Fifth Dispatch. Practice Makes Perfect, And Perfect is Me. Action.

[trinkett]

[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.]

Comments

[greenjacketed]

"You! With your wooden stick!

What could you do?"

[happyhungergames]

She flushed with anger, but carefully locked her box and re-hung the key around her neck before confronting him.

"When the Malnosso come for me, I mean. When they give me a position within the Organization. That's how these things work. It's those on the Inside who can better delegate punishment and justice."

And those two things ALWAYS go together. Welcome to her reality.

[greenjacketed]

"...The Malnosso have already meted out their punishment," he said -- not quite understanding that this nebulous penalty thing he barely understood didn't actually come from the Organization itself. "And I'd sooner take him 'round the back of a building and crack a rib or two than trust regulations."

[happyhungergames]

"That's vile! Vigilante justice is NEVER approved!"

[greenjacketed]

Had Sharpe men here, he was certain they'd tell the woman they preferred his justice to the regulation whip. But they weren't here, and Sharpe was not about to argue his own case. The mere thought of speaking so many words and attempting to say another's opinion about him? It tied his guts into knots.

Better to stay simple: "It gets things done. And men in line."

[happyhungergames]

"Do you want new buttons?" Maybe she could come back to that topic. Once the Malnosso brought her Inside, he'd see. He'd learn. "I'm sure the shops have some. Or you could go on a mission and earn some.

I've still got to find an appropriate mission. For my dog."

No, she wasn't letting that drop.

[greenjacketed]

"I've the points," he said with a wave of his hand. He'd been saving them up -- point by point -- as he did his captured prizes from the field. A coin here, a golden watch there. "And I've the buttons back, as well. It's only a matter of sewing'em."

Perhaps he would get on that task tomorrow. It would be nice to have his regimentals back.

"As for your bloody mutt, pick a mission without fighting. Or else bring someone with you who can."

[happyhungergames]

"Well I'm not going to fight."

She made no offer to sew for him. Effie Trinket didn't sew.

"I imagine they'll have need of me to organize or entertain or inspire their people. Public relations. That sort of thing."

Into the duffle went the lockbox. Effie zipped it before standing and stretching and facing off against the punching bag once more.

"I'm going to name him Jason."

[greenjacketed]

Sharpe stood, still. He always stood -- at least until a woman in his presence sat down first. Only then could he bring himself to sit down first. These rules were inviolate, unless the woman in question was someone entirely special. Someone to whom normal courtesy did not apply.

But he did try and not watch while he stood. Averting his gaze.

"Inspire'em how?" He asked, if only to avoid telling her that Jason was a lousy name for a dog.

[onlyeffie]

Shut up Sharpe it's the most amazing canine name ever.

"With my delivery, of course!"

She began another round at the bag, smacking it silly with the non-bandaged hand.

"And my smile."

[greenjacketed]

"...But what will you actually say?"

[happyhungergames]

"Whatever they tell me to say."

[greenjacketed]

"Some day, lass, you're gonna wake up. And I think I actually want to be there to see it happen."

[inyourfavor]

"I feel pretty awake to me."

Smack. Smacky smack.

[greenjacketed]

"Yer dreaming. This is a big old dream, to you."

[trinkett]

She stopped smacking the bag and turned to face him and to MAKE him face her. Right up in his old green grill, was Effie.

"And what's wrong with that? Hmm? What?!"

[greenjacketed]

"Dreams are lies," he opted to meet her gaze and stared back -- hard and unmoved. "That's what's wrong with it."

[onlyeffie]

"You are absolutely wrong, Richard Sharpe," she sputtered back, poking one sharp fingernail against his chest. "Dreams are inspiring. They're what keep people going. Though I can imagine you wish....


Hmph."

[greenjacketed]

"Wish what, eh? Tell me, Effie Trinket," he retorted -- daring to drop the formalities. And daring, too, to not give in to a desire to step back from her jabbing finger.

[ruthlessismore]

"That I were just some dead bones in the ground," she finished with supreme coldness. "But I'm NOT and I won't just vanish off the face of Luceti. And you hate that. Ruining your precious little home! Don't think I don't know."

[greenjacketed]

"...You're a mess. Your words are strange and your decoratin' skills are unholy. You meddle; you presume; you try my patience to the very frayed edges." Each accusation came with a mounting displeasure. A rising tide of disappointment and quasi-anger. Sharpe finally did step back, if just so he could draw himself to his full height and feel just a little more manly in the face of her.

"And I wouldn't be lying if I said I'd happily see you sent back," he added. "But not dead. Never dead. I'll swear to it, if that's what you'd like."

But swear on what? He was no religious man. His mother's grave was likely unmarked. And his honour was rusted and chipped.

[onlyeffie]

"...Does Katniss feel the same?"

It was a vital question. She had to know the truth of it. It mattered, now. It hadn't before.

[greenjacketed]

"I can't say for certain -- Katniss's mind is her own -- but if she and I are at all alike, I can assure you that you wouldn't still be in the house if she didn't somehow want you there."

That was his best guess, at least. But he wasn't certain he could trust his best guesses anymore.

[onlyeffie]

"No. You're wrong."

Because Effie had a feeling that Katniss was a hero. It was a creeping, uncomfortable feeling. She was a Person and a Hero and they didn't tend to chuck people out.




"I'll see if Jack's open to moving in together. With him," she specified.

[greenjacketed]

A hard laugh, remembering his conversation with the man at the bar. "Aye. You do that, then tell me how it goes."