thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Emily and Open!
What| Emily watches herself on TV, and realises the threat imminent to her District
Where| Around the Capitol
When| Just after the most recent propos
Warnings/Notes| None inherent

a) A busy square in the Capitol
Even after spending so many years in the spotlight, there was something a little surreal about seeing herself on TV. The idea of becoming this sort of symbol for the Capitol still leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but this was the price she'd had to pay for her citizenship and her freedom from the Games - not that the latter was an issue any more anyway now the war that had been brewing for the last 75 years had finally boiled over - and she was determined to give it her all.

She'd been tipped off by the production team as to when her propo was going to be broadcast, and she'd picked out a square in one of the Capitol's busiest shopping districts, with one of the very trees she refers to in the broadcast straight from Seven bedecked with lights placed in the centre. She cranes her neck up to the giant screens where her own face stares back down at her, pretty impressed at how well she's coming across. She's not ready, however, for the arms that are thrown around her as her speech ends, the Capitolites gathering around in their furs and heels and odd hair colours to kiss her on both cheeks and tell her what a darling she is and how she's inspired all of them.

She smiles sweetly, feeling a little lost, and knowing that she's preaching to the crowd here anyway.

b) Emily's Apartment
The District Thirteen broadcast was the worst possible thing for Emily to see. She'd been angry enough that footage of her Games was being used by the rebels, undermining everything she'd been trying to argue, but worse than that was seeing Thirteen's soldiers on the ground in Seven. She wants to not care, to revel in her own safety here in the Capitol, but her biggest weakness has always been caring too much, and she feels the vulnerable District girl all over again, knowing the utter brutality that would come from the Peacekeepers if the citizens of Seven were inspired to join the uprising. It didn't matter if they remembered how unbearable things became after the riots before, they were desperate and had nothing to lose.

When she hears the knock on the door she tries to calm herself from the panic she's broken into, but she still looks a mess when she answers the door, peering around nervously.

"Now's not a good time."

c) Wildcard
I'm happy to set up something else for your character, poke me at

viridianwings for another starter!

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The bar is relatively empty at this hour, vacated by patrons headed off to more exciting clubs. It's a hole-in-the-wall not too far from his apartment, and a little less glitzy than most places downtown--the tables are bathed in muted red, while the countertop gleams beneath points of white light cast through a pierced-metal chandelier. A few colorful liqueurs sit on the shelves, but most of the bottles are more classic spirits, such as the whiskey Quintus has in hand, those simulated stars dancing against the glass as he takes a swig.

He's out of uniform, done for the day and not looking forward to what might come tomorrow. Sleeplessness has settled into the lines of his face, and he would be lying to say that he didn't think of turning her down tonight--but without distraction, he knows, his mind will be left running ever-tighter circles in the darkness of his apartment. He has to take these moments where he gets them, for the sake of his own sanity.

"I really want to know who they've got hacking our TV," he remarks, the humor in his tone as bitter as the alcohol. "Not that I think those ads are actually working as a recruiting tool, but I launched an investigation after the crowning and found no evidence that anyone at the network's a sympathizer. Looks like they're literally cracking the satellite signal encryption. I'm impressed."

Emily sinks down against the door as she swings it shut behind her, feeling her legs give way in her exhaustion and relief at having finally tracked Quintus down. He'd been her first thought when she'd seen the footage of the rebels in District Seven - if anyone would have an accurate picture of what was going on, it would be the Head Peacekeeper.

"I've been knocking on your apartment door all evening."

"Thought I told you I wouldn't be in." He thinks for a moment, trying to recall whether he left Emily a message--the intention was probably lost amidst the constant demands of his work. "Sorry."

Motioning for her to sit beside him, he lifts a hand to catch the eye of the bartender. "Order whatever you want; I'll pay for it."

She makes her way over to the bar, dragging her feet along heavily, feeling very weary. "Just a beer. ...No, something stronger. Whiskey. Then a beer."

The bartender looks to Quintus, who points to one of the more expensive bottles--better than the stuff he happens to be drinking. Once Emily has a glass in front of her, he shifts in his seat to face her.

"I thought your ad was nice, for the record," he says. "And I presume you want to talk about how things are looking in Seven right now."

Emily offers a tired, wry smile. "Just nice?" She'd worked too hard to be damned by faint praise.

"Yeah, I..." She breaks off, not really wanting to face how bad things could have gotten. "I need to know."

"Your performance was good, but the script overall was pretty melodramatic." He smiles back. "Exactly the sort of thing I'd expect from the Capitol, really."

