Nothing's Changed [Open]

[vissernone]

Who| Eva and open
What| Eva plays chess in the park.
Where| Park in the Capitol
When| Week 7
Warnings/Notes| Description of cuts.

The bruises have faded into the sick yellow of urine. The cuts haven't healed yet, and wearing the bandages and stitches - old-fashioned medicine, less than what a Panem Victor could usually expect - is something of a scarlet letter. No one's forgotten that she was cavorting with a would-be assassin, but the Capitol's seen fit to remind them anyway, and unless she spends the next few months indoors Eva's damned to carry the message on her face.

She somewhat appreciates that the hook-shaped slash on her upper lip has pulled her mouth into something of a perpetual sneer. It fits her mood, lately. The cuts along her arms and cheek are a little less thematically appropriate.

The sunlight wafts down to her like steam. Her palm rests on a book in the park, her eyes strolling lazily over the words of a poem she's read a hundred times before. The other hand rests in her lap, on the demure grey fabric of a dress that could blend into any background. Eva doesn't need to accessorize; here, the white bandage around her upper arms and the patch of gauze on her cheek are eye-catching enough.

A chess set sits on the small marble table in front of her. The pieces are arranged up perfectly, each slit in the bishop's hat forming a perfect line. She looks out at the park, relatively unoccupied for a Sunday afternoon what with people watching the final week of the Games, and waits for someone, anyone to come challenge her.

She loves chess. It's just yet another game where no one has to win.

Comments

[revvinguptheharley]

And then...through the peace and quiet of the serene scene...

Harley Quinn comes racing through the park dragging what looks to be twenty or so balloons of bright colors with tributes faces on them. There's some shouting in the distance but that can hardly be heard over Harley's cackling.

[vissernone]

Normally, a person in Eva's state of repose might resent Harley for creating such chaos - but Eva's never really lost her sense of humor. She leans back in her chair, folding her book closed (dog-earing a page to keep her place), and whistles.

"Yoo hoo, you hedonist."

[revvinguptheharley]

Harley turned sharply like a dog when she heard the whistle. Her twin ponytails bounced and flapped as she veered towards Eva, springing into the air a few times as if the balloons were strong enough to carry her. She hop, skipped and slid to a stop breathing briskly with a wide eye'd smile on her face as her balloon swung and jostled one another overhead.

"Hiya boss! What's up?"

[president_evil]

It was a challenge. Silent, but unmistakable.

Wesker had already been considering his approach, weighing the best way to open against the unknown victor, but even if he hadn't - even he'd been tempted to walk on by - that would have changed his mind.

He did love a good game.

Hands in the pockets of his handsomely cut sports coat (Wesker? Sweat?), he strolled up, all the quiet grace of a panther, and slipped into the chair behind the black pieces.

As if they were old friends. As if they prearranged this chance encounter.

He knitted his fingers behind the king and queen.

"Ms. Salazar."

[vissernone]

That leaves her with the opening move in the game, and him having made a neutral opening gambit in the conversation. She puts a pawn forward to free up her bishop and closes her book.

"Mr. Wesker. Congratulations on your victory. I'm sorry I couldn't attend the crowning." Her mouth twists into a smirk, made ugly by the healing wound and by the morbid nature of the joke.

[president_evil]

"I was sorry to have missed you," he replied mildly, fingers unwinding and closing of the head of a pawn, shifting it forward. Two little soldiers marching into battle at opposite ends of the board.

"But you were rather preoccupied." His hand returned to it's mate, a graceful easy movement that gave nothing away. "Understandably, of course. Lives were at stake."

[futilecycle]

Sigma did not know what would happen to Eva after Ariadne's execution. He did suspect she would be imprisoned, but was foolishly naive enough to believe she wouldn't be tortured, not for turning in a rebellious one of his kind. It was true he had not heard from Eva in awhile, and so Sigma kept his outlook optimistic, praying no ill had come to the woman. So when the Doctor came across her in the park that afternoon, he stopped some distance ahead of her to survey the damage from afar, appalled at the sight of bruises that must once have been black, his fists balled in silent fury.

