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The Phantom Librarian
Spewing out too many words since November 2003
HG: The Hanging Tree, Chapter Twenty
Elmer has joined a four person alliance, with Wiress and Ikris from Three, and Simon from Six. This puts Haymitch in an alliance with Beetee and Drake.

Chapter Twenty
When the sun goes down, the price of the blankets goes up exponentially, and I get a good idea of which mentors are in my "group," such as it is. Chaff and Seeder managed to each scrounge up enough earlier, and Blight is unperturbed. Woof wasn't able to get a blanket to his tributes, who were both too near the Career pack to risk a parachute, but he doesn’t seem surprised when they start to shiver. The girl, Helena, obviously has done her time in the textile mills, and manages to do a rough weave of the long grass, which she wraps around her as she hides in the scrubby bushes. It doesn’t seem to be holding together all that well, but it's better than a lot of the kids have.

Meanwhile, the Career mentors seem taken aback (including Mags, which does surprise me a little; she's been on my side so much I assumed that she was, well, on my side). Their remaining five tributes gathered weapons by the armful, but all they have to wrap up in are old sacks. They finally settle for clearing the brush and making camp around a fire, taking turns guarding.

Woof's other tribute, Uri, either doesn't have any mill experience or panics at finding himself alone, cold, and hungry in the wilderness. There's not a lot of wilderness to be alone in around Eight. He managed to snag a small backpack at the Cornucopia, and it quite unfortunately contains matches. He doesn't need to wait for the Careers to hunt him by the light of his fire. He doesn't bank it properly and it catches the dry grass all around him. The Gamemakers have to send a brief thunderstorm to put it out, and by the time it's embers, Uri is dead. Woof covers his head with an ornate scarf, rocks back and forth for a little while, then goes to call the family.

In our team's little hollow, their catchment plan seems to work. With their hands, they've hollowed out a small pool in the center of the hollow, and lined it with half the parachute. Wiress took the other half and made channels where the water erosion lines are, and, while they don't exactly stay dry, they aren't drowned, and protect their supplies. They let the mud in their reservoir, then drink their fill.

Glass, who has come back to the table, wrinkles his nose, but says nothing. I suggest that he might like to recover from his ordeal with a good night's sleep at home. He goes. I expect him to show up on television, but he doesn't.

Around midnight, Rufina takes a call, and hands it to Drake. Drake says, "I'm sorry, Miss Brinn, but I won't be accepting your sponsorship this year."

He hangs up, and doesn't elaborate.

Beetee disappears for a while to get dinner -- I realize that none of us have eaten since lunch -- and when he comes back, Chaff asks if I want to grab a bite. I go back to the mentors' lounge with him. Several hot trays are laid out on a long table, and we help ourselves. A lot of the beds have their draperies pulled, so we keep our voices down.

"I heard even Brutus is on board," Chaff says. "That's kind of a miracle. He'll usually do anything for money."

I look up. I'm not sure we should be talking about this -- the room is certainly bugged.

Chaff shrugs. "I'm pretty sure they've noticed already. Brutus and Albinus turning down money and sex? Faraday Sykes telling a sponsor where to get off? Seeder -- "

"They do that to Seeder?"

"Not like you're thinking. Not all of the deals are about that. That's mostly for you young and beautiful types. The less you look like you did in the arena, the less that kind of sponsor wants you. But we all have our dirty little deals. The only reason you don't is that you haven't been at it long. Eventually, you'll think it's not a big deal to be told what clothes to wear on television, or what kind of soap to use, if they'll give you money for it. Seeder turned down a designer who's been putting her in ridiculous get-ups in return for sponsorship. Beetee's not trading one of his inventions -- there are a few companies that more or less buy his patents with cheap bread for tributes."

"What about you?"

He laughs. "No one's looking for me to sell anything. Handless drunks with a reputation for being crude aren't in great demand. Most of mine are like yours -- just people I happen to get along with."

I take some stew and a roll, and consider the possibility of just letting myself run fat. I've already put on enough that I can't see a single rib anymore. Let the stubble grow out. It seems like a plan. I should wash my hair, though. The shampoo money -- which is still banked -- is pretty good, and didn't come with any strings attached, at least not that I've heard about. I butter the roll. "I have some I haven't spent. What if… I don't get to spend it? Will it be there next year?"

"How uncharacteristically optimistic of you," Chaff says, and pours himself a drink. He offers me one, but I turn it down. "No, you don't get to keep it. Why do you think they push for so many sponsors, and charge so much? That's how they pay for the Games."

