trinkett | First Dispatch. How Utterly Dreadful. Voice.

First Dispatch. How Utterly Dreadful. Voice.

[Anyone who meets Effie in this post will meet her in full Capitol fashion and makeup. She landed in the shop, you see. A stiff turquoise-blue structured gown, fortunately, landed beside her.

And the wig -- thank the Senate! There were plenty of wigs and there was HER wig, tight and blond and curled and fabulous -- and the new violet wings sprouting from her shoulders were quite irregular but one never drew attention to one's irregularities. If anyone asked, they were Fashion. With any luck everyone who was anyone in the Capitol would be wearing similar ones, soon.

The makeup took a bit longer. Effie finally settled on green because green is one of her Power Colors and it IS almost spring, after all. She drew her lips in a pursed bow to reflect her dissatisfaction with everything.

It had only taken a quick readthrough of the Guide for Effie to grasp somewhat what was going on. It wasn't terribly shocking, but it was highly disappointing. She'd wanted to be in the Capitol for Katniss and Peeta, not transferred to a new post just at the height of a possible professional and personal triumph. Her charges were brilliant! Cinna had shown their fire to everyone. The sensation had been rampant and her promotion near-assured. Effie Trinket's star had been rising in the Capitol, the heart of Panem and civilization.

And then Someone had Bumped her. It was the only explanation for all of this business of waking up in a clothing store in what was obviously a cheap, outlying serfdom of Panem. A lesser woman would have called that Bumping Someone a dirty word, but Effie had dignity and would find other ways to trample that usurper into dust once she got back on her feet and back to the Capitol.]

Attention, Attention:

[Her usual rather chirpy voice is a bit tempered by the fact that she has only recently awakened in a clothing shop in a strange town.]

Would any available Peacekeepers in District Luceti please report to the Clothing Emporium? I repeat: any available Peacekeepers. The Diplomatic Escort for the Tributes requires a full compliment of Security. [Yes: she was still clinging to what she assumed was her now-stripped title and position.]

Thank you.

[[[[IMPORTANT NOTE: While Effie WILL be in full Capitol couture clothing and makeup for this post, some of my icons are simply those of her PB, Elizabeth Banks. I will probably try to MOSTLY use the icons from the Hunger Games movie but just assume she's all made up and dressed to the very weird nines even if you get a plain Elizabeth Banks icon! THANKS.]]]]]

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This guy knew how to undress a girl covered with yards of structured hot-pink fabric. Effie was impressed.

Also kinda squirmy. Eager. It had been a while for her, this kind of thing.

"We are both fabulous, you mean," she teased. They were both opportunists, though to different degrees -- that was certain.

Jack Horner had lived a long time, from an era when women dressed in what was most practical, to when women dressed in what was most impractical, to a current era where they dressed in what looked best. He'd learned there were all manner of ways to unwrapping a prize. The overdressed ones required special care, because he had to put at least half the effort to taking off the clothes that she put into putting them on.

"The stuff of legends, us." Continuing to stroke back her hair, he nibbled a kiss on the side of her ear, before returning to task of 'unwrapping his prize'.

"Mmmmmmm. And what position will you give me?"

She meant politically.

"You can have any position you like."

He meant sexually.

She paused. "Something...diplomatic."

He had no idea what she meant by that, except to maybe suggest she didn't want anything super kinky. "Missionary?"

"Missionary seems far too...simplistic. For what I have to offer."

She meant her skills and talents in public relations. She didn't want to spend all her time around savages, communicating political dogma to them.

"You're right. A woman like you have a lot to offer. I'm eager to see exactly what it is."

Feeling that the situation was promising again, he went back to the task of undoing the rest of those buttons.

She covered his fingers with her own, trying to still them for a moment. This required clarification. "But we haven't settled on position, yet!"

Oh. Damn. She was stopping him. He wasn't sure why this was so important to her. "I don't like to decide something like that right away. It's best to see how flexible you are first."

"I can do so many things!" she rushed to assure him, tightening her hold on his fingers. "I'm quite efficient! And I've been told I have a most gripping speaking voice."

Speaking voice. What did that have to do with...

"That's fine. You can be as loud as your want to be."

Effie grinned at him. "A lady is never loud. She just speaks with a certain authority and pleasantness."

Authority. Pleasantness. He squinted. "We're still talking about sex, right?"

"What?" She drew back ever so slightly from their cuddle. "No! No, sorry, I meant the position! The one you'll secure for me!"

"Position?" He grimaced when she pulled away and he realized this wasn't going where he hoped. "How the hell am I going to give you a position? Some French asshole stole my night club!"

She processed this, her hand still pressed against his knee. "Stole it. From you.

A nightclub.

I thought you were a general?!"

"Yeah, back in my world. I was also a dragon. And a giant killer. A Hollywood mogul and briefly a casino owner. None of that means anything here."

She looked at him and gauged that. What did THIS mean to her? This encounter, here and now? What if this, like everything else here, meant nothing?

"Take off your pants," she instructed. But half of the thrill of it had fled for Effie. It was going to be physical pleasure without the all-important social climb.

Well. Physical pleasure was still something very good which she had not had for quite a long time.

For a moment, Jack stared at her, a dumb look written across his face. His pants. Why did she want him to take off his pants if this wasn't about--- ohhh he figured it out.

Jack Horner. Fable power. With a wide grin, he stood up in the ride and began to unzip.

"If you want, you can still pick position."

There was only the smallest internal debate before Effie decided that, whatever happened, she wanted to be on top. Perhaps it is to her credit that as she tried to maneuver him back down onto the seat of the little boat and sit astride him in order to have her way with him, the line of pigtailed, singing Dutch automatons beneath their happy windmill did not cause her to feel any shame. It was a world of laughter. It was a world of tears.

There were hopes. There were fears. There was going to soon be some gasping and moaning and a diligent display of gyration technique as she dug her sharp magenta fingernails against Jack Horner's scalp. There was much to share and Effie was becoming more than aware that, in Luceti, it was a small world after all.

As the cart continued along its merry path, Effie was to be treated to the ride of her life. Jack may have been many things he didn't mention to her. He was a liar, a scoundrel, a thief and a murderer. But he was, at the very least, experienced. In his thousand years of life, he had bedded more women than most people ever say 'hi' to in their short little Mundy lifetimes.

As he let her have her way with him, he let his hands do his own exploring. The first thing he did was remove the wig. In the back of his mind, he recalled the time the last time he did this on this very same ride. He remembered not feeling an ounce of sympathy for the family that got on right after he and whatshername got off the ride.

He buried his face into her neck and gave into passion. This was just what he'd been needing. After all, he'd gone two days without sex.

It had been a lot longer than two days for Effie. She collapsed against Jack's chest and let her forehead rest on his shoulder just as the singing puppets reached their crescendo of celebratory song.

Maybe Luceti wouldn't be such a bad place after all.

When they emerged in the sunlight, they looked very little like the people that had first gone in. Jack stroked her hair as he leaned back, feeling remorseful he had brought no cigarettes, but otherwise entirely satisfied by the experience.

"You're some woman, Effie."

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