she_sells_seashells | in a supposed democracy

in a supposed democracy

Snow's death is announced on television the day after it happens. The announcer speaks of "sudden illness".

There are going to be emergency elections to replace him in three days. Without advance notice and the standard scheduling of elections, they're going to be setting up polling places in the Capitol at a limited number of sites. Some outlying neighborhoods will be served by schools and the like. But most of the city will be congregating at the Memorial Dome to cast their votes for the next president.

(There follow thirty solid minutes of campaign ads. The district imports comptroller, the chairman of the traffic control commission and former Gamemaker, the deceased Snow's personal assistant, and a handful of lesser individuals are running. Bell hates them all.)

"Suppose the Memorial Dome caught fire," she says to Sherlock and Tony, frowning at the TV.

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"That's something, I guess. I guess it's more than something. Technically there has been no cheating. Just... omissions."

Omissions aren't great either, but adding technical cheating (instead of the vague, non-technical cheating of Having A Thing With Tony that persists even between acts) would be worse.

"Yes," says Sherlock.

Bell still doesn't like it. But she can't think of anything else to say.

It would be much easier to decide what to do at this juncture if only she hadn't stopped pretending yet. If that were true, she could just... abort. Apologize for insinuating her person where she was superfluous and withdrawn into herself.

Tony sighs.

And gives Sherlock a gentle push Bellward.

Bell looks quizzically at this behavior. What's Sherlock going to do? Kiss her and make it better?

(Why does that have to still sound so comforting?)

Edited 2013-02-05 01:03 (UTC)

Sherlock regards the floor with intense expressionlessness.

"You guys," says Tony, "you are so sad it hurts me, please just like - have feelings at each other or something."

Have feelings at -

Well.

Ostensibly, Bell's the one who's good at that, here.

She closes her eyes. She tries to pretend she's talking to her recorder. (It's not recording incriminating secrets; it's upstairs.)

"I hate not knowing things. It's an effort not to be hurt by it even when the things have nothing to do with me. I need information to know what to do; the idea of blundering around not knowing what's going on is one of the worst things I can think of. I mentioned about how I was scared of tracker jackers and that's why, they make you not know things because all of a sudden anything could be a hallucination. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt about that, I try to assume that people who like me won't want me to fall down the metaphorical stairs because I didn't know there were metaphorical stairs there. And every time I find out that isn't true - when I was nine and of all the trivial things found out that my dad's real name was not in fact 'Shark' and that was just what everyone called him, every time I find out that I've been misled even for the most benign reasons, I hate it. Because all of a sudden, anything could be a lie."

Edited 2013-02-05 01:17 (UTC)

"My full name's Antony," Tony offers.

"I'm sorry," says Sherlock. "I don't feel like that is enough, but it is true."

"I know your name is Antony. They called it at the Reaping," Bell tells Tony distractedly.

She's not sure what to say to Sherlock. Except:

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"I don't know how to filter," she says helplessly. "I know too many facts. There is nothing remaining as substantial as this. I would transmit my entire knowledge of the world to you if I had that capacity, but I do not."

That's... well, that's actually the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to Bell, as far as she can call to mind. She is momentarily too stunned by how sweet that is and does not say anything at all.