"I thought they taxed us for it."

"You think District taxes could pay for all this?" He shakes his head. "No, most of this nonsense comes from what they skim off the gifts and leftover money."

"What about what they pay us?"

"Believe it or not, that's clean," Chaff says. "I was worried that they were taxing my neighbors for it, but it turns out, there's a fund. I don't know everything about how finances work around here, but money makes money, and it started out with a whole lot of money. Victors' salaries come off the interest on it, if you can believe that."

"I don't even know what it means," I say. "So I guess I may as well believe it."

I expect Chaff to tell me that I better learn about how to handle money, since I've got it now and I have to do something with it, but he doesn't. Maybe Beetee knows about money, or Drake does.

I decide not to worry about it. I'm in no danger of running out.

Chaff spends the rest of our supper break talking casually about the other victors, and people he knows in the Capitol. He pokes a little fun at my new bunch of sponsors. "Never would've thought it when I first saw you -- old women and awkward kids. Did you even check to make sure that kid was eighteen?"

"His older brother is signing for it," I say. "It's weird that I'm not old enough to make a donation, and I'm supposed to be taking them."

"You'll be old enough next year. That's the one thing they haven't got fixed yet. You'll just keep getting a year older."

"I still won't be able to donate, will I?"

"No. And don't try to find a workaround. If your baker friend suddenly turns up with huge amounts of money, it'll get him in trouble."

"Fine. So… what's the deal with Brutus, anyway…?"

Drake comes in after a while and kicks me back out to the table so he can eat and maybe get some sleep. I know I should sleep, too, but I've never been less sleepy.

The tributes don't seem to have that problem. They've shored up a ledge around their catchments, and three of them are sleeping. Elmer is on guard. Beetee says he offered since he already got a good hour earlier.

Nothing seems to be happening to them. I guess the Gamemakers really do like to keep things quiet outside of prime viewing times. Now that the Careers have settled in to sleep and aren't out hunting, it must seem like a good time to lay off on the rest.

Beetee goes off to sleep, leaving Vitranio in charge of his station. Rufina stumbles in, looking puffy-eyed, and says that Drake called her in from home to pick up as well. "You could call Ausonius," she suggests. "I doubt there will be a lot of calls at this hour."

I shake my head. The more Glass stays home, the happier I'll be. I do wish I had an escort I could trust for this. Instead, I wait for Drake to finish his nap. He may not be the most charming person ever to live, but I doubt he'll insult my sponsors. He waves me back.

I go among the draped beds. I hear snoring in a few. Earl Bates has left his drapes open, and is sprawled out in his underwear, his big hat on the pillow beside him. I see Miracle's soft blue shoes at the foot of one bed, and Mags's giant tote bag resting by another. One of the Capitol waiters stumbles by me wearily; I guess people can even ask them to bring food in here.

I find an open bed against the back wall, near a small private elevator, and lie down with my hands behind my neck. I stare at the rich draping above me. I could have draped Mom's bed with this kind of cloth, and she'd never have gotten a chill in her life, even if there was a hole all the way through the wall.

I close my eyes and let my mind drift a little bit. I wander around the house I grew up in, quiet as a tomb now. Some things seem to have a little glimmer to them, so maybe I've gotten all the way to dreaming. Daddy's dictionary. Our story books. One of Lacklen's traps. The battered old cook pot that somehow survived the destruction of the house, and now resides in the cellar of my house in Victors' Village.

I should get that cook pot out. Put it on my fancy stove. Fill it up with water and pine needles and something someone's scrounged from the forest, and boil it until it's soup. I should eat it, and read a story about a prince or a dragon or a wizard. I picture myself doing that, wrapping up in the scraps of my old clothes and being who I was before the Games.

Except that the boy who did those things still had a brother, and a mother, even if he knew she was slipping away. He had a best girl who read Capitol fashion magazines and thought they were the funniest thing on earth… but wanted something bright and pretty like they were, anyway. He had a friend named Maysilee who wanted to be more than a friend, and it sometimes took a lot of work to hold that off.

Was Maysilee my friend before the Games?

I open my eyes into the rich silence of the mentors' lounge. I know I knew Maysilee before the Games. She spoke for me once at a meeting of the school board. She told me later that her parents put her up to that. Did she say that before the Games, or was it in the arena? This seems very important, but I can't put it together. What existed before the Games?

