So when they said prison planet... [Open]

[hi_there_aliens]

Who| Daniel Jackson and you! [Open]
What| Daniel arrives at the Capitol, after thinking he and SG-1 were going to be sent off for "justice" after inadvertently aiding a criminal. This isn't what he expected. He begins to poke around.
Where| Close to the Tribute Training Center, wandering around outside.
When| Evening - he's arrived sometime after curfew is over.
Warnings/Notes| I'd like to avoid Daniel getting spoiled on the part where death isn't permanent in the Arena please.

It still hadn't quite set in. The horror that is, Daniel thought. He wandered out from the building that had been marked as a Training Center in a daze. The shock was probably stage one. Or was it denial? Both? He was definitely going for both right now.  Daniel was sure the sheer horror of it would eventually strike - it had to-  and hit him hard when it did, but he was still working on the part where the Taldor had made this their judgement for SG-1. Tributes, Districts, Hunger Games, gladiatorial combat. That's what you got for trespassing, carrying arms to defend yourself, and accidentally aiding a criminal. He hated to see what they did if you jaywalked. Maybe that was average prison material.

To think, all Daniel had been worried about this morning was whether Sha're would be on the other side of the gate this time, followed by getting Jack to see that the current planet might just have more to offer than trees and moss.

"And here I was expecting Botany Bay," he muttered under his breath. A woman strolled past Daniel. Her heels even gave that little click on the ground that seemed pretty universal; very classy, very smart it said. It was also the only familiarity about her. She was dressed to what he suspected was supposed to be to the nines in this place. It made his eyes want to tear up; orange, purple and green had no business mixing like that, topped off with a mix of feathers and fur.  Daniel looked around. No one else seemed to find it glaring; she looked as much at home as the other people wandering the pathways. She gave him a mildly interested look, but passed on. Certainly no criminal herself.

It was this that set off the chill that started to spread through his stomach.  This woman and people like her were going to  tune in and watch them die one by one. Only one could survive. He had no idea where the rest of SG-1 were; for all he knew, he'd ended up here alone.  Daniel licked at his lips nervously.  "I think I'd rather have the prison planet..."

Comments

Eva, you've put slightly terrible thoughts in his head.

[hi_there_aliens]

His eyes narrowed, just a little. Eva wasn't fooling anyone with that look; she couldn't do innocent very well. Too bad Eva, you're not getting any puppy dog eyes while he has something to say about it.

"How is that my strength?" Daniel's voice had risen a little, annoyed and unhappy. And here he was thinking his strength was his intelligence, determination and a willingness to talk first and try to avoid the whole guns-blazing outcome overall.

Puppy dog eyes, oh please. He didn't do that. Did he? Daniel chewed at his lip, blue eyes looking away thoughtfully for a moment. No, he was pretty sure he didn't....although...Of course, Daniel didn't know when he was doing it if he had. Or that he'd even done it in the first place! Come to think of it, it might account for a few times when Jack unexpectedly caved on a mission and let Daniel have his way, like staying a little longer, or letting him wander off to check out another set of ruins, even when Jack was clearly bored out of his skull. Daniel had just given him a look over his glasses frames each time, then just said "Jack". More of a frown with his eyes. He hadn't pegged it as anything else at the time.

Now that had to be something. Colonel Jack "Bullshit" O'Neill, was apparently Colonel Jack "Easy-To-Make-Eyes-At" O'Neill too. Who knew?

Adding that language to his Jack repertoire might buy him less time spent arguing about the value of why they really needed to stay longer on a planet and more time spent actually working on the good stuff. Even if it was playing dirty. Good to know the next time it came up. Daniel looked back to her, hands going back in his pockets, shoulders hunching a little with the sobering thought that came after. If he ever got back. As if the other Tributes weren't enough, the Arena itself could kill them. Radiation poisoning?

