thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| Daniel Jackson, Eva, R but OPEN to any others
What| Daniel's headed for an "I told you so" from Eva and finding out R is a "smart" zombie, which makes their interactions in the Arena have some added fridge horror.
Where| The park
When| Shortly meeting Ele (Sometime after his death in the Arena but before the victor's crowning.)
Warnings/Notes| No idea yet, will change if anything comes up

He had barely begun to put a dent in the place, but it already felt much too small. Like he was that rat pacing back and forth within its cage, nosing about at each end hoping each time something had changed. Uneasily, Daniel hurried through the crowd, eyes on the ground as he thought.

For the moment, there wasn't any way out as far as he could see, short of chance or the Gamemaker's wishes or finding a way out through the Districts. Not unless he stumbled on a Stargate and threw his chances to fate. Or found a ship. That was about as unlikely as a Goa'uld turning over a new leaf. Screwed just about covered it.

Daniel kept his eyes away from the buildings, the stalls. He couldn't bring himself to watch the rest of the Games. Which was almost a moot point when the Capitol was fond of keeping it on as many screens as possible. Now citizens could catch almost every minute as they went about their business. Wasn't that considerate?

Even then, he couldn't avoid it completely. There was a flash at the corner of his vision as he entered a park, and Daniel turned to look for a moment. There on the screen was what looked to be a tally, and a face flashed by as one of the deceased. Daniel recognied the blond hair even with a crowd in the way:" Draco Malfoy, the kid that had petitioned to become a citizen. Daniel felt a chill go down to his stomach. He hadn't seen Draco come out of the Arena. He hadn't even known he'd gone in, but apparently the petition was something of a pointless formality.

There had to be somewhere outside of the tower that had some peace and quiet, as Game free as possible.

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"Humor's completely inappropriate here, even if it's your way of dealing with the Arena, especially to other people. And you know better than that," Daniel replied. He didn't even think Jack would be so flippant about this, and Jack was the king of inappropriate sarcasm and bad jokes at the worse possible times.

Putting that barrier of humor or acting like it was a show was downplaying the entire problem, especially from a Victor, someone who knew personally what it was like. About the same as putting your head in the sand, he thought.

Daniel glanced out back the way he had come, wondering whether he really was ready to talk this over with Eva or not. As it went, he didn't know her at all. One conversation before the Games didn't count. And she definitely wasn't his first choice. She'd made hints as if she wasn't really that good a Capitol citizen, but sometimes he couldn't tell with her. "I'd think every Game was difficult to watch. Added torture only made it even worse."

"Humor is very, very low on the long list of things that are inappropriate here. Forgive me if I don't strike it from my repertoire to balm the entry wound to the stick up your ass." She makes a gesture as if she's brushing dust from her shoulder.

It stands in contrast to the way her face darkens, like an overcast day giving way to storms. She changes on a dime like that, flipping between blasé and so clearly bitter, like a banner in the wind with each side a different color.

"Every Game for thirty-seven years, I was charged with the task of telling desperate teenagers that they stood a chance. And nearly every Game, I got to watch their faith in me disproved. 'Difficult' isn't the word for it." Her lower lip furrows. "The torture isn't the worst part of it, it's just another ugly reality. It isn't new, either, just quite a lot more prominent than it was. I wish Tributes would just do the sane thing and kiss some ass rather than try to disguise their bids at revival in cruelty."

For once, being called a tight-ass didn't bother him at all. In this case he'd happily keep that stick right where it was. He gave her the long, impatient look reserved for the most pig-headed, pain in the ass Marines, the ones who didn't give a damn about anything else but what they could shoot or what the Gate might have to offer besides a threat. It was shortsighted, ignorant. He didn't have patience for either.

"Turning it into a case of 'well, it's not as bad as everything else' is a mistake. The little things make a difference too, humor plays down and diminishes the Games. Or their trauma."

Having to act as a mentor for thirty-seven's years worth of kids was a special kind of hell. Daniel wouldn't wish it on anyone. What he couldn't understand was why she chose to make a joke of it at all. Maybe it was how she got by, but it insulted all those Tributes who died, the Victors and herself. "Probably because you can pull all kinds of people from all kinds of worlds now. Violence and sex sell in a lot of places. I'm not surprised some would turn to it."

