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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I guess there are a lot of injuries, but the total amount of victims isn't that high compared to other activities. It's about 500 every year.. which is still really, really sad, though. Poor football players..

[Probably keeps the oxygen out too.]

There are things called books, you know.

[He's all for adventure and stuff. However, If it means killing another person? No way.]

And catharsis is cathartic but you do not find everyone venting their emotions and frustrations on the village as a whole for the sake of it.

She shook her head. Why wasn't she getting it? Why didn't she understand the sort of danger that she was putting herself in? Clint wasn't a loose canon. Not the sort that she was thinking of. He'd be perfectly in control, she was certain. Just as he had been perfectly within his right to challenge the Capitol notion of gladiatorial games.

And not for the first time today, she felt a little stab of panic. What would Clint think if he knew that she had voted for that last Hunger Game? For children to die so their parents could learn a point?

"He can kill you," she retorted, hands balling into fists. "Without you even realizing."

Probably?!

No. You didn't.

[Perceived injustices of the past. That's somewhat to where he's headed.]

You might want to think on why they jumped there. I'll be honest with you. I was a little surprised at the reaction at first. [It was more extreme than he expected for such an announcement. Then he started reading some of the conversations in depth and well...] There are a lot of fighters in Luceti, and while 'gladitorial' is concerning, fighting tournaments here aren't unheard of. [He can think of two off the top of his head: Tony Stark's 'fight club' and the Luceti Valley fighting tournament, in which he himself had participated.]

Exactly. [She sounds somewhat relieved that someone else can see things her way.] So many fighters! Not enough Games!

I suppose helmets could be worn...

[Although that would probably ruin the overall effect of drama.]

Effie smiled at the girl. "Katniss. No one dies here. Not permanently. Even he could see the pointlessness in my murder."

That didn't mean she wasn't somewhat afraid of that very thing happening, though. She just found it unlikely.

[Now THAT is laughable.]

I'm not venting. I seem to be the least emotional person here!

Yes, yes, I realize this. What is your point, please?

I know. We should have a moment of silence, perhaps...

[Those seemed to be things people did when they wanted to honor the fallen.]

Weapons are typically provided, but I'm not one hundred percent certain that weapons will be a FEATURE of any games held in Luceti.

[Mostly because so many people seemed horrified by the idea.]

Trust me -- wherever Effie Trinket goes, there good taste shall follow!

[Even if public opinion goes flying in the other direction.]

[That's it. No more threats. Effie slams her journal shut.]

I wonder if President Snow ever.....

Nevermind.

[One should not think about what the President gets up to in his dreams or even in his waking moments.]

What about some sort of stunt CONTEST? An obstacle course? A timed run through it, in which the one with the fastest time wins?

[It could be called "Wipe Out", maybe?]

I'm sorry --- you are...?

I find that people are motivated by little else, really.

[A rather cynical view but at least an honest one.]

I know there are a lot of dead politicians and monarchs and nobles hanging around in various castles where I'm from, so a lot of them obviously have something they feel is unfinished business.

[There's a few more arrows loosed, a few more fallen soldiers. Not a bullet will touch her, not a solider will reach her, even if it wasn't a simulation. But how many people has he seen in his own world using people like this? Seeing people, normal people, as toys and things less than human. Entertainment. Things to be used and discarded.

And that feeling, that is one that he knows very well.

He glances back at her, the wide eyes and shaking and unseeing expression and sighs, the blind anger bleeding out of him as he stops the sim and the soldiers and buildings fade away into bare walls.]

It's over.

Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. Trying her best not to remember what it was like. Coming back to Luceti, awakening in the forests to realize that death hadn't sent her back to Panem. That all she had done in getting Clove to kill her was lose her song.

She had been stupid. So very stupid. And so full of grief and loss.

"It's not permanent," she finally says, voice quiet. Because she can't meet Effie's eyes. Not as she talks about this. "But you die. And you come back and you lose something. Something important to you."

I was stating a fact, not making an accusation. Entertainment is entertaining, Catharsis is cathartic, socialization is social- that does not make every means and manner of handling them correct, proper, or sane.

[There is the space of six heartbeats of silence. Six heartbeats for the echoes of those last bullets to stop in Effie's ears. She comes back to herself and realizes how hard she's breathing -- out of control, really -- lungs pumping and lips parted as though she's just run for her life while standing perfectly still. An emotion she is used to crushing -- CRUSHING, as a confused child; CRUSHING, as a frightened teenager; CRUSHING, as an ambitious adult -- for survival, crushing it down and quashing it and putting it away -- boils up in her chest.

Pure rage. It needs an outlet, and it needs one now.

She rushes Clint, little fists balled up to flail at him nonfighting-lady-style. Her wig is askew. The irises flutter to the ground.]

I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!

[His point is a hypothetical question:]

If you had kids and they had to play in those games you talked about, how would you feel? Or what if you had to go into them?

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

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