Second Dispatch. Finally I Have Triumphed Over This Domestic Catastrophe. Action.

[trinkett]

[Effie Trinket has been sorely disappointed in Katniss Everdeen ever since arriving in Luceti. The girl seemed to have dropped all notions of propriety and her renewed place in the world as the Girl on Fire. No, here she seemed content to be muddy and sit on the laps of scruffy men and kiss

NO, that hadn't been a kiss. NOT a proper kiss! That had been a slobbery thing! Slobbery and licky! A slobbery slurpy licky thing!

KISS IN A RESTAURANT OF ALL PLACES. And live with that Sharpe person in what Effie could only describe as a cross between the District One Career Tribute Boys' Locker Room, a weapons closet, and a barn. The only thing she remotely liked about the place once she finally broke into it was the eagle. It would make a perfect wig stand.

With Katniss and Sharpe gone, Effie could take her time redecorating their house. The Welcome Center wasn't welcome in her life anymore. The only sense of purpose she could gravitate toward at the moment was Katniss. They could just deal with that when they got home from the battle. They would live like HUMAN BEINGS. Of course, she would have to prevent Katniss ever finding anything out about Jack Horner, but domestic bliss surely rested down this chosen path.

Feel free to run into her picking out properly upholstered furniture at the items shop, or other homegoods-type stuff. A lot of it will be in shocking colors. Most of it will look uncomfortable and gaudy.]

Comments

[trinkett]

She caught the wig and tucked it protectively under one arm. It was her floofy yellow one.

"It's not a mess. It's home."

And she turned to flounce to her newly-claimed bedroom. Peeta's old studio.

[greenjacketed]

"Yeah?"

His fingers tightened on the eagle's staff. Possessive. "It's m--" My home. But it wasn't, was it? Not truly. Not yet. "It's Katniss's home. Only, these ain't Katniss's things..."

All this was delivered as he gave gradual chase down the hall -- keeping his distance.

[trinkett]

"They are now. I selected her Power Colors from the palette myself."

Yes, there were gold curtains gracing the living-room windows. A gold cloth on the kitchen table, bold and bright. Copper pots and pans, newly-chosen and gleaming above the stove. Oh, the bright pink and green and violet were here and there as well, but there was definitely gold.

This Sharpe person seemed to have green as a Power Color as well. Hm.

[greenjacketed]

"Power colours," he repeated with such a scoff. It was certainly the tone of a man who didn't believe in what he was hearing, though -- when he gave it a moment or two in his mind -- he came to realize it wasn't such a far off concept from his precious eagle. Regimental colours: hues to live for.

"It's as gaudy as a Cat Lane whore in here, Miss Trinket."

[inyourfavor]

"Alas, I am not responsible for educating you in matters of taste, Major Sharpe."

At least in the kitchen there was hot food cooking. A peace offering, as it were, though the roast was surely overcooked by now.

[greenjacketed]

"And thank the Lord Almighty for that."

Not that his taste had seemingly improved since they'd last met, given his uniform jacket now lacked all its silver buttons. He'd traded them away to Sokka for a few smithed-up favours. "Not sure my taste could handle that much -- ah -- education."

[inyourfavor]

"Hmm?" People did not thank the Lord in the Capitol. "Your buttons are gone."

She peered down into the boiling pot, frowning. Could the meat be finished now?

[greenjacketed]

"Someone found a better use for them," he answered with as much dodge and evasion as he could muster. And he ignored the seductive smell of cooking meat. A week of bread and cheese and apple wasn't the worst week, food-wise, that he'd ever survived. But the thought of something more substantial did indeed send his body into hunger-mode. He almost asked for some,...but he resisted out of a stubborn desire to instead respect the meals Katniss made a habit of providing from him.

"They're only buttons."

[trinkett]

"They're the best bit of you," Effie sniffed in return. She peeked over her shoulder at the major. His face had that hollow look that Victors sometimes had after leaving the Arena. She'd seen it so many times before and always, for some reason, noted it when everyone else had simply been acclaiming the victory.

It was something very difficult to cover with makeup. Even the heavy pancake stuff.

[greenjacketed]

"...They are?"

His tone was replete with mild surprise. Sharpe had certainly held many of those buttons in high regard, as some were the original regimental silver issued brand new with the jacket. They had been embossed with the horn and numbers of the 95th, and he had been proud of them. But he hadn't hesitated to trade buttons for food and wine in the Spanish hills, so why hesitate now.

