"I wouldn't rely on the chance of there being any guns. They don't make for good television, apparently. I remember when I was a child one of the arenas had pistols, but as there was no ammunition, they ended up wasting people's time at the Cornucopia or being used as bludgeons. That was the last time I remember there being guns." She strokes her lower lip with her index finger, trying to tease out a memory. "Although there were crossbows in my arena. I was lucky enough to get one."
Which admittedly made her first kills a little easier, that she could make them from far enough away that she didn't have to look at their faces. By the end of the arena she was out of bolts, and no longer had that luxury, but she still thanks God every once and a while that he let her ease into a few weeks of murder instead of jumping straight in.
She takes a seat in one of the judges chair, crosses one leg over the other, and spins it a little. The seat is plush against her bare back, soft. Once it comes to a stop, she sits back up, gets a glass from under the counter, and pops the cork on the bottle of water. It's one of the recorkable kinds, sweating from the fridge, and the water inside is fresh and pure. Nothing but the best for the judges of the Capitol, or, to continue on Eva's theme of lambs and slaughterhouses, for the ones they want to fatten up. "Water? It's good, probably imported from District 2, I'd wager."
She gestures up with a finger at the elevator.
"Each District has its own suite, where you'll be taken care of and pampered while you're here, but they don't offer much in the way of privacy." In all senses of the word. "You can go into anyone's District but they can lock their bedroom doors, and not everyone appreciates visitors, for obvious reasons. I'm sure you'll show your fellows the courtesy of not intruding if they ask you to leave. People are...on edge."
Murdergames tend to do that. She takes a big sip of water.
Sorry for the infodumps, figure Daniel needs to get it!
Which admittedly made her first kills a little easier, that she could make them from far enough away that she didn't have to look at their faces. By the end of the arena she was out of bolts, and no longer had that luxury, but she still thanks God every once and a while that he let her ease into a few weeks of murder instead of jumping straight in.
She takes a seat in one of the judges chair, crosses one leg over the other, and spins it a little. The seat is plush against her bare back, soft. Once it comes to a stop, she sits back up, gets a glass from under the counter, and pops the cork on the bottle of water. It's one of the recorkable kinds, sweating from the fridge, and the water inside is fresh and pure. Nothing but the best for the judges of the Capitol, or, to continue on Eva's theme of lambs and slaughterhouses, for the ones they want to fatten up. "Water? It's good, probably imported from District 2, I'd wager."
She gestures up with a finger at the elevator.
"Each District has its own suite, where you'll be taken care of and pampered while you're here, but they don't offer much in the way of privacy." In all senses of the word. "You can go into anyone's District but they can lock their bedroom doors, and not everyone appreciates visitors, for obvious reasons. I'm sure you'll show your fellows the courtesy of not intruding if they ask you to leave. People are...on edge."
Murdergames tend to do that. She takes a big sip of water.