sith_happened | Anakin's office [from noon onwards]

Anakin had spent the morning over at the Trooper Station ~~interrogating~~ interrogating his new staff: since he'd worked with various clones before (and was uniquely aware of their more...esoteric programming), he'd spent time with each one individually, asking about their duties at the Trooper Station, their thoughts about Fandom, and what happened if he said "Implement Order 66."

Turned out, nothing, but it was worth checking.

He went over to his office at the school around lunchtime, flipped on the link to Katniss's world (a habit he'd gotten into since she'd left), and was getting ready to write down his impressions about yesterday's class when he realized that he wasn't listening to the usual noises from Panem.

He was tuned into the Reaping. District 9, it looked like. Cursing under his breath, Anakin reached into a desk drawer and began leaving ~~handwavey~~ messages for the list of people Katniss had left for him to talk to.

From his spot behind his desk, he reached out through the Force to close the door. Today's office hours were by invitation only.

[OOC: For those who are watching the Reaping, and NFB.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The Reaping," he confirmed. "We're in District 11 now."

"So she'll be next." Gabrielle's body language and voice might be under control, but she was practically broadcasting a tangled mess of horror, frustration, worry, despair, and half a dozen other emotions she couldn't quite describe. Part of her still wanted to round up people, get Xena, and go charging into the Capitol to make things right. "And everyone knows it'll be her, but they've still got to drag it out and make it as dramatic as possible . . ."

"It wouldn't make for good television for the Capitol otherwise," Anakin replied darkly. "Force forbid."

Gabrielle huffed. "Of course not," she muttered. It wasn't a cynical statement; for that, she'd have had to sound a lot more accepting, instead of like someone who still hadn't come to understand why people would do things like this. "Separate people's emotions from their sensibilities and you've got them. And what better way to do that than with the most drama you can manage?"

It seemed like a horrible corruption of the art, to her.

"This isn't right," she added, as if they weren't all aware of that fact already. "They say the gods are petty for playing with people's lives, but what does it make mortals who do the same thing?"

"Evil, generally," Anakin replied flatly.

Gabrielle gave him a miserable look. "I can't just believe that outright for everyone," she protested.

There was a lot of idealism to be knocked out of her yet.

Anakin made a note to keep a special eye out for Gabrielle when the Games began. It was going to be difficult to stay idealistic watching that.

"Not everyone," he agreed finally, "but for President Snow? Yes."

Gabrielle could concede that much; there was a small handful of evil sorts that she'd come across who had to be stopped one way or another.

She gave a brief nod. "Then by the gods, I hope someone is up to the job."

Was it selfish to be glad it wasn't likely to be her?

"I do too," Anakin said.

He wished with all his heart it wasn't looking like the best choice was a teenager.

Gabrielle wouldn't wish the job on anyone.

"Do you think there's any chance it'll be her?" she asked quietly. Or maybe that was holding out too much hope for Katniss's survival. "I don't want to sound too much like the people who put these Games on television but it would be a fitting end. If I was writing a story about it, I mean. I know that's not always real life."

Anakin didn't want to crush Gabrielle's hopes, but he also wanted to prepare her for what he thought of as a fairly inevitable conclusion.

"There's always a chance," he said quietly, "but I don't think it's a very large one. She's upset too many important people."

Gabrielle's face fell just a tiny bit, but she knew what tended to happen to those who just happened to be thorns in the side of the people in power.

"Xena always taught me that the moment you pick up a weapon, you make yourself a target," she murmured. "I don't think the people behind the Games realized that eventually their targets might aim right back at them. That's arrogance for you."

"I think they are overestimating their strength," Anakin agreed, "but I can't tell from the feed how scared the people in the distracts are."

Gabrielle leaned forward to peer a little more closely at the screen, then shook her head. "No. We'd like to know, but the Capitol probably isn't interested in showing that part of it. I don't think it's part of the story they want to tell." She bit her lip. "I can't help picturing them, though. Maybe I'm wrong, but I keep thinking of . . ."

She'd seen it often enough, but she still wanted to phrase it delicately. "Villagers taken captive, waiting to see if any of them are going to get singled out for special treatment, and -- and knowing 'special treatment' doesn't necessarily mean anything good."

Anakin nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

He'd inflicted it on a planet, after all. Poor Topwara.

"This is the special treatment," Anakin said. "The one chance in 24 to live with enough food that your family won't starve to death. The only catches are having to kill 23 other people and then having to train the next two sacrifices every year for the rest of your life. What a deal."

Gabrielle hadn't realized the surviving tributes were expected to mentor all the district tributes who came after them; that revelation hit her with visible pain.

"And it wasn't enough to put this year's tributes through it once. By the gods, this has to end somehow."

Anakin nodded. He was just hoping it wouldn't be on live television while he had to explain it.

Anakin's office [from noon onwards]

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