Fandoms 39 and 40 *kching*
[Title] Killing With Kindnesses
[Fandom] The Hunger Games
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Effie muses on how much kindness the Capitol shows.
We are not cruel. In fact, many of us take quite a lot of joy in being able to show them small kindnesses.
Politeness, for instance. Manners. Many of them are swollen-eyed, shaking, still confused and shocked from their sudden change in circumstances. I try to distract them. I point out to them the size of the train, its speed. I encourage them to look out over the vastness of Panem and admire mountains and valleys and rivers I know they've never seen before. This is the sort of trip you will remember all your life, isn't it?
Of course, there is the food. Pleasure of a more earthy kind! Even the coldest tribute can't stop the childish excitement in their eyes when they see tables spread with delicious things to eat. (Most of them can't stop the urge to cram handfuls into their mouths like small children, but I try and forgive them that. They are most likely overwhelmed.) I listen to them, I take note of what they like. I may ask the buffet car to prepare more of it, or, when we reach the Capitol, slip a word to the caterers. A meal of your favourite food is a bright spot in any day. And the caterers themselves! They care about the food they make, about creating delicate, delicious creations - tempting frightened tributes to eat, or dazzling the tongues of those who have lived their whole life on tasteless stew and stale bread. I have seen none who only go through the motions, or who try and pass off substandard food as the best (when we all know the tributes would probably not even know to question it). They give their all to people they have never met before.
The prep teams, of course, do so much for them. Some of them will never have realised before that they are beautiful. I have seen shy young girls stop opposite mirrored walls to touch their faces, or push back a strand of hair, in amazement that the angels on the other side of the glass are actually them. Some of them will never have had a soak in a hot bath, or make-up, or clothes that fit them properly. Such tiny things, and they react as if they have been given handfuls of jewels.
The opportunity to be adored by millions, of course. Not, perhaps, a small kindness, but one that's worth it. To be something other than another hungry mouth to feed, or another source of income. To be a star. Thousands and thousands of people cheering their name. Why, many of us here don't see that much adoration in our lives!
And Caesar, of course. Someone in his position could put the tributes through a trial by fire; rip them to shreds in front of the nation, make them show their weaknesses. But he is kind to them. He encourages the shy ones to talk, the clever ones to joke, the determined ones to swear to him that they will be the survivor. I have spoken to him myself on occasion. He is one of those people who makes you feel as if you are the only one he is interested in at this point in time. He genuinely wants to hear you talk. And with that, he gives each and every tribute a little encouragement to take into the arena with them.
As do we all, I think. As do we all.
[Title] Mask
[Fandom] Lewis
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Something bad has happened, but Hathaway won't explain to Lewis what it is. (I don't actually know either, but I'd love to see this plot onscreen. *sigh*)
One of the things that always baffled Lewis about Hathaway was the way that the man managed to keep his face so expressionless through ninety per cent of his life. Not to a disturbing degree. Just - you were conscious that he was watchful, and thoughtful, and sometimes there was a hint of puzzlement, or annoyance, but mostly you knew that you were just guessing as to what he might be thinking.
It had never occurred to him before how infuriating this trait would be if you were asking him to explain why a lot of forensic and circumstantial evidence placed him as most likely suspect in a murder case.
Not that there'd been much asking in the past five minutes. Lewis has given up blurting out things like what the hell were you thinking and look, whatever you've done, just say it, it's got to be better than how it looks and asking far too many leading questions, desperately trying to hit on the excuse that will make all this make sense. He's given up because Hathaway's face didn't change, he just kept watching and listening and, every so often, slowly, carefully, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. He only said one thing - when Lewis walked into the room and their eyes met, Hathaway said, too quickly, Sir, it's all right. Which was a bloody stupid thing to say and Lewis told him so, that it wasn't all right at all, that for god's sake, keeping quiet about being on the scene is one thing (even though he knows that that's bad enough) but lying about the time you got there, disturbing evidence, having a bloodstained shirt discovered stuffed behind the radiator in your flat...
Hathaway listened to it all and to all the excuses and his face didn't change at all and at first Lewis thought that was a good sign, that if Hathaway had - if he was involved somehow then even he couldn't keep up the poker face, the strain would tell. And then he realised that it was telling already. Everything Hathaway was doing was a little bit too calm, a little bit too unreadable. He was holding himself together. He was putting on an act. Lewis has seen enough people try to over the years.
