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 dunno. She might have mentioned you once. We usually talk about other stuff.

Ah.

[Her face falls slightly. But of course, why would Katniss ever mention her to this well-trained murderer from some godforsaken underworld? She mattered to Katniss.

Effie hurriedly rubs the cream into her knuckles, ignoring the steady throb under the broken skin. He's definitely right about one thing: they're going to hurt in the morning.]

Why? Should she have? She doesn't seem all that fond of life back home.

[And this woman was someone who was part of that messed up system.]

[If Katniss hasn't talked about her, then Effie will have to explain this.]

I'm her Chaperone. She's the champion from District Twelve. It's...not a very nice district.

[There. The other hand gets a squirt of cream and she hurriedly fumbles the tube back Clint's way.]

My position as Chaperone is to prepare her; help make her ready for the....

For the Hunger Games. [She goes on quickly:] Bring her to appointments, monitor her manners, feed her, acquaint her with people she should know, make people like her...

Places that aren't nice generally aren't nice for a reason. That reason is very rarely the people who live there.

[A pointed hint. He has a pretty good idea of who to blame for that.]

Like her? She seems perfectly likable to me just how she is. She's a smart and capable young woman. Anyone should be damn well honoured just to speak to her.

[And maybe there's something in the words, the lingering feelings from that last shift.]

[Likeable to people like you, maybe; but not to people like me.

She's too ashamed to say that. Instead:]

You sound like that Sharpe fellow, now. Please understand, in the Capitol, people aren't as accepting as they are here. They like manners; they like heroes they can understand. Their heroes need to be well-spoken and dramatic and have very white teeth. People HERE seem to accept nearly everyone without too many questions asked.

[Then she laughs. Effie Trinket so RARELY laughs -- oh, there are silly giggles and twittering expressions of jollity, but not laughs like this: underlaid with acid and regret.]

Unless, of course, you're different like I am.

Edited 2013-06-28 00:57 (UTC)

Manners. Heroes they can understand. Dolls that they can control but will never ever make them think beyond their safe, narrow little view of the world.

They want a pretty story. All fluff and cotton candy. Like hell they want the real person.

[There's a definite sour note to his voice when he speaks.]

Different. Oh, I'm different alright. But definitely not like you are.

I sell a pretty story to the pretty people. Yes. And that is how I try to keep my Tributes alive.

[And she'd always seen it as a rather noble profession.]

And find my own way in the world. [Succeed. Rise.

She notes his thoughts on her difference with a sniff:] Though here, it seems, I can only look forward to scorn and threats. Tell me, whoever-you-are: what are your thoughts on dogs?

[Why does she sound so hopeful when she asks this question?]

Ever think that maybe there shouldn't be Tributes in the first place? That sending children to fight to the death is fucked up. Wrong?

[He snorts softly, shaking his head.]

You can look forward to it because you're sucking up to the Malnosso and because you think killing is entertainment. And because you don't even try to consider that anyone else might have a point.

[Another of those crazy changes in topic. Leaves his head a little reeling.]

Dogs? I like them. Got one of my own.

[HANG ON HANG ON SHE HAS TO LEAVE THE DOG THING FOR A SECOND SHE WILL COME BACK TO IT. IT IS RELEVANT. PROMISE.]

You think I haven't considered?!

[Her fear is mostly submerged again; indignation is taking its place.]

How DARE you say that?!

[Clint is still calm. It takes a lot to ruffle him and Effie isn't it.]

Because you seem pretty much blind to anything else except your desires. If you have considered, you don't do a good job of showing it. Otherwise you wouldn't have had so many people jumping down your throat.

You didn't hear me mention helmets?

[Now she's definitely riled.]

OBSTACLE COURSES?! With...with rules? And no killing? And HOCKEY? And football? And FASHION? No one LISTENS here except a flying horse with a rainbow-covered head and that poor young bald child!

[She means Rainbow Dash and Aang.]

Edited 2013-06-28 01:48 (UTC)

You said gladiatorial combat. You said that 'a little blood never hurt anyone'. You talked about how it's fine because death isn't permanent, and how you'd volunteer people to take part in combat.

If you have that many people getting the wrong idea, maybe your wording leaves a lot to be desired.

And I'm to be murdered over my wording. [Her voice is ice.]

When people know what your world is like, then yeah. People are gonna get pissed. Too many people here have seen too much death to take that suggestion lightly.

Well. I'm getting a dog, you know. A LARGE dog. A large dog who loves me and protects me.

[She says this in the manner of "So you better not get any ideas."]

If I die, it won't be over this.

[Clint just gives her a look.]

Sweetheart. If I wanted you dead, an army wouldn't protect you.

[It's statements like that that terrify Effie Trinket. Too much like home.

She fumbles around on the ground, trying to pick up her fallen hair accessories. Silk irises. They don't really match her dress, now that she sees them in this light.]

I'll stay inside, then. Or go on missions. They'll be needing me, I'm sure.

Thankfully I don't want you dead. There's enough of it 'round here without adding to it.

[He sighs and starts to check over his equipment, checking arrows and bow for damage.]

There's some research missions that might suit you. Careful which you choose. Some of the combat missions are pretty rough. You should try doing a bit of training though. The Malnosso don't care who they send on the drafts.

They won't send me on drafts.

[They will. They'll send me. They're going to send me I can FEEL it and I'll die.]

They think I'm too valuable to them for my public relations skills.

[The wig is a total loss; she pulls it from its rakish angle and tucks her silk flowers inside it. Beneath, her blond hair is tied up in a neat bun.]

Edited 2013-06-28 02:13 (UTC)

...you just pissed off and alienated half the Compound. Unless that is their goal, which, to be honest, they do a good job of anyway with their shifts, then I think they've probably given up on you.

[He gives her a serious look, gaze piercing.]

Listen to me. They do not care who they send on drafts. They have sent children on those drafts. Kids five or six years old. They will send you because they do not care whether you live or die.

[They do not care whether you live or die.]

I...don't know how to train.

[This was the very first time Effie Trinket had verbally admitted to ANYONE in Luceti that she might be a tad wee bit nervous at the thought of being slaughtered in battle.]

[Oh for... he is going to regret this, isn't he?]

You can run. That's a good way to start out. Builds stamina. It should be pretty easy to work out a schedule for that to build up a decent amount.

I can probably teach you to throw a decent punch.

[Never. It will be the best thing he's ever done. Ever.

And does Effie even OWN a shoe with less than a 3.5 inch heel? Running should also be interesting.]

But I CAN punch, already! I...with you.

[And the hitting. Remember? All that hitting? She folds one hand inside the other. They're starting to hurt like hell.

She is so going to die.]

I'm going to name him Jason.

Edited 2013-06-28 02:37 (UTC)

[Oh. Is that what she thought it was? Well, this is awkward. Um...]

Yeah well, hitting someone's chest gets you nothing but bruised knuckles. No point trying to punch the part of the body designed to protect what's inside.

[Was that diplomatic enough?]

Cute name. Any particular reason?

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