thecapitol | [open] darling i'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

Entry tags:

[open] darling i'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

Who| Porrim and anyone in D5 or who happens to be around D5.
What| mingling in the D5 suites; addressing tribute concerns and getting to know her charges over tea.
Where| D5 suites
When| anytime between October 5th and now!
Warnings/Notes| probably none, aside from language! will update.

Soon after her initial introduction over the Network, and for the weeks following, Porrim finds herself situated at regular intervals in the District 5 lounge, a fresh tray of tea, pastries, sandwiches and assorted other delicacies spread across the table in front of her, and a handsome leather notebook poised in front of her, ready to take notes if necessary. She finds that these regular sessions--like open office hours in a university--are helpful to her Tributes. It's important for her to be accessible, especially when her district has the reputation that it does.

And, well, if she keeps a tiny silver flask nearby and occasionally slips a little something stronger into her tea, who can really blame her? The job of an Escort is a neverending headache, and the indomitable Miss Maryam is more than well-equipped to deal with the consequences. And true to her word, she's happy to socialize with anyone from another District who happens by; she'll never say no to new friends, to making new contacts and meeting new faces. After all, people are interesting. Especially when they come from such varied walks of life.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Occasionally, Porrim and Venus find themselves sharing the lounge together in silence, Porrim sipping her tea and Venus leafing through those magazines filled with polls on who wore it best and what the color of the season is. As much as Venus feels permanently stripped of her beauty with the horrible brand across her face, she can't help but continue playing the part of a fashion-conscious woman. She can never quite tell if it seems like an outright mockery when she dresses herself in flawless makeup and towering heels or if it dampens the shock of her mutilated face. She suspects the former and hopes for the latter.

She lies on her back, dogearing the occasional page, then sets the magazine down and closes her eyes. She usually naps around this time, but this time rest seems to elude her. She feels as if her fingertips are full of little tectonic quakes, as if the fluid in her inner ears is unsettled. So eventually she sits back up and leans against the back of the couch, dark eyes on Porrim.

"So. How's your day going?"

For her part, Porrim is just fine with companionable silence. Venus is at least amiable, and she's never been one to find discomfort in a lack of conversation. Between the general hum of talk and activity beyond the walls of the room, people passing through at intervals on their way in or out, and the sounds of pages being flipped and teacups being clinked, it's never truly dead silent anyway, and that suits her just fine. She's nibbling on a cucumber sandwich when Venus seems to tire of reading, and at the inquiry she sets it down on her plate and shifts in her seat, giving her Tribute a smile.

"Well enough, I suppose. No explosions or property damage thus far, so I really can't complain. Yours?"

"Eh. Lazy."

Bar the four hours she spent this morning at the gym, on the mats and on the balance beam and with a punching bag. Her hair's still wet at the roots from the shower she had afterwards.

Lazy isn't good for Venus. When she's active, she can distract herself from the hole in her heart that seems to take up her entire chest, that drills its way through her back and through her bed and through the core of the Earth when she stops to think about the fact that Ellie's gone. When that girl runs through her mind like a flash, ponytail jerking in the wind.

But lazy's what it is, today.

"How are you liking District Five so far?"

Porrim smirks. It's her business to know her Tributes' business; she knows that 'lazy' isn't quite an apt term for Venus's day, but she won't protest. Their definitions are clearly quite different.

"Well, yogurt incidents aside, I have to say it's not as bad as everyone made it out to be." Sure, her charges aren't the most stable, and she's done her share of mediating, but overall she's managed to keep a firm grasp on both her sanity and the well-being of her Tributes.

Porrim takes up the teapot in front of her and pours herself a third cup of tea, adding two sugar cubes and a healthy pour of cream and stirring daintily. "Can I interest you in a cup?"

"Only if you put like, four sugarcubes in it and don't tell my Stylist. She thinks I'm getting bloated." It's probably that Venus has been putting back alcohol lately. After the last hangover, she's going to try to avoid that in the future.

"We kind of got a reputation in the early days. Then again, we do still have me, Shepard and Initiate." She sits up on the couch and scoots over, closer to Porrim so they can converse. "Do you have any, like, grand plans? Directions you want to take us?"

Porrim giggles. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed," she says conspiratorially, going ahead and pouring out a cup for Venus and dropping in one, two, three, four sugar cubes. "She's delusional if she thinks you're bloated, though." A pause, while she sips at her tea. "Well. She's delusional either way. Have you seen her eyebrows?" Porrim makes almost a pitying sound. A true travesty. She reaches out to hand Venus her cup with a saucer underneath it. "Here you are."

The escort sits back in her chair and takes up her pen again, tapping it against her lip. "Well, I'd thought of a few angles, sure. It all depends on the input of your Stylists and Mentors, of course, but they're solid ideas." Porrim flips back several pages in her book, consulting her notes. "There was some talk of creating a redemption arc for you. You know, since the whole assassination-jailbreak combo. Something to put you in a better light, take some of the stigma away from your name." Porrim shrugs. "I don't know, personally. It seems a bit cliche."