"Does Innocent know you're here?" he says now. Even each word is placed carefully down, no shakiness, no dry mouth. "You're hardly objective."
For a moment, there is a suggestion of something. Of... goading. And a faint twitch of the mouth, like he wants to smile but - what, like that would mess up the pretence? Lewis can't work out any more what the pretence is. The real Hathaway... no, what he'd always thought of as the real Hathaway would've understood how bad this looked. He would've been appalled that circumstances could conspire to make him look like a murderer. He'd be pleading his case, sharp and determined and knowing that Lewis would hear him out, whatever had happened, whatever he'd done -
Lewis finds himself up on his feet and he's practically yelling across the table. "You think I was going to just stand by and watch you sit in silence? Don't you get it - of course you do, you're smart enough - you know how bad this looks. You need to tell me what happened, all right? You need to tell me what the hell you were thinking and what you were doing there and - you need to do it now, because no one else is particularly interested in hearing why you didn't do it!"
Hathaway stares at him and for a moment there's a suggestion of - what, regret, guilt - pity, for god's sake, like Lewis is the one whose life is on the verge of collapsing around him -
Then all of that's cut off, replaced with carefully assumed boredom, like he's kidding himself his only problem is a dull meeting and a pile of paperwork.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he says, calmly, "but I'm sure you'll understand I don't feel able to say anything else without a lawyer present."
Lewis almost sticks at it, almost convinces himself that he can wear his sergeant down if he just gets him to listen. But then he realises how loud he's talking and how quiet Hathaway sounds, and he realises something else as well. If Hathaway isn't offering a good explanation - or even a poor one that he's trying to dress up for the one person he knows will listen sympathetically - if he's not even bothering, then that suggests there is no good explanation. It suggests that the only explanation is the one Lewis doesn't want to hear. So he walks out, telling himself he'll try again later - if Innocent will let him, if she doesn't already regret letting him anywhere near Hathaway - and wonders if Hathaway will be able to keep the expressions off his face when there's no one around to see them.
[Fandom] The Hunger Games
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Effie muses on how much kindness the Capitol shows.
We are not cruel. In fact, many of us take quite a lot of joy in being able to show them small kindnesses.
Politeness, for instance. Manners. Many of them are swollen-eyed, shaking, still confused and shocked from their sudden change in circumstances. I try to distract them. I point out to them the size of the train, its speed. I encourage them to look out over the vastness of Panem and admire mountains and valleys and rivers I know they've never seen before. This is the sort of trip you will remember all your life, isn't it?
Of course, there is the food. Pleasure of a more earthy kind! Even the coldest tribute can't stop the childish excitement in their eyes when they see tables spread with delicious things to eat. (Most of them can't stop the urge to cram handfuls into their mouths like small children, but I try and forgive them that. They are most likely overwhelmed.) I listen to them, I take note of what they like. I may ask the buffet car to prepare more of it, or, when we reach the Capitol, slip a word to the caterers. A meal of your favourite food is a bright spot in any day. And the caterers themselves! They care about the food they make, about creating delicate, delicious creations - tempting frightened tributes to eat, or dazzling the tongues of those who have lived their whole life on tasteless stew and stale bread. I have seen none who only go through the motions, or who try and pass off substandard food as the best (when we all know the tributes would probably not even know to question it). They give their all to people they have never met before.
The prep teams, of course, do so much for them. Some of them will never have realised before that they are beautiful. I have seen shy young girls stop opposite mirrored walls to touch their faces, or push back a strand of hair, in amazement that the angels on the other side of the glass are actually them. Some of them will never have had a soak in a hot bath, or make-up, or clothes that fit them properly. Such tiny things, and they react as if they have been given handfuls of jewels.
The opportunity to be adored by millions, of course. Not, perhaps, a small kindness, but one that's worth it. To be something other than another hungry mouth to feed, or another source of income. To be a star. Thousands and thousands of people cheering their name. Why, many of us here don't see that much adoration in our lives!
