For Sherlock of some flavor or another

[tofightinjustice]

There's a heavy bag hung up on one of the trees at the edge of the Milliways forest. It's a little off the beaten path, which is nice, and Bryce finds that working in the cool not-Scottish air is a lot less dehydrating than working in the California sun.

For her size (she's middling tall but not very bulky), she's giving the bag a fairly thorough beating.

Comments

[sicaria]

Someone is studying her technique from a generous distance.

[tofightinjustice]

As she spins and kicks, sending the bag swinging -- and the branch it's hung on creaking -- she catches sight of the figure. Her stance instantly adjusts to face the new potential threat.

[sicaria]

Sherlock clasps her hands in front of her and remains still.

[tofightinjustice]

Oh, it's assassination girl.

She straightens up, though she doesn't relax, and lifts a hand in greeting.

[sicaria]

Yes. That is precisely who it is.

She waves in return and ambles closer.

[tofightinjustice]

Bryce rolls her neck and half-turns to catch the bag and stop its swinging.

[sicaria]

Today's dress is dark brown cotton, sleeveless, quite pretty, falling to just above the knee with plenty of twirl available in the skirt. She is wearing black stockings underneath.

"Hello," she says. "Not bad."

[tofightinjustice]

"Thank you," guarded but polite.

[sicaria]

"Sorry, is there an etiquette here I'm unaware of?"

That happens a lot!

[tofightinjustice]

"Not that I know of," she admits.

[sicaria]

She smiles. "Oh, good. Carry on if you like; I wouldn't want to interrupt."

[tofightinjustice]

". . . It's kind of weird to fight for an audience."

[sicaria]

She glances to the side.

In measured tones: "I suppose it is, yes."

[tofightinjustice]

Bryce blinks.

"Do you do that?"

[sicaria]

"I killed twenty people on national television when I was seventeen," she says evenly.

[tofightinjustice]

Bryce . . . doesn't really have a response for that.

[sicaria]

"They're called the Hunger Games. Twenty-four teenagers, chosen initially by random selection and then replaced by volunteers if any, are taken to a remote location with minimal supplies and left there until only one of them is still alive. Every year. We count our calendar by it."

[tofightinjustice]

"Why?"

[sicaria]

"To remind us of the price of rebellion," she murmurs.

[tofightinjustice]

"And they televise it."

[sicaria]

"Yes. In detail."

[tofightinjustice]

She swallows, because otherwise she'll be too nauseated to talk.

"How can they enforce that? Don't people try to get away?"

(She remembers a short story they had to read in English class last year, about a village and a black spot and a woman screaming It isn't fair and the matter-of-fact way the other villagers stoned her to death. She remembers sitting there feeling cold as her classmates talked casually about death happening at random and man's inhumanity to man.)

[sicaria]

"The tributes? Rarely. First because it's supposedly an honour, second because they are watched at nearly all times between being chosen and being sent out. The rest of the country, yes, once in a while. They get caught. Nothing pleasant happens to them."

[tofightinjustice]

"God."

[sicaria]

"A fascinating concept. We don't have one."