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The Phantom Librarian
Spewing out too many words since November 2003
These Are The Names, Chapter 8
Effie and Haymitch have a rather large fight after he explodes at her when she kisses him, but he understands that he's in the wrong and apologizes, promising her that it will never happen again. She agrees to stay, but doesn't join him at the Viewing Center for the remainder of the Games.

Chapter Eight
The Games go on for another four days, though they're mostly taken up by the inner district alliance's unsuccessful hunt for the boy from District Ten. They are routinely attacked by mutts, but they've clearly learned to deal with it. At one point, Harris cuts the head off of a mutt bird (not unlike the birds that attacked Maysilee Donner, though white instead of pink) and shakes it at the sky. He yells something, but we don't hear what it is. There's a great deal of speculation on the street about what he says. Having been privy to a few of his outbursts, I'm guessing it had something to do with the District Four genetic sweep, but of course, that's not public knowledge. They haven't even mentioned Glass's death yet.

Since none of this is very interesting to watch for long stretches, the programming during mandatory viewing has a lot of filler material.

Claudius Templesmith does a special on victors behaving badly, which features Haymitch rather prominently. To Miss Meadowbrook's embarrassment, it includes him sneaking out of her bedroom in the middle of the night, along with a general run of his drunken escapades. This segues to a live shot of him in a bar, huddled over drinks with Chaff, though neither of them is doing anything especially scandalous at the moment. We also see Brutus dancing half-naked with about a dozen different good-looking men, Mags teasing the cameras at the District Four seaside resort by ducking behind a planter then waving her bikini top around, and Berenice Morrow being arrested for morphling abuse in District Six.

Other than that, there are hours of Games analysis, replays from favorite Games in the past (they don't play anything from either Quell, oddly), and interviews with the victors who are in town, but not mentoring. There are features on the districts that the remaining tributes come from. We've seen plenty of One, Two, and Four, but the feature on Ten is something new, and sparks a barbeque craze on the street for a day. Some of the victors with performing talents perform on Caesar's stage.

People get restless.

On the fourth day after we lose Babra, the inner district kids finally catch up with District Ten and kill him quickly. Tourmaline and Lucia, who've been chafing under Harris's hard direction -- and who are sick of the mutt attacks that seem to be directed at him -- choose to attack him as soon as the cannon goes off.

Harris kills them both, and becomes the fifty-ninth victor of the Hunger Games. He's managed to get through the Games without a single injury. This means that the wrap-up is just as quick as the Games. I go to City Center and watch with several other people from Capitol Dreams as the official version is released. There's very little in it about Trill and Babra. It's all about Harris defeating mutts and ordering his alliance partners around.

There is a banquet that night (I am not invited, and neither is Haymitch), and the next morning, the victors have to catch their trains home with the bodies of their tributes.

I go to the station.

Haymitch is quite drunk, but he doesn't harass me. He's sullen. He says hello. He's sitting between the two coffins. I open them to say goodbye. Babra's hair has been carefully combed, but her poor face is slashed in four places. The wounds are open, but not bleeding. I think I'll see those cuts in my head for a long time.

Trill is cleaned up. He doesn't look like he's sleeping. He is obviously dead. But he has no visible wounds. I bend down and kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder, and I turn to him. There is nothing of our frenzied kiss here. I feel like a small child in a haunted house, and he's a child there with me, and we're just trying to convince each other that there are no ghosts. We hold onto each other for a long while and don't talk, then the District Six crew of the train tells me that I have to leave.

I go back to my life, and Haymitch goes back to his.

A week after the victors leave, there's a small announcement in the news that long-time District Twelve escort Ausonius Glass passed away after "a sudden illness" in District Four, where he'd been recently reassigned. No mention is made of murder, or of the missing escort who committed it. I know I'm not allowed to discuss it.

The Games escorts all attend the celebration of Glass's life, but no one there seems to have any fond memories of him. His ashes are scattered. There's no cemetery in the Capitol, though there are a few memorial gardens for prominent citizens. I know that they exist in the Districts, because the tributes are buried, but I think that must be one of the punishments they're supposed to endure -- the constant reminders of death. In the Capitol, we just have the life celebration, then the scattering, which is done in something like a fireworks show above the desert outside the city. The ashes go up in a rocket, which explodes in the lower atmosphere and releases them amid a shower of bright sparks.