His follow-up was gruff as he leaned a shoulder on the door's frame: "I found another use for them."

[trinkett]

"So it would seem, especially since you appear to be a man chronically short on funds."

Oh, what a snippy tone. "Funds" carried SO much more meaning through that tone than the word alone held.

Effie tapped a spoon on the side of the pot before setting it down on a nearby cutting board. It was time to carve.

[greenjacketed]

"...You don't know me." So how could you know that. Although it wasn't incorrect. Not on average. The fact that he did, indeed, have ten thousand pounds banked back in London was a rarity for this life and they were not funds that he counted upon in his day-to-day living. Certainly not since arriving here, but even back on the march he ignored what he saved and continued to live like a near-beggar.

"...Besides, ma'am, there ain't no funds for anyone in these parts."

[trinkett]

Instead of answering, she lifted the roast onto the cutting board and began slicing through it. At least it was tender. Ish. Silently she plated a few pieces, along with a thrice-baked potato.

[greenjacketed]

"...It's good of you to cook," he finally said. At long length.

[trinkett]

"It was brave of you to fight," she returned evenly. "Though my cooking skills are rather.....new."

[greenjacketed]

A bare chortle hid under his breath -- as if he almost did not dare to suffer himself to smile. He did not stalk off and he did not cuss, but he certainly wasn't happy neither. Miss Trinket's presence in the house still bothered him. It bothered him lots. But he couldn't toss out a woman who was preparing food. Bloody hell, he wasn't certain he could toss out any woman.

"Brave, ma'am? Hardly. I'm a soldier; it is what I do." But as for her... "Of the two of us, you're the bloody brave one. Coming in here and trampling through the lass's kitchen."

The lass. Katniss.

[inyourfavor]

"I'm HARDLY trampling. I am not one of those large hooved humpy shaggy creatures that tramp."

She meant a water buffalo. She also didn't like the idea of Katniss's kitchen. Somehow all food preparation and storage being under the care of a girl from the districts cheapened the place. Effie was Capitol. Effie knew foods that Katniss had never even dreamed of -- or this fellow either, for that matter.

"Do you require strong liquor to drink?"

[greenjacketed]

"Require? No, ma'am. It ain't required. But it rarely goes amiss."

Sharpe liked to drink; however, he wasn't a drinker. He kept strict rules on when he would and would not drink. When he did lift his rules, he lifted them to great abandon. "Katniss don't like that sort of stuff in the house, though."

[inyourfavor]

"Good. I can't stand the stuff, and what it does to people."

Haymitch. Ugh, Haymitch.

"Here."

She placed a plate on the table for him, and one for herself. One for Katniss.

[greenjacketed]

"We ain't all drunks and useless men, you know. Us who do drink."

He sounded almost defensive. It was hard not to be, really, when he'd spent the last few years fighting tooth and sword not to be the sort of jumped-up ranker who ends up wasting away with the baggage train, a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm. Battlefield commissions were given to drink -- it was a truth well known and well discussed.

"Some of us just want to have a decent time after all the cannons are done ravaging the air with their noise. With friends, like."

He crossed into the kitchen and grabbed a seat at the table. Not quite managing to mutter a thank you.

[trinkett]

"You have many of those here?"

Friends, she meant. Effie had none that she knew of. Not yet, at least. And for the first time in her life, she couldn't fathom how to make any. The people of Luceti didn't value the qualities of friendship that were held as important in the Capitol.

Well. She didn't need them. Allies were better than friends any day.

[greenjacketed]

"I have enough."

Friends might be too strong of a word, he supposed. But there were souls who were friendly-like, and they seemed to count him a friend quicker than he would them. There was Katniss and the lad out at the smithy. Who the bloody hell knew about the bloody pirate, with his odd stories -- but at least Sparrow was good for a chat and a drink. Sharpe refused to try and pin down his interactions with the French surgeon.

"A man don't need many."

[trinkett]

"I don't have any. I think it's better that way, really." She began to butter some bread.

[greenjacketed]

"Eh?"

His eyes lifted off that well-laden plate and he fixed the woman with a bold look. Eye-contact wasn't typically his bag-o-tricks, but he could be forthright when he was surprised. "You don't seem the sort not to, ma'am."

[happyhungergames]

"There's companionship. Do you know Jack Horner?"