"'Sick' is a pretty on-point description of that particular arena, yes." Her mouth contorts into a humorless smirk on one side, as if she finds the shelter of wordplay to be only a superficial cover for how upsetting the truth actually is.
She listens to him spit out his opinions on the game with a neutral expression, that measured ambivalence she has to force her face into. She doesn't disagree with him, of course, but she also doesn't want to waste this otherwise beautiful day engaging in his outrage. It won't help him, for one, and for second, it's far too easy to get sucked in and let the conversation get away from her and into 'treacherous' content. There's only so far she's willing to go when she feels watched, and that isn't very far with a man she's just met.
When she speaks next, her voice is like a blade. Not a blade being used to wound and stab, but an efficient tool, and with an undercurrent of threat, or, more accurately, of warning. It's also dispassionate, as she's reserving her opinions on how sick it is or isn't for more secure venues and more familiar ears.
"Yes, it's a strength. No one likes to see a know-it-all win, Mr. Jackson. People like to see know-it-alls get their comeuppance. The worst thing you could do in the arena for long-term survival is turning off the audience."
She starts to handle the rope around her waist again. "The mentors aren't the pool you need to be dipping into so much. We aren't wealthy, not like Sponsors, and I can't go around soliciting favors for other Districts' Tributes. The Sponsors like...well, you're a historian. You know about lowest common denominators."
no subject
She listens to him spit out his opinions on the game with a neutral expression, that measured ambivalence she has to force her face into. She doesn't disagree with him, of course, but she also doesn't want to waste this otherwise beautiful day engaging in his outrage. It won't help him, for one, and for second, it's far too easy to get sucked in and let the conversation get away from her and into 'treacherous' content. There's only so far she's willing to go when she feels watched, and that isn't very far with a man she's just met.
When she speaks next, her voice is like a blade. Not a blade being used to wound and stab, but an efficient tool, and with an undercurrent of threat, or, more accurately, of warning. It's also dispassionate, as she's reserving her opinions on how sick it is or isn't for more secure venues and more familiar ears.
"Yes, it's a strength. No one likes to see a know-it-all win, Mr. Jackson. People like to see know-it-alls get their comeuppance. The worst thing you could do in the arena for long-term survival is turning off the audience."
She starts to handle the rope around her waist again. "The mentors aren't the pool you need to be dipping into so much. We aren't wealthy, not like Sponsors, and I can't go around soliciting favors for other Districts' Tributes. The Sponsors like...well, you're a historian. You know about lowest common denominators."