The corner of his mouth lifts, not really a smile, but positive enough for him. "Probably. They've got a lot of stuff."
They've got cookies shaped like his face and horn-colored cream horns and croissants, too, as she'll see when they get there. And indeed, they do have lemon cake.
From there, he leads her around, showing her one thing or another. There's enough to gawk at out in the Capitol, from the buildings themselves to the adornments they put up - statues, art, fountains - and flora here and there, like the park. It's fairly leisurely, though he dodges main streets via alley now and then, glad whenever a knot of citizens gives him reason to build up the ruse.
Eventually, one of these alleyways has what he wants: graffiti. It's unlike any murals they might have seen, imprecise in a way that's genuine rather than artsy, showing the outline of a bird. A mockingjay. It's a good spot, not too near the street, though the first thing out of his mouth is a hushed, "Keep your voice quiet here." There wouldn't be microphones in this spot, he's sure, but he doesn't want to risk anyone else overhearing them.
He turns to her, though he keeps his back toward the street, looking to block what he can of their faces. It's paranoid perhaps to think someone could lipread from that distance, but extra care is better than too little. He meets her eyes with his.
"I can't say this anywhere else, so listen up and engrave it the hardest stone in your memory. This place is all I've got left, and it sounds like it's better than anything you have to go back to. But if we're going to make it, we can't let the Capitol keep doing what it's doing. It sends us into the arenas again and again; it tortures and executes anyone who steps out of line. If they knew we were here right now, they would have us both dead for it, you understand?"
He holds her gaze, earnest, holding back on anything else until he can see she's on board with what he's saying.
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They've got cookies shaped like his face and horn-colored cream horns and croissants, too, as she'll see when they get there. And indeed, they do have lemon cake.
From there, he leads her around, showing her one thing or another. There's enough to gawk at out in the Capitol, from the buildings themselves to the adornments they put up - statues, art, fountains - and flora here and there, like the park. It's fairly leisurely, though he dodges main streets via alley now and then, glad whenever a knot of citizens gives him reason to build up the ruse.
Eventually, one of these alleyways has what he wants: graffiti. It's unlike any murals they might have seen, imprecise in a way that's genuine rather than artsy, showing the outline of a bird. A mockingjay. It's a good spot, not too near the street, though the first thing out of his mouth is a hushed, "Keep your voice quiet here." There wouldn't be microphones in this spot, he's sure, but he doesn't want to risk anyone else overhearing them.
He turns to her, though he keeps his back toward the street, looking to block what he can of their faces. It's paranoid perhaps to think someone could lipread from that distance, but extra care is better than too little. He meets her eyes with his.
"I can't say this anywhere else, so listen up and engrave it the hardest stone in your memory. This place is all I've got left, and it sounds like it's better than anything you have to go back to. But if we're going to make it, we can't let the Capitol keep doing what it's doing. It sends us into the arenas again and again; it tortures and executes anyone who steps out of line. If they knew we were here right now, they would have us both dead for it, you understand?"
He holds her gaze, earnest, holding back on anything else until he can see she's on board with what he's saying.