Dr. Klim did not pretend to know the woman well, but found himself identifying with her nonetheless. Eva had lived in this world her entire life, she knew the score better than him - and so Sigma eventually came to trust her judgment, though it had meant the death of a young woman. He understood her desire to act on behalf of her Tributes - heaven knew the Doctor had done worse for someone he loved. The two of them had then come away from their endeavors with physical scars for their selflessness, it seemed, and the Doctor sighed in silent understanding. What a reward she had received! There was no need for words, no need to ask if she was 'alright'.

Instead Sigma sits down quietly, tries to initiate sympathetic eye contact long enough to see if Eva wants it, and then lowers his gaze and pushes a white pawn to D3. He folds his hands onto his lap and stares out into the park, completely still.

[vissernone]

Eva meets his eyes, watches his stride as he approaches, regards him with the same sort of feigned easiness she always has. In this hurricane, he's one of the few who bothered to feel both sides of the equation - the pain of a young life lost and the understanding that Eva believed it a necessity. The realization that love and betrayal are not antonyms, but often lean against each other like sheets of rock before a collapse.

In another world, Eva may have considered Sigma's willingness to listen to her story the same as him defending her.

"Most people forget I'm better suited to the black pieces," she says with a bit of a wry smile. She reaches forward and releases one of her knights, eyes dropping to the board only to make sure she doesn't knock over any other pieces as she makes the leap. "I saw you protect my girl in the Arena."

Eponine. A pet project, if one were to be cynical. A stray. A fragile paper boat in need of a harbor.

[futilecycle]

Sigma stares at the board quite awhile before he makes his move. Eight pawns and a master per side... though he hasn't played chess in nearly a half-century, he's waged similar wars in the past. He sends another pawn forward, wishing to dispose of the lot first. Only once the pawns were wiped out did the real game begin, in his opinion. But then again, he's never been good at chess.

"I did not protect her," he denies, this time not lifting his eye. "I was too late. If I hadn't hesitated, she would still be alive. Forgive me." That was the problem with time magic, it guaranteed that somewhere, sometime, a version of himself came out empty-handed. There always had to be a man who failed, and it seemed that this was the very body that fate had damned, for he was never there when he needed to be, not to save Eponine nor the Earth.

[akingalways]

A rather unlikely opponent appeared. Really, of all of the people to be suddenly sitting across from Eva, Jack was probably one of the last people one might expect.

There had been rumbles about a 'break' between Jack and Calico. No doubt Eva heard of them, somewhere down the line. A fight over schematics. They were disagreeing about how to better their Tributes for the Games, and their creative differences prompted Jack to stop talking to Calico entirely.

Eva likely knew better.

Jack would naturally deny anything else was the matter if she asked.

If he even talked. Not a single insult or quip fell from his lips. He simply looked down at the pieces, his eyes darting to look up at Eva for a few seconds, then just as quickly look back down.

As it was, he did wonder why in the hell he was sitting across from her. Why he'd seen fit to converse with this mere mortal when she'd done what she did. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe he was simply bored. Maybe he liked chess. He didn't, but he knew someone who was good at it. Maybe he'd play.

[vissernone]

Her eyes glance up as she watches a familiar splash of blond hair approaching, an easily-recognizable swagger that she now believes to be at least partially a sham. She hurries her gaze back to her books, although the fact that she stops turning pages stands as an indication that she's watching his knees more than she's reading the words in front of her.

"Silence is a good look on you," she says, finally. She folds the book closed over a dog-eared page and runs her finger down the spine, just to feel it in her hands, something physical. Everything seems fleeting to her these days.

She reached forward and hovers her fingers over a pawn, then selects her knight instead and lead him out.

[akingalways]

"Hn."

He didn't respond with anything other than a grunt. It was quite obvious as he folded his arms - he wasn't sure what to say in response. It was almost surreal being right across from Eva, without it devolving into the usual blowhard vs. drunkard arguments.

And...well. No backing out of the game now that Eva had made her move. Not that Jack would have backed out of the chess game. It simply wasn't his style to back out of a challenge, regardless of how completely and utterly outmatched he might be. Except for one. Because look where it got Ariadne, this woman's son, who knew who else.