I start looking for an apartment the next day.

"You know," Miss Meadowbrook says as we go through listings, "you do have a nice salary, and it sounds like Caesar Flickerman means to keep you around. Maybe you should look for a house."

"What do I need with a house? It's just me."

"I have a house, and it's just me." She smiles. "Of course, I stay here most of the time because it's so lonely wandering around in there. But you may as well own something substantial while you're staying somewhere else. You will be staying with us sometimes, won't you?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. Another girl will probably want my bed."

"I suppose…"

"You could visit me sometimes. Nothing wrong with a new view."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all."

But when I get my apartment, I don't end up seeing much of Miss Meadowbrook. She helps me find it and arranges for the boys to help me move in. She even helps me buy furniture and get through all of the paperwork with the bank. But she retreats to Capitol Dreams when she sees that I've framed the picture I took of Haymitch at the lake, and put it up on the little glass knick-knack shelves by the fireplace, along with a few others. (I thought long and hard about it, given what happened moments after I took the picture, but I decide that I want a picture of him, and it's the only decent one I've got. The picture of me, I put in a drawer.)

I have my own place.

For a few weeks, it is my pet project. I rearrange the furniture several times, I set up my closet, I paint the walls. But after a while, I realize that I'm completely alone. The neighbors are all a good deal older than I am. I miss Capitol Dreams.

I turn eighteen. Most of the people I know give me little things for the apartment. Domitia gives me pictures of all of my friends. Glaucia helps me suit up my kitchen. Junius offers to "decorate the bedroom for a few nights," but when I tell him to get over it, just gives me a very pretty painting for the wall. Leon doesn't have much money, but he works as a carpenter, and builds me a nice seat in my bay window.

Other than things for the apartment, Miss Meadowbrook gives me a session with her favorite designer and two dresses of my choice, and Caesar Flickerman sends me flowers. Three days after my birthday, I get a package from Haymitch. It has absolutely delicious cookies baked by a friend of his, and, of all things, a book of fairy tales. There's a picture on the front of a black-haired princess wishing on a star, and beautiful painted illustrations every few pages inside. On the inside cover, he's written, Don't let me wreck them for you. They're good stories, and believe it or not, I like them. Always, H.

I have never owned a book before. I've borrowed them, of course -- it's not that I don't read -- but books are so much paper, and everyone talks about how they break up decorating schemes, so I never bought one to keep. I feel quite sophisticated. I decide to read one story each week until I’m finished. I'm not sure what to do with it after that.

There are two major projects that I feel I need to take care of. The first is a failure. I apply to get a personal comm, on the argument that my victor needs to be able to reach me during the Games, but I'm turned down. Caesar tells me not to take it personally; escorts are rarely approved for them. Most government officials don't get them. It's all about security. "They like to keep it limited," he says. "I'm not sure it needs to be, technically speaking, but since it's used by the government, I think they like to avoid overheard chatter."

He knows a lot about the subject. Communications history is apparently his hobby. He tells me an unbelievable story about a time when people routinely carried personal comms, all on different systems, but that was before a lot of the atmosphere was destroyed, and things called "satellites" fell to Earth. I don't understand all of it, but they used to be able to get around the curve of the earth without cables. When the satellites went down, they had to re-create the entire system, and the people doing it, according to Caesar, "decided that personal communications weren't a priority." The Capitol has the limited system that the government uses, set up with the antenna stations around the city; the districts have nothing.

At any rate, I don't get a personal comm. I try to call Haymitch on the regular cabled phone to tell him (since I promised I would), but his line just rings and rings. I finally write him a letter, and he writes back to tell me that he ripped the phone out of the wall years ago, and has no intention of putting it back.

My other major project is more successful. I go to a doctor, and he's able, with a series of intensive treatments, to get rid of the scars on my head, or at least minimize them enough that I could go without a wig if I want to. This takes four months, during which I'm as bald as a cue ball under my wigs, and my head stings like fire while the chemicals work on dissolving the scar tissue. Even after it's over, though, I can't seem to go without my wig without thinking that people are pointing at me and laughing.