And Caesar, of course. Someone in his position could put the tributes through a trial by fire; rip them to shreds in front of the nation, make them show their weaknesses. But he is kind to them. He encourages the shy ones to talk, the clever ones to joke, the determined ones to swear to him that they will be the survivor. I have spoken to him myself on occasion. He is one of those people who makes you feel as if you are the only one he is interested in at this point in time. He genuinely wants to hear you talk. And with that, he gives each and every tribute a little encouragement to take into the arena with them.
As do we all, I think. As do we all.
[Title] Mask
[Fandom] Lewis
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Something bad has happened, but Hathaway won't explain to Lewis what it is. (I don't actually know either, but I'd love to see this plot onscreen. *sigh*)
One of the things that always baffled Lewis about Hathaway was the way that the man managed to keep his face so expressionless through ninety per cent of his life. Not to a disturbing degree. Just - you were conscious that he was watchful, and thoughtful, and sometimes there was a hint of puzzlement, or annoyance, but mostly you knew that you were just guessing as to what he might be thinking.
It had never occurred to him before how infuriating this trait would be if you were asking him to explain why a lot of forensic and circumstantial evidence placed him as most likely suspect in a murder case.
Not that there'd been much asking in the past five minutes. Lewis has given up blurting out things like what the hell were you thinking and look, whatever you've done, just say it, it's got to be better than how it looks and asking far too many leading questions, desperately trying to hit on the excuse that will make all this make sense. He's given up because Hathaway's face didn't change, he just kept watching and listening and, every so often, slowly, carefully, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. He only said one thing - when Lewis walked into the room and their eyes met, Hathaway said, too quickly, Sir, it's all right. Which was a bloody stupid thing to say and Lewis told him so, that it wasn't all right at all, that for god's sake, keeping quiet about being on the scene is one thing (even though he knows that that's bad enough) but lying about the time you got there, disturbing evidence, having a bloodstained shirt discovered stuffed behind the radiator in your flat...
Hathaway listened to it all and to all the excuses and his face didn't change at all and at first Lewis thought that was a good sign, that if Hathaway had - if he was involved somehow then even he couldn't keep up the poker face, the strain would tell. And then he realised that it was telling already. Everything Hathaway was doing was a little bit too calm, a little bit too unreadable. He was holding himself together. He was putting on an act. Lewis has seen enough people try to over the years.
"Does Innocent know you're here?" he says now. Even each word is placed carefully down, no shakiness, no dry mouth. "You're hardly objective."
For a moment, there is a suggestion of something. Of... goading. And a faint twitch of the mouth, like he wants to smile but - what, like that would mess up the pretence? Lewis can't work out any more what the pretence is. The real Hathaway... no, what he'd always thought of as the real Hathaway would've understood how bad this looked. He would've been appalled that circumstances could conspire to make him look like a murderer. He'd be pleading his case, sharp and determined and knowing that Lewis would hear him out, whatever had happened, whatever he'd done -
Lewis finds himself up on his feet and he's practically yelling across the table. "You think I was going to just stand by and watch you sit in silence? Don't you get it - of course you do, you're smart enough - you know how bad this looks. You need to tell me what happened, all right? You need to tell me what the hell you were thinking and what you were doing there and - you need to do it now, because no one else is particularly interested in hearing why you didn't do it!"
Hathaway stares at him and for a moment there's a suggestion of - what, regret, guilt - pity, for god's sake, like Lewis is the one whose life is on the verge of collapsing around him -
Then all of that's cut off, replaced with carefully assumed boredom, like he's kidding himself his only problem is a dull meeting and a pile of paperwork.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he says, calmly, "but I'm sure you'll understand I don't feel able to say anything else without a lawyer present."
Lewis almost sticks at it, almost convinces himself that he can wear his sergeant down if he just gets him to listen. But then he realises how loud he's talking and how quiet Hathaway sounds, and he realises something else as well. If Hathaway isn't offering a good explanation - or even a poor one that he's trying to dress up for the one person he knows will listen sympathetically - if he's not even bothering, then that suggests there is no good explanation. It suggests that the only explanation is the one Lewis doesn't want to hear. So he walks out, telling himself he'll try again later - if Innocent will let him, if she doesn't already regret letting him anywhere near Hathaway - and wonders if Hathaway will be able to keep the expressions off his face when there's no one around to see them.