He selects a pawn out on the opposite side. He's not all that good at chess and its pretty obvious even just by the way he considered the pieces. Indeed, it had been awhile since he'd played any chess with anyone. Not even with the Director. No...the last time he'd played, it had been back where he used to be from, when he was left alone with a certain young man with a quiet demeanor and dark hair.

Jack always lost to him as well.

For just a moment - it passed quite quickly, thankfully. Jack had to wonder if he'd - if anyone he'd known - had been in that blast as well. But, no, he was probably fine. He was too much of a smartypants to get involved in something stupid like that.

And the other kid...well.

He better not have.

"Your move."

[riptheseams]

Cal, on the other hand, looks completely, well, Cal. Dressed in a high necked, full length jumpsuit (which just happens to be touting a bright pattern of mallard ducks), red stockings, HIGH nude heels, hair curled to perfection, flowers clipped in to her quiff just so and several of her silk bangles up her arms, she doesn't look like a single bad thing has ever happened to her.

Except it has. And now, seeing Eva stood here, Cal has no idea what to do or what to say.

She misses Eva so much. She wishes - she could have done with a friend, to confide in, to cry about - well, everything. To vent her frustrations with Jack and the attitudes of her damn tributes to. But she'd ended the friendship, she sees that now. She'd let herself become just so overrun with emotion - frustration, fear, confusion... she's still confused. Did Eva do it on purpose? And would Cal not have done the same? Maybe? If she had been in on the plot?

All just part of the game. The game that Cal had almost forgotten about. The Game that they were all still playing.

Seeing Eva though, Cal has no idea what to do or say. Eva looks rough - as rough as Cal feels.

After standing dumb for a minute though, she swallows and moves a step closer.

"Hey."
It's quiet - unusual for Cal really, and she can't look at Eva whilst she waits. If she gets no reply in the next five minutes, she's running.

[vissernone]

Eva winces a bit when she sees Cal. She can't help it. There's something about looking at the woman she knows was apprehended, knows was probably tortured, and knowing that she was at the root, rotting from the bottom. Cal wears no visible marks, unlike Eva, and that only leads Eva to wonder what sort of nightmares were creatively bestowed upon the poor woman.

Her poor woman. Cal was once a bosom buddy and while Eva's tried to sever the cord, she's made no such effort for the sentiment.

She knows Cal too well to not see the wounds that float in the air. Cal can only be eaten into apologies, scared into abashment. She wouldn't come slinking back to Eva in a state of muted fear if she'd been left to run her mouth.

Cal's had time to think.

"I didn't know you played chess."

[riptheseams]

Cal, in turn, shrugs.

"I... don't. Not really. You know me, no patience. I don't think enough."

Her eyes meet Eva's then, a silent acknowledgement, that yes, yes she is in trouble - so much trouble that Calico can hardly see the light any more. But she sits anyway, and toys idly with the bishop in front of her.

"How've you bin? You're lookin'... well." She flashes a quirk of her lips.

"I'm jus' lookin' for somewhere to have a picnic - 'bout time I proved meself as a Mentor, innit?"

[gardienne]

After a while, Eva will find herself approached by a familiar face. Eponine's disguised her skinny frame, and Valeria's modifications to her figure - something she's grown to accept and live with now - with a baggy pink jumper and grey sweats rolled up and tucked into the top of her ugg stlye boots. She hugs her arms to her stomach, not out of fear or hunger, just... habit. She looks exhausted as she sinks down into the seat opposite Eva, without a word of greeting. Instead, she smiles, showing off those wonderful false teeth Valeria gives her, and picks up one of Eva's perfectly arranged piences, examining it.

"Is it a game, Madame? What is it?"

There's no need for hellos, for explanations. It's always the same, isn't it? Neither can help the other really, so it's better to not acknowledge that there's anything wrong at all.

[vissernone]

"It's called chess." Eva smiles, teeth meet teeth like distress signals cast across night shores at each other. She can see Eponine's skittishness, but she can also see improvement; where Eponine was once brittle wood, she's now a sapling in spring, pliable. There's growth there, and Eva can only hope that it's more weeds and not mold.

