Temple Stevens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clotting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-11-03 02:14 pm
clotting) wrote in thecapitol2015-11-03 02:14 pm
Never Seen the Ocean, Never Seen the Tides [OPEN]
WHO| Temple and OPEN; Temple and Clint
WHAT| Temple hits the town and goes to a spa.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| All over the Capitol
WARNINGS| Temple, so mentions of rape may happen, although anything in-depth will get its own warning.
I. OPEN
When rabbits are cornered by predators, they freeze. Some theories say they go blind from fright, too terrified to even see the escapes before their noses. This would be an apt description for Temple's current state, with her best friend labeled a traitor and the Peacekeepers more than willing to drag her son into the political mess of Mentorhood, but the paralyzing, myopia-inducing fear only constricts her ability to think, not to party. Not to hit the town with a child leashed to an Avox or shopping bags laden with enough goods to dress an entire District for a week.
She's aggressively friendly if she meets you on the street, trailing her Avoxes behind her like a wedding train. Something about it is almost desperate, as if the doll-like facade that she so buries herself under is cracked and brittle and she's just trying to patch the leaks with her palms and her handshakes. She's liable to get your name wrong, since she's been drinking since six a.m. this morning, although these lapses in memory are the only indicator that she's that inebriated. Sometimes she just approaches people she knows and hands them a shopping bag of expensive wares, insisting that she was thinking of them as she was shopping and knew they had to have it. She does this especially to Tributes, although occasionally to other Staffers.
Sometimes she cruises the local restaurants and clubs eyeing up those she might be able to take to bed with her with no concerns, no witnesses. Few people know as many blind spots in the Capitol as Temple Stevens, adulterous to a fault but discrete enough to never have anything caught on tape. There are, of course, clips of her kissing, canoodling, placing her hands in places that daytime airings of the Games would censor, but never anything enough to terminate a marriage on principle. Besides, there are enough open marriages in the Capitol that no one ever bothers to truly look twice at a District hussy in Capitol clothes.
By the beginnings of most nights, she's bubbly, fashionable, charming and more than willing to buy friends and strangers alike a drink. By the end, she tends to be a bit more maudlin, still spending money haphazardly but less out of generosity and more as a prophylactic to feeling poor.
Find her for company, or she'll find you.
II. Clint
If there's a better cure for loneliness and sorrow than a fresh coat of paint, Temple doesn't know what it is. She doesn't believe in the therapy that is prescribed to Victors of the Hunger Games, and she dabbles in medication and psychic enemas only occasionally, when they come back into vogue every other year or so. The only way she's ever known to feel better about anything is to obliterate her woes under an aggressive spotlight, to cover them in makeup and hairspray, jewels and manicures, with liquor and sedatives as the fixative.
And naturally, she's noticed that all Clint's friends are gone. She may be morally opposed to inter-District alliances in the Arena, but she can respect that he must be sad and lonely, so instead of shuffling him off to a photoshoot today she gets Swann's permission to pack him into a car and take him to a spa. She doesn't tell him where they're going, just grins and says it's a surprise, and when they arrive she presents him with what must be the most shi-shi getaway in all the Capitol.
The entire spa smells like heavenly cinnamon fragrances, positioned over a natural waterfall with Avoxes tending to the hot springs at the base. There are steam rooms, sensory deprivation chambers, seal-fur robes that have never before touched human skin that will be discarded after a single use, ornately-carved wooden chairs and benches and masseuses at hand with entire carts of lotions and incense. The tessellated tiles along the floor are myriad colors, and the lights warming them from beneath cast the entire scene in stained glass. Some Capitolites in the far corner are receiving truly decadent manicures and facials.
She clutches her hands together in little fists under her chin and then checks them in. "Would you like to do the steam room first? You look so tired, lately. Maybe get changed into a robe and let one of the masseuses take out your tension? This is a high-end spa, those are professional masseuses, not just Avoxes trained to rub out a knot."
As she says that last array of words, she starts to undress, entirely without shame.
WHAT| Temple hits the town and goes to a spa.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| All over the Capitol
WARNINGS| Temple, so mentions of rape may happen, although anything in-depth will get its own warning.
I. OPEN
When rabbits are cornered by predators, they freeze. Some theories say they go blind from fright, too terrified to even see the escapes before their noses. This would be an apt description for Temple's current state, with her best friend labeled a traitor and the Peacekeepers more than willing to drag her son into the political mess of Mentorhood, but the paralyzing, myopia-inducing fear only constricts her ability to think, not to party. Not to hit the town with a child leashed to an Avox or shopping bags laden with enough goods to dress an entire District for a week.
She's aggressively friendly if she meets you on the street, trailing her Avoxes behind her like a wedding train. Something about it is almost desperate, as if the doll-like facade that she so buries herself under is cracked and brittle and she's just trying to patch the leaks with her palms and her handshakes. She's liable to get your name wrong, since she's been drinking since six a.m. this morning, although these lapses in memory are the only indicator that she's that inebriated. Sometimes she just approaches people she knows and hands them a shopping bag of expensive wares, insisting that she was thinking of them as she was shopping and knew they had to have it. She does this especially to Tributes, although occasionally to other Staffers.
Sometimes she cruises the local restaurants and clubs eyeing up those she might be able to take to bed with her with no concerns, no witnesses. Few people know as many blind spots in the Capitol as Temple Stevens, adulterous to a fault but discrete enough to never have anything caught on tape. There are, of course, clips of her kissing, canoodling, placing her hands in places that daytime airings of the Games would censor, but never anything enough to terminate a marriage on principle. Besides, there are enough open marriages in the Capitol that no one ever bothers to truly look twice at a District hussy in Capitol clothes.
