trinkett | 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.]

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[No one liked the clothes she chose. Maybe this was going to be harder than she thought. Best pretend like what he'd said answered it and made perfect sense to her.]

Ah, of course.

[Another thought:]

But what if you can't BE the person you choose to be?

[He snorted softly at that, because it was about the least convincing agreement he'd ever heard.]

Then you keep trying, keep working for it. It's not exactly a process with an ending. You keep going until the end.

That doesn't sound quite...quite right.

[If everything is a process then everything she learned at Finishing School was a lie.]

You never stop changing. Experience changes you over the years.

[She squares off against the punching bag again. This conversation is just too damn uncomfortable.]

Yes. It has made me a more knowledgeable and valuable worker.

[Slap.]

Practically indispensable.

[Smack slap.]

The Malnosso will probably want me in a top position right away.

What about a more knowledgeable and valuable person?

[It's maybe a low blow but he's always been blunt.]

Right, 'cause of course the Mallies don't have plenty of their own to choose from before they pick on one of their test subjects.

CLINT. Stop doubting me! You have no idea what I'm capable of!

[Personhood is not something that anyone in the Capitol puts much stock in at all. People are praised for how well they fit into, replicate, support, and reproduce the system. They're praised for their physical looks and fashion sense and having blithe, devil-may-care attitudes toward life. They are honored to the degree that they don't care about anything relating to justice or righteousness or critical thought. And Effie is still too afraid of dipping her toes into anything real. She is still clinging desperately to what she is terrified, more and more, might be something empty and meaningless.

She lets loose on the bag, finally actually punching it. Thumbs tucked in, not out like Clint had suggested. There's a horrible crack as she lands one very good punch.]

OW. OW OW. GO AWAY.

Sweetheart, there is only one person in this world who I do not doubt, and you ain't her. And trust me, I have seen the worst of humanity and what they're capable of.

[There's little left that would surprise or shock him these days. He's jaded, yes, but it's protection that he's needed.

He winces when he hears that crack and ignores her in favour of stepping up.]

Jesus, let me see. If it's broken you need to get it seen to or it'll heal wrong.

ARGH. He's going to have that LOOK on his face if it is!

[She's holding one hand in the other, cradling it. Sharpe is going to have a smug smile on his face ALL WEEK at this rate. He might even whistle that over the hills tune or whatever it was!]

I'd be more worried about the fact that your hand might be broken than what anyone's gonna say about it.

That's because you don't have to LIVE with him!

[But she offers out a hand that is already sporting a grossly swollen thumb.]

So tell him to get screwed. You're injured. [He inspects the thumb, being careful not to press too hard.]

Yeah, you should definitely get this checked out. Trust me, if it heals wrong, you'll know about it for the rest of your life.

This is what I get for TRYING.

[Oh yes, her attitude is right now boiling over.]

Now I have to go see that woman, I suppose. Or...no! Doctor Law!

[And her voice actually BRIGHTENS at this, because Law is SO ELIGIBLE.]

No, this is what you get for not listening to sense.

[Seriously, the histrionics get to him.]

Which woman would that be? And yeah, you should see a doctor.

That French person. Doctor Law would be SO much better for me!

[Effie cannot STAND Adele.]

I bet he could fix this right away. I don't want to be all deformatively scarred like you, after all.

[He raises an eyebrow and smirks.]

Adele? She's a damn good doctor. And a good friend.

[His expression darkens a moment at that and he drops her hand.]

You really have no brain to mouth filter do you?

Did I say something wrong?

Oddly enough, most people don't take kindly to being called 'deformatively scarred'. And having it made so clear that you hold it in such distaste.

...Oh.

[Crap.]

No, I don't -- I don't hold you in distaste!

[Scars, yes. Scars are terrifying to a woman raised in a society that fetishized the perfect body to the extent that the one in the Capitol does. It is a perfect way to Other those living in the Districts -- people whose bodies were most likely broken down by pain, starvation, injury, poverty, and illness.]

You're....

[Actually very very attractive in a scary kind of way...]

You remind me of Philippe. In "The Man In the Iron Mask."

You sure have a funny way of showing it. Plenty of things to hold me in distaste for, but the scars aren't one of them.

[He lets her finished though, giving her a sardonic look.]

Can't say I've ever read it honestly.

He is unjustly imprisoned and forced to wear an iron mask. [Hence the title.] But he breaks free and with the help of the Musketeers wins back his rightful place.

I always picture him with beautiful piercing eyes.

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

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