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]

[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.

[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.

[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.]

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

[asthehawkflies]

[He listens to this with a stony expression, feeling a little sick honestly. His scars are something that he's used to, and while they might have been shameful once, and some of them were marks of times when he'd failed, by now they were part of him and reminders of what he'd been through, how things wouldn't be again.]

That's sick. [He says it bluntly.]

They're just scars. It's your body's way of telling you not to do something again because it can't heal it all. Not saying there's no place for cosmetic surgery to fix them but... that should be a choice, not a necessity.

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

[happyhungergames]

[Parts of her are waking up to that sickness, bit by bit. She isn't brave enough to relinquish it yet, but she doesn't have the stomach to present the Capitol arguments against the appearance of the infirm in public. Typically she is proud to list them, but Clint is scary, so no.]

So you like them, is what you're saying?

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

[asthehawkflies]

Like them? Hell no. But they're still part of me. A reminder of every mistake I made and why it won't happen again. They're my history.

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

[inyourfavor]

[She falls silent. Effie has never, ever thought of scars in that light before. They're to be hidden with makeup or erased with surgery, not preserved like a life story. People don't display their mistakes in the Capitol. That's not healthy.

She has a pretty good feeling that Clint won't care either way what she thinks of HIS history -- his scars. She hates it when her opinion doesn't matter.]

What's that one from? [She points to the whip mark.]

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

[asthehawkflies]

[Her instincts on that are spot on. Clint doesn't give a damn what she thinks of him. The pool of people who get that honour is bigger than it was, but still small.]

A whip. Some asshole was pissed off when I didn't want to give him some information.

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

[onlyeffie]

[She freezes up at that. Tortured, Clint? Effie does not like discussing torture. No, she does not. With her wig clutched firmly in two hands and her wings wilting slightly, she backs away again. It's time to leave. She doesn't WANT to know about the rest of his marks. Taking leave of him is awkward, though.]

That's...unfortunate, Mister Clint.

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

[asthehawkflies]

[The freeze does not go unnoticed, but he knows that his reactions to torture and the like are not quite normal.]

More unfortunate for the guy who did it.

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

[onlyeffie]

[Clint had killed him. Effie didn't need anyone to fill in the blanks on that.]

The Inquisitors in Panem don't use whips.

[Wow, that was lame. Was that all she could manage in this conversation? Torture is part of life in the Capitol, just as it was through the Districts. Punishment was an art form.



She's not supposed to be talking about this. No one is ever supposed to discuss this.]

Don't tell Katniss.

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

[asthehawkflies]

There are plenty of other ways to make someone suffer.

[It's said in an almost matter of fact way, because it is for him, sick as it sounds. He's seen the worst of human nature.]

I'm pretty sure she can probably guess on her own. She's smart. She's got good eyes.

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

[onlyeffie]

NO. I mean...don't tell her we discussed this. Or about ANY of this, really. Or -- you may mention to her that you've met me.








Please.

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

[asthehawkflies]

I can't make that promise. If she brings it up, I won't pretend it never happened. But I won't bring it up myself.

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

[onlyeffie]

Fine.



She won't bring it up.

[Effie speaks with more assurance than she feels before turning away to stalk out the door. The wig will have to be fixed before she can show her face in public. The whole thing has been too humiliating for words.]