By the beginnings of most nights, she's bubbly, fashionable, charming and more than willing to buy friends and strangers alike a drink. By the end, she tends to be a bit more maudlin, still spending money haphazardly but less out of generosity and more as a prophylactic to feeling poor.
Find her for company, or she'll find you.
II. Clint
If there's a better cure for loneliness and sorrow than a fresh coat of paint, Temple doesn't know what it is. She doesn't believe in the therapy that is prescribed to Victors of the Hunger Games, and she dabbles in medication and psychic enemas only occasionally, when they come back into vogue every other year or so. The only way she's ever known to feel better about anything is to obliterate her woes under an aggressive spotlight, to cover them in makeup and hairspray, jewels and manicures, with liquor and sedatives as the fixative.
And naturally, she's noticed that all Clint's friends are gone. She may be morally opposed to inter-District alliances in the Arena, but she can respect that he must be sad and lonely, so instead of shuffling him off to a photoshoot today she gets Swann's permission to pack him into a car and take him to a spa. She doesn't tell him where they're going, just grins and says it's a surprise, and when they arrive she presents him with what must be the most shi-shi getaway in all the Capitol.
The entire spa smells like heavenly cinnamon fragrances, positioned over a natural waterfall with Avoxes tending to the hot springs at the base. There are steam rooms, sensory deprivation chambers, seal-fur robes that have never before touched human skin that will be discarded after a single use, ornately-carved wooden chairs and benches and masseuses at hand with entire carts of lotions and incense. The tessellated tiles along the floor are myriad colors, and the lights warming them from beneath cast the entire scene in stained glass. Some Capitolites in the far corner are receiving truly decadent manicures and facials.
She clutches her hands together in little fists under her chin and then checks them in. "Would you like to do the steam room first? You look so tired, lately. Maybe get changed into a robe and let one of the masseuses take out your tension? This is a high-end spa, those are professional masseuses, not just Avoxes trained to rub out a knot."
As she says that last array of words, she starts to undress, entirely without shame.
I. some bar somewhere
Most Capitolite diversions don't much pacify her these days; her ever-increasing desire for more, to see the outside world and live a normal life like those the Offworlders live keeps her from enjoying things the same way. But one thing she still can do is drink, which she does propped up at the bar wrapped in a long, sable fur that she doesn't feel the need to take off quite yet. Her hair is loose, for once, cascading outward in a halo of black curls, giving her a look that's a sight less polished than the way she usually looks at work. Still, she strikes a cutting enough figure that she's recognizable.
She's got a little notebook in hand, and she's frowning down at it as she sips her white wine spritzer, making a thoughtful little sound at some handwritten note before glancing up to look at the woman next to her.
"Do you have a pen?" Only then does it strike her that she knows exactly who's beside her, and it's not just a random stranger. Shit.
no subject
But their purpose here is the same: to drink and fuck their problems into a booze-soaked sweaty oblivion, to banish heartache and exhaustion with the wand of wealth and privilege. So in a way, they're sisters here.
"Of course!" Temple paws around her clutch (she's already a drink or two in) and retrieves an ivory pen and slides it over to Porrim. "What are you writing? I hope you don't mind me being nosy, I promise I'm not trying to get an edge over your Tributes."
no subject
"No, not at all," Porrim replies, taking the pen and making a few scribbles. "Just making some notes on Arena performance and potential Sponsorship targets, that sort of thing." She snorts. "It's not hard to get an edge on Five these days, I'm afraid. Especially since Eight is looking so very...muscular lately."
no subject
"It's a shame we have to send them to the Arena so often, where they get all...dirty and scratched up. Those muscles deserve to be oiled and massaged."
She raises her eyebrows and looks around the club. There's no one here who's caught her eye in that regard yet. "I really don't know what they're feeding those men back where they come from. They should introduce it to the diet here."
no subject
And maybe her and Temple are more like kindred spirits than she ever reckoned for.
"I know exactly what you mean." She covers her hand politely to giggle. "It's definitely something else." She's long been saying that wherever America is, they certainly know what they're doing. "Steroids or growth hormones, maybe."
no subject
"I tried spiking my husband's coffee with steroids once. I thought it would make him buff up, but all it did was make him have to pee all the time," Temple whispers to Porrim, snickering. "Since I haven't noticed that with our Tributes, I'll put my money on the growth hormones."
no subject
"That's why I'll never get married. I can't stand the thought of having to be stuck with someone and realizing how disappointing they are." She regards Temple over the rim of her glass. "Sorry."
no subject
"Oh, believe me, you have a perfectly accurate idea of what it's like." She rolls her eyes. "It's even worse when you start off knowing your groom to be has a dick like a roll of coins."
She pauses, then laughs. "I'm sorry, that was so vulgar!"
no subject
She snorts. "Please. Vulgar is practically my middle name. No need to apologize." The woman has the words tough bitch tattooed across her knuckles, for Snow's sake.
no subject
"I was hoping so, but I wouldn't want rumor to get out that I'm crass." If only because it means something different coming from a Districter than a Capitolite, and Temple hates it when people are reminded that she's the former.
no subject
She leans in close, raising a finger to her lips. "Don't you worry. I won't tell a soul."