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Fifth Dispatch. Practice Makes Perfect, And Perfect is Me. Action.
[It's a hot afternoon, and Effie Trinket has sneaked into the Barracks -- first checking to make sure no one else is in there.
No one is.
It's far too hot and dusty and anyone in her right mind would choose the techy comforts of the Battle Dome over this place.
This is a good thing. Effie doesn't WANT to meet anyone today. For one thing, she feels very awkwardly dressed: running shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt (yellow is a Power Color); white athletic socks with that 1970s-era striping at the top; sneakers. No heels, no shoulder pads, no wig, no makeup.
She is here -- VERY GRUDGINGLY, MIND -- to train for warfare. Her last announcement to the village brought on plenty of warnings, and even a subtle death threat or two, and at least a few people giving well-meaning advice. She can hardly believe any of the doubters who'd said the Malnosso would sacrifice her in a battle, but better safe than sorry. One never knows when the higher-ups might make a clerical error or shifting error and accidentally send a valued subject into dire straits.
The second reason she doesn't particularly want to meet anyone is because she knows none of the Luceti peons like her very much. That's fine with Effie. Eventually the Malnosso will take her into the inner workings of the organization and place her right where she belongs. Until then? Well. She can and has been staying indoors a great deal, being a bored journal stalker.
Unfortunately, this lonesome round in the Barracks confirms that Ms. Trinket is not cut out for warfare at all. It turns into hesitant prods at practice dummies with wooden swords, a lot of staring out the windows, and a frustrating turn at a punching bag.
Fighting is horrible and she's horrible at it and consequently is in a horrible mood.]
No one is.
It's far too hot and dusty and anyone in her right mind would choose the techy comforts of the Battle Dome over this place.
This is a good thing. Effie doesn't WANT to meet anyone today. For one thing, she feels very awkwardly dressed: running shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt (yellow is a Power Color); white athletic socks with that 1970s-era striping at the top; sneakers. No heels, no shoulder pads, no wig, no makeup.
She is here -- VERY GRUDGINGLY, MIND -- to train for warfare. Her last announcement to the village brought on plenty of warnings, and even a subtle death threat or two, and at least a few people giving well-meaning advice. She can hardly believe any of the doubters who'd said the Malnosso would sacrifice her in a battle, but better safe than sorry. One never knows when the higher-ups might make a clerical error or shifting error and accidentally send a valued subject into dire straits.
The second reason she doesn't particularly want to meet anyone is because she knows none of the Luceti peons like her very much. That's fine with Effie. Eventually the Malnosso will take her into the inner workings of the organization and place her right where she belongs. Until then? Well. She can and has been staying indoors a great deal, being a bored journal stalker.
Unfortunately, this lonesome round in the Barracks confirms that Ms. Trinket is not cut out for warfare at all. It turns into hesitant prods at practice dummies with wooden swords, a lot of staring out the windows, and a frustrating turn at a punching bag.
Fighting is horrible and she's horrible at it and consequently is in a horrible mood.]
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[But if Effie wants to quit, that's fine. Karla just moves over to the practice dummies, drawing her katana from its sheath. She glances at the blade before pointing it towards the dummy, testing its length. It's about an inch or two longer than her own sword, and perhaps a tad heavier.]
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Please?
[There, see? She's learning not to be so imperious.]
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[And she demonstrates by slicing the air gracefully with the blade, horizontally, vertically, and diagonally.]
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...He did??
[What on earth for?]
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[Truth be told she's not quite sure how Sharpe is at swordfighting. And she didn't reveal to Karla how lacklusterly her technique had been.]
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When you're just practicing, you can relax a little, but you still train as if you're fighting for real.
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It wasn't a comfortable situation.
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[It was hard to keep most of the bitterness out.]
He wants me dead, Karla.
[Effie is at least 87% sure of this.]
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If you can't fight, maybe you need someone to protect you?
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[It's with some relief that she rushes into this topic.]
A big one! A big, protective one.
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[She frowns, unsure of the idea.]
A dog might run wild. Maybe you should find a person to protect you?
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No, no! I can't trust the people here. They want me dead. To die. A dog won't. Dogs are loyal. They love their owners.
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[You don't trust her, Effie? Now she looks sad.]
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OH. That's...........thank you.
I don't want you to die either.
[Was that the appropriate response?]
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Oh, I won't die. I have my skills. I'll take any opponent who wishes to challenge me.
[She approaches the dummy once again, and in a sudden, swift, graceful motion, she slashes at it with her sword. The blade cuts cleanly through it about two inches from the top, and the dummy itself falls over, the cut-off piece rolling a few feet before stopping.]
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[Never in a billion years could Effie have skills like that.]
You're right. You won't die.
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I've been thinking lately that I should use my skill for something worthwhile, like protecting others. If there are really so many people who want to kill you, you should have someone to protect you.
[Do you see where she's getting at, Effie?]
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...I wouldn't charge you anything. There's no money here.
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[Clearly she does not believe you.]
There's no money here, I know...
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[afdkslafjdk]
...What would you offer?
[Because she clearly has nothing to ask for in return.]
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