"They don't have tongues," Shepard took a long drink, then another, and just like that, the Coffee was gone, "And I can't say where all of them come from, but at least some used to be tributes brought in the same way you and I were. Mouthy ones."
Shepard stood, the carafé hanging off one hand, and picked up the hot-pad by its base— it was already cool to the touch. A cold glace, a derisive snort, it was all such a lot of bullshit. She pressed the tablet into Natasha's chest as she went by.
"Here, look up some of the old arena footage. You might learn something," An intimidation not meant for the one it aimed at, "Watch your back, twelve."
And then she turned and jogged off toward the tribute center without looking back. Unsaved, but typed out on the screen in Natasha's hands was an account of the Rebellion and District Thirteen, with a remonstration not to save this to disc if she wanted to avoid any further suspicion. Welcome to Panem, indeed.
no subject
Shepard stood, the carafé hanging off one hand, and picked up the hot-pad by its base— it was already cool to the touch. A cold glace, a derisive snort, it was all such a lot of bullshit. She pressed the tablet into Natasha's chest as she went by.
"Here, look up some of the old arena footage. You might learn something," An intimidation not meant for the one it aimed at, "Watch your back, twelve."
And then she turned and jogged off toward the tribute center without looking back. Unsaved, but typed out on the screen in Natasha's hands was an account of the Rebellion and District Thirteen, with a remonstration not to save this to disc if she wanted to avoid any further suspicion. Welcome to Panem, indeed.