It seems that after the incident in lockdown - where Eva, unfortunately, lost her cool and managed to come off as a borderline psychotic to an uncomfortably large number of tributes - Eva's energy is entirely spent. She's taken the last few days easy, mostly keeping to herself, reading and sitting in the backs of theaters and watching her Tributes train from afar. The explosive anger seems to have pulled some of the tension out of her, taking away some of the twitching, the lip-biting, the sleeplessness.
To actually believe that's the case would be a grave mistake. Eva's anger and her energy are not gone. They are locked up by her focus as she keeps an ear to the ground, waiting for news about the recent rebellion attack, pretending to care nothing for any of it while quietly parsing the information that comes to her. She knows she's not going to find her son, she really does, but nurturing that little sprig of hope deep down gives her fidgeting and her wrath somewhere constructive to go. Turned inwards, her demons sort among the mess of conflicting input.
And so here she is today, having come to the Training Center from some early hour in the morning and now stepping outside for some fresh air. She's dressed almost blandly for the Capitol, monochromatic. Only an arranged splash of green sequins across her eye socket and cheekbone like ivy growing up a foundation for her face, soft silk robes with a tassled belt tied at the waist and an open, deep back that displays some of the scars she got decades ago, some from the Arena and some from piecing her back together afterwards. Her jewelry and hair clip are all leaves and budding flowers.
She's staring out at the buildings of the Capitol as if she can see beyond them. The muscles around her eyes are tense as she searches and turns the images over in her mind. She leans her back against the wall, lips pursed, dragging her fingertips across the mirrored face of the building as if spitefully mucking it up.
She looks over when she hears someone talking - but not to her, to himself. Daniel's rounded the corner to the quieter side of the Training Center building.
no subject
To actually believe that's the case would be a grave mistake. Eva's anger and her energy are not gone. They are locked up by her focus as she keeps an ear to the ground, waiting for news about the recent rebellion attack, pretending to care nothing for any of it while quietly parsing the information that comes to her. She knows she's not going to find her son, she really does, but nurturing that little sprig of hope deep down gives her fidgeting and her wrath somewhere constructive to go. Turned inwards, her demons sort among the mess of conflicting input.
And so here she is today, having come to the Training Center from some early hour in the morning and now stepping outside for some fresh air. She's dressed almost blandly for the Capitol, monochromatic. Only an arranged splash of green sequins across her eye socket and cheekbone like ivy growing up a foundation for her face, soft silk robes with a tassled belt tied at the waist and an open, deep back that displays some of the scars she got decades ago, some from the Arena and some from piecing her back together afterwards. Her jewelry and hair clip are all leaves and budding flowers.
She's staring out at the buildings of the Capitol as if she can see beyond them. The muscles around her eyes are tense as she searches and turns the images over in her mind. She leans her back against the wall, lips pursed, dragging her fingertips across the mirrored face of the building as if spitefully mucking it up.
She looks over when she hears someone talking - but not to her, to himself. Daniel's rounded the corner to the quieter side of the Training Center building.
"New in town, stranger?"