Kneeling to face her two eldest children, her hands flutter in precise movements, mirroring her words. It's all soft spoken, quiet instructions to mind the adults, keep an eye out for her and Da. They bounce on their heels, watching the games from the corners of their eyes but freedom is not yet within their grasp. She pauses, hands help up as if to say something else, and then grabs them tight, placing a kiss into Gamzee's hair and catching Nepeta's forehead. They wiggled and laughed and finally broke free, dashing off.
Her dress is brushed clean with both hands as she rises and looks out over the field. She hadn't made it to District Twelve in her travels. There had been plenty of places to go, places to write about and set novels in. She'd spoken to everyone, from those who had been Capitolites to the former Avoxes and everyone who had been between. There was still a twinge of uncertainty with the former high class citizens. A sense of fear perhaps, given how she'd felt, what she'd known, what she'd done. Not fear really. That yawning gape between control and helplessness. She tapped her fingers on her arms, took a deep breath. It had been so long. Sometimes she could forget. Most times, she simply had to exist with it.
She gravitates towards the painting at first. Her brushstrokes are careful, like she's writing instead of placing color, and her attempts are not exactly high art. She'd seen better. Seen a lot better. Her brush is set down, she steps back.
The reunion finds her later with a handful of flower chains, made in all the colors she could find in the meadow. When she sees someone she recognizes, whether from before or still sooner, from the times between, she leans up and gently places a flower chain on their head. Childish perhaps. It serves as a lovely greeting either way. Her smile at seeing them certainly hasn't changed over the years, even if the face its set in has.
Meulin Leijon | Open
Her dress is brushed clean with both hands as she rises and looks out over the field. She hadn't made it to District Twelve in her travels. There had been plenty of places to go, places to write about and set novels in. She'd spoken to everyone, from those who had been Capitolites to the former Avoxes and everyone who had been between. There was still a twinge of uncertainty with the former high class citizens. A sense of fear perhaps, given how she'd felt, what she'd known, what she'd done. Not fear really. That yawning gape between control and helplessness. She tapped her fingers on her arms, took a deep breath. It had been so long. Sometimes she could forget. Most times, she simply had to exist with it.
She gravitates towards the painting at first. Her brushstrokes are careful, like she's writing instead of placing color, and her attempts are not exactly high art. She'd seen better. Seen a lot better. Her brush is set down, she steps back.
The reunion finds her later with a handful of flower chains, made in all the colors she could find in the meadow. When she sees someone she recognizes, whether from before or still sooner, from the times between, she leans up and gently places a flower chain on their head. Childish perhaps. It serves as a lovely greeting either way. Her smile at seeing them certainly hasn't changed over the years, even if the face its set in has.