Eva Salazar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vissernone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-12-01 05:23 pm
vissernone) wrote in thecapitol2013-12-01 05:23 pm
This City's Already So Full of Bodies It Does Not Need One More [Open]
WHO| Eva Salazar and open
WHAT| Eva's alive and not well.
WHERE| The garden behind the Training Center
WHEN| Week 7
WARNINGS| Brain damage.
They brought her back, but they did not bring her back whole.
Eva's vaguely aware of the mechanics behind how the Tributes are revived, and knew going in that the Mentors would only be brought back with experimental technology. She didn't know what that meant until a few hours after she woke up from death, reading and rereading the pamphlet about blood flow to the brain without retaining information. Your brain was dead. We brought it back.
Bright lights and loud noises take a physical form, smothering her, smashing through her thoughts like bullets. Crowds seem to raise the barometric pressure in a room. Her words are jumbled at times, missing patches of sentences at others. Reading, her usual passtime, has become difficult, as whole parts of lines seem to disappear, flaking off the page like mange.
It'll get better as the brain starts to heal itself, they say. She hopes they're right. For now, she keeps away from large gatherings and wears a sheer veil over her face to protect her eyes from the worst of the light.
Unable to get her mind to cooperate enough to read, she instead turns to tending the earth. The garden outside the Training Center is a good place to start, the little isolated, tranquil corner behind the building. Trellis, small fountain, marble path, and a hundred varieties of crossbred flowers.
She rips up weeds and shreds them in her fingers. She tells herself it's physical therapy, using her fingers like that even when they only obey her half the time. She doesn't bother to go out and make apologies to the people she killed. She doesn't look for her allies, either. Without her mind, she feels more alone that ever, just a rickety shell taking up space and muddling through each hour.
At least she'll have Eponine with her. It's something.
WHAT| Eva's alive and not well.
WHERE| The garden behind the Training Center
WHEN| Week 7
WARNINGS| Brain damage.
They brought her back, but they did not bring her back whole.
Eva's vaguely aware of the mechanics behind how the Tributes are revived, and knew going in that the Mentors would only be brought back with experimental technology. She didn't know what that meant until a few hours after she woke up from death, reading and rereading the pamphlet about blood flow to the brain without retaining information. Your brain was dead. We brought it back.
Bright lights and loud noises take a physical form, smothering her, smashing through her thoughts like bullets. Crowds seem to raise the barometric pressure in a room. Her words are jumbled at times, missing patches of sentences at others. Reading, her usual passtime, has become difficult, as whole parts of lines seem to disappear, flaking off the page like mange.
It'll get better as the brain starts to heal itself, they say. She hopes they're right. For now, she keeps away from large gatherings and wears a sheer veil over her face to protect her eyes from the worst of the light.
Unable to get her mind to cooperate enough to read, she instead turns to tending the earth. The garden outside the Training Center is a good place to start, the little isolated, tranquil corner behind the building. Trellis, small fountain, marble path, and a hundred varieties of crossbred flowers.
She rips up weeds and shreds them in her fingers. She tells herself it's physical therapy, using her fingers like that even when they only obey her half the time. She doesn't bother to go out and make apologies to the people she killed. She doesn't look for her allies, either. Without her mind, she feels more alone that ever, just a rickety shell taking up space and muddling through each hour.
At least she'll have Eponine with her. It's something.
no subject
"That's nnn," she pauses and licks her lips. "That's nice to know. He wasn't a bad man, that one. I could have been killed by worse foes."
no subject
Unless he was mistaken (and he wasn't) those were the 74th's darlings there in the latest arena with the rest of the rabble, and the dear, sweet, soft Mr. Mellark had met the end so long expected of him.
Passing over the next bush in the row, he drifted closer, one smooth step at a time.
"A fine choice, if one must, I suppose."
A good man, wonderfully simple and easy to predict.
"He's made no move toward the labs," he added, almost as an after-thought. a throwaway attachment. A man making simple conversation.
no subject
"Yet. Don't think I haven't watched the Games before this one. Everything in-n-dicates that he's a man of his word." She lifts a hand and rubs at the bridge of her nose, as if that would clear the clog where her language comes from. "I don't suppose you've cracked the code yet, have you, Albert?"
no subject
The word conjured up dusty memories. A sharp disconnect, as if the man in them were an entirely different person.
No one had called him that since--
"They've been rather stingy on the replays," he replied, pausing next to her, fingers brushing the heavy bloom on a snowball bush. "I thought perhaps it might be easier to come to the source."
no subject
"But obviously they don't think it's dangerous enough to keep me dead for good, and I trust their opinion in that."
no subject
He breathed deeply, trying to catch the scent of her above the flowers.
"Worth passing on to a good man such as Mr. Earp."
His head tipped, just a fraction.
no subject
She tips her head, too, although hers is more of a seasick cant.
no subject
"Good help is hard to find these days, and Ariadne shoes are rather big ones to fill."
no subject
"Are you much of a man for poetry, Albert?"