I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands shaking. I don't understand why this is important, and I can't stop thinking it is. When was Maysilee my friend?

I can't stay in the bed anymore, even though the timer says I've only been here forty-five minutes. I get up and head down the aisle between the beds again. Mags's tote is gone, but Seeder's silk slippers are on the floor. Earl is up and getting dressed (for some reason, he put his hat on before his pants) and he grunts something that might be "Good morning."

It's just shy of four o'clock in the morning, according to the clock above the buffet. Plutarch Heavensbee is setting out a light breakfast.

He looks up. "You look awful," he says.


"You need sleep."

I shake my head. "I need air. Is there someplace I can get air where they can still find me?"

"Yeah, there is." He picks up a slim black machine that's hooked to his belt, thumbs a button, and says, "I'm taking Haymitch Abernathy out to the patio, okay?"

Someone else's voice comes back, "Patio, check. His tribute is alive. He shouldn't go anywhere else."

Plutarch rolls his eyes. "I don't think it crossed his mind."

I smile.

Plutarch leads me down the grand staircase from the Viewing Center, and into the posh lobby. On screen, I see the main Games broadcast -- at this hour, not really being shown anywhere. Anicia Culpepper from Two and Avaleen Magann from Four are having a fascinating conversation about which of the boy tributes they'd like to "have a turn with" before killing them. I guess the girls don't know that, by the time they're in the arena, there's not much point to a turn.

Plutarch goes through without any comment, though he waves to a plain girl who's delivering folded sheets. He takes me out into the still-dark morning. The Viewing Center sits at the edge of Games Headquarters, high on the side of a hill that looks toward the lake. I can see the lights of the Capitol below us, spreading out toward the blackness of the water. We sit on the edge of a big fountain set in the middle of the flagstone patio. The water of the fountain is the only real sound, though a few distant traffic noises are starting up. There's a spotlight hidden in the water spout, and it highlights the flag of Panem, waving over us all.

"Thanks," I say.

"You really should sleep."

"I know. But I can't."

The door opens again, and the plain girl from inside appears, pushing a rolling tray laden with pastries. A big silver urn sits in the middle of it.

"Coffee," Plutarch says. "If you can't sleep, it'll help you wake up more. Thanks, Fulvia."

The girl pulls something out of the pocket of her big hotel apron and frowns as she waves it around. She shakes her head, and continues walking around. She stops on the far side of the fountain, where a little waterfall spills over.

Plutarch stands up. "You know, the sun will come up soon. It reflects in the lake when it comes up over the mountains. It's pretty. You should see it."

I consider playing stupid just to pay him back for his commentary about Glass, but I decide not to. I follow him around, and sit on a bench by the waterfall beside him. The girl -- Fulvia -- sits on my other side.

"They'll be able to tell we're talking," Fulvia says, "but the bug is on the far side of the fountain. With the water, it shouldn't be able to pick up. And even if it could… well, let's say I have a friend in District Three." She grins brightly and waves the device at me. I have no idea what it is, but it has a green light, which is generally a good sign.

"What does it do?" Plutarch asks.

"Just jams it enough to sound like there's normal interference. I tested it on all the equipment in the audio room, plus that bug that Didius re-wired. As long as we don't start yelling, everything should be fine."

"Great!" Plutarch smiles. "This is my girl, Fulvia Cardew. Fulvia, Haymitch Abernathy. She's one of us."

She reaches over and shakes my hand enthusiastically. "I have your poems. I love them. Who had the lashes? Was that someone you love?"

"It was my friend Danny."

"I've never read anything so angry."

"I was pretty angry when I wrote it."

"'Twenty-five lines, drawn in flesh, and I will cross them all,'" she quotes, her eyes closed in solemn meditation. This is a strange sensation. Other than Hazelle Purdy's mockery, no one else has ever recited my poems to me. She opens her eyes. "We're going to help you cross them, you know."

"Right now, Haymitch has the Games to worry about," Plutarch reminds her.

Fulvia hisses like a wounded cat and wrinkles her nose.

Plutarch hands me a cup of coffee. "Do you drink coffee?"

"I've had it, but not much."

"I like mine with a lot of sugar and milk," Fulvia says. "Plutarch takes it black. How do you want it?"

I take a sip of it plain. It tastes pretty vile. "Let's get some sugar on this."

She smiles and does my cup up the way she has hers.

