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)
thecapitol2013-07-30 11:48 pm
vissernone) wrote in thecapitol2013-07-30 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
Nothing's Changed [Open]
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.
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.
no subject
"Or you could tell me, and I'll pretend to act surprised, if you'd rather."
One of the things he could appreciate about this place was just how easy it was for a man with the right questions to get all the answers he needed. It was often as simple as asking for copies of the old footage, the old interviews.
no subject
"And how is Mentoring treating you? How is your District, with their new denfather?"
no subject
Irony, it seemed, was yet another of those universal truths.
As for his tributes, however....
His amusement faded with his dry exhale.
"I'm afraid some of my tributes did not live up to the Gamemakers standards of entertainment this arena and have not returned."
Whether he found that troubling, or was merely disappointed was hard to say.
no subject
She leans back, drumming her fingers along the spine of her book. "Tell me, do you have a plan for your District's dominance?"
no subject
"Plans are all well and good, but still ultimately futile if there's no one to see them through."
no subject
"You expect neither of us will live long enough for them to come to fruition?"
no subject
"I'm saying that no one piece can take the board."
no subject
no subject
"In who's game? Theirs?" A pale brow arched, head tipping by a fraction as the serpent eyes narrowed behind the dark glass. "...Or yours?"