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
She reached again for Eva's hand. "I know they have done the same to you. Does it not hurt you? Does it not make you mad? Does it not make you hate this stupid place and the STUPID man who has control? It is like in Paris. Always I thought in Paris that the king was stupid, a horrible man. Always I wished that there was something I could do. but no, there, I just had to wait to die and for it to be over so. But here - I think we have more power to say no. It is this that I hold to - that the others will stop fighting, that the stupid man will die and I can stay here always. I do not think it will happen - but you have taught me hope, so Ishall hope for that, at least."
no subject
Eva leans over the table and presses a fingertip to Eponine's lips.
"You do have something, Eponine. It is something beyond the mere words we have for virtues. You know the core of an apple? What they've wicked away is meat, but the seeds remain intact."
no subject
"Yes I know apple cores. I used to eat them a lot. You think I am like that? The bit in the middle? I think you think too much of me, or perhaps you tell me so to make me feel good. Well..."
She grinned. "I do not care if you do, for it has worked. Madame, always you make me feel happy inside."
no subject
no subject
She sighs. She hates to see Eva sad. If Eponine had her way, Eva would have almost everything in the world. Dresses, a house - a nice house, friends, family... But Eponine never gets her way.
"Don't be scared of them. This is what I tell myself. Not to be afraid. Not to care."
no subject
"And it's a good thing, to be able to detach like that. We must, to survive."
no subject
She reaches for Eva's hand, stroking it away from her hair to instead touch Eponine's cheek. She cuddles it gently.
"I learned to survive in Paris when I was eight years old, Madame. I have survived since then - and always will it be so. Only, Madame... You are a good friend to me. You are the nicest lady I know. But do not fear for me. I am stupid and skinny but I am tough as well. Do as you must and worry not for me."