@rustyaxes:
Help is something no victor has ever gotten. From the moment they are reaped, they are on their own, and not even their mentors can possibly prepare them for the ordeal they are about to live for the rest of their sad lives—if they get that far, that is. Sometimes, she wonders if her survival instinct did actually anything to save her.
“I don’t need any help. I can do this on my own–” She growls, bandaged hands that hold the weapon tremble, unable to load the pistol and unable to do anything but shake and make her seem even more pathetic, which she hates—Johanna Mason doesn’t know the meaning of the word weak, isn’t that what everybody in the Capitol used to say? She earned that reputation with her cutthroat words and her violent nature, and now she’s being reduced to nothing but a cornered rat and she absolutely fucking hates it.
The safety of the gun refuses to work yet again, and so, letting out a perhaps too audible ‘fuck!”, she throws the weapon against the nearby wall, and it crashes against the bricks with a loud thud, dismantled and falling onto the ground in various pieces, “what is with these fucking weapons?! Do you really expect us to fight with these fucking things?! They don’t even work!”
Voice is a mixture of a shriek and a growl, eyes shining with fury and jaw tensed as she feels her hands tremble once more, turning her face away from him so he won’t see her about to collapse, “I don’t—I cando this. Don’t you fucking think I can’t—”
Gale watches her shaky hands, convinced she’s not quite ready, but she assured him she was--- and Boggs and Coin said as many able-bodied soldiers as possible. So here he is, trying to train Johanna how to use a gun. Her fingers might not be strong enough to flick the safety off, but he believes in her, mostly because her reputation precedes her.
But no one outside these walls has seen what the Capitol has done to one of their most ferocious victors.
Gale doesn’t know how it feels to be that broken down (though the feeling of not saving more people from the attack on 12 has him feeling pretty small and low himself), but he tries to empathize with her because he knows the effect the games can have, let alone Capitol-induced torture.
He doesn’t flinch as the firearm is thrown against the wall and breaks apart, he only thinks how cheaply made those stupid things are. They’re nothing like handcrafted weaponry. But that’s beside the point. He thinks maybe he’s pushing her too far too fast, and when she turns away, he fights the urge to reach out and try to comfort her.
“I know you can do this, but maybe this time, try taking the safety off with your opposite hand and then bringing it back to your proper grip... your fingers are smaller than mine, so you might not be able to get the leverage you need like that... I think that’s the only problem,” he offers with a small smile, picking up another gun from the table and loading it, putting the safety on. He holds it out for her to take safely and nods. “Try again, okay?”
