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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.
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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[Her face flushes beet red.]
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Why don't you just....do it?
[Because she's never met an assassin who would hold back when the death was desired on their part.]
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Because he'll come back in a week, pissed as hell. Because in a place like this, you can't afford to act on murderous grudges.
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Is he dangerous? Can he...can he read minds?
[She immediately feels stupid for asking that second question. Of course he can't read minds. That's impossible.]
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He's one of the most dangerous people I've ever met. And no, not like you're thinking. But he can read people, their expressions, their voices, body language. So it might as well be the same sometimes.
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[Though secretly she's hoping that he's had his fun with her and she might now be able to escape his attention. Lie low for a little while, like politicians did after attempted lynchings by the Opposition.]
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[She's actually relieved. Her mind was going to really scary places, there.]
I'm not that easily manipulated.
[Har har har. Your whole life is a lie, Effie.]
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[Hmph.]
You only managed it because you made me come in HERE and then all those...
[Booted feet. Fast approaching. She trails off.]
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[It had been her pride at work, really. She'd held it so important to keep up that veneer of not backing down.]
Won't you feel silly when we end up tournamenting with goat carcasses!
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Oh that is- that is just hilarious? Better people than you have tried to teach me that. Hasn't stuck yet. So that was a massive failure on your part.
...I have no idea what you're talking about. Did you maybe hit your head on something?
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[Somewhere along the crossed research-lines she has gotten Buzkashi confused with modern soccer.]
And I never said I was finished with you.
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[He smirks at her then, challenging and cold.]
Oh really? Bring it on.
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[Except for Haymitch. But Clint doesn't need to know that.]
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[Because if she's going to claim that, he might as well make it a challenge.]
Diamonds are much more useful on the edge of a blade honestly. Think I'll stick with that.
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Lesson one: call people by their right and proper names. Now, as I've already told you -- while I AM a lady, I am Effie. Effie Trinket. Can you say that, now? Look at me graciously! And say it: Hello, Effie Trinket. It was lovely out today, wasn't it? I marched about with a frown and a glittering, diamond-edged blade and no one liked me.
Go ahead -- it's easy!
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Oh my god, this is better than television! Have you ever considered becoming a comedian? That's it, isn't it? Back home, you're the court jester. It all clicks right into place.
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I have polled well on certain television programs in the Capitol! And in fashion magazines. But that isn't important right now. You still haven't done the repetition.
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[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.
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[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?!
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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.
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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.
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