"No context justifies tyranny," Enjolras snaps back quickly, but it's without any real vitriol. His engagement is terrible, but almost clinical, as if Cecil is some rare creature, hideous and worthy of study. In a way, he is. The political animals of Panem are strangely nonexistent. Or perhaps it's simply that they avoid him.

... In either case, he easily reaches out to support the tablet. He'd already been leaning forward in his seat, actively listening to Cecil's talking points, flawed though they were. In a sudden motion --one that he hopes is not too forward-- Enjolras snatches the tablet away. He covers the indiscretion with a passive inquiry: "Is it not so that you are a journalist, sir?" Hands move deftly across the top of the screen, searching the rooms for his friends. He's no where near as quick with it as Cecil, but he is working and the system itself is more intuitive than he'd imagined. "As a journalist are you not always in pursuit of the truth?"