Eva Salazar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vissernone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-03-11 01:06 pm
vissernone) wrote in thecapitol2013-03-11 01:06 pm
Entry tags:
There's a High Wind in the Trees [Open]
WHO| Eva and everyone
WHERE| Training Center room and the District 9 living room
WHAT| Eva gets back from a night of greasing palms and hosts an advisory meeting. Also punches things.
WHEN| A few days before the next arena.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Some mention of the Sponsors.
Eva's hit another dead end. Any of her attempts to sleuth information about the recent attacks from the Peacekeepers have been shut down, or have come perilously close to making her look treasonous, so for her own self-preservation she's backed down and tempered those curious instincts.
She balms her ego by reminding herself that the rebels attacked are a particularly inopportune time for her; given that the new Arena is coming within the week, Eva's had palms to grease, and the meetings with Sponsors has left her running ragged. Not for the first time, she wishes her fellow District 9 Mentors were more involved with the Tributes, because she feels that hers have been neglected while she was cozying up to the rich and powerful.
Her makeup today is a splay of painted orchids dripping from her hair line down to create a mask around her eyes, a clever ruse to hide the dark circles forming there. She's wearing fashionable gloves to keep herself from picking at her lips and biting her cuticles; she's always been bad at hiding her fidgety impulses when she's tired. Thankfully, the elaborate makeup and beautiful embroidery on the gloves distracts from how functional her plain dark dress is, and to an extent how rumpled the fabric is. She didn't have time to change from last night's encounter with a Sponsor with some unsavory interests in one of her Tributes; the argument took them long into the night, and Eva ended up walking away with one less person willing to support District 9, but able to catch a few hours of sleep without guilt.
Prior to doing what she came here to do, she spends a little while in the Training Center, removing her gloves and wrapping her hands in tape so she can take a few swings at the punching bag. She's no longer in peak physical shape and tires quickly, but it's a good, healthy way to work the stress out. She restrains herself, focusing more on form than on power, and ceases long before she can work up enough of a sweat to make the fact that she hasn't showered this morning evident.
She's carved out a few hours today to talk with her Tributes, if they're willing. She goes up the elevator and waits in the District 9 living room with a plate of fanciful cheeses and some wine bottles, which she's inconspicuously opened and partially vanished the contents of already. While she waits she doesn't, in fact, have the television on, but reads a small book of poetry she's stowed in her purse instead.
[OOC: The District 9 party is open to her Tributes only, but her other subthread is open to absolutely everyone in the Capitol who wants to get some threading in before the Arena!]
WHERE| Training Center room and the District 9 living room
WHAT| Eva gets back from a night of greasing palms and hosts an advisory meeting. Also punches things.
WHEN| A few days before the next arena.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Some mention of the Sponsors.
Eva's hit another dead end. Any of her attempts to sleuth information about the recent attacks from the Peacekeepers have been shut down, or have come perilously close to making her look treasonous, so for her own self-preservation she's backed down and tempered those curious instincts.
She balms her ego by reminding herself that the rebels attacked are a particularly inopportune time for her; given that the new Arena is coming within the week, Eva's had palms to grease, and the meetings with Sponsors has left her running ragged. Not for the first time, she wishes her fellow District 9 Mentors were more involved with the Tributes, because she feels that hers have been neglected while she was cozying up to the rich and powerful.
Her makeup today is a splay of painted orchids dripping from her hair line down to create a mask around her eyes, a clever ruse to hide the dark circles forming there. She's wearing fashionable gloves to keep herself from picking at her lips and biting her cuticles; she's always been bad at hiding her fidgety impulses when she's tired. Thankfully, the elaborate makeup and beautiful embroidery on the gloves distracts from how functional her plain dark dress is, and to an extent how rumpled the fabric is. She didn't have time to change from last night's encounter with a Sponsor with some unsavory interests in one of her Tributes; the argument took them long into the night, and Eva ended up walking away with one less person willing to support District 9, but able to catch a few hours of sleep without guilt.
Prior to doing what she came here to do, she spends a little while in the Training Center, removing her gloves and wrapping her hands in tape so she can take a few swings at the punching bag. She's no longer in peak physical shape and tires quickly, but it's a good, healthy way to work the stress out. She restrains herself, focusing more on form than on power, and ceases long before she can work up enough of a sweat to make the fact that she hasn't showered this morning evident.
She's carved out a few hours today to talk with her Tributes, if they're willing. She goes up the elevator and waits in the District 9 living room with a plate of fanciful cheeses and some wine bottles, which she's inconspicuously opened and partially vanished the contents of already. While she waits she doesn't, in fact, have the television on, but reads a small book of poetry she's stowed in her purse instead.
[OOC: The District 9 party is open to her Tributes only, but her other subthread is open to absolutely everyone in the Capitol who wants to get some threading in before the Arena!]
no subject
“That’s why we persist,” he repeats, stronger. He lifts his head. “That’s why we won’t go down without a fight.”
no subject
She prays he can understand her entendre. She likes him, but she would have to throw him under the bus if they suspected her of treason here. She has too much invested in her position here, and her inevitable betrayal of her masters.
no subject
It’s only half true, and he knows it. Eva, oh, she knows how to survive. She knows how to take the steps that matter, how to quiet the screams in her head long enough to make it out. But what can Katurian do? Cry and scream and then lightly nick his murderer in the neck?
“I need to do better,” he says, answering the thoughts out loud. "I can do better."
no subject
"Tell me about your brother," she says. It's a way to get to know Katurian without having to continue in a vein that could bring the Peacekeepers down on them. And it must be a heavy burden, to bear on his own. All that worry and only one body to contain it in.
no subject
"Well," he says, after a pause. "His name is Michal."
Michal, so much more normal than Katurian Katurian Katurian.
Katurian gave him that name.
"Our parents died on my fourteenth birthday," he says. The lie of omission is easy. Practiced. "And because-- because it was better, you know, it was better to live alone than have the State take you on as an orphan, I took care of him. We only had each other." A pause, a hesitation. "And he's older than me, but like I said, he's sick sometimes and he doesn't always understand things until you explain it to him, but he's very smart and he's very perceptive and I wouldn't trade him for anyone. Anyone."
no subject
It's a balancing act, always a balancing act. To show love to someone is to make them a target, if the Capitol ever needs to punish you. But to shut yourself away entirely is to relinquish control to them in the single most personal aspect of your life. It is necessary to take risk, otherwise you surrender the soul at the altar of fear.
"It's a...tricky position," she says. "To be the only person in someone's life. To willingly take up that mantle."