"Depends on what you mean by future," She replies. It's chilly, now that they're out of the water and it's hot enough in general here that they'll both dry off soon, and damn the dampness of her clothes over soaked skivvies. Better moistened than naked, though: She'd be getting more than enough vulnerability just to admit to common cause, out here.
Surrounded all these people who were, despite appearances, disgustingly normal.
"After the seventy-fourth Games, Snow had a lot of fires to put out," She says, businesslike. This is a woman who'd given sitreps and oral reports before, and her military cadence is obvious, "Turns out, three quarters of a century of killing people's children on public-access doesn't make you popular for some reason. Go figure."
Shepard is long past finding the Games scandalous or surprising; her sarcasm is well-worn and casual, rather than biting. Obviously everyone hated it, except for all the people for whom it meant nothing but entertainment. But who cares about the little people, right?
"But you can't just stop the Games. So he got his guys to figure out how to bring in other people. People from outside Panem. The 'Endless Quell' they called it," This time with a real sneer, full of teeth and derision. Tired of killing your own kids? Kidnap someone else's. Kidnap whoever you want, "And if you die in the process, they just bring you right back in— don't ask me how, I never figured out the medical end."
She lets that lie for a moment, then sighs and pushes a hand through her hair. Nice cobbles on these streets, Finnick. Nice stars in these skies.
"So technically speaking, yes, I am the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, representing the nice folks down in District Five. And I have participated in about ten more arenas after that. My name's Shepard, by the way."
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Surrounded all these people who were, despite appearances, disgustingly normal.
"After the seventy-fourth Games, Snow had a lot of fires to put out," She says, businesslike. This is a woman who'd given sitreps and oral reports before, and her military cadence is obvious, "Turns out, three quarters of a century of killing people's children on public-access doesn't make you popular for some reason. Go figure."
Shepard is long past finding the Games scandalous or surprising; her sarcasm is well-worn and casual, rather than biting. Obviously everyone hated it, except for all the people for whom it meant nothing but entertainment. But who cares about the little people, right?
"But you can't just stop the Games. So he got his guys to figure out how to bring in other people. People from outside Panem. The 'Endless Quell' they called it," This time with a real sneer, full of teeth and derision. Tired of killing your own kids? Kidnap someone else's. Kidnap whoever you want, "And if you die in the process, they just bring you right back in— don't ask me how, I never figured out the medical end."
She lets that lie for a moment, then sighs and pushes a hand through her hair. Nice cobbles on these streets, Finnick. Nice stars in these skies.
"So technically speaking, yes, I am the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, representing the nice folks down in District Five. And I have participated in about ten more arenas after that. My name's Shepard, by the way."