"That's just sick," it was out of his mouth before he could remind himself that he wasn't supposed to be passing personal, moral judgements on another culture. But it was; this entire bloodbath was propaganda people watched as entertainment. The color had drained out of Daniel's face. "So you're saying that a good portion of my survival is dependent on if mentors like me? Or the audience? I only get help if I get the thumbs up?"

[vissernone]

"'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."

[hi_there_aliens]

It was now Daniel's turn to grimace at her. He hadn't meant it quite that way! Eva found herself with a disapproving look aimed her way. People had died, slowly and painfully from radiation sickness; there was nothing to joke about. "That's in poor taste, and you know it. It's not funny."

Know-it-all. Daniel's mouth twitched. He'd just been thinking about not playing their games as much as he could; focus only on survival and if he could, get the blood shed to stop. But not play up to the audience or acknowledge them or the Capitol. That sunk home, maybe deeper than she knew. 'know-it-all' was the general feel that had gone around some circles back home, though said a little more eloquently; because why use three short words, when triple the amount would do. Sarah had mentioned it to him before, that she'd gotten wind of the general sentiment from some of his peers back when he'd at least been respectable once back in the academic community. He'd always ignored it. The academic community prided itself on changing the world and human knowledge. His theories about the pyramids and cross-pollination had basis, evidence, and the world needed to hear it, whether it was ready for it or not. Turned out the academic community liked change... but not too much change. Sarah's patience also only went so far, it turned out.

Daniel wasn't always right about everything. And who knew better about the games than the Victor? Maybe she was right; people could be vindictive. He'd just figured it would be more petty than a life or death situation. The archaeologist still sounded doubtful. He sighed. "So I'm supposed to play up the vulnerable type, bat my eyes and hope someone takes pity on me and sponsors me?"

He'd spent so long alone, looking after himself, and then, once he'd joined SG-1, proving he could be part of the team that the idea she was suggesting was a repellant one. he didn't know if he could do it. If he even gave off that air at all, he didn't know he was doing it or when.

"I would've thought of patron families, the very wealthy or powerful individuals and organizations. Like the Roman Catholic Church or the Medici family. Rulers or nobles; I wouldn't necessarily think of them as the lowest common denominator," Daniel's head tilted curiously, eyes searching her face for clues, and whether she would drop something other than coy hints. What was she talking about? The lowest common denominator might fall in on some limited examples, but overall, most patrons (most) didn't fall under that name, by virtue of being able to afford to act as patrons. When he thought of lowest common denominators, when he got particularly annoyed, he thought of the people who were happy in their ignorance and cruel, bullies. Not that that meant rulers and governments and so on couldn't be just as short-sighted or cruel either. "And I'm supposed to gain the interest of as many Sponsors as possible?

[vissernone]

A muscle in her jaw tenses, as if to say, yes, Dr. Jackson, please do lecture me on the tastefulness of the Games, I'm dying to hear it, hah de hah hah. But she doesn't need to be any more antagonistic; she's clearly already hit some sort of nerve, and she wonders if the intellectualism is a wall he puts up against others or simply the origin around which a wall was built.

Besides, in a few days, he'll be in the same position as she was, and she'll have very little standing to say she knows all about the horrors of Panem better than him. Maybe, in fact, he knows it better, with his outsider's perspective and sea of knowledge of other cultures with which to compare how intensely wrong this is. He's hardly numbed to it like she is.

"Poor taste is the lesser of my sins, Dr. Jackson." And she quickly crosses herself. "And I'm not your stylist, so I'm just offering my opinion, which should be entirely negligible next to what your stylist tells you. They may want you to go for a sort of rugged mountain man route, but I, ah..."

She raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "I doubt it. At least, compared to your competition. I was envisioning the 12-month calendar for Maximus Meridius and Steve Rogers as soon as they showed up and I just don't see you having the same immediate appeal."

She does look, at least, a little bit apologetic, like she's not happy being this harsh on him. Then again, he didn't think her jokes were funny, so maybe he deserves it.

