Eponine Thenardier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gardienne) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-09-27 10:15 pm
gardienne) wrote in thecapitol2014-09-27 10:15 pm
Entry tags:
Sail Away on Teary Seas
Who: Eponine and OPEN
What: Eva's funeral
Where: In a Capitol building that everybody has had directions to
When: Perhaps a week or so after Eva died.
Warning: Well, funerals, death... talk of traitorship and pro-Capitolness.
The room is quite simple. It’s plain white: white columns flank the central space, which is currently filled with rows of white, wooden chairs. At the back is a white table, packed with refreshments, all of Eva’s favourites, and the sopas she taught Eponine to make. And on every surface possible, there are bowls and jars and buckets and plantpots and cups, even, filled with orchids – all kinds of orchids.
At the very front of the room is a stage. A microphone, a splash of black against the sterile background, stands in the center. To the left, on a large easel, stands an enlarged photograph of Eva in her younger days, wearing her crown from her victory in the Games. To the right stands a more recent one: Eva looks a lot older, a lot more careworn than her younger self. But in the photograph, her arm is around a teenager with scraggy hair and sunken cheeks. It’s a happy photograph, and perhaps it was selfish of her, but Eponine chose it to remind herself of the day in the park with the woman who has shown her so much love.
Eva’s coffin rests in front of the stage, next to the steps. Cyrus had secured a marvelous coffin for her, all shiny white and lined with a deep blue velvet. Eponine had dressed Eva herself. She had cried, yes. But it was all she could do for her mama now, so Eponine washed her carefully, wiped away the blood at her heart, wiped the dirt from her face and her hands, as Eva had done so many times for her. She painted Eva’s face as well as she could, and dressed her in the simple shift she had begged from Holly. Eva’s life had been lived in barbed wire, but her death would be softer by far. Gently, she had brushed Eva’s hair, half afraid still, to hurt her Mama. And then Eponine had laid her down.
In Eva’s folded hands, Eponine had placed flowers – orchids, the finest she could find, and a picture of Eva’s son. And then she had plaited and cut a lock of her own hair, and wound it through Eva’s fingers too.
As people come in, Eponine, red eyed, waits by the open coffin. That’s why people are here, not for Eponine. But once people begin to sort of settle down, she climbs the stairs to the stage. Her feet feel like they’re encased in lead. She doesn’t want to turn. Doesn’t want to say any of it. But she does.
There’s no opening, no welcome. Just… words.
“Eva was… Eva was a Tribute. She was a Victor and – and a rebel. She was fearless and she was brave, and she was dangerous. She was… she were a Mama. My mother. But her real son’s too. And she was the best mama that either of us could ever have, because she never gave up on either of us. Not ever. Not once did she forget him. Not once did she give up looking. And not once did she leave me alone. I love my Eva so much. I love her and I… I can’t believe she’s gone.”
She pauses to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. She can’t cry. Not now.
“But… but she were a traitor as well. And that’s why she died. She… she broke the rules. We can’t do it. We can’t, or we’ll all be dead. We can’t – Eva can’t die for us all to do so. Don’t let her. Don’t let my Mama die for nothing. Let her teach us to just… be good.”
She shrugs hopelessly, and scrambles back off the stage, to Eva’s side, and slowly, she bends to kiss her Mama on the forehead, just as Eva had so often kissed her.
“I love you so much, Mama. I love you. I…. I hope you’ve found him now. I hope you’re happy – but oh, please come back to me. Please. I cannot do it alone.”
So, most people will know about Eva's death, and perhaps they've been expecting Eponine to kick up a fuss. Anyway, she'll have been talking about it, and putting up slightly mis-spelled notices about Eva's funeral for the week, so feel free to mingle. Anyone can attend!
What: Eva's funeral
Where: In a Capitol building that everybody has had directions to
When: Perhaps a week or so after Eva died.
Warning: Well, funerals, death... talk of traitorship and pro-Capitolness.
The room is quite simple. It’s plain white: white columns flank the central space, which is currently filled with rows of white, wooden chairs. At the back is a white table, packed with refreshments, all of Eva’s favourites, and the sopas she taught Eponine to make. And on every surface possible, there are bowls and jars and buckets and plantpots and cups, even, filled with orchids – all kinds of orchids.
At the very front of the room is a stage. A microphone, a splash of black against the sterile background, stands in the center. To the left, on a large easel, stands an enlarged photograph of Eva in her younger days, wearing her crown from her victory in the Games. To the right stands a more recent one: Eva looks a lot older, a lot more careworn than her younger self. But in the photograph, her arm is around a teenager with scraggy hair and sunken cheeks. It’s a happy photograph, and perhaps it was selfish of her, but Eponine chose it to remind herself of the day in the park with the woman who has shown her so much love.
Eva’s coffin rests in front of the stage, next to the steps. Cyrus had secured a marvelous coffin for her, all shiny white and lined with a deep blue velvet. Eponine had dressed Eva herself. She had cried, yes. But it was all she could do for her mama now, so Eponine washed her carefully, wiped away the blood at her heart, wiped the dirt from her face and her hands, as Eva had done so many times for her. She painted Eva’s face as well as she could, and dressed her in the simple shift she had begged from Holly. Eva’s life had been lived in barbed wire, but her death would be softer by far. Gently, she had brushed Eva’s hair, half afraid still, to hurt her Mama. And then Eponine had laid her down.
In Eva’s folded hands, Eponine had placed flowers – orchids, the finest she could find, and a picture of Eva’s son. And then she had plaited and cut a lock of her own hair, and wound it through Eva’s fingers too.
As people come in, Eponine, red eyed, waits by the open coffin. That’s why people are here, not for Eponine. But once people begin to sort of settle down, she climbs the stairs to the stage. Her feet feel like they’re encased in lead. She doesn’t want to turn. Doesn’t want to say any of it. But she does.
There’s no opening, no welcome. Just… words.
“Eva was… Eva was a Tribute. She was a Victor and – and a rebel. She was fearless and she was brave, and she was dangerous. She was… she were a Mama. My mother. But her real son’s too. And she was the best mama that either of us could ever have, because she never gave up on either of us. Not ever. Not once did she forget him. Not once did she give up looking. And not once did she leave me alone. I love my Eva so much. I love her and I… I can’t believe she’s gone.”
She pauses to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. She can’t cry. Not now.
“But… but she were a traitor as well. And that’s why she died. She… she broke the rules. We can’t do it. We can’t, or we’ll all be dead. We can’t – Eva can’t die for us all to do so. Don’t let her. Don’t let my Mama die for nothing. Let her teach us to just… be good.”
She shrugs hopelessly, and scrambles back off the stage, to Eva’s side, and slowly, she bends to kiss her Mama on the forehead, just as Eva had so often kissed her.
“I love you so much, Mama. I love you. I…. I hope you’ve found him now. I hope you’re happy – but oh, please come back to me. Please. I cannot do it alone.”
So, most people will know about Eva's death, and perhaps they've been expecting Eponine to kick up a fuss. Anyway, she'll have been talking about it, and putting up slightly mis-spelled notices about Eva's funeral for the week, so feel free to mingle. Anyone can attend!