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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.]]]]]
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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Which -- he supposed -- made him no one. And Sharpe wasn't sure just how that notion settled in his stomach. Of course, the point was moot considering he wasn't from any place where this Snow bastard was an issue. But the Capitol's politicians reminded him near enough of those from home that he couldn't quite shake the bullheaded pride in his voice: "Proud of it, too."
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It wasn't QUITE a reprimand. Maybe the small unformed conjoined twin growing out of the reprimand's spine.
"Now I might ask you: what have you to do with Katniss Everdeen?"
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"Bloody hell, ma'am," he spoke roughly and unapologetically, "I live with the little lass, don't I?"
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Was he HOPING Katniss would be slaughtered in the arena due to lack of sponsorship?!
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Sharpe knew he was doing one of those things he really shouldn't have done. Each syllable was accompanied by that wrenching sensation in his gut -- the one that promised provosts and punishment once his sins were found out. And -- oh -- be sure your sins will find you out. Numbers. Thirty-two. Twenty-three. Just about all the religion he knew with certainty, for the words had been written in large letters above the orphan's heads at the foundling home.
But despite the instinctive guilt, Sharpe's grin widened and he kept on sinning. "I don't care much for your chances, ma'am."
Oh, sure. He could tell her that Katniss allowed him to live there. He could tell her how the girl kept him fed and shared stories. He could explain how very much he wanted to see the girl do well in this town. But were he to breathe any word of these things, he'd risk casting even the slightest blame upon the girl herself. And God Above, he'd hate to do that.
THAT SMUG SMILE
With a long enough lever, Archimedes could move the world. With enough passive aggressive housemate behaviors, Effie Trinkett could send Sharpe scurrying for new digs. Unfortunately poor Katniss would likely find herself the fulcrum.
SO SMUG.
Ah, war. How he missed it so. Perhaps it would be like no war he'd ever fought before, but Sharpe was a soldier. He could adapt.
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"...Bugger it, but that explains an awful lot." At least, he thought that no wonder Katniss gave herself such a hard time if this woman was in charge of her morale.
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Control. Control.
"Agreed. She's come a long way since I took her in my charge, though we all must admit she has a long way to go til she's perfect."
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Sharpe wouldn't go so far as to use the word Effie had used. Perfect. It was a word that frightened him, truly. But he couldn't stand such criticism. Not after the heartfelt conversation they'd shared in the mountains. Not after all he'd been told.
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Sponsors.
She must shine brightest."
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"You're late, Miss Trinket. Our Katniss has already outshone the lot of'em."
TIMELINES WHAT ARE THEY
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Just...company, he suspected. And camaraderie. Perhaps a fine young lad to hold her through the nightmares, but Sharpe hadn't identified anyone he approved of yet.
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Ruthlessly.
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She sized him up. No, it would not be at all easy to shred this man. He was solid, assured. He'd probably even stand up well under Their tortures.
She was bluffing.
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Heels clicked. His shoulders inclined again in yet another slight mockery of a real bow, and then Sharpe about-faced as if to march his way straight to the door. Let the bloody daft New Feather find her own way to the truth.