trinkett | Fourth Dispatch: It's Not What You Think. Voice.

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Fourth Dispatch: It's Not What You Think. Voice.

Dear Fellow Residents of Luceti,

Wouldn't it be entertaining to put on some Games here in Luceti? Not that the Cultural Fair wasn't amusing, or any of the other activities going on here -- but true gladiatorial games. The pitting of one creature against another! Think of the thrill and drama and the release that goes along with that sort of entertainment! And here in Luceti we are ideally suited for a very exciting Games indeed.

Who would you sponsor or volunteer for this entertainment? Or would it all be...

[There is a pause here.]

Pokey-mans? I find human beings MUCH more interesting to watch, personally.

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LET ME OUT. [Effie does not run. Effie crumbles, holding her arms over her head. She knows this can be stopped. She's just not sure HOW.

[... there is a reason why he's keeping this conversation private. And why it's impossible to tell if Law's tone is sarcastic, sincere, or both.]

... and I thought you were a woman with a head for the social scene.

I've thought sometimes that that could be marginally inconvenient. You know. If someone got "trapped" in the physical world after passing on honorably.

[Sometimes it does indeed keep her up at night.]

[You are hopeless, Ikki.]

........Yes. Yes, that will be the reason.

"Or something....research. Ish."

Firearms and hand-to-hand, if you want to be technical about it. I prefer to describe it as "anything goes" myself.

I AM. I mean I do. I've....gone wrong.

[Giant understatement, there.]

"Just don't get so wrapped up in it that you forgot about poor old Jack back in Luceti."

Said the man who just left his poor old Effie alone in Luceti for a week.

[He's being cruel, he knows he is, as he fires arrow after arrow at the soldiers who turn the corner while Effie screams behind him. But no-one's ever accused him of being a nice person, and he's sure as hell not a good one.

But for a few moments, all he can think of is every innocent he's seen killed, every person who's laughed about it.]

Is that what they say? The people you so enjoy watching fight? Do they beg for their lives while you laugh and drink cocktails?

[At least she admits it. For his part, he'll stay off the moral high horses and speak in terms they both understand.

They're high those horses. They may be easy to get on, but riding? Nobody rides well, despite what most think. And the fall is so very long.]

You misjudged your audience, unfortunately. Why do you think they reacted so badly?

"Foot...ball?" What is "football?"

[This costume making thing will not go well, she can already tell...]

So... [His voice is deadpan.] You wanted to do this... with no intention of setting it up yourself.

Nope, no one will. Because they're team sports focused on teamwork and scoring points.

When people think about gladiatorial games, they generally think "fight to the death".

Aye! Most people can't stand monsters, so watching them get beaten to a pulp by humans makes for a good show! Too bad we don't have any of those here in Luceti...

Hey, maybe we can use the Battle Dome!

[Effie doesn't answer. She's thick in a memory that makes her legs feel as though they are stuck in treacle. A bullet whines close to her and strikes the wall just behind, but she barely notices. She's listening to the tromping booted feet, coming closer.

"It was for the good of us all," her father insists, putting down the phone and folding his arms, a grim smile on his face. Her mother pats Effie on the head.

"Good job, darling. Always Report. You've clearly been listening in school."

In the apartment next door, the baby is crying again, but this time, instead of soothing it, its parents are rushing about and calling to each other in sharp, low voices. There is a thump. The baby cries more loudly.

"Always Report is one of the first things they're taught in fifth form," her mother goes on, proudly informing her father. "Effie, what's the other Big Lesson?"

Effie doesn't answer. Why don't they pick up that baby? It's wailing, now.

And then there is the sound of Peacekeepers' booted feet, tromping up the stairs. Kicking down a door. Even her parents quiet down at that sound: the not-so-secret Police.

Next door, she can hear a woman begging and a man crying. There is shouting, a commotion, and the man's crying stops even as the baby's continues.

"Look, Effie," her mother says in a no-arguments tone. "Fashion Police is on! It's the new episode." Her parents turn to the TV and tune the rest of the world out.

But Effie can't. She watches the stylists and their models walk the runways, but she can only hear a dragging sound in the hallway outside the apartment. Booted feet, still tromping. A baby, still crying in an otherwise-empty apartment, even as the sound of the marching boots fades away.

Will someone get that baby?

Her father turns up the volume; crowds cheer on the television as new fashions are revealed in sparkling pyrotechnics.

The next morning, the baby isn't crying anymore.]

Edited 2013-06-26 17:21 (UTC)

"To see Clint."

There was a serious tone in her voice that contrasted Effie's brightness, a look of worry on her face instead of a smile. Didn't the woman have one shred of survival instinct? She must have, in order to survive in the Capitol during the uprising. Not to find herself thrown in a prison - or worse -under Snow's command, like so many of the other chaperons from the Hunger Games.

And yet? Was she really all that oblivious with the response her message had garnered? Did she not realize that Katniss had been here over a year now? Clove and Cato, too? People knew about the Hunger Games here. Knew what it did to the children that participated.

"He's good with a bow," she continued, trying to find some reason to convince Effie otherwise. "As good as I am, if not better. You'll be putting your life at risk."

"Katniss." The tone of voice running through that name was one of mild surprise. "I'll be perfectly safe! He's a bluffing, hypocritical blowhard, like all the others!"

She turned away from the girl, rummaging through a nearby drawer for one of her silk iris hair accessories. It was a small action, really, masking quiet, nascent turmoil. The girl was being so protective! Really. SO not necessary! Possibly not even seemly.

"He needs to be shown that someone of my station will not be cowed."

[But don't the poor monsters ever win?]

The Battle Dome is a good possibility, especially for Gamemaking purposes. I've seen combat there; it looks as though almost anything is possible in the programming.

[Have you ever SEEN a hockey game?]

Death, I am sure, would be incidental -- or EASILY avoided! Another man mentioned rules, and I heartily agree that some should be in place. Rules make a game sporting.

I'm not a Gamemaker. [If there's one thing that can be said about Effie, it's that she knows where her role begins and ends.] I work a bit in public relations, sponsorship-garnering, publicity -- that kind of thing.

It was a type of game played once, long ago, by my calculations: two teams faced off in brutal combat to move a ball from one end of the field to the other. Apparently it was quite exciting to watch, by all accounts.

[Her voice is impatient:] Because almost every one of them jumped to very wrong conclusions. I cannot take the blame for that! I look to the future, not to perceived injustices in the past!

I never once said I would force ANYONE to die!

"Says he who deprived me of his company for a week!"

And really, these days? Jack's company was the most comfortable she had in this place. How sad.

[She tries to picture the spectacle in her mind, and...it's not a pretty picture.]

That...almost sounds like a war...

From what I've heard here -- the CONSTRUCTIVE feedback, at any rate -- it wouldn't quite be "anything goes." Not like back home. There would have to be some rules in place! Have you ever played "hockey"? "Football"? "Basketball"?

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Fourth Dispatch: It's Not What You Think. Voice.

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