dressed, let alone navigate the city. He leaves his unfortunately invisible pajamas folded neatly under his pillow and hopes that this curse isn't permanent. He really likes that pair.

Light and optics is more Alice's purview than his, but Eliot's seen her do her shadow trick enough to have the basics down, and hopefully he'll be able to reverse it. To be on the safe side, though, he tries to pick out the clothes he'd mind losing the least, and hangs them in front of the window one at a time. He stands at an angle so he can focus on the shadow, spreads his hands and curls his fingers; Alice could do it just with that alone, but Eliot gives the spell some encouragement in archaic Greek and the shadow disappears, and then, carefully, so does the shirt itself. Mission fucking accomplished.

He doesn't dare try the same trick on himself, not when it's Rift mischief, because who knows what damage he could end up doing. He gets dressed and mutters to himself about how ridiculous this day has turned out to be, and steels his nerves for the inevitable horror of attempting to take the subway while invisible.

By the time Eliot actually gets to Glaser's, he's damn glad no one can see how rumpled and frazzled he is.

"Never doing that again," he mutters as he pushes open the door. Maybe people will think it's just a breeze.

[rae_of_sun]

Due to Eliot's unfortunate condition, Sunshine can't exactly watch for him, and it's hard to make an educated guess regarding how long it's going to take him to arrive. But she's in and out of the bakery pretty often to restock the displays, and is fortunate enough to bear witness to the door swinging open of, apparently, its own accord. The odds of it being a breeze are slight, and the odds of it being an invisible person besides Eliot seem nonexistent, so she pointedly takes her time restocking the display, giving him ample opportunity to sneak behind the counter.

Assuming he's achieved that much, she heads back into the bakery, giving the door a more enthusiastic shove than necessary to ensure it stays open long enough for a second, unseen party to slip through. Then, quietly enough that no one outside should hear her, she asks, "So, did you make it, or am I talking to myself like a lunatic?"

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot feels a little silly engaging in this covert sneakery, especially after constant shuffling and trying to find an empty corner on the train. So he follows Sunshine into the bakery at a leisurely stroll.

"You're not crazy," he reassures her. "I have a newfound hatred for public transit, but other than that I'm in one piece."

He hesitates, wanting to broach the subject of Spike and what is probably (definitely probably) some Rift-related memory loss, but their text conversation got weird enough and it's not a good thing to lead with. So Eliot looks around at the space and the equipment; this is far more kitchen than he'd know what to do with.

"Really nice place you've got here," he begins, innocuous enough. Let's talk about bakery things. "You think if I stay here long enough I'll get a fine dusting of flour and be visible, or would that just be unsanitary?"

A Picture is Worth... [closed, for Daine]

[peeta_mellark]

It's Peeta's day off from the base kitchens, so after breakfast he returns to his room, a small roll in hand for Effie. He's still getting used to having the puppy around - there's been more than a little middle-of-the-night tossing and turning going on as they both adjust to having another body sharing the bed. Well, as Effie adjusts to having a bed and Peeta adjusts to sharing it with a dog.

They've been working on her stay ability, so Peeta opens the door carefully, issuing a firm sit when Effie's nose appears in the crack. When it disappears again, he quickly comes in and shuts the door behind him. Effie's learning well, but sometimes her enthusiasm overwhelms her training. She's sitting when Peeta enters, and he rewards her with half the roll. He puts her through a few more moves, rewarding her with pieces of the other half until it's gone.

He putters around the room for a little while, then pulls out his sketchbook. A half-completed drawing of Effie catches his eye, but as soon as he picks up his pencil his thoughts shift to Daine. He flips to a clean page and begins to draw her in dog form. Effie rears up to put her paws on his leg, cocking her head to watch him work, before getting bored and curling up at his feet.

Caught up in drawing, Peeta doesn't pause until the sketch is complete. Flexing his hand to relieve the tightness, he scrutinizes the final product. The picture appears to blur and he blinks his eyes to clear his vision, only to find the page blank when he opens them again. Frowning, he turns back a page, thinking he must have accidentally flipped the sheets. But the next sketch back is just the unfinished one of Daine.

It's as he pushes back in his chair to check the floor that Effie lets out a yelp of surprise. Peeta pivots in the chair and finds the dog he just drew standing in the middle of the room.

"... Daine?"

[wildmage_daine]

Well, this is odd. Is she dreaming? Because she's fair certain she didn't intend to be posing for a picture just now, for all that it's something she's done for Peeta before. But Effie's here, which is odder for a dream, and Daine's halfway through a friendly wag and a bewildered silent greeting before a blinding flare of copper fire in the park makes her flinch and yelp in surprise.