"Oh, put a lid on it." She shakes her head and pats the antler back into place. If she hadn't slept with it in earlier in the day, it would be held tight, but as it stands even walking loosens it enough to roll uncomfortably on her scalp. "We're not going to agree and you're never going to understand the art anyway."

She pauses just a moment, wincing in the sunlight. Since her fight with Billy - since she split her own head to frame him for her temper - bright lights have given her headaches. She supposes she deserves it, temporary as it is; soon enough, she'll see a Capitol doctor and they'll fix her up back together, and ask her if she wants to finally get rid of that scar on her mouth they botched so many years ago.

And she'll say no, because how else is she going to remember that she's been here thirty-eight years if she doesn't have a physical token, and then she'll laugh at how absurd the words that came out of her mouth are.

Same as always.

"It's a bit depressing, don't you think? We pull from all these worlds and we don't get the titans. There's no Prometheus bringing us fire. We haven't tapped into anything greater than ourselves, at least, nothing that we can't beat into submission."

Get Daniel to shut up. That was a good one. Daniel gave a humorless snort. Jack would love to find a way to get him to shut up if Eva ever found a way to. "From an academic point of view, sure. But personally, no."

The antler slid into place from that dangerously sliding angle it had been heading for. She had a Leaning Tower of Pisa going on there. Daniel's eyes drifted up to follow the motion. The whole thing wasn't really doing it for her. Like it was on for show, but even then, something about her didn't want to wear any of this. Did they even do simple? Anything as simple as jeans and a T-shirt might as well be unheard of.

"I imagine the titans would easily wipe out Panem," Daniel replied dryly. Panem had a impressive level to technology, but as things went, the Asgard and the Goa'uld were still leaps and bounds ahead of them. God help the Capitol if the Goa'uld show up, Daniel though. "What's out there won't get caught by this technology. If they do find this place, you're gonna be in a world of trouble."

"There is no academic point of view about the appropriate way to deal with trauma. To believe otherwise is putting too much faith in scholarship and not enough in the human soul."

Eva appreciates learning, and science, and all the finer things she got to see but never partake in as a poor District wheat-thresher. She used to wonder what it would be like to go to the opera, to go to a museum, to read fine leather-bound books instead of just her ratty copy of the Bible and her grammar books and the official notices she hoarded away to pore over at night. She taught herself the big words by learning to recite the rules and regulations imposed on her.

But for as practical as she is, she's also, in some core way that seems fused to her very spine, a spiritualist.

She flashes a grin at Daniel that seems more like fangs than anything else. "Maybe that's not a terrible idea. I do like trouble, and it's been a long time since I got into anything substantial. Stabbing my fellow Victors is a paltry replacement."

Part of her would like to warn Daniel against continuing to blaspheme the city of decadence, but she's already done her bare minimum in warning him about the place. He's not enjoyable enough company that she'll sink all her time and energy into him; she has many Tributes she wants to keep alive, after all, not just one who doesn't even think she's funny.

"The "art" of the Games and it's place in Panem's as a core part of its social structure mostly," Daniel clarified. In a way it was another form of blood sacrifice, just put in a different package and under some new wrappings. But personally he preferred to see it as it was and call it what it was, not duck his head and make jokes about it or prefer to to look the other way. The Mayan and Aztecs, the Egyptians and a good deal of others had their bloodshed and trodding over lives in their history; structures didn't make themselves, for one.

Granted, academics also didn't live in that time period and witness it for themselves.

Daniel tried to imagine Eva going up against the Goa'uld. Seeing how she was like so far, and the fact she was a Victor, well, she might have a decent chance at causing them some trouble herself. Daniel didn't return the smile. "You'd probably give them a good run, until they caught you. They might find your blood-thirst intriguing and keep you alive."

"Blood-thirst?" The smiles vanishes from Eva's lips like a tablecloth being expertly yanked off a table: the dishes and silverware remain where they are, but there's a tension that didn't exist before, a palimpsest of action that leaves the air vibrating and unsettled. "Is it that obvious that I'm not joking?"

She pauses to take another flower, to stroke it and then break the neck that holds it up. She brings it up to her lips as if sipping a full glass of wine, or bringing a lover close to kiss. "Give me monsters or give me lambs, I don't care. But they find a suitable hell for everyone here. For me it was a cage because they knew I'd find a way to enjoy the torture."

Or possibly there's a limit on how many secrets they're willing to give her access to. "The Games aren't the core of the social structure. Fear is. And if I tell you any more than that you're liable to get it proven to you in blood."

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