I’m a month into this process when Firmina Sanders sends me an official invitation to her picnic in the Grove. It's in honor of Founding Day, so I wear a wig in the red and black of the flag, though it's far too warm and sunny to wear matching clothes. Instead, I choose a lightweight white and yellow dress.

I make a lot of contacts, and set up sponsor meetings for Haymitch during training days for next year. There are a lot of younger relatives present -- people who would never live somewhere as out-of-fashion as the Grove, but who don't seem to mind enjoying their families' hospitality. Miss Sanders' neighbor has a large swimming pool, and the younger people at the picnic drift over there. Miss Sanders makes a point of taking me over and introducing me to her grand-nephew, a comic named Genesius Arlen. We spend the rest of the picnic together, and he takes me home. He's actually a very nice man, and we date for a few weeks. After we break up, I watch his act in clubs obsessively, hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to start telling jokes about me. He doesn't, and when he spots me one evening, he promises that he won't. As far as I know, he keeps that promise.

In November, I get another letter from Haymitch, this one all business. Lepidus has gone into retirement, to work exclusively in his fashion house. Atilia will be going with him, since she decided to remain with his label rather than his Games team. I need to be the point person for finding a new stylist team, and need to talk to Caesar Flickerman about it. Haymitch has also sent him a letter, authorizing me to make the decisions in case there is any doubt.

Caesar laughs at this when I get to his office. "Yes, I got the letter. He spent a good four paragraphs explaining that he trusts you, and there will be no need to second guess you. He'll sign whatever you decide on… it was quite adamant for a matter that really only required him to sign the form I sent."

"He doesn't want a say?"

"No, Miss Trinket. He just trusts you to respect what he wants."


He calls his secretary, Peri, to bring in a pile of portfolios. "Now, our custom is to allow the new stylist to choose a district, and the remaining stylists will be shuffled around in a draft. In practice, the escorts usually woo the new stylist to choose their districts. I don't know how much luck you'll have." He hands me one of the portfolios. "The new woman is Andronica Finley. She'll be bringing her business partner, Evodia. Do you think she would be a good match for Twelve?"

I look at the pictures. I personally like the clothes, but she seems very much in love with fiddly little embellishments. I don't know how well she'd mesh with Twelve.

"I'm not sure," I say. I bite my lip. "You know, I was looking last year. The stylist from Three isn't bad at all."

"Well, the district that's lost the stylist gets the first 'draft pick,' so to speak, so if the new stylist doesn't choose Twelve, you'll get the choice of the rest of the field. I'd advise you to meet with all of them, though."

"Of course! I'd want one who wants a chance to work with Twelve. If they feel like they've been stolen away, they won't do their best work."

Caesar nods, pleased. "Very good. We'll have a lunch tomorrow for everyone to meet the new stylist, and all of the old ones. You're new, so you may have a time of it with them, but I think you'll be fine. Is this your first off-season duty?"

"No. I've been working with sponsors."

"Haymitch lets you near his sponsors? He does trust you."

I smile. I take home the portfolios from all of the stylists, and stay up late studying them. I like a lot of the costumes, but none are screaming "Twelve" to me.

Lunch the next day is in the viewing center lounge. I try to talk to Andronica -- or even Evodia -- and get a cold shoulder when they learn I work for District Twelve, which makes me think they aren't that good a match, anyway. I'm not terribly impressed with the young stylist from Three when I meet him, though at least he talks to me. He thinks that District Twelve might need "special attention," given their unsavory mentor. I smile politely and move on.

Andronica seems to be heavily involved in conversations with the escorts from One and Four. The District Five escort was promoted to District Four, and now Five has a new boy. I try to talk to him, but he's busy trying to get Evodia's attention. I'll make friends with him later, I guess. He'll probably need some help next year.

The current stylists for One and Four steer clear of me when I go near them, which I take to mean that they're not interested in District Twelve, which means that I'm not interested in them. I guess maybe I should try -- they wouldn't be working in the inner districts if they weren't good -- but I think they wouldn't give us everything. I want to make the choice right.