I taste it. It's much better. I take a deep breath of the cool air. Near the water, it has a kind of odd, almost metallic taste. It's not unpleasant, and looking out over the lights of the Capitol is strangely calming. Now I can see the lights of a few cars moving along the streets. I imagine them as the fireflies that sometimes flicker in the evening at home. "Thanks for bringing me out," I say. "It's nice out here."

"I'm sure it's better in the districts," Fulvia says.

"It's about six o'clock at home," I say. "Streets are full of miners shouting back to the kids to pick up their damned things before they go to school."

Fulvia looks at me avidly, like she wants to have a notebook where she can record this exotic bit of tribal business. If I say much more, I feel like she might actually stun me with chloroform and pin me to a wall somewhere. Twelvus Abernathus, a rare specimen indeed. "It must be wonderful not to live in the Capitol," she says. "To be someplace where you're so much closer to nature, and to the way things are supposed to be."

"Mostly, we're starving and worrying about getting reaped."

"That's only because it's imposed on you."

I tip my coffee cup at her in agreement. "True enough."

She tips hers back when she realizes it's meant as a toast.

"I've been thinking about what you asked me," Plutarch says. "About why I'm doing this."

"I thought it was for freedom."

"Not just freedom." He frowns. "Law."

"Freedom and… law. Don't we have enough law?"

"There's no law in Panem. Just rules." He wrinkles his nose disdainfully. "It's just the rule of the strongest person imposing things on weaker people. Law says you can't do that."

"Good luck with that," I say. We sit in silence for a few minutes. The first faint light is coming into the sky. I pour myself more coffee. "Why do you care, though?" I ask. "You've got your coffee and lots of sugar for it."

"Even in the Capitol, some of us know right from wrong," Fulvia says.

Plutarch shrugs. "That's pretty much it. And anyway, I bet you don't have to sweep for bugs in many places in District Twelve, just to make sure no one knows you're saying something off the approved list of opinions."

"In Victors' Village, I do."

"Yeah, well, that's just a Capitol colony, isn't it?" He leans forward. "You don't know what it's like here, Haymitch. There's money and no reaping, but you never know what's going to set someone off about you. It's hard to talk to anyone. You have to agree with everything, or you end up being made to agree."

"How do they do that?"

"Re-education," Fulvia says.

"What is that? The Gamemakers said I could end up re-educated. Is it torture or something? Prison?"

"Nothing like that, unless they mean to do it differently for a District citizen," Plutarch says.

"How do you know?"

"There's no secret about it. People come out and talk about it, about how it changed their lives."

"My friend Plautia got re-educated," Fulvia says. "She's always trying to bring me in to the center. She says I'll be happier… like I have any business being happy while the districts are oppressed!" She looks at me as though I've accused her of the great crime of considering happiness.

"Anyway," Plutarch says, "at first, they take you in and just keep you secluded from your old friends. They only let you talk to people who think right."

Fulvia nods. "Then it's fun things. Excursions on the lake -- you can see the boats sometimes -- and fancy parties and pep rallies with dancing and music. That's what Plautia keeps inviting me to…"

"People go without being dragged there?" I ask.

"Yeah." Plutarch grimaces. "All the time. It's a big thing in school. They don't call it re-education when you go that way. They call it Capitol Dreams. You have to be invited to their events, but it's a huge deal to get invited. Sometimes, kids do it just because of that. Other times… well, it's a pretty common way of proving that you're compliant, or for parents to prove that their kids are. A lot of the kids who show up for Games events are Capitol Dreamers. I was when I was little. It was the year Chaff won. I was toting around trays at the Victory Tour party at the president's house. Then I saw this poor kid, the same age as my brother, with his hand cut off. I couldn't square it. It took me a while to put the pieces together, even then."

"It's easy to get distracted here," Fulvia adds.

"I might never have come around except that Fulvia's… well, someone Fulvia knows… had a stash of old papers. I read them. Did you read the one I gave you?"

"Not yet."

"Read it. It matters." He looks over his shoulder. "They're going to get suspicious pretty soon if they can't tell what we're saying."

"Isn't that why you're a Gamemakers' apprentice?" I ask. "So they don't get suspicious?"

"Yes. If I weren't, they'd have been down here the second they realized the bug was faulty. But we're still running out of time."

I nod. "So they re-educate you by sending you to parties?"

"You say that like you think it wouldn't work."


"It's not the parties," Fulvia says. "It's the acceptance. They love you into compliance. And there's usually no one else around to love you."