"What you'll find here is that the wealthy and the powerful don't necessarily have taste so much as appetite." The hint there is hardly coy. There's a break in her voice, a vulnerability in her eyes, a crack in the veneer that's repaired as soon as she stops speaking. "You might be lucky, being merely 'vulnerable'."

[hi_there_aliens]

Eva crossed herself, almost out of habit, a movement Daniel watched with interest. It was quick, and had this been back at home, it wouldn't have been anything to lift an eye at. But out here, it stood out. It wasn't something he'd expected to see on another planet. And what would whatever religions were allowed in the Capitol have to say about the Hunger Games? Probably all for it, he thought after a moment.

Daniel looked down at himself, taking stock of the body he'd only lived with his entire life, and feeling the slightest bit self-conscious with Eva judging him out loud. He wasn't whip-thin or extremely gawky. Running from dig to dig and life on Abydos had kept him pretty in shape, though granted, maybe not nearly as in shape as Jack's military expectations were hoping. He wasn't exactly bulked out either; next to these other two men, one of which one of them sounded like he could have been plucked from Ancient Rome, he didn't have a chance of measuring up. The glasses probably weren't doing himself any favors. Daniel absently brushed at the hair that fell into his eyes.

"I know you said no offense, but I'm finding it harder and harder with all the pot shots." Daniel said dryly. Honesty was valuable, but Eva was taking dig after dig while she was at it. "I guess I'm at the mercy of the stylist and my mentor then. But I think I'd rather just try to be myself."

Oh. Oh. Realization dawned on Daniel's face, followed by an uncomfortable shift from foot to foot. It was that brief break in Eva's eyes that did it. Daniel couldn't find the words at first. He didn't see how coming off as vulnerable would make him lucky to a Sponsor like that; more like the opposite. "I um... I see. And they expect to have their good favor repaid, if the tribute they sponsor manages to survive?" It didn't seem like a very good gamble for a Sponsor. Daniel had to struggle for a moment to continue on, as if this were academic curiosity, and not something Eva must have had to go through to get enough support to up her chances. "Or paid before the Arena."

Daniel jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing vaguely back the way he'd wandered in from. It was more to break the very pregnant silence that had just fallen. "....I don't suppose I can nab a tour of the Tribute Tower or training area from you, if you're not busy?"

[vissernone]

"Yes, well, you don't think I'm funny. Pot shots are the last of my artillery." She twists her mouth to the side and shrugs, a sort of c'est la vie gesture that seems ten years too young on her.

He can be himself, she thinks. He just has to be the most appealing rendition of himself. That's how these games are won.

"They, ah..." She contorts her mouth again, but this time it isn't in the humorous expression it was before. Now it's, at its most optimistic interpretation, an expression of speechlessness as she finds the right words. "It's not a transaction, really. It's more like an investment that they make during the Arena. And the ones who look for the payout afterwards, well, you'd rather they think you're vulnerable than breakable, if that makes any sense. Vulnerable, rather than in need of being broken in, that is."

She twists an earring in her fingertips and gestures that he should walk with her. She's happy to give a tour, and expects that he'll get more out of it than one by his Escort, who may refer to the weapons on the rack as 'playthings' or talk about the Avoxes as if they're simply naughty children. "Part of my job description is to help my Tributes navigate the aftermath, too, if they last the season. Keep them away from the grabbier hands, if I can."

[hi_there_aliens]

Daniel could only just shake his head at her. Either laugh at her attempts at inappropriate humor or get the pot shots on your attractiveness. He'd take the second.

He turned to follow her, folding his arms around his chest, feeling uncertain what to do with them as they walked out from the alley. Some of the citizens glanced his way. Some gave Eva a nod or two, evidently recognizing her as a past Victor.

