And All My Wastelands Flower [Open]

[vissernone]

WHO| Eva and Open
WHAT| Diabolical schemes are set in motion and Eva commemorates an anniversary.
WHERE| A bar in the city.
WHEN| Week 5 of the Arena
WARNINGS| Mentions of death, potential mentions of sexual assault and alcoholism.

In a break from her usual routine, Eva doesn't order alcohol when she goes out tonight. She sits at the bar in a black dress with gold embroidery of ribs across her torso, nursing water, reminding herself of a time in her childhood when she and her family were so hungry that it was all they had to fill their stomachs for the night.

She'll need to be sober tonight, she'll need to be alert and vigilant. There are so many ways that she could create a snare for herself, find herself trapped with over thirty years of research and secrecy put to tragic waste. It's a risk she takes whenever she goes about dragging people into her web, and yet she sees herself not as the predator she is but as prey, scurrying from burrow to burrow under the watch of cameras and microphones.

"Put a dash of vodka in it," she says, not caring for flavor nor appearances. She convinces herself it's because she wants a trace of it on her breath tonight. She hums along with whatever moody song the bartender has playing and keeps her eyes out for her targets.

Comments

[futilecycle]

Sigma smiles at her, grateful she would make up for his ignorance- but the sudden reminder of Eva's loss strains his expression. It was a kind of pain he knew well, one that never scabbed over, and deciding it too disturbing a topic to dwell on Sigma answers her second comment. At the very least, he wants her to know he is relieved to find her as well as can be expected.

"I am glad to hear it. I am certain Mentoring is something of a thankless job..." It was much like parenting, in that respect. He wonders if she knows why he is here, if she had paid him any notice in the Arena during her needed leave of absence. If she knew he had spent a month in bliss only to dig the sharp point of a pickaxe into his lover's skull, all to save yet another Tribute his bleeding heart refused to leave alone. He drops an awkward clue: "I wish Diana could have had an opportunity to speak with you. She had a very difficult time, handling survival."

[vissernone]

"'Thankless' doesn't explain the half of it, honestly. It's one of those tasks that corrodes your soul with every day." Not at all like parenting, in that respect. Perhaps.

She gives Sigma a look, eyes half-narrowed, measuring the lines of his face, the depth of his sadness. She saw it on the television, of course - even on vacation, she can't avoid watching the Games with their omnipresence. She didn't realize he so wanted her to dig her dirty fingers into his gaping wound.

"Were you surprised that they used her as a weapon against you? After they brought her back to use as a threat? Come now, Sigma."

[futilecycle]

Eva is being surprisingly frank with him- perhaps moreso than usual- and Sigma is visibly taken aback. "Ah. I am sorry," is all he can think to say at first. He wonders how much trust Eva has in him, to speak such hostile honesty, or if it is no more to her than a statement of fact. But Sigma had come to realize in her absence that he trusted Eva, for better or for worse. Confiding in Eva had been fatal to some, Sigma knew; either way, he feels enough responsibility towards her to warn her of his impending plot. If he did not, he risked severing a relationship he held dear.

Her second comment is completely deserved, and he closes his eyes a moment to take in a heavy breath. Yes, he was a fool; he could have better prepared himself for their use of her image against him. But it gives him the opening he needs to speak on what has been wasting at his mind. "You are right. I suppose that is the way of things here, and I shall have to grow used to them." He turns to her, his expression cold and stiff - he waits for her to infer his intentions. He then adds, rather curly, "I would go so far as to say I should be grateful for what time I had with her. If I had not arrived here, I never would have seen her again. That certainly must count for something." The dissonance between how Sigma had reacted when his son had arrived and what he shares now should be clearer to her than to anyone.

[vissernone]

"Everyone always is," she says dully, taking a deep drink of her alcohol. Actual alcohol, this time, not just water with the tell-tale scent. Everyone's always sorry and no one ever actually acts on it, which makes the sympathy feel rather flat, after a while.

In a way, the inevitable perpetuity of her injuries makes them easier to ignore, too. There's only so much sorrow she can manage for her disintegrating soul, and so eventually the ache becomes a secondary, then a tertiary concern. Humans are good at deluding themselves.

She raises her eyebrows at him for a moment, just a moment, before she infers the meaning behind his words. She remembers showing him her tattoo of her son's birthdate, remembers the broken man she met then.

"You sound as if you're reciting something."