Gale Hawthorne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fanstheflame) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2013-03-09 09:12 am
fanstheflame) wrote in paradisa2013-03-09 09:12 am
Entry tags:
sixteenth snare
[this morning finds Gale out in the front yard of Casa de Guts, a stack of boards piled up off to the side of the walkway. he's cleared away most of the snow, and put out a pair of sawhorses so that he can haul the boards up onto them and cut them. on top of another pair of sawhorses, his blueprints for the attic renovations and his journal are weighed down by stones, to keep them from blowing away.
as he works, he listens idly to the chatter coming off the pages and hums quietly to himself, an old tune from the Seam to keep the rhythm as he saws. it takes him a good two verses before he realizes just WHAT he's humming, and what it was written to allude to. once he does, he stops]
.... Been a long time since I even thought of that song.
[and that just sets him thinking. he'll continue working, even as he's flooded with thoughts about the past year: about how much he's changed, about how many have come and gone. Katniss is the only other one from the Districts left, now ... and even she had come and gone while he had stayed. he's beginning to understand how Allen, Crowley and Ino feel - his veteran housemates - and why he gravitated toward them so easily. he's cut from the same cloth from them, and was even before Paradisa even set its sights on him ... something like canvas or denim, the sort of cloth miners' clothes are made of. the sort of cloth that stands up to fire and smoke and friction and repeated use, that might fade at the creases, but doesn't fray.
he pauses in his work to look up at the house, and realizes that needing to add more rooms is a good sign: a sign that there are an increasing number of people made of the same stuff. he turns to look over the town at the spires of the castle, and grins.]
Hey. Cair Paradisa. Let's make a bet, you and me. Next year? Four floors.
as he works, he listens idly to the chatter coming off the pages and hums quietly to himself, an old tune from the Seam to keep the rhythm as he saws. it takes him a good two verses before he realizes just WHAT he's humming, and what it was written to allude to. once he does, he stops]
.... Been a long time since I even thought of that song.
[and that just sets him thinking. he'll continue working, even as he's flooded with thoughts about the past year: about how much he's changed, about how many have come and gone. Katniss is the only other one from the Districts left, now ... and even she had come and gone while he had stayed. he's beginning to understand how Allen, Crowley and Ino feel - his veteran housemates - and why he gravitated toward them so easily. he's cut from the same cloth from them, and was even before Paradisa even set its sights on him ... something like canvas or denim, the sort of cloth miners' clothes are made of. the sort of cloth that stands up to fire and smoke and friction and repeated use, that might fade at the creases, but doesn't fray.
he pauses in his work to look up at the house, and realizes that needing to add more rooms is a good sign: a sign that there are an increasing number of people made of the same stuff. he turns to look over the town at the spires of the castle, and grins.]
Hey. Cair Paradisa. Let's make a bet, you and me. Next year? Four floors.
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