Maybe others thought him vulnerable when they first saw him (Eva had, so had those soldiers on the first Abydos mission), but regardless how he looked, acted at times - maybe he could be a little flaky, get a little over enthused about almost everything he'd seen since going through the gate - he wasn't the vulnerable type at heart. If Ra, Apophis and Klorel hadn't been able to break him, he didn't think any sponsor would find it much easier. Losing everything on Earth hadn't broken him. Losing his wife to a snake could have broken anyone. Daniel had instead jumped at the best chance he could at finding her himself, and if he got a chance, he'd see the Goa'uld as a whole wiped out while he was at it.

Better to focus on the major problem on the horizon than worry about the Sponsors and the possible price tag; staying alive.

"I see," and what exactly had Eva ended up having to do when the Sponsors came for her? Daniel knew better than to ask. It had to be painful even discussing this. A woman with a garishly dyed dog - it looked had almost been a poodle once - strutted past them. Daniel kept his voice down, for Eva's sake. The sarcasm was heavy in his voice. "How thoughtful that they provide a support system for after. But thank you, for looking after the other tributes' interests. Someone needs to here; no one else will."

[vissernone]

They don't recognize Daniel yet. Some of the smarter ones look at him with curiosity - he's clearly not dressed like them, is he a Tribute or a workman imported from the Districts? - but for the most part he's ignored, and the fact that Eva's in his presence means that the curious ones don't linger. She's old news, but she still has a reputation. Her games were brutal even by the standard of the arenas at the time.

"Isn't that the truth. They look at you, not out for you. That's the other reason creating a persona is so important."

It's like a shell, to keep the Games from pulling out the 'real you', she thinks. Anything she does can be denied if it's part of the act, part of the Eva Salazar the Capitol controls, everything done justified by the fact that she is always, always being watched.

No one wants to confront who they really are, when the chips are down.

She walks him into the first floor of the training center, the actual large, metallic room where the weapons and punching bags and information modules are kept. She walks up the set of stairs to the judging panel and beckons he follow with her, so he can see the layout of the first floor entirely. There's a mini fridge next to the plush chairs, and she opens it, hesitating too long on the bottles of wine - it's 11 a.m., is that too early to be drinking? - before selecting a glass bottle of water for them to share.

"It's always strange being on this side of it. The first time I saw this - well, the first time you saw it too, I suppose - I was being judged, down there. Anyway, this is the heart of the training center. Don't spend much time with the weapons, if you want my advice. You won't improve with them fast enough for it to make a difference. Focus on the information stations down there, about edible plants and survival skills. The information's easier to retain and building tents and shelter are interesting enough to get you airtime, as long as there aren't any interesting killings going on at the same time."

[hi_there_aliens]

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.

Sorry for the infodumps, figure Daniel needs to get it!

[vissernone]

"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.

No problem!

[hi_there_aliens]

Daniel took another sip, looking out on the weapons here. They were all elegant and spartan, as if the Capitol had gone through so many rounds of weapon making that they'd boiled it down to a science. No guns in the arena probably. Made sense, unfortunately. It was sick how the choice depended on whether it made for entertaining TV or not.

"...You grew up watching this? As a kid?" Daniel sounded ill. The water might as well have been ash in his mouth. A glance back showed Eva almost doing a girlish twirl in the judge's chair. He waved off the offer for the imported water. How the hell could he enjoy any of what the Capitol had to offer? Make the best of it?

Warning taken on the lack of privacy. The walls really did have ears. "So if I have friends who end up in the other Districts..." if Jack, or Teal'c or Sam had the bad luck to end up here too. "... I'm allowed to see them. Good to know. I wasn't planning on barging in on anyone else."

He set the unfinished water down, palms either slick from the condensation or clammy. "And you. Do you still watch the Hunger Games?"

Re: No problem!

[vissernone]

"It's mandatory in the Districts. We used to watch the highlight reels in school assembly. The Capitol doesn't think sending the same message every year has the right impact if people stop watching." She tilts her head backwards, exposing her neck, and drums her fingers along the edge of her glass. Her gaze is far off, looking beyond the weapons racks and at memories only she can see, but there's something firm and proud in her stature.