I end up talking to the stylist from District Nine, Philippa Simms, for most of the meeting. She talks a lot about how much she respects the wheat farmers, and the hard, back-breaking hours that they work. I tell her what little I know about coal mining -- I decide that I have to learn more -- and we have a pretty decent conversation. I'm not blown away by her designs, but I decide that, if she doesn't run screaming, she's someone we can work with.

At the end of the lunch, Andronica chooses District One. Caesar announces that I have first pick, and I see stylists backing toward the shadows and hiding behind plants.

I ignore them. Philippa isn't running forward eagerly, but she's not hiding, either. I call her.

She and her assistant smile bravely and come over to join me. The rest of the escorts choose in a random, lottery-drawn order. District Five has an early pick and snags the former District One stylist, and District Nine picks up the District Five man, who was looking a little panicked. Everyone else just speaks for the stylists they already have.

I write to Haymitch to tell him my decision. He agrees that the choices were limited, and is happy with the criteria I used. I ask him where I can learn about coal mining, and he sends me a book they use in school. If you come up some time before the Games, you can have a tour of the mines like we used to get in school. Philippa, too, if she wants to. But you'll have to wear a breathing filter. You don't want to breathe in the dust. And bring work boots. If you don't have any, bring money to buy them from Cartwright's. Those crazy shoes you wore last year won't cut it in the mines.

Philippa and I discuss it, and I do put in for a travel permit, but they don't approve it. I apologize to Haymitch. He brushes it off, and sends permission for me to use his Capitol library privileges. He gives me a list of books and films recommended by the mining safety teacher at the District Twelve school.

I don't understand everything I read and watch, and even what I do understand is completely foreign to me. Giant drills, blasting caps, and a giant tub of water that somehow separates coal from trash rock. Dirty men and women in dark and cramped tunnels, with railroad tracks that run deep into the earth. All of the pictures show them looking miserable. I wonder if they all are miserable. I suppose I would be if I had to work down there in all that gloom.

I put together the images that I think are most interesting: The rickety looking supports that line the tunnels, the men with dirty faces but clean eyes under their goggles, the black water that's spun out of the freshly bathed coal. (I have to double-check why on earth they wash coal, but it turns out to be mundane -- they use floatation to separate the coal from the trash-rock.) I feel like I'm only getting part of the picture. I want to ask Haymitch more about it, but he doesn’t like talking about Twelve, and he warned me that they'd never see me as anything other than the person who calls their children to die. I'll have to rely on other sources. Maybe I should talk to their young mayor when I go for the Reaping.

I get some pamphlets meant for officials and liaisons being sent to Twelve, but these are mostly glossy pictures of the small, walled compound adjacent to the mining office, where the rare officials live and are advised not to leave unless it's necessary. No reason is given for this.

I take everything I've gathered to Philippa's studio.

She frowns at the pictures. "I don't know how much I can do with this. They're in coveralls and they are head-to-toe dirt." She thinks about it. "Look at the way it's perfectly clean around the eyes, though. Maybe I can work with that somehow. And the mines themselves -- the way the light just gets swallowed up in the black. Maybe…" She bites her lip, and sends her files away with a little boy she has sweeping the floors ("He's desperate to learn about designing, and I hate cleaning," she explains, "so it works out well").

She has her winter show to do, but promises that she'll have sketches for me by the beginning of April.

There is nothing else I need to do until then.

I spend the winter enjoying the Capitol. I ski with my friends. I go to shows in the theater district. Miss Meadowbrook is starring in a musical. She plays a liaison assigned to a district after the Dark Days (it's hinted to be District Seven, since there are a lot of woods around, but never identified per se). The people are sullen and beaten, but she gets them cheered up and happy to be in the world again. All of the reviewers love her. I see it three times.

I go to the banquet at the President's Mansion when Harris's Victory Tour comes to town. He'll be in the Viewing Center next year, so I make an effort to meet him. He seems to have calmed down a bit since the Games. He tells me that he's sorry about what he did to Trill. "I’m sorry about a lot, actually," he mutters before catching a stern look from his mentor and etching on an unconvincing smile. I wonder if he really is sorry. I think of Trill, face down in the mud, drowning before he reached the Cornucopia.

