Sixth Dispatch | Action

[trinkett]

[Since her return, Effie hasn't been up to talking over the journals. Mostly she's been listening and trying to recover -- locked away in Katniss's house until Jack Horner returned, and then locked away in Horner's house. She hasn't wanted to be around people -- not with her face and much of her body still sporting some pretty vicious-looking scars.

In Capitolista culture, scars are just about the death-knell to any self-respecting woman's social life, career -- you name it.

Today, though, she is going to venture out to pick up some walnut-free cookies for Jack and some clementines for Clementine and some romance novels for herself. Bodice-rippers. Real smutty, steamy stuff that's perfect for escapism, even if one can only escape for a few hours per book. It's worth it.

Find her at the library and the grocery store. She will be wearing a cloak pulled almost all the way over her face, a scarf around the lower half of her face, and elbow-length gloves; tall boots and tights cover any evidence of violence on her legs. She's trying not to draw attention to herself, though she is wearing complete make-up and bright green wig.]

Comments

[greenjacketed]

"Whoa, whoa -- Effie."

He dragged the missing cloth from his jacket, dangling it by her bowed nose. "Bloody reckless, you are, too. Impatient."

[onlyeffie]

"You..." She stared. How had THAT come to pass? Judging again. Instead of taking the ribbon, she made an effort to re-secure her hem. Not that that made a difference; everything about her wardrobe was at sixes and sevens. Why had she bothered leaving the house today?

[greenjacketed]

"Stand still," he ordered -- falling back upon his officious tone. His tone for delivering orders. A sergeant's bark gone imperious with the confidence of office. "Stand straight."

[inyourfavor]

She dropped the raggled hem and stood as tall and straight as she could. Oh how she hated that tone. And now, how she dared not disobey it.

[greenjacketed]

Sharpe spread the ribbon across his palm, tidying its crumples and folds. Straightening it. And he noticed, of course, the pricks of dried blood -- all with his attendant disapproval, of course. Not that he'd be any better were the injuries reversed.

"It will only take a moment, lass," he said -- still with command in his voice -- as he stepped behind her and tried to fasten the ribbon back into place.

[onlyeffie]

"I'm just concerned that someone might--" see it. But that wasn't a concern anymore; not now that he'd tied it back on. She folded her purple wings as close as she could against her back. "It's one of the reasons I don't understand why you want a future."

How could he, with a broken toy?

[greenjacketed]

He tied the ribbon with all the delicacy of a man accustomed to caring for the small mechanisms of finicky guns. Hair triggers and flintlocks. And all of it had to be presentable. Perfect. Able to pass inspection. In this way, he and Effie had some unrecognised common ground.

"Everyone wants a future," he answered broadly -- still blind to her interpretation. "Some of us have to fight for it. Some of us earn it. Some of us steal. There was a time I thought I'd die a pauper -- after that, I don't see any use for delaying the things I want."

[happyhungergames]

When he finished, she turned to face him, her heart in her throat. Richard Sharpe had been quite a fixture in her life in Luceti. Trusted, gruff, uncompromising -- and here he was, even in sight of her scars, wanting something she was only now beginning to imagine -- something she'd forced herself not to think about that early morning in his bedroom.

"How much time do I have?"

To heal. To mentally and physically prepare herself. To sew up her life with as fine a stitch as she could manage. Because maybe this would not be a bad thing. She only hoped now that the major would be patient. It wasn't a quality she had learned to look for in him.

[greenjacketed]

For her own future? Her own designs? Sharpe allowed his arms to fall stiff at his side after a shallow shrug.

"Who knows? We could all bloody well be gone tomorrow. Back to war. Back to...whatever the hell it is you do."

[inyourfavor]

Her breath caught. Patience wasn't forthcoming, it would seem. She took a step forward to gingerly lay her cheek against his chest. She slid her arms around him. She had to show that she was resilient. She could deal with Luceti, and she could deal with her own blasted ruined body.

"Okay. Okay. I don't...I won't take time."