"You don't have the same context, being an abductee. In the Districts, the Victor is a hero. You bring in enough food and wealth to keep your people from starving for the year. I had a baby to keep fed."

In a way, it seems better to her to have them be from the Districts, rather than bringing in strangers, and to have the Victor stand for and represent something more than just their own skin. The way things are now are just glitzy, shallow entertainment, whereas the way it was done before, for all the abhorrence of using teenagers, had a sort of patriotism to it. An ability to lend yourself over to the idea that you weren't doing this for yourself, you were doing it for the people and the District you loved, and that made it all okay.

She looks back at him with dead eyes. "There's nothing else worth watching on TV." And to clarify, in case he thinks she's being completely serious, she adds in, "I have to, for my Tributes. I was indisposed during the last Arena and I think that that might have put mine at something of a disadvantage."

Granted, she hasn't had a winner in a little while now, and last game she ended up sending her gifts to people from 10 and 12. They needed it more. Maybe if she was supporting her home District's economy again, the calculus would be different, and she wouldn't be picking favorites instead of keeping an allegiance to the ones she's responsible for.

Re: No problem!

[hi_there_aliens]

Mandatory so that all the generations would never get a chance to forget or move on from what their ancestors had done, and certainly wouldn't be inclined to make the same mistake, and just a normal part of the school curriculum. Daniel pinched at the bridge of his nose, wondering how this could have possibly all come together and not had more outraged parents fighting to keep their children safe; something had to be done to help the Districts. Part of Daniel was surprised that Eva hadn't been practically desensitized to it since she'd been exposed to the Hunger Games all her life; then again, it had to be hard to when you joined in on it and risked the name-draw each time.

"And they certainly wouldn't want anyone to forget why the Games go on on or how generous the Capitol is?" Daniel said quietly. He couldn't believe Eva had had a baby so young, or that the Capitol had to had known this and threw her into the Arena anyway. Or maybe that would have looked like a loophole or favoritism, and that couldn't happen if the Games were to go on.

It seemed to him that the context made all the difference. Shouldn't the Games be less effective since they've context had changed that much? Before, the Districts could have their returning hero, food and wealth, feel the Capitol's power but stay safe as long as they gave up their male and female Tribute and went along with it. The Tributes kidnapped from other places wouldn't have such loyalty to their assigned Districts and he couldn't imagine that those Districts would feel as strongly about them either.

"And you might serve as a liaison between your tributes' interests and the sponsors," Daniel sat down on the edge of the platform, legs dangling off. He folded his hands in his lap. "What happened?"

Re: No problem!

[vissernone]

She pours herself a little more water, drinks it, then stands up out of her chair. She'll show him some of the other floors, rather than sitting here watching this vacant training ground. It's unsettling, without anyone in it. Like there should be ghosts.

"That's the general idea, yes." She gestures for him to follow her, then quickly points out the more mundane facts of life here. "Mentors live in their Districts and are put up in hotels during the Games and leading up to it. Stylists live in apartments downtown. Avoxes live in the basement here."

She hits a button on the elevator, waiting for it to come down to her. She has phenomenally bad luck with these elevators.

"I was indisposed," she repeats, this time more coldly. It's not something she wants questioned. At times she needs to 'go away', as many Mentors do. She's more put-together than some, but alcoholism, drug addiction, mental illness and its ilk are hardly uncommon among the former winners. She'd spent the majority of the fourth Arena this year ignoring her Tributes and, instead, mostly lying on her kitchen floor in an inebriated haze, sometimes sleeping on her roof, at one point netting herself a blurb in the tabloids for wandering through the Capitol without her shoes.

What a hero, she thinks. Clearly she is the pride of her District.

