there is a pseudo-intellectual in me; open

[orestes]

WHO| Enjolras and open!
WHAT| Happenings around the Capitol.
WHERE| Commons and the Tribute Center at least. I'm cool if you want to start something elsewhere, too. c:
WHEN| Generally in Week 2.
WARNINGS| Highhanded philosophical ridiculousness, probably.



[1; training center]

Generally speaking, Enjolras avoids the designated training areas. It isn't that he has something against physical fitness, or is somehow embarrassed by his decidedly modest combative skills. No, it's that they exist as a stark and concrete reminder that the Tributes live for a purpose solely destructive. The best they can hope for is to live and die perpetuating a barbaric system. It isn't something he ascribes to personally but there is a certain inevitability to the reality of it.

That said, he has only ever experienced the training areas when they are inundated with his fellow Tributes. With the Arena on that isn't as much of an issue. In fact, the training areas are more or less deserted in the middle of the day, those Victors who do choose to workout mostly keeping to an actual regimen rather than doing so out of a futile attempt to avoid the disappointingly ubiquitous television broadcasts.

Nonetheless, it's with an uncomfortable tug at the thin cotton t-shirt clinging to his skin that Enjolras climbs onto a mat clearly intended for boxing. He hadn't been much for fighting of that sort in Paris, but he had a cursory knowledge of it from Bahorel and oddly enough, Grantaire, and it had to be more useful than fencing or canne de combat, at any rate. And if he could focus his attentions on his own destructive capacities, perhaps he could block out those happening in the Arena.

[2; main lounge of the tribute center]

Ostensibly, he's reading. There's a pen tucked behind his ear, just visible under blond curls, and a paperback with a distinctly worn cover resting on his lap. Nevertheless, Enjolras' attention is focused on the television coverage of the Arena. He glances down every now and then, seeming to pick up a line or a passage, but it's a farce. He isn't making progress, and even if he were, it isn't any information he didn't already know. He closes the book, finally glaring daggers at the statistics on the screen, at last unable to hide his disinterest.

Never the less, a terrible cycle presents itself. Every seven minutes or so --when the advertisements for luxury cosmetics, designer cupcakes, and whatever else the Capitol is fond of this week begin to run-- he'll stubbornly reopen the book, struggling to find his place again and slowly losing interest again once the programming resumes. It's a losing battle, he should really just move to a different room, away from all the pageantry, but his curiosity forces him to stay. It's a vicious, nagging thing. He wants information about his friends, and yet he also fears what the television might tell him.

Comments

[vissernone]

"The desire to improve, or perhaps to distance ourselves from what came before? We have the latter, although I dare say we don't put much stock in the former." And, as if to prove it, her next throw misses - she turns her attention to the javelins instead.

"Technology is not my forte either, although I make do with it. Moreso than most of the people here would think a simple farm girl capable of, but I am an avid learner by observation."

[orestes]

He raises an eyebrow at her, though it's less about the commentary and more about where, exactly, her gaze has fallen. If throwing knives are beyond him, he certainly hasn't tried anything quite so intimidating as javelins, though perhaps that's the point in all of this.

"In my day, there was less stigma attached to a rural background." That isn't entirely true, but any discrimination faced by someone due to the style of their upbringing was still less prominent than that of their socioeconomic background. Wealth, after all, presumed at least a modicum of education, if not actual enlightenment. Sophistry is always preferable to simplicity in polite society.

"Although my parents would have very likely considered all of this to be some form of witchcraft. At least at first." He gestures to the florescent lights beaming down on them with a small smile. They'd have picked it up eventually, but the intermediary confusion would have been something to see.

[vissernone]

The javelin actually seems more at home in her hands than the knife did. Maybe it's because she so recently used one in the Arena. Maybe there's just something about the more threatening nature of the weapon that appeals to her.

She gives a cry as she throws one, and it slams into a target, slightly above the center but still a fatal throw. Just one that would bleed someone out, rather than killing instantly.

She decides then that she doesn't altogether dislike Enjolras, if he's willing to admit the difficulties of adjusting, even through the filter of his family. It's one she went through too, though to a much lesser extent.

"District Nine hasn't been blessed with many of the benefits people see in a rural life. Especially not recently. My people are freezing to death, you know, so they can redirect this electricity," she says, pointing to the lights he's gestured at, "to grow year-round mangoes."

[orestes]

Conversely, the javelin seems entirely foreign to him, and he watches her, the wariness apparent on his face, rather than moving to mimic her as he'd done with the knives. Perhaps it was that knives were not so removed from the swords he'd practiced with a child, or perhaps it was because they were so intrinsic to so much else in life. Javelins were one step away from pikes, one step away from being a symbol of bloody revolution so fond to him, and yet here they were co-opted into repressing those sentiments.

"One might question why it is you bother supporting them." It's less a criticism and more an observation. The same logic could in fact be applied to him and with firmer grounding. After all, Panem is at least her country, and this is, after all, her era. Technically speaking, he has significantly less compelling his obedience. "Compassion dictates that you maintain your allegiance to your family and those with whom you grew up, but if their situation is inevitable, if the cruelties they will suffer can never be addressed, why doom future generations to the same? Let the Capitol kill them all and tend their mangoes for themselves."

