thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| Kurt Wallander and OPEN
What| Penny has made Wallander's life hell after her latest tirade, so he's gently trying to pick up the pieces. Anyone want to talk to a peacekeeper?
Where| At his office in Peacekeeper Headquarters or around the Tribute tower
When| After Penny's network post
Warnings/Notes| None yet!

Kurt didn't sleep that night. He had too much work to do - vetting every sadistic young peacekeeper that might have an inclination towards torture. It was not a job that he relished, and a small rebellious part of him wished he could sign up someone who had absolutely no imagination and would be horrible at it, just to give some salve to his conscience. In the end, however, he had four dossiers of very accomplished young men (and one woman) who he knew would be all too good at their job and keep Penny off his back for at least a few weeks. It made him sick to his stomach to think about, and more than once he found himself daydreaming that she actually managed to force him into the job, and he was forced to torture some poor soul and then that person's face would turn into his daughter's--

He threw up. Once. In the bathroom. Where he knew no one would catch him.

And then he sent the dossiers to Penny, knowing just what he was endorsing, and knowing that he had to.

The rest of the day he spent doing some paperwork in his office, before heading to the tribute tower. Many of them were angry. He knew that. He'd watched Penny kill that mouse just as they had, watched her relishing in the pointless cruelty. If he had any ability to, he would see her fired - she made his job insanely difficult. How was he supposed to keep the tributes from rebelling when she simply fueled the flames? But the fact was, he had no power over her. And he had no means of voicing descent, not without putting his daughter in the firing line instead. So he kept his grumblings and misgivings to himself, and went to see if he could calm some of the tributes down.

He wandered around the common room, mostly, making himself available - careful to show his badge pinned prominently to his belt, though he didn't wear the uniform that the regular peacekeepers did. Just the same rumpled suit that he had the day before.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"All I'm asking for is the effort." She raises her eyes, meeting his. Hers are dark and tired and yet full of life, steely, almost. "If I thought you could actually do anything, I would have come to you a long time ago."

She reaches over to where his hand is on the desk, leaning forward, and places her hand over his knuckles. It's so much smaller here in this office than in Penny's. People can reach each other.

His hand twitches, reflexively, under hers - the twitch of a dog expecting a hit rather than a caress - but he doesn't pull his hand back. His fingers are short, stumpy, and his skin is a little too warm as a general rule - hers feels soft and cool.

"Well, that much, I think, I can promise," he says, smiling lopsidedly, the expression slightly pathetic and more than a little sad.

He finally pulled his hand back, carefully, slowly, as if really not sure he was allowed anywhere near that level of intimacy.

"For what it's worth, I... I'm sorry. It's a terrible loss, to lose a child, no matter the circumstances."

Once upon a time, her hands were calloused. She was a farm girl in the fields, splinters of wheat so deep in her palms that she thought they were a part of her, paint from her scythe worn into her hands to give her a perpetually bloodless look below the wrist. Fingernails short.

They're long, now, and painted a gentle pink that doesn't suit her skin tone or her nature.

"Thank you." She means it. That doesn't mean that she feels even a pang of guilt for playing upon that common ground. A decade ago she might have, but her walls are made of scar tissue. "I should take you out for dinner, to return the favor. No matter what the result is."

He laughs, a little nervously, as if he doesn't believe her.

"Dinner. With me." But then he meets her eyes and realises that she was serious - and for a brief second a flutter of panic fluttered across his chest. Had he missed something? Dinner, or... Dinner? Had her hand been- had that been a signal, that he'd simply misunderstood, or--

God, but he was terrible with women.

"Yes," He said immediately, a little too fast, with a nod. He didn't trust the woman as far as he could throw her, she intimidated him, she scared him, but-- "Yes, of course. I would, ah, like that."

"Thank you." She takes her hand away, closing her fist as if to preserve the heat of his knuckles in her palm. It's not because she cares about keeping any part of him with her, but it casts a nice illusion, and Eva's been doing this too long to have her acting look anything but natural. "I might- I imagine I might need the company, given the subject matter, and I'd prefer to be around another parent."

And with that, she zips up her bag and heads for the door. "Give Hsiang Jiao my salutations, alright? I don't want her coming for my head next."

She closes the door behind her and vanishes.