"Are you familiar with Yeats? The Second Coming?" she asks suddenly, as the elevator dings and the door opens. Much of the literature from before Panem's creation was destroyed, but Eva's well-connected enough to find the little that isn't, and has a voracious appetite for it that's become a near-encyclopedic knowledge. If they have a veil of mutual understanding, she can speak much more freely.

Re: No problem!

[hi_there_aliens]

The rustle of clothing and the slight ting of glass being put down on metal was a sign that it was time to move on. Daniel got to his feet, glad that they wouldn't have to stay in the room much longer; waves and waves of tributes must have come through here, passing in on the way to the slaughterhouse. He'd been around death a lot. It sort of came as part of his job. But there was more dignity to mummified remains and the ceremonies involved than what they were looking at.

Daniel followed her, looking around the tower more carefully now that he didn't have a veritable entourage surrounding him. At the time, he could barely hear himself think at the time when he had his Escort and stylists speaking over each other the moment they got their first look at him. "Avoxes? What do those do?"

The room seemed to chill a good several degrees. Okay, so she was "out", and she preferred everyone else to keep out as well on that subject. Daniel had the sudden feeling he couldn't press this one; not if he wanted to get more information out of her on the Games and the culture. As one of the more blunt sources of information out there, he wasn't so willing to blow it just yet.

Daniel stepped into the elevator after her, moving aside so she could press whichever floor she had in mind.

"I read it years ago, but yes. I know of it," Daniel answered. His eyes drifted upwards for a moment, closed as he dredged his memory. "Twenty centuries of stony sleep/were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,/And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,/slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

He thought he understood what she was getting at. That the long history of the Games and the Capitol's supremecy were on shaky ground, that what had always been brewing had or was close to coming to a head. It secretly pleased him to no end that Eva was using literature to speak in a code of sorts. It almost made up for her earlier pot shots at him. Almost.

Now how did Panem have people signing the cross, an Earth religious gesture, and Yeats, if it was another planet? Humans displaced by Goa'uld brought old culture with them (1919 hardly fell under old culture or in Goa'uld timeframe), but generations later had a tendency to often change things, so they were close but not exactly the same. An ugly suspicion began in the back of his mind. Two different ones at least. One of them - time travel - sounded a little too far-fetched, too sci-fi movie for him, and anyway, he wasn't sure of the quantum physics needed for the Gate to function like that - Sam would, so the archaeologist put that one on the backburner. Daniel bit absently on his bottom lip, then went on. "I'm surprised you are, actually. It's an older, 1919 poem, from Earth."

Re: No problem!

[vissernone]

Eva just leaves the bottle of water and the glass there. The Avoxes will clean it up. That's what they're there for, and in some ways the Capitol has made Eva numb enough to not even notice the Avoxes if they aren't her son. He might still be among them, somewhere, and until she finds him or finds confirmation of his death, all the others may as well not exist.

In the elevator, she taps her foot and shifts her weight from side to side. It's clear she doesn't like being in an enclosed space. Even her breathing seems to pick up a little bit, and she knows it's because the elevator reminds her of the tube they used to lift her up into the Arena back when she fought, and she wonders why nearly four decades is hardly enough balm to take the bite off that burn.

"Avoxes are the non-dangerous traitors to the Capitol. They don't talk." Because their tongues are cut out. "They're here to serve you."

She looks pleased for a multitude of reasons that Daniel is familiar with the poem. For one thing, it means she might have someone to actually talk to about literature, something that's been missing for many years for her now. For another, it means that she can be much more open than she has been, coded or not.

"You don't have to recite it to me. I know it by heart. I've always rather liked the first stanza." But unlike him, she's not about to start saying it out loud. That would ruin the purpose of the code. She can trust that no one finds her suspicious enough to run her idle chitchat about books through to a library, but she doesn't want to lay out the topic of conversation for anyone listening.

"Of course it's from Earth. Where else would it be from?" She doesn't look as if she's calling him silly so much as genuinely perplexed by his statement.