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

[trinkett]

It is a magical place, Sharpe.

"Why not?! He's utterly respectable!"

Was this Sharpe just being too difficult for words again?

[greenjacketed]

"Respectable?" He repeated -- using the echo to once again buy himself time. As if he needed clarification on the term: one flung at him more often than he could recall. Respectable was exactly what Sharpe wasn't, according to many an observer. A red sash and a title made little difference off the field. And fame was a poor stand-in for noble blood.

Sharpe would not explain to Effie that her Jack -- or who he assumed to be her Jack -- was more publicly pledged to another woman. Like as not, she knew it. How could she not? Women so frightfully focused on their social standing always knew, even if they never said it aloud. Admitted it. Allowed it to come to nest in their hearts and minds.

So he took great pains to drag the conversation back on track: "Miss Trinket," he stiffened, "I merely want to see the members of this household kept safe. Out of trouble."

[trinkett]

"Perhaps one day he'll invite me to stay with him," she answered primly. "And I'll be out of your flowing blondish-auburn locks."

She did like Sharpe's hair quite a bit.

[greenjacketed]

"...A humble soldier can hope, ma'am."

[trinkett]

"Hmph."

She began to stalk away.

"I left a lamb kebab in the refrigerator for you."

[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?"

[happyhungergames]

"With these two delicate hands."

She was still pretty annoyed with him, but at least the lamb wouldn't go to waste.



That was something she'd learned from Prim and Katniss, and Sharpe too, really: not to waste food.

[greenjacketed]

"...Is it difficult to make?"

[onlyeffie]

"YES. Very." No. It hadn't been. Are you kidding, Sharpe?