"What about your parents?"

"Oh, this is usually older kids," Plutarch says. "Teenagers, mostly -- high school and college. With the little kids, it's usually the parents who are afraid of getting shut out."

"Their parents don't love them?"

"Of course they do!" Fulvia shakes her head. "Even the Capitol can't train that out! But that's not the kind of love you want when you're that old!" She laughs to herself, clearly finding this apparent oddness of the districts amusingly backward.

"Anyway," Plutarch says, "that's what you need to watch for. With all of us -- me and Fulvia included. If you see us anywhere near Capitol Dreams, do not trust us. If they grab me, I'll see if I can scar myself so you know, but keep an eye out, anyway. I may have to pretend to be at a lot of parties and wear fancy clothes, but Capitol Dreams is the line I won't cross unless they make me. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. No Capitol Dreams. Got it."

Fulvia abruptly kicks me in the ankle, and I see that she's looking over her shoulder. She laughs loudly. "So, is it really true that you and Maysilee were having a forbidden affair in District Twelve?"

I see security coming outside, four attendants with billy clubs. "Oh, yeah," I improvise. "Once she even walked home with me. A real scandal on the Seam, walking together."

"In the Capitol, you'd have to be doing a lot more than that for a scandal," Plutarch adds jovially. "You'd probably have to -- oh, hi, are we running late?"

The security guards look at us with only mild suspicion when they recognize Plutarch's uniform. The woman who seems to be in charge says, "They lost track of you upstairs. We were just supposed to make sure everything is all right."

"We're fine," I say. "Just waiting for the sun to rise."

But before the sun rises, cars start to arrive. One of the first, a low-slung mint-green convertible, disgorges Ausonius Glass.

He looks at me with great distaste, then heads inside.

I stand up. "I better go mind my phone."
12 comments or Leave a comment
From: (Anonymous) Date: March 6th, 2014 12:23 pm (UTC) (Link)

As Always...

Just lovely world building. Loving the alliance, etc. Lovely take on the young Fulvia. So terribly *serious*.

So, now I'm less surprised that Plutarch gets back into his Gamemaker's apprenticeship after being re-educated, but I really, really want to know how Fulvia managed to undo the damage after he came out. I would ask for that in a challenge call, but I don't think it's the kind of thing that can be adequately addressed in a one-shot.

Sara Libby
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 6th, 2014 03:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: As Always...

I think that Fulvia's mention about how people didn't often have someone who loved them outside the group is the key. Plutarch did -- he had Fulvia. He was probably kept from seeing her for a long time, but she strikes me as a pretty darned dogged type.
redrikki From: redrikki Date: March 6th, 2014 02:51 pm (UTC) (Link)
I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love your world building. Everything from how the games are financed to how they re-educate Capitol people is so perfect and so brilliant. Of course they re-educate people with Stockholm Syndrome, of course they fund the games with sponsors. Young Fluvia is actually kind of hilarious in her earnestness.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 6th, 2014 03:40 pm (UTC) (Link)
Heh, I find older Fulvia sort of hilarious in her earnestness, too (and her cluelessness -- of course no one in Thirteen would possibly question Plutarch!)

I was struck with an interest in cult brainwashing techniques early in my life, and the isolation and "love bombing" is one of the most effective, especially for lonely people. For some reason, I get the impression that the Capitol would be a very lonely place to live.
From: (Anonymous) Date: March 7th, 2014 12:02 am (UTC) (Link)
I wanted this chapter to go and on. Your conception of the Capitol is so detailed and it makes so much sense. I, too, am fascinated by Fulvia and Plutarch's relationship now. Thanks for writing such well thought out stories. I really enjoy reading them!
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 7th, 2014 04:00 am (UTC) (Link)
Glad you like them! I've been thinking a lot about the Capitol, and honestly... poverty and reaping be damned, I think I'd rather live in the districts.
sonetka From: sonetka Date: March 7th, 2014 01:41 am (UTC) (Link)
Twelvus Abernathus

That's fantastic. You know, your Haymitch reminds me so much of my eldest brother when he was a teenager -- he talked a lot like that (and still does, to some extent). Except the occasion when he said that he felt like a specimen which should be labeled with a Latin name was when he came back from boot camp and a bunch of our relatives were treating him like a zoo exhibit.