Other than the horror of the loss of life on such a large scale, of course, but that sentiment remained unspoken, implicitly humming just under his rhetoric. She has her reasons, he's sure, but he still can't help but think it better to die fighting for a freedom that may never come than relegate oneself and one's family to servitude for eternity.

[cw: mentions of suicide]

[vissernone]

Eva's next javelin throw is nearly wild, and the point punches through the target entirely. When she looks at Enjolras next, her face is stern, her lower lip flattened and stiff, her eyes cold in the dark recesses of her face.

"I hope for your sake that you're only asking a rhetorical question as to why I might not want my entire District to be destroyed." She folds her arms. "I'm not the type to believe that where there's life there's hope, but I am the sort who believes that if things are so terrible for the individual that life isn't worth living, they can take matters into their own hands. Far be it for me to make that decision for them."

At least, on such a scale. Eva didn't lose much sleep making that decision for Ariadne.

"Regardless. It's unwise to talk politics here. Everyone knows my allegiance is to my new family of Tributes. I've proven that well enough."

Re: [cw: mentions of suicide]

[orestes]

"You may not believe that life is hope, Madame, but I very much do." That was all he would offer on the subject. After all, he had probably spoken out of line. Sensibly, he knew he had spoken out of line. Still there is a part of him, a part that was cruel and festering, growing with every new horror Panem revealed, that wondered if perhaps death en masse was not somehow more kind. Those born slaves can never truly be free, after all. The Tributes still have a chance, but those of the Districts? Perhaps not. And when the revolution does come is it truly acceptable that those who did not suffer for it should reap the benefits? His generosity has its limits.

Still, she's right. It's unwise to talk politics here.

"How heavy is that? Is there a way you stand to ensure proper leverage?" Taking instruments of death is somehow less taxing than speaking of its philosophy. And there really must be a method to it. The javelin looks bigger than her.

Re: [cw: mentions of suicide]

[vissernone]

"It's less than two pounds." It is, indeed, taller than her, measuring nearly seven feet. She holds one out to him. "Obviously, yours would be a bit taller than one of mine, but beggars can't be choosers in the Arena, unless you want to spearhead a campaign for a more diverse weapon selection."

She grins, and it's all fangs, and not as humorous as how silly the joke is. She holds the javelin out, then demonstrates the proper technique.

"I never learned the proper way to throw for a tournament, which focuses on distance. What you need in the Arena is accuracy and strength. For that, your stance needs to be grounded." She hands him the javelin, showing him where to place his feet. "You're not a large man like some of the others in there. You doubtlessly know you're better off with ranged weapons, but only if you have practice aiming. A spear is the best of both worlds."

Re: [cw: mentions of suicide]

[orestes]

Her comment could be interpreted as a criticism of his physicality, but he takes it in stride. She's right in a certain sense, ranged weapons are preferable for those less physically powerful. It's one of the many reasons he prefers muskets to rapiers.

Still, it's a little odd to let her arrange him, and even though he accepts the weapon with only minimal reluctance, there's a part of where this is headed that sits poorly with Enjolras. "It begs the question of why the Arenas have yet to involve guns. One might think them the great equalizer."

Or something which would lend itself to a less cruel method of killing. Perhaps that was why they had been avoided. He doesn't particularly fancy the idea of suffering a musket ball through any part of him, but even he can see that such a death would be significantly more difficult to sensationalize.

Obligingly, he raises his arm with javelin, taking aim by way of lining the tip up with the chest of the dummy. It's an awkward sort of feeling, and despite its relative weightlessness, he still feels encumbered by its size. When he finally does throw it, it falls short by barely a foot. A less than spectacular first effort.

[vissernone]

"I suspect it has to do with the fact that they don't want people in the Districts to imagine themselves with guns. They give us scythes, knives, axes in our respective Districts, and yet only Peacekeepers ever have the right to a firearm. I once saw a child shot to death for pantomiming a gun with his hand. It was seen as seditious."

It was a long time ago, and Eva is an excellent actor, but part of that is that she doesn't bother to keep up a mask when it's unnecessary. That means that now, the vague horror on her face at a memory from decades ago, something from her youth, is entirely genuine.

"They don't want us to forget that they have power we'll never be allowed to even touch."

She snorts at his miss. "Well, at least you didn't stab yourself with it."

[orestes]

There are times when Enjolras' curiosity is, in fact, kept in check by his sense of propriety and this is one of them. While he would like to pry and ask for Eva opinion on the matter, he knows better than to question her at the moment. They are only just forging some sort of rapport, he would do well to maintain it as long as possible before recklessly destroying it as he had so many others here.

He considers her words as he walks back from the target, carefully choosing his own in response. "The blade could have slipped easily. I prefer the knives from earlier, if we are to be honest."

[vissernone]

"As do I." She starts unwrapping the fabric around her palm, dusting away the chalk that made gripping the javelin so easy, and sets the weapon aside. "Well, Victor. I look forward to seeing your writings on fashion soon."

[orestes]

There's a terseness to her that doesn't sit well with him. It's something of a relief that she seems to be drawing their conversation to a close. He nods, figuring that, if everything between them is settled, it won't be considered rude to take his leave of her.

"I hope that they will meet your approval. Until then, Madame."