What... who...?! No one here should be putting off a shine like that, no one has that much wild magic but her, and she can't be in two places at once. Is there another wildmage? A new arrival, maybe? She hears a startled huff of a whine, confusion and anxiety and excitement, and belatedly realizes it's coming from her.

Should she reach out to them? Say something? She has to.

She turns in the direction the flare had come from, all but ignoring the others in the room. Hullo? she calls out, sending out a tentative thread of magic. Can you hear me?

The answering spike of incredulity and shock is identical to her own. Because it is her own. And It's her own voice that answers: What?!

[peeta_mellark]

The surprise of Daine's sudden appearance in his room is quickly eclipsed by her reaction to being there. Even Effie is affected by it, her delighted yip of greeting forgotten as quickly as it came as she hunches over slightly, tail dipping between her legs. She looks to Peeta for explanation, but he's as bewildered as she is by Daine's unmistakeable anxiety.

"Daine?" Peeta tries again, voice gentle. Setting his pad on the desk behind him, he holds out one hand, the gesture meant to convey reassurance and harmlessness. "Are you okay?"

PRBD [closed to Peeta]

[wildmage_daine]

What with another unexpected arrival showing up - several, really - it's actually quite some time before both Daines have the opportunity to even meet one another, let alone seek out Peeta. The upshot is that it's been a long enough and strange enough day by that point that they don't get as many double-takes as one might expect. They still get plenty of stares when they both walk down the hall, side by side and deep in silent conversation as they compare new arrival notes, but they're dulled by a pervasive well-why-not attitude that's gripped most of the base.

It's something of a relief for both of them all the same. Strange as this is, Daine's finding she rather likes having another her around. And think of how many of the People they can help now there's two of them!

The Daine who isn't having any unfortunate side effects from speaking knocks on Peeta's door. "Peeta, it's me. Well, us."

Re: PRBD [closed to Peeta]

[peeta_mellark]

Peeta tries. He really does. After inadvertently bringing another Daine into existence he has no desire to put pencil - or pen or marker or paintbrush - to paper again until this latest bout of rift mischief is over. He goes about his normal daily tasks and manages (after the third or fourth time) to stop thinking about the sketches he'd like to make of the various things he sees. There's no more drawing for him, not for a while anyway. Not until it's safe.

An uneasy thought lingers in the back of his mind all day, though. At first, his subconscious recoils from the idea, suppressing it in an act of self preservation. But it spreads through him, a dull itchiness under his skin, the tenacity of the idea overriding his knee-jerk aversion to it. Awareness is patchy, sheer fortitude the only thing that allows him to - consciously or not - avoid facing the idea in its entirety.

Then he finds himself back at his desk, sketchpad open and pencil in hand. It's only then, hand poised above paper, that the mental block he has built breaks.

He wants to draw Katniss. Needs to in a way he hasn't allowed himself to feel since he quit drawing her all, convinced doing so only made her absence harder to bear. But now, now, the rift has given him the awesome and terrible ability to be with Katniss again. True, drawing her now would mean stranding her in Rift York, too. And she'd be Katniss, but not the Katniss he left in Panem. That Katniss would still be there, going through whatever she is going through. This Katniss would get the chance to escape all of that, even though she might not thank him for it.

Those and a thousand other worries race through his mind as he sits, stock still, hand holding the pencil trembling slightly. Then, before he can stop himself, he starts drawing.

He works in a feverish rush, now that he's decided to go through with it. By the time the Daines arrive at his door, he's almost through, and he hears the knock and one of their voices as if they are at the end of a very long tunnel. A small part of his mind registers the sound, and Effie rising from the floor at his feet to trot over to the door, but he doesn't stop. He's so close now.

[wildmage_daine]

The Daines exchange a slightly baffled glance. Peeta's definitely in there; Effie's told them as much. And while they were both later getting here than they meant to be, well... it's not as if Peeta's ever been spiteful. He wouldn't be ignoring them on purpose. Is he listening to music or something?

Effie, asks one of the Daines, what's he doing in there? Can't he hear us?

He should be able to hear you, comes the blithe reply. But he's very busy drawing.

Daine frowns at herself. Should he really be doing that? Even if he's just making himself a nice new bookshelf or something, he ought to be careful about it. She tries the door, finds it unlocked, and takes the liberty of letting herselves in.

"Peeta?" one of her ventures as the other crouches to greet Effie. "Are you okay? We did knock."