I wonder if he'd have done the same to Harris, if he'd had the skill and the chance. And I realize something: Every victor in the Viewing Center has killed children from the districts of every other victor. They find a way to deal with it. I guess I need to find a way as well. It's the nature of the Games.

I can't think of anything else to say, so I ask, "Is your mother all right?"

"Yeah. She's good. They really only kept her until -- " He blanches, realizing at the same time I do that I asked about something that's not on the record. "Well, she was sure sorry she missed the goodbye hour. That's all."

I go to Philippa's show, and make a point of ordering three outfits. It's not exactly a rule, but everyone knows that escorts should wear their stylists' lines. I get my picture taken, and in March, I'm a small part of a spread in a magazine about Games fashions. To my surprise, people write in to the next issue and compliment me. They love my wigs. I guess it's not bad that I still feel odd without them.

When spring comes, I visit Philippa's studio again. She's been very busy since the fashion spread, but she has her Games sketches ready. She's got the tributes in black this year, instead of in variations of the coveralls, and she'll be working their make-up to highlight the way the miners' eyes seem clean when everything else is covered with dust. There will also be little bits of trick cloth that will light up in a certain spectrum, but disappear as soon as the light changes. It's interesting, technically, but I'm not sure it'll get much attention. I smile and tell her it's wonderful, but I'm a little concerned. It's my first major choice as an escort. I'm nervous.

I set up six more sponsor meetings for Haymitch. They're new people, not his usual run of old women. They're younger and more fashionable, have more money that they're willing to throw around, and will get more opportunities to talk up the tributes they're sponsoring. I've vetted them to make sure they're not going to do anything that will make him fly off the handle. They all seem decent. Now, I just have to hope that Haymitch won't do anything to set them off. I'm not looking forward to having a conversation with him about proper Capitol manners. These new people will not be as charmed as the Daughters by a backwoods accent and a faint, daring whiff of naughtiness. They'll also expect the tributes to be polished.

I think Haymitch will do as I suggest. The money will help his tributes, and if there's one thing I'm absolutely sure about, it's that he cares about them.

Caesar gives the final production team assignments two weeks before the Reaping, and I meet with our cameramen and site producers several times at Games Headquarters. Since we won't get there until the morning of the reaping this year, the schedule will be tight. I get everything down to the minute. I spend a lot of time on the phone with Mayor Undersee, to make sure everything on the ground is in place. I also learn that his daughter has picked up several words, and will be reciting poetry any day now.

We all board the train early in the morning the day before. Philippa has loaded a car with wardrobes in several sizes, but she stays behind to get a start on the costumes, so that all they'll need is quick alterations when we get back.

I stay up a good part of the night worrying that something will go wrong. (I don't really count Haymitch being drunk as part of this; I'm assuming it in my calculations, and have some pills in my purse to speed up the process of getting it out of his system.) I find myself wandering to the cold car at the back, where Haymitch's chair is set up between two platforms, which will most likely bear two coffins at the end of the Games. I stare at it for a long time.

The train gets in to District Twelve at around nine-thirty in the morning, and I deploy the team into the square. My plan is to go to Victors' Village and get Haymitch up in time to get him presentable, but Mayor Undersee stops me. He's carrying his little girl.

"Danny Mellark collected him this morning," he says. "Wanted to sober him up. It's been a bad few weeks. He's up at the bakery now." The baby reaches out and grabs at my wig. "Sorry," the mayor says, grinning. "I think she just wanted to touch the pretty lady."

"Pid-lay," Madge agrees.

I disentangle her fingers. Her hand is chubby and warm. Someday, her name will be in the glass balls that have already been set up on the stage. I smooth away a bit of her blond hair, then pull myself away and go to the bakery to find my boss.
13 comments or Leave a comment
From: queen_bellatrix Date: May 24th, 2014 03:42 am (UTC) (Link)

Feedback and Catches

but when I tell I think you may have missed a comma after but here?

designer and two Think you may have missed a comma after designer.

there's picture on the You missed an a before picture.

tributes to be polished Just a missing period.

man, who was looking a little panicked. I'm a bit confused here; are you saying he was one of the ones that was looking panicked over Effie maybe picking him originally, or was he panicked that he'd get an even worse assignment than he got.