"Oh my God, I'm so glad I'm not the only one who noticed that. And her bangs aren't even at all. They look like they were chopped by someone recovering from a stroke." Just because Venus is polite to the Style staff doesn't mean she isn't a gossip, and she has no fondness for Claudia ever since the tailor bitched about trying to match fabrics to Venus' scar tissue from the brand. Poor thing. Venus sits up and takes the tea, a nod and a smile thanking Porrim without words.

"I don't think the average Capitol citizen really notices if the storylines they follow are cliche. I mean, they didn't notice back on my world, either. Everyone loves a comeback story." It's easier to talk about how the audience will see her than whether she wants to do it. It's easy to hide herself behind a story of a young starlet, brought astray by bad influences and rising from the ashes like a phoenix.

"Eugh, you're so right. You know it's bad when your stylist needs a stylist." Really, Porrim ought to have taken over instead, but she'd learned after a few years that nothing kills your love for fashion and hair and makeup like doing it for a living.

Venus's reply causes Porrim to hum thoughtfully, making a few more scribblings in her notes. "You're right," she murmurs. "And with the whole lot of you, it'll be easy to pass you off as poor, misunderstood darlings. You're not bad, you were just drawn that way."

"As long as you don't dress me up as Jessica Rabbit. I've done that costume before, but orange hair seriously don't look good on me, and heck no with the blue and purple eyeshadows. Gold's way kinder to me."

She reaches over and takes another sugar packet, adding a little extra sweetness to the already saturated drink.

"You could also, you know, play up the fact that I was off my meds, I just got broken up with, I was so unstable - I don't know if you're familiar with Britney Spears, but she once shaved her head and beat up a car with an umbrella because the pressure of fame got to be too much. We could sell my, um, bad decisions that way."

Porrim snaps her fingers, already scribbling furiously in her notebook. "Oh, that's perfect! Genius." She glances up and gives Venus a grin. "No blue or purple, I promise. We'll skip the costume altogether. You'll just be Venus."

The Britney mention raises an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Ms. Spears' work, no. But the story is an easy enough one to comprehend. I think we may have nailed down your angle."

"Excellent. That's already a costume anyway." Venus' real name - not the stage name, the one her mother gave her - isn't a total secret, but she still likes to keep her real self to her chest. She'll wear the public persona, the muscles and curves, the fashion and smiles, the flirting and murder, like a sheath, and she'll stay inside, safe and unknown and practically non-existent.

They all find ways to survive in Panem.

"Do you want me to do anything dramatic to get a headline, or are we already putting my wild days in the past?"

Porrim lets out a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough." She takes a moment to gather her thoughts--another long sip of tea. "I really appreciate your cooperation, Venus. I don't want a struggle with anyone, and--" The escort lets out a quiet sigh. "I just want what's best. For all parties involved. I know, I've seen it happen--Tributes get burnt out, depressed, unhappy. It's no good. So please just tell me if there's anything I can do for you, alright?"

Suddenly, Porrim feels a bit sheepish, and a bit alarmed. That was a bit more vulnerable than she'd intended to be. So she straightens up, suddenly all business again. "Anyway. I think what we'll do is start off with you putting in an appearance at some party or other. Keep it light, happy. Sociable. We'll put words in the right ears how happy you are to be starting things off on the right foot again. A new leaf. And I'll be with you every step of the way."

She nods. "You're not my enemy, you're my Escort. I've been doing this whole thing a long time, before your country brought me here. I know how it goes. I appreciate your work."

She isn't under the impression that the people behind the curtain, so to speak, are automatons. Just because they don't know what it's like in the Arena doesn't mean they aren't working hard, that they aren't human. Capable of the same secret lives as anyone.

So she doesn't pry, doesn't comment further, and let's Porrim dictate that the conversations gets business-like again.

"Good. I can probably do photoshoots and all better than I can do interviews right now. Especially if they catch me in profile." She turns her face and hides her brand with her hand. "Ta-dah."

Eager to move past it, Porrim latches onto that specification smoothly, happy to accommodate. "Certainly." She giggles at Venus's little display, her hand covering her mouth in exactly the kind of affectation that's meant to be ironic rather than genuinely girlish.

"Oh, Miss Milo, how striking." It's a genuine horror to have done something like that to a face like Venus's, but Porrim thinks abstractly that if anyone could pull it off with moxie, it's Venus. Not that she'll be voicing any such opinion. "No interviews, then, for now, but we'll put you down for a few events in the upcoming weeks. Start you off slow, I don't want to overwhelm you."

"That sounds good." It's good to have an Escort willing to work with her, and not for the first time she's grateful that her years in Hollywood have honed her sense of professionalism. Venus pats her knees, finishes her tea and gets up. "I can find you here tomorrow, right? I have an errand to run right now."

Porrim gives Venus a little wave, a friendly smile. "As always," she agrees. "It was nice chatting with you, dear."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[open] darling i'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject