❰ katniss is tense from the moment she wakes.

at least, she tries to be. every instinct in her body tells her she should be, but she's foggy, her limbs heavy, her tongue thick. she's only barely propped herself up on her elbows when a woman in baggy blue clothing bustles in, quickly followed by two more. they touch the machines she's attached to (machines? that feels dangerous somehow, as if the presence of machines should mean something to her, but that thought's gone as quickly as it came), they touch katniss.

and she lets them because it's simpler than fighting, and because she now realizes her name is katniss and with that dawns the realization that that's all she remembers.

no - she remembers prim. of course she remembers prim.

and she remembers... katniss squints, trying to gather her thoughts over the oppressive wave of chatter encroaching from three different sides. she wants to tell them to leave, but she can't - that's one more thing she remembers. that if 'they' don't like her, she'll die. that it's her job to make them. and she doesn't know who 'they' are but the word feels like 'everyone' in her head and so she'll act accordingly. ❱

Thank you, ❰ she offers, likely cutting into the middle of someone's sentence, with a weak attempt at a sweet smile even as her hand under the blanket inches toward the edge of the bed she's lying on, readying for- for what? readying to fight, somehow.

she catches more of the next part - they're saying she just needs a little rest, that it's normal to be a little confused after an accident like that - and then they leave her to supposedly do just that: rest. but while there's definitely more than enough medicated fog left in her system to steal a few minutes of sleep (she feels like she hasn't slept in ages), unease lights her nerves like livewires, burning through the haze like fire to gas.

anyone who shows up at her room will find her sliding her legs off the bed, testing whether they'll hold her weight. (they will.)

otherwise she'll be heading out into the hall a few short seconds later, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest in this stupid gown, casting a sharp eye around for the first person not wearing scrubs.

now katniss manages a decent level of tension. she's low-key braced for the worst without entirely understanding why, when she voluntarily catches their eye to ask: ❱ What's going on?