The trace of amusement drops from his expression as he sips from his drink, thinking through what he can safely tell her. "We have intelligence indicating that a substantial force is camping out in the woods just outside of town. Thirteen's still got a crew occupying Twelve but most of their army's traveled northwest into Seven. We've got troops assembling to meet them as I speak."

Another sip. "I think I might stop in Two and then head up there myself. There's some people I ought to talk to in person."

"Don't." The word tumbles from her mouth before she can stop it, though she just manages to restrain herself from reaching out her hand to rest on his arm.

He blinks, slightly startled by her response. "I'll be all right. I'm not going to walk straight into the fray of any fighting."

"You don't have to be on the battlefield to be in the line of fire." She turns her gaze back to her drink, but her brow is still creased with worry. "They ambushed a train full of Peacekeepers; it's definitely not inconceivable that they'll target you as soon as you step out of the Capitol."

"That is a possibility I'll have to take precautions for," he concedes. "But there's only so much I can do remotely. And all those young guys I've got getting shot and blown up out there--I want them to understand that they're not just numbers on reports. When I was injured, my commander presented my medal personally, and that meant something to me."

He turns his glass around on the top of the bar. "I know this'll be a little unprecedented for a Head Peacekeeper to do, but hell, if nothing else it'll show that I give a damn."

Emily nods understanding; even if she doesn't particularly like the idea she knows completely where he's coming from. It was a similar sort of symbol to the one the government wanted her to play, except that she'd stepped into the role having no other choice, while Quintus was selflessly sacrificing his own safety to become one willingly.

She manages a faint smile, respecting his choice and knowing she wouldn't be able to change his mind. "That makes you a hell of a lot better than the Peacekeepers we had in Seven. I hope they appreciate all you're doing for them."

"Emily, I--" he starts to say, then rethinks the impulse almost immediately. "I'm sorry you got such a bad impression of them. I can tell you that in my--wow, almost twenty years doing this job that I've only met a couple guys that were really bad news. Most of us want to get it right. Keep things under control, if nothing else. I'm not that unusual or special--just a higher-up who still remembers his time on the ground, I guess."

He'd have a different impression if he'd seen it from the other side, Emily thinks bleakly. But then, Quintus was still a Districter himself. It's a detail she often forgets, with how much he's come to represent the authority of the Capitol to her.

"What about when you were growing up, in Two? Weren't the Peacekeepers seen as oppressive to the citizens, just the same?"

How could you become that oppressor, she wonders, if it's indeed the same as Seven and the horror stories she's heard about the other lower Districts.

"No, Two hasn't had the same kind of unrest. Becoming a peacekeeper's considered an honorable thing to do. My father was one, and he expected me and my brother to serve our country as well."

He spins his glass slowly around again, a faint smile on his lips. "I used to think about where Lurio would be if he'd taken that route. He would've done well. He was always looking for a challenge, some way he could stand out, and he had this zeal to him that was hard not to like."

Emily finds her view of him changing instantly, from 'local kid done good' to a part of the elite, distanced from other Districters even back in the Districts. She doesn't like the feeling of the gulf between them widening even further. She knows it's a bad idea to express her disappointment, so she focuses on what he's saying rather than her own feelings.

"You weren't looking for a challenge, then? And yet you've ended up with perhaps the most challenging job the Capitol can offer."

"I wound up here in the Capitol partly because I got tired of the same daily grind after ten years. It wasn't straight up wanting a challenge, I--I just felt I could do more." He shrugs. "I never expected to be promoted this far up the line, especially not this fast."

His promotion had been a surprise to Emily too; she still wasn't sure quite why the Capitol were so happy with having a Districter, an outsider, in such a position of power.

"Do more for who? Yourself, your family?" Although she was already certain the answer would be the nation, and that made her feel a little nauseous.

"If I were in it for me I wouldn't be talking about traveling out to a war zone," he says with a humorless laugh. "This job's a tough and thankless enterprise--most of peacekeeping is. Wouldn't recommend it to somebody looking for widespread fame and adoration."

Like Lurio had, he can't help but think--he'd craved that abstract glory, that popular desire. He could have indeed made a name for himself among his fellows, but it wouldn't have been the same as the way he'd captivated a nation in those final rounds, the eyes of all classes of society riveted on him. The whole thing had been too much too fast, like a firework burning itself out, and in a way it had left Quintus altogether wary of notoriety.

In his own mind, in spite of his title, he was still just a soldier, a piece of a larger machine. He couldn't risk being anything else.

"I wanted to do more for everybody. However much I could."

"And do you really think going out to a war zone is the best way to do more for everyone?" She looks at him challengingly over the top of her beer bottle.

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