If Phi was curious, it was possibly to have some control over your image. Your personal privacy might be invaded, and you're never alone, but you can gain some measure of control. Tabris might explain it some day. Or let Phi learn on her own. Building character!
"Yes, elven. The ears aren't just for show." She tugged at one of the pointy ears in question. "And if the elves in your world are fairy tales or little munchkins that make cookies, are tall and glow and have hair down to their waist, good for you. I don't give a shit, but good for you. I'm how elves look in my world." With that out of the way, because if Tabris heard one more reference to Keebler, things were getting thrown, she saunters out to the common room, and flops on a couch.
"Alright, I have a lot to tell you, and you're not going to believe any of it at first, because it sounds absolutely insane. Just pretend that you believe me, and pay attention, because this shit is important. Don't waste your time thinking how impossible it is. Alright? Good." She doesn't wait for Phi to agree, wading right into the thick of it.
"To start out with: You're not in your world. You're in a different world, called Panem, and the helpful designation for you is offworlder. Creative, yes, I know. Now, Panem gathers all these offworlders from different worlds up, strips them of their magic abilities, so if you have any of those, they're gone, sorry. Then they toss you into an arena. Arenas are usually these pretty big areas, that have a theme. Like, medieval fairy tales or the ice age, stuff like that. And you are tossed in there with all the other tributes. That's we are, by the way. Tributes. Then we kill each other. Last person alive wins, becomes victor, and doesn't have to go back. The rest of us usually spring back up in the Capitol. That's this place. This city. You come back like you never got killed, no scars from the arena. So I hope you like how you look right now, because that's how you're staying until you either win or petition out."
She finally stopped the info dump, and sat back, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of her knees. "That's the long and short of it. Questions?"
no subject
"Yes, elven. The ears aren't just for show." She tugged at one of the pointy ears in question. "And if the elves in your world are fairy tales or little munchkins that make cookies, are tall and glow and have hair down to their waist, good for you. I don't give a shit, but good for you. I'm how elves look in my world." With that out of the way, because if Tabris heard one more reference to Keebler, things were getting thrown, she saunters out to the common room, and flops on a couch.
"Alright, I have a lot to tell you, and you're not going to believe any of it at first, because it sounds absolutely insane. Just pretend that you believe me, and pay attention, because this shit is important. Don't waste your time thinking how impossible it is. Alright? Good." She doesn't wait for Phi to agree, wading right into the thick of it.
"To start out with: You're not in your world. You're in a different world, called Panem, and the helpful designation for you is offworlder. Creative, yes, I know. Now, Panem gathers all these offworlders from different worlds up, strips them of their magic abilities, so if you have any of those, they're gone, sorry. Then they toss you into an arena. Arenas are usually these pretty big areas, that have a theme. Like, medieval fairy tales or the ice age, stuff like that. And you are tossed in there with all the other tributes. That's we are, by the way. Tributes. Then we kill each other. Last person alive wins, becomes victor, and doesn't have to go back. The rest of us usually spring back up in the Capitol. That's this place. This city. You come back like you never got killed, no scars from the arena. So I hope you like how you look right now, because that's how you're staying until you either win or petition out."
She finally stopped the info dump, and sat back, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of her knees. "That's the long and short of it. Questions?"