trinkett | Third Dispatch. I have Advice. Written.

Third Dispatch. I have Advice. Written.

Dear Luceti,

My efforts to gain notice by the Malnosso Organization for my considerable human resources skills have not been enough, I fear.

To this end, I shall be offering my services free of charge: Effie's Advisements. No problem is too large or too small! We shall overcome -- together.

Most Sincerely,

Effie.

[That signature has a very elegant flourish to it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Glad to hear it.

[He doesn't buy a word of that, Effie. Which is probably evident by the dots of ink that preceded that response.]

You are?

[A very rare moment of vulnerability shines through those two words.]

[He'll try not to wreck it. 'Try' being the operative word.]

Yeah, I am. This place already sucks; it's worse when things aren't going well. I hope things keep going well for you.

[The following is written fast and sloppy, for Effie.]
Of COURSE theywillkeepgoingwell! I always fall on my feet you know! I've never once been censored or questioned or imprisoned.

[She can probably all but hear the implied sigh]

Effie. You don't have anything you need to prove to me. And no one else in the village can see this exchange.

I AM NOT TRYING TO PROVE ANYTHING.

[There is definite defensiveness in that scrawled protest.]

How do you do that? Prevent them from seeing it?

Will you just relax for five seconds? I'm just trying to have a normal conversation with another person, here. I don't give a flying fu flip about appearances. And you're not fooling me, anyway. Save it for when you actually need it.

You have to lock the post. It's a little hard to explain over the journals. Maybe one of your room mates can teach you.

[Would they? Would Sharpe teach her? Effie doubted that he would know anything about how to do it. Would Katniss?

The thought of asking Katniss for help on anything left a sour taste in her mouth. Chaperones were not supposed to be beholden to Tributes.]

I am not sure they would be able to.

Would you have the time to do so?

[...]

[No, really...]

[...she did come and help him with the wings, though.]

[Fine. He was going to regret this, wasn't he?]

Yeah, sure. Where do you want to meet?

[Where did a woman go to meet a man like Derek Bliss for journal lessons?]

What about the library?

I'll be there in ten.

Okay!!!!!!

[That was a very informal sign-off. Effie reconsiders and adds, after a moment:]

Sincerely,

Ms. Effie Trinkett.

[She will hurry to the library. The timing of it all means that she doesn't have a chance to wig-up or put on half the makeup she would ordinarily don. Oh well. She doesn't want to be late. Learning to lock a post could be extremely useful.]

He'll make his way to the library, although perhaps not at as fast a pace as her. He might even show up after her for once.

Either way though, it takes him a few seconds to find her; he's entirely too used to recognizing the wigs and 'out there' make up that he almost passes over the blonde, thinking she might be another new feather, or at least an infrequent patron of the library.

When he realizes who he's looking at, though, he actually smiles a little.

"That's a good look for you."

"Hello. Oh, please. I'm not even made up. Barely presentable." The words are quick and nervous. "I do appreciate you taking the time to do this with me. For me."

He grins a little; he'd be lying if knowing he was making her a little nervous didn't amuse him slightly on some level. Not maliciously. Just...it was nice to see a little honest vulnerability from her.

"...We obviously have different standards, then. You look fine. Maybe even a little too much make-up. But then, I guess you could always discount what I'm saying, since I'm not from your home world."

He'll gesture to one of the tables.

"C'mon, let's get this worked out for you." He'll head to where he indicated without any further invitation.

The biggest drawback to the not-enough-makeup thing is that Derek can probably see her flush bright red.

Never again. Never AGAIN do I leave the house so underdone!

Effie plunks herself down in as ladylike a manner as possible at the table and lays her journal out on the surface.

"Your standards are obviously very low," she chides, probably too sharply. "I don't want to take too much of your valuable time. If you could even give me the general idea, I can probably figure it out."

"...no, not really. My home just prefers a...more natural look for people. The way you usually do yourself up? People would think you were employed as a clown where I'm from."

He's not meaning to make it sound like an insult; it just is what it is. People really would think she was a clown...or worked for Cirque Du Soliel.

He brings his own journal out, turning it to a fresh page as he lays it on the table.

"I think it works a little differently for each person; whatever makes sense for them. But what you do is essentially make a 'lock', like this," and he'll tap the upper left hand of the page, draw some sort of symbol on the rest of the surface, and end it with a twist of his fingers, like he was turning a deadbolt.

"And that locks it. Depending on what names you include in the code, it'll lock the journal to them, or just to residents in general. Like this one; there's no names, so it'll be locked, but everyone can still see it. Yours looked like this,"

Another series of symbols, followed by her name, and the same twist again.

Following the motion of his fingers intently, Effie tries to forget the extreme dissatisfaction with the fact that he just as good as told her she looked like a clown.

"Wait, WHAT? I can't even tell what you just did! Do it MORE SLOWLY, if you please!"

Her own curlicued attempts to lock things to him in her journal are sad failures.

As far as he's concerned, the moment is already passed anyway.

He'll stop, shake his head.

"Okay. Let's try this again. The parts that stay consistent are this," he taps the upper left corner again, "Which activates the locking system. And then this," and he'll make the twisting motion on the page again,"Which completes the lock once you get all the information in it. The pattern itself is your 'code' for the lock to open. You have to be able to make it exactly the same each time. If you can't, you can always use a number or word sequence instead."

"I...don't know how to do that. The design." Effie wasn't creative like that. "Words, though -- I could do words. What word should I use?"

She traced his name very carefully in her journal.

"Probably something you can remember easy but that other people wouldn't guess. Mix it up with a few numbers to make it harder for people to guess."

"Alright...see if this works, will you?"

She tries to send Derek a locked message: Hello Mister Bliss. I am glad to see your wings in order today.

Derek takes a look at the message, nods and smiles a little.

"You're close, but it's not quite strong enough, I think. It's partially blocked."

Don't ask him how he knows that.

"Maybe make the code just a little more complicated."

Ugh. This is complicated. Codes just aren't Effie's thing. She's used to hiding in plain sight.

She tries again, this time adding in a few numbers and hoping she'll remember what they are.

They are a very respectable shade of brown.

"There -- now?"

Another carefully read and inspection of the page.

"Yeah; a lot. Here," he'll move over to her journal, "Can I see it for a second?"

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Written | Locked]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]