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

[trinkett]

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.

Comments

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[asthehawkflies]

And I'm not going to.

[He pulls off his t-shirt, showing of a fair number of vicious looking scars, and grabs for a clean one in his bag to change into.]

I've made peace with who I am a long time ago. There's maybe two people in the world who I'm willing to change for and you ain't one of them and both of them are fine with me as I am.

Not everyone gives a damn about social class or fitting in with people to play some stupid game.

[voice]

[fleurdesel]

Oh no, what you and he do in the sanctity of his bedroom, or should I say the expressway of his bedroom, is entirely your business, Madame. [Her tone is not at all pitying. Well, it is. Thoroughly.] Though I might recommend you visit a clinic for a discreet check. Just to be certain you did not catch anything peculiar.

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[happyhungergames]

It's NOT a stupid OH MY GOD. YOUR BODY.

[That t-shirt removal pretty much derailed any diamond-polishing efforts. Not that she's going to quit, though. Mother and Father did not raise a quitter. But holy powers that be how did such a...well-trained torso get so cut-up?]

It's horrendous. Did you fall into some kind of industrial sausage-grinder?!

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[asthehawkflies]

[Now that is not a reaction he's entirely used to. Shock maybe, but not outright horror like that. He'd be insulted if he wasn't quite so comfortable in himself.

He points to a few of the scars in turn.]

Bullet wound. Machete. Bomb shrapnel. Burns. Whip mark.

And a few more I've forgotten or don't really feel like sharing.

[voice]

[happyhungergames]

I know someone who's jealous about NOT going to Disneyland, and I believe she is using the idle threat of syphilis to cover up her feelings of inadequacy!



Though I suppose that FITS, considering you're French.




Madame.

[Voice]

[endgames]

Got it in one. 'course, I'm not sure why you're so interested.

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[happyhungergames]

[Well was it any WONDER he resisted polishing so hard? He was all...chipped. Heedless, she took a step or two forward to touch what might have been a whip mark. Or machete. No, probably whip. Entirely fascinated.

Bodies on display in the Capitol were much like hers: perfect, whether through birth or cosmetic surgery. (In Effie's case, she was blessed with beautiful genes.) Bodies like Clint's were reserved for the Districts. Capitol-dwellers were taught to fear them and abhor them and Other them while simultaneously glorying in their own comparative polish and perfection and class.

This is the closest Effie has ever been to this kind of imperfection. She is usually very careful not to look directly at the filth of District Twelve. Somewhere off over their heads, maybe. It's easier. Less visceral. Now, though...]

....Oh.

[Voice]

[trinkett]

Why -- because the public forum is where one can make a difference! Exercise one's autonomous power!

[Or something. Or at least pretend to do those things.]

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[asthehawkflies]

[He catches her hand when she reaches out, giving her an incredulous look.]

You ever heard of personal space? I'm a person, not a curiosity you can poke and prod however you want.

[He sighs, letting her go.]

They're just scars. Got a few more than most people but that's all they are. Have you never seen one before?

[action -- PROBABLY SOMETIME AFTER SIX O'CLOCK.]

[inyourfavor]

[Only on TV. She can feel the hot flush of shame creeping up her cheekbones. Effie shakes her head.]

I had blemishes when I was fifteen. Horrible. On my cheeks and chin. Mother wouldn't let me leave the house for months. She was afraid that...

[I'd be put in one of those instutional WHY the ever-loving HELL is she telling him this? To commiserate? Don't worry Clint I've had weird marks on my body, too. I haven't always been this perfect. Or...no. Maybe to try to explain herself. How her world worked. How perceived physical imperfections -- a crippled leg, a blemished face -- were considered anathema, a source of shame. She clears her throat and starts over:]

SOME children get born....different. They're not allowed out,ever. They send them all... [Another flush.]

I've never seen one in person before.

[After that lame finish, she begins toying with one of her irises. Trying to look anywhere but at each of those stories of violence on his body, even though she's itching to touch.]

[Private]

[deathsdoctor]

[What is this feeling of uneasiness creeping into him?]