[greenjacketed]

Sharpe was not so easily surprised, except that this surprised him quite a lot. As Effie's arms sank 'round him, he turned to steel. Defensive. It wasn't that affection was unappreciated -- there was a very real and present urge to gather the woman close and let instincts take over. Tilt back her head; steal a kiss. But these were things he would not do -- not because she was Effie Trinket, for he'd kissed worse enemies than her without a second thought. But because of a bright-eyed admiral's daughter who still waiting upon his courtship.

The Major settled on patting her gently on the back -- low, so as to avoid the wings -- and letting her settle there against his chest. Much, he realised, as he'd come accustomed to allowing Katniss to hug him. "...What are you on about, lass?" He asked -- at last somewhat gentle in his tone.

[trinkett]

"We'll have to tell Katniss," she mumbled against him. "I expect she'll be surprised."

Truly, she couldn't imagine Katniss's reaction. She hoped it would be just and equitable. After all, both she and Richard had had to put up with That Whole Sokka Thing.

"But things will be better, together. I know they will. I can tell, Richard."

[greenjacketed]

"...We needn't tell Katniss a word of it, if that's what you'd rather," he offered so magnanimously -- deciding that Effie must want to keep her shame -- the marks, the ribbons, the disasters -- to herself.

this is getting worse and worse

[inyourfavor]

"We have to tell her! We can't just let her...stumble upon us!" Oh, the shame. "She deserves to know! And I'll...I'll have to tell Jack."

[greenjacketed]

He let her go -- eager to be in his own space, alone, once again. The letting go might even have come with a gentle nudge. Stand up on your own two feet.

"...How can he not already know?" Christ, woman, you've been walking 'round like a shattered eggshell -- Sharpe couldn't tell how the whole village didn't already see that Effie Trinket was in pieces. Because, of course, that's all the woman meant.

[inyourfavor]

Flustered, she caught her balance and stood on her own two feet. "I...why, have you told him?!"

Something was very, very wrong. A small warning voice of sensibility chimed in that something was amiss and skewed and broken and not right.

"Because I never..."

She never knew anything til just this very afternoon.

[greenjacketed]

"Told him?"

Sharpe shook his head; he fumbled his usual cool reservation. "Nah. I ask about you, now and then. But I'm not in the business of telling."

[trinkett]

Her head whirled. "Oh. Because I thought that perhaps if you were that keen on...on you and I, and chances..."

Effie trailed off. This should have been easier. Instead, she felt like she was groping her way along through dense brush which had only moments before seemed like a clear forest path.

[greenjacketed]

"Chances?"

A key was turning. A cog was slipping into place. Sharpe was beginning to grasp at a gross misunderstanding, and it made his expression darken. Oh, shite...

[onlyeffie]

Abandon ship, Trinket. NOW. Go.

Effie clutched the book to her chest. She reached up and scratched her ribbon and patted her wig into place. Everything felt too tight, especially around her chest. And that frown of his...

Oh, God. What had she done?!

"I should get back," she said, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. Her eyes pricked. Her throat felt like it was burning. "Before I'm missed."

Jack might be missing her at this very moment. If you tell yourself something enough, you start believing it.

[greenjacketed]

"...Effie."

No. That voice was too severe. Too detached. Too disappointed. Even he -- usually so tone deaf to his own sound -- could hear its destructive qualities. Sharpe groped at the back of his neck. He was acutely aware of the moment's unease, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted her to feel safe. He wanted her to feel safe.

He tried again: "Effie, lass, take a breath and...and stop for one damned second. Orright?"

[inyourfavor]

Safe was the last thing Effie Trinket felt at that moment. Once again, she lacked control over the situation and found herself in a social tar pit. Luceti; it tripped her up again and again like this.

"I'm sorry." This apology was much more hastily made. "I really must hurry. I had no idea of the time."

And she picked a direction to stumble off in. Any direction was safe as long as it led away from Richard Sharpe and all that humiliation.