Daniel kept an eye on the looks Eva got, if only to see how everyone treated a former Victor. While she got attention, it was the kind last year's fashions might as well have gotten, or an old fixture, more washed out celebrity than survivor of a tragedy.
"Consciously maintaining a persona all the time's going to be tough," Daniel said. He wasn't sure he could keep it up that long and do his best not to get killed at the same time. And part of him didn't want to play their games more than he had to. If he was going to die, it would be as Daniel Jackson, archaeologist, not whatever the Capitol thought Daniel Jackson was.
Daniel followed her into the room, taking in all the weapons and training dummies and punching bags dotting the place. The entire room felt elegant, clean with blacks and silvers, and deadly. Daniel passed a rack of swords, all of which were locked up without a mentor or trainer about. Leaning in, he could practically feel how sharp they were from here. Someone had lovingly honed the edges as sharp as humanly possible. He looked up to see Eva leading the way up to where the judges had sat. After a moment, he joined her.
It was strange. It was higher up than he thought, more removed than expected. Probably went well towards giving off the impression that these were characters in a show, than actual people. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door, expecting to see his Escort come barging in, offended, or the Peacekeapers. Tributes probably weren't allowed up here, but Daniel wasn't about to scramble down like he'd been sent out.
"Has to bring back some bad memories," Daniel waited for her to get first sip, then took his own. Interesting killings, really? So there were boring killings and boring deaths? Just when he thought he was done being horrified by the Capitol, by the Hunger Games, somehow something new cropped up. Daniel's face had soured at the thought. "So survival skills mostly, weapons after. Do they have guns - like small firearms? Berettas?"
He wasn't nearly as confident with the bigger guns, but he'd qualified for the M9 and the Beretta back home.
no subject
"Consciously maintaining a persona all the time's going to be tough," Daniel said. He wasn't sure he could keep it up that long and do his best not to get killed at the same time. And part of him didn't want to play their games more than he had to. If he was going to die, it would be as Daniel Jackson, archaeologist, not whatever the Capitol thought Daniel Jackson was.
Daniel followed her into the room, taking in all the weapons and training dummies and punching bags dotting the place. The entire room felt elegant, clean with blacks and silvers, and deadly. Daniel passed a rack of swords, all of which were locked up without a mentor or trainer about. Leaning in, he could practically feel how sharp they were from here. Someone had lovingly honed the edges as sharp as humanly possible. He looked up to see Eva leading the way up to where the judges had sat. After a moment, he joined her.
It was strange. It was higher up than he thought, more removed than expected. Probably went well towards giving off the impression that these were characters in a show, than actual people. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door, expecting to see his Escort come barging in, offended, or the Peacekeapers. Tributes probably weren't allowed up here, but Daniel wasn't about to scramble down like he'd been sent out.
"Has to bring back some bad memories," Daniel waited for her to get first sip, then took his own. Interesting killings, really? So there were boring killings and boring deaths? Just when he thought he was done being horrified by the Capitol, by the Hunger Games, somehow something new cropped up. Daniel's face had soured at the thought. "So survival skills mostly, weapons after. Do they have guns - like small firearms? Berettas?"
He wasn't nearly as confident with the bigger guns, but he'd qualified for the M9 and the Beretta back home.