Thank you. I've worked very hard to get as far as I have.

[... like he should be apologizing to Itachi in advance.]

[Private]

[happyhungergames]

[That feeling of Uneasiness is the restless spirit of Effie Trinket's mom signing your life away into an arranged marriage with her puffy-headed daughter.]

I suppose one MUST, to have earned TWO distinguished titles, Captain Law!


Or is it DOCTOR Law!

[/cue "Jaws" theme]

[voice]

[fleurdesel]

I'm certain a trip to Disneyland was quite fantastic to someone of your naivete, but it takes more than shining colors and spinning lights to get into my pants, Madame. Nor is winning Jack Horner for the moment worth bragging over or feeling inadequate about missing.

Voice

[theboywiththebook]

And what if you did? What then?

[Sorry, Effie. Not that easy.]

[Voice]

[endgames]

Make a difference? Nah. [He leans back against the seat he's in, leaving his journal on the counter.] The people who come up with the ideas and put them into action are the ones who do that.

[Private]

[deathsdoctor]

[Definitely apologizing to him. Definitely.

... and hinting it's high time for him to propose already.]

... if it's something to do with a medical matter, it's better to address me as Doctor Law. If it's something to do with combat or seacraft, it's better to address me as Captain.

I'm not fussy about titles. [Unlike some he's met.] If you want to, you can go ahead and call me just Law.

[Voice]

[voidseeing]

No, but I know of them. They're still popular sports even in my time-- not even the apocalypse can cause people to lose their interest in their sports. Call it clinging onto normalcy, or what's left of it.

voice;

[cilantro]

"Flying-thingy-bird"? [Sheimi's Skarmory? Ikki's Swellow?? Gold's Togekiss???]

What did it look like? Maybe I could tell you what it's name is.

[greenjacketed]

"Lamb kebab?" More repetition. No wonder Effie believed him slow, for he had a dreadful habit for parroting back particular words -- always with a mild lifting inflection. Inquisitive. And, this time, surprised. Lamb kebabs brought him back, so they did. Not that he'd had ample opportunity to eat them while on the march, but he could recall a sultry evening in an Indian summer. He'd spent five months in Bombay, though the majority of that time had been spent in the city castle as he sweat and shivered out a fever. But the sickness eventually broke and there he'd been -- a newly minted officer with the freedom to explore from the Malabar estates down to the mucky waterfront. Even with his sword and sash, he felt more at home in the latter. But that didn't stop him from dropping a coin here and there for information, companionship, or -- more relevant to this moment -- food.

Sharpe was left standing foolish, alone, and awkwardly in her doorway. Some vague sense of courtesy prompted him to shut her bedroom door before following at a respectable distance. "You made it?"

[Voice]

[fashionably_strong]

Cheerleaders sometimes have nice uniforms. I think the biggest fashion challenge would be designing something that was beautiful that people could still run around in without it getting ruined too fast.

[Voice]

[savedtheworld]

Maybe. That'd be really neat! And if someone can hold a journal up there, it'd be easy to video it.

voice

[descrier]

I'll be sure to keep it in mind. We don't have the committee set up yet, but I ran an information booth at the previous welcoming party... I'm sure I could find a way to let those who are interested know.

I don't think I caught your name previously.

voice;

[mechanize]

[ Another harrumph comes from him. ]

Practice should not be to the death, as the terminology 'gladiatorial' suggests. You should not make a game of such a thing either. It is no wonder people are getting upset. If you are so bored, why not partake of the endeavor yourself? Spectating is hardly as invigorating as taking part in the act.

[ He sounds a bit angry, and a bit testy, as he speaks those words. ]

[Video]

[thefinaljedi]

As I understand it, there are rules against hurting anyone severely.

[He's read a bit about it himself]

Penalty boxes and the like.

[etudes]

A.. ah, right.

[ She moves to sit straight and all, it should at least be an honorable moment of silence.. she even closes her eyes and she's actually silent after the woman suggests it. She's probably even holding her breath so she can be as quiet as possible. ]