"I could teach you how to play, if you like. You're a smart girl." Eva raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. "And it puts you in control of kings and queens. I'm sure that's a nice reversal of situations."

[gardienne]

Eponine laughs at that. "Yes, that would be nice, Madame. Just fancy, me in charge of a king!"

This is why she likes Eva - Eva always pays her a little compliment, tells her she's pretty or she's clever - and Eponine feeds on that.

"And you would not mind? Perhaps it will help us to forget, for you will have to think hard to explain things to me because sometimes - no. I do not what some people talk about - like Monsieur Enjolras. He talks so much of things I do not know that I am quite lost - but you will not do that, will you?"

[dognapper]

Billy loves the summer heat. He loves the feeling of sweat underneath his knees. He loves the way that his sunglasses turn the entire world purple. He loves parks in the summer because he loves people-watching, and he loves people-watching because sometimes he sees unexpected faces with unexpected bruises. How nice.

"Hello."

He draws out the word like a song, a little crescendo on the 'o,' as he approaches Eva with his bright purple sunglasses and his gaudy shirt printed with little white and blue sailboats. The glee in his voice makes up for the lack thereof in his face. It's as though only half of him is ready to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation, the danger facing them all. The Victors.

"I can't leave you alone for a single fucking minute, can I."

[vissernone]

The sing-song of Billy's greeting is like the ugliest, most dissonant birdsong ever, and when Eva looks up to see him she believes that the outside package matches the tune.

Her lip curls, that little nub of separated flesh on each cloven side flaring around the cut. She sits back, dulls her eyes, flattens her affect. Sitting back, she folds her book closed and cocks her head to the side.

"You know full well that I end up with facial injuries whether or not you're around to protect my fragile body, Bickle." She arches a brow. "Do you play?"

[dognapper]

Billy rolls his eyes. With his otherwise stoic face, he resembles an old-fashioned clock, the hour and minute hands whirring while the face remains steady as ever. (In his bedroom at the Capitol, Billy owns a clock shaped like a cat, and its eyes swing back and forth with every click of its pendulum tail.)

"Come on," he says, because the question is ridiculous. He takes the opposite chair nonetheless, his fingers delicately holding its back as though it were contaminated before sliding into the seat. "Anyway, you got me. We both know you practically live for facial injuries."

He doesn't ask where they came from. Isn't it obvious? He hooks his arm over the chair and frowns at the chess board.

"Some fucking masochistic urge, or whatever. Hey, you got any cards?" He drums his fingers on the board. The game pieces rock. Tremble. "Maybe we can play some Old Maid."

[gruesome]

Some nearly avoided her. He could smell the dried blood under the bandage, and it made his throat feel dry and stiff. He could even smell the bruises, the acid scent of the slow decay and drain of plasma under the skin. The scents of injured human, like a little checklist in the part of his brain that calculated risk and reward.

But he would have to be around them all, from this near-stranger to his best friends here, for another few weeks before the next arena. He couldn't react like this every time.

Indecision kept him at a slight distance still, standing still and quiet and tall in the hat and long white shawl he wore today.

[vissernone]

"Some ovMennet?" She asks, looking up from her book and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear (a bruise hides like a tattoo on the inside of her ear canal, giving it less the appearance of an orifice than of a cave). "You may join me. Unlike some people here, I don't bite."

She flashes an ugly, but genuine, smile, marred by the cut up her lip. "Is the Capitol treating you well?"

[alldeduction]

He'd memorized the note. Knew it by heart, and knew exactly where he had to be.

He watched her, well away, for a long few minutes - tossing the decision over and over in his mind. She was not to be trusted, that much was extremely apparent. But still, his curiosity...

Finally he gave up and walked over, coming to a stop by the table, his shadow casting a brief eclipse over the chess board.

"Looking to play a game?" He asked mildly.

[vissernone]

"I am, if you're looking to be humbled." She smiles at him, revealing more teeth on one side than the other. She gestures for him to sit down and folds her hands together, indicating he should take the white pieces.

"Your friend made it quite far this time." She laces each word with importance, although to anyone outside it would sound like bland smalltalk a Mentor would have with a Tribute. "I watch the Games, of course. It's mandatory."