As for Plutarch and Fulvia ... there's a lot they don't know, but I like them. Fulvia's romanticizing about how "real" the districts are sounds silly, but she does have a point -- when you're living in a society where about a third of the residents are Stasi operatives, how do even think your own thoughts safely? You end up suppressing even those just to make sure nothing slips out by accident (as Effie learned last year when she incautiously said that it was sad Haymitch lost his friend). But they're going to get busted pretty soon if they spend too much time by that fountain.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 7th, 2014 04:03 am (UTC) (Link)
Fulvia is like a lot of earnest young college students I've known. It's got to be cringe-worthy to be on the other side of their academic crushes, but they completely and utterly mean it.

I think that their rebellion is sort of Revenge of the Policy Wonks. But policy wonks can be kind of sweet, in a deranged way.
From: queen_bellatrix Date: March 7th, 2014 04:25 am (UTC) (Link)

Typos and Thoughts

packs risk a parachute Think you missed a to before risk. Also, did you mean pack or packs, here? Later, Haymitch says that the career mentors are shocked by the blanket prices, and that their remaining five tributes start a fire and huddle around it, which would make sense with 3 career districts, and the one tribute being killed by Simon. I just went and looked in the other chapters, and I can't find any evidence of them splitting up, but I easily could be missing it.

according the clock Think you missed a to before clock.

draped in Mom's bed with

Think you may have changed this sentence a bit in editing and forgotten to take out the in before Mom's?

good sign." Think you accidentally originally put the opening quote for your next bit of dialogue at the end of a thought instead.:) All the quotes for the next bit of dialogue ar intact; you'll just need to get rid of that one.

This chapter reminded me a lot of the chapter just after Haymitch got home in EOTW; a quiet, desperately necessary interlude with family, if chosen rather than blood this time, before all hell breaks loose.

I keep saying this, but damn, I like your Chaff.:d

Reeducation is terrifying as described here, and frighteningly effective. We're, by nature, social creatures, and particularly in a place like the Capitol that's so near to sensory overload, sensory depravation (because I seriously doubt you get books/television while you're secluded), followed by love bombing...yeah, that would work really well. Do you think that's how they reeducate everyone, including older adults; I only ask because Plutarch emphasized it being teenagers in Capitol Dreams, so I wondered if the methods got harsher as people aged because of their beliefs/morality being more firmly set?

I know you've described Eight as cripto-Jewish; can you explain the custom with the elaborate scarf and the rocking? I've tried to do some Googling, because if there's one thing that fascinates me even more than history, it's comparative religions, but I don't think I'm putting in the right things because I'm drawing a blank.

And what did someone do; threaten to beat the crap out of Brutus? Because that's about the only way I can see him getting on board.

I love Drake's really calm refusal of Brinn's sponsorship deal.

A couple of other things I really enjoyed were Haymitch using who realized about the blanket prices to categorize the mentors, and his decision not to call Glass. If he ever let that man know he needed anything from him, the power balance he's slowly gaining would be shot all to hell in a second.

And Gods, while I respect the hell out of Plutarch for beating reeducation and Fulvia for helping him...the saccharine earnestness and pomposity from both of them; they actually mellowed with age, and I didn't think that was possible!

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 7th, 2014 04:34 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Typos and Thoughts

I'll grab those typos -- thanks, as always! (I guess that random quotation mark wandered over from one of the segments where I forgot it...)

It is a quiet kind of chapter, and I thought Haymitch needed to take a breath. I figured I could also use it to elaborate on Plutarch and Fulvia.

I don't know how they re-educate older people. They may just call them traitors and make them disappear.

The scarf is a tallit, a prayer shawl, though probably tweaked enough that it doesn't seem obvious. Swaying while praying, or davening, is traditional, too. (Here is Chabad's educational page on it.) He's most likely saying the Kaddish.

I think it was actually Drake who put the fear of... well, Drake... into Brutus. Brutus was his tribute, too.

And yes, dear Lord, there's a pomposity level going on with Plutarch and Fulvia, and at this point, they're teenagers who believe they've just discovered The Truth.

Edited at 2014-03-07 04:39 am (UTC)
willowlistener From: willowlistener Date: March 8th, 2014 06:40 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Typos and Thoughts

I'm getting a little lost. Was Drake killed in the centre when haymitch, jack and the kid from 2 escaped and tried to meet Plutarch.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: March 8th, 2014 06:42 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Typos and Thoughts

I'll get to what happened to Drake. He wasn't in the Viewing Center, though.
12 comments or Leave a comment