I wondered this in Drake's funeral chapter, and the mention of Brutus with the young men reminded me: Is Brutus partially so jealous of Haymitch because he was a bit in love with Drake and then Drake started giving so much of his time and attention to Haymitch?

I loved Haymitch's birthday present to Effie, particularly the inscription. For a minute, I thought he'd given her his brother's book, and then realized his brother's was a princess telling stories. It was still a fantastic gift and a wonderfully apt dedication.

I love seeing Effie settling into escort work, especially all the behind the scenes minutia surrounding the selection of stylists etc. etc. And wow, when Cinna actually chose Twelve, people's jaws must have been on the floor! And I love how you've seemingly balanced the escorts having full control of the costuming, in concert with the stylists, by seemingly allowing the mentors to have final say over who the stylist is if their old one leaves, unless they cede it to the escorts the way Haymitch did? Just a really nice way for Caesar to retain some control for the Victors after Glass's deal.

Cruel as this is, I find it incredibly fitting that for all Glass thought he and Snow were such great friends, Snow wasn't at his "life celebration"

I feel like I keep saying this, but the Capitol is creepy. I hated how they've convinced their citizens that having cemeteries where you can feel close to dead loved ones is some kind of horrible punishment. And the line about books breaking up decorating schemes was so morbidly funny because it summed up the Capitol attitude so well, while also showing how, after a while, the Capitolites themselves begin to pick up attitudes that make it even easier to control them.

I love your explanation about personal coms and how they differ from the ones we carry now; one of the many things that make your fics stand head and shoulders above so much of fandom is the inclusion of little details like this. And Caesar's explanation about why they're restricted makes perfect sense in a dystopia. Originally, I was thinking it wouldn't do her any good anyway, because Haymitch didn't have one, but then realized you could probably dial a com number on a Capitol phone the same way you can dial a cell phone on a landline in our society.

As the fic progresses, I'm loving your Effie more and more; her competence and her compassion especially. I love the way she wanted to learn about coal mining (and the way you've left her open to making a mistake like the pearls as coal one from the books while deepening her character so much by making her care) and the way she wanted to say goodbye to the tributes. One of the most disturbing things you've done surrounding tributes is having the Capitol not even sew up their wounds; the total lack of concern for them as people once they stop being entertaining that it shows is disgusting.

I love the way you're slowly building up why Haymitch and Effie are good for each other; the way he makes her more curious, and the way that, when he has someone helping him, he stays so much more engaged with the world. (I found it particularly telling that with how drunk he was when she first came and what that says about how much his alcahol use increased from say the beginning of HT that he stayed alert enough to suggest a tour of the mines and then, instead of just dropping it when that didn't work, got her a list of books/films and got her library privelliges) Admittedly, I'm especially charmed by the library access; any man that could get me library access in a society like that would have my eternal adoration/besottedness.

And I loved the way they clung together on the train. What a fabulous way to show a deeper friendship beginning.

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 24th, 2014 04:37 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Feedback and Catches

Yes, Brutus was jealous of Haymitch over Drake. I don't know if I'd go so far as to say it was love -- Brutus is kind of a psychopath, and may not really feel love -- but he did feel that Drake was taken away from him by someone deemed to be better.

I didn't think about it, but that cover description really could be for Lacklen's book. It isn't, but it would be a reasonable Arabian Nights cover. I may make the princess a redhead to change that.

I think Haymitch inadvertently handicaps Effie with his reluctance to talk much about Twelve. It leaves her with resources available in the Capitol in order to present the district to the world.

I had to think for a long time about why the communications in the HG world seem so different from what we've got -- technology regressing. It didn't seem to have anything to do with the damage to the world. Then I thought about just how cell phones work. It totally would have a connection to atmospheric destruction. Then, they rebuild... they're going to rebuild by their standards. You might not be able to actually destroy the internet, per se, but you can totally cripple the means people have to connect to it.

If Haymitch and Effie could stay together for more than a few weeks a year, I think they'd help each other a lot. As it is, they have to spend time rebuilding every year.
sonetka From: sonetka Date: May 24th, 2014 04:52 am (UTC) (Link)
I love how Effie thinks of cemeteries as punishing, depressing places. Why wouldn't she, considering what she's been taught? I was wondering what Capitol undertakers do, if they don't do burials -- you had Haymitch's mother and brother (and Digger) being attended to by a Capitol undertaker named Hilarius, right? Of course, they could prepare bodies to be waked -- I can't begin to guess whether Capitolites would like open casket wakes or not. It might be a little too easy to think about the reality of death in that circumstances; on the other hand, I've been to some wakes which involved a fair amount of drinking and somewhat livelier atmosphere after about Hour 4 than you might think.

Every time I see Mimi turn up I feel worse and worse for her. I can't imagine what she'll be like after the Capitol falls, assuming she survives -- she seems like a shell even now.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 24th, 2014 04:57 am (UTC) (Link)
I'd honestly forgotten about Hilarius, but he probably does the business with the memorial gardens for "important" people. And I'd guess that people in the Capitol have sneaky ways of dealing with memory, like hiring him to make little statues for the gardens.
willowlistener From: willowlistener Date: May 24th, 2014 12:31 pm (UTC) (Link)
I did like seeing Cinna running around
From: (Anonymous) Date: May 24th, 2014 03:55 pm (UTC) (Link)
Me too!
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 24th, 2014 07:30 pm (UTC) (Link)
I figured a guy with a talent like that probably spent his whole life trying to learn everything he could, even if it meant sweeping floors.
From: (Anonymous) Date: May 25th, 2014 02:29 am (UTC) (Link)

Hi YoungCinna!

Well, this new stylist obviously isn't a genius like Cinna is going to be, but the fact that she seems to be making a real effort to do something that isn't all about the coveralls, etc. is definitely a good thing. Not that I imagine she'll stay there very long.

So, Brutus is gay (or bi)? When you did "Golden Mean" didn't he have a trophy wife?

Sara Libby
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 25th, 2014 02:40 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Hi YoungCinna!

He had a "wife" who Haymitch had never seen or heard of in decades (and was a little perplexed by, though he doesn't care all that much). For good reason. He's willing to bat for the other team if it benefits him in some way, but it's not his home team.

Philippa probably won't stay long and she's still interpreting too literally, but for a couple of years, they may not be the worst costumes around.

Edited at 2014-05-25 02:41 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous) Date: May 25th, 2014 11:38 pm (UTC) (Link)

Continuity problem?

I am enjoying THESE ARE THE NAMES, but I see a problem with canon.

My impression of Effie, when we first meet her in _Hunger Games_, is that she is a clueless bimbo. The impression I get is that she truly thinks she is offering Katniss and Peeta a chance to be rich for life, rather than dooming each of them to a 96 percent probability of being dead in a month.

You've already de-bimboized your Effie in the first eight chapters of TATN, and it's still more than a decade before the Reaping for the 74th HG. So how do you plan to resolve the conflict when you get to the TATN chapter in which you write the 74th Reaping from your-Effie's point of view?
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 26th, 2014 01:54 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Continuity problem?

Well, the 74th will be from Haymitch's viewpoint. I don't get the impression of Effie as a clueless bimbo in HG, so that's not a problem, but she does have to have more of an "intervention" from the Capitol.
From: (Anonymous) Date: May 26th, 2014 04:34 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Continuity problem?

I think the low point for me, for canon-Effie in _Hunger Games_, was this sequence (quoting from memory)--

[Katniss, Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch are eating dinner on the train.]

Effie: At least you two are using silverware. Those two last year, they ate all their food with their hands!

Katniss (thinking): The two kids Reaped last year were both from the Seam, had never gotten enough food even one day in their lives, and so it doesn't surprise me if table manners weren't high up on their priority list.

--I read that and I thought, _How insensitive Effie is!_
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 26th, 2014 06:37 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Continuity problem?

Oh, she's insensitive and tends to say the wrong thing a lot, but she doesn't seem to be particularly stupid. She and Haymitch both deal with this on a year in and year out basis, and the frustrations must likely build up. Kids who won't use proper Capitol manners are at a risk of not getting sponsors, so that's probably a point that drives Effie crazy, and she doesn't think twice about it. She should, but she doesn't.
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