thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Mentors, stylist, escorts, and anyone else keeping up with tributes in an official aspect.
What| The green room
Where| The tribute training center
When| start of the arena
Warnings/Notes| none inherent, tags thread subjects as needed.

The green room this round has been decorated with the sensibility of what would be, in our era, a turn of the century sitting room. Dark wood paneling, thick rich red velvet furniture, and plush red curtains drawn back over various monitors with heavy gold cords. Although the room is quiet large to contain so many people, it gives the impression of being intimate. The Avoxes, decked out in vaguely militaristic attire, serve food and drink in silver and crystal dishes, gold alcohol catching the light of the stained glass lamps around the room.

In the center of the room is a holographic projection of the arena, highlighting in flickering lights where each tribute is. Panels hidden discretely in the wood paneling can change the view of any of the screens so a mentor or stylist can pull up their own tribute, or one whom they would like to observe.

The projection can easily be shifted, with the flick of a hand, on to the person's own tablet, or even to be projected on one of the sitting tables placed around the room. On their screens other various information can be easily accessed: current odds, gossip, and even communication from potential bidders.

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Finnick knew better than to talk back to a sponsor, even when he wanted to give an honest answer. No successful mentor would make a rookie mistake like that.

"With as many tributes as we have? It may not even last that long."

He tried to remember a few more specifics on this particular citizen of the Capitol but couldn't come up with anything useful at the moment. As far as he knew this man was a bit of an enigma, which meant he probably still needed a little push to come around to Finnick's charms.

"Have your eye on anyone yet? I would give you some ideas but you and I both know they would be completely biased."

There's a flash of recognition on Cecil's face when Finnick begins to speak. He's seen him before, of course, seen all his interviews, but it's his voice that puts it together for him, turns the person on the screen into the flesh-and-blood human before him. Oh, this is exciting. He's been reporting on Capitol news for some time now, but he never imagined his new job would let him get so very close to the celebrities around whose lives his reporting has always revolved.

"Well," he says, and suddenly feels just a little self-conscious-- he doesn't usually talk strategy with Victors. Come on, Cecil. You've been watching the Games for years longer than he's been in them! Do your job. "I, personally, have had my eye on the trolls, since the last Arena." He reaches for his tablet again, flicking through the map until he finds a small group of them to zoom in on. His voice is louder, as though for a bigger audience than just Finnick. "Just think! In a few short days, we could be seeing Panem's first truly non-human Victor. I mean, what an opportunity, right? What a way to send the message that the Hunger Games truly are for everyone - regardless of gender, species, or extra-dimensional point of origin!"

He turns bright eyes on Finnick, and... well. Okay. He almost manages to leave it there. But he can't. When he speaks again, most traces of the broadcast-announcer are gone from his voice, entirely replaced with something like sheepish admiration. "...and, uh. If I can just-- put this out there-- it's just. Really cool to meet you in person."

Finnick nods along with what Cecil says, taking it in and trying not look nervous at the attention grabbing way he says it. He does feel far more at ease though when the announcer seems intimidated by him. This, he can work with.

"I certainly wouldn't bet against the trolls, they do seem built for this sort of thing. But a non-human winning the games seems like a lot to ask for. I'm sure there are a lot of bets riding on it."

When he's sure he has Cecil's attention again he offers his hand. "Then you should really meet me. Finnick Odair, it's good to meet you."

Cecil takes Finnick's hand and shakes it, with a grip just a little too tight and eye contact just a little too fixed. This is the hand that won the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, he thinks. Or, well, one of them, anyway. It takes two hands, generally, to throw a net, after all, though the trident had certainly been more flexible in that regard-- though that doesn't matter! It counts, this definitely counts, he is definitely holding, if not the hand, at least a hand that won the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, and that is just. So cool.

He realizes, too many seconds into this train of thought, that he's still shaking Finnick's hand. He hastily lets it go.

"--Uh. Cecil. I'm Cecil. I report all the Capitol news that that's fit to broadcast! Or, I will be reporting all the Capitol news that's fit to broadcast, anyway. Soon." The last word is spoken low, almost threatening-- but it has no effect on the cheerfulness of the sentence that follows. "...And, as such, I'd just love to hear a real Victor's real opinion on that Cornucopia." He raises his eyebrows good-naturedly-- how about it?

This isn't the strangest greeting Finnick has had in the Capitol, and at least so far, it's sweet. He can't be sure just yet what Cecil's intentions are, but he is reacting the way he might expect for someone who's just met a real Victor in person for the first time.

"Am I going to be on the record giving my opinion, Cecil? Because that might change my predictions a bit."

He leans in and speaks in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"We don't want everyone to get the kind of inside information I have. It just wouldn't be fair, would it?"

Cecil is torn. Legitimately torn. On the one hand, he is a journalist, and it is his responsibility to report-- well, everything that's fit to broadcast! And Finnick Odair's picks for an Arena victory are definitely newsworthy. On the other hand, Finnick Odair has just offered to take him into his confidence and... oh, wow, how do you pass that up?

"...Well." Be cool, Cecil. He gives Finnick a smile, intended to mirror his conspiratorial tone. "Let's... say you weren't on the record." A pause. "--I mean, of course you are on the record - if not my own personal record, then that of the invisible ears planted all around this room, and the invisible eyes watching the movement of our lips and the subtle nuances of gesture that under certain circumstances might become tells, and the invisible hands that hover always over all our heads, waiting for the sirens to declare that a tell has been discovered."

He lets that hang just a second. It doesn't have the air of a threat-- he states it like fact, like an uncomfortable but necessary reminder.

"...But! Let's say you weren't on my record." His grin springs back into place. "Let's say that only the cameras will remember what is said here. What would you say then?"

Edited 2014-01-31 06:11 (UTC)

"I would say you know more about this place than I might have given you credit for. But that just gives me all the more reason to trust you."

Finnick puts an arm around Cecil's shoulder, drawing him in close for a conspiratorial conversation. He looks around the room as if he expects everyone else to be interested in what he's doing before he tells Cecil his thoughts.

"Well I have it on good authority that the betting is going toward some of the non human elements in the Arena. Can you imagine what the stylists and designers around here could do with that? But I have a bit of my own money on Hawkeye from my own dear District 4. He has military experience, and he's a classic underdog. If he doesn't make it to the last day, I'll be extremely surprised."

"I see," Cecil breathes. (His thoughts are divided equally between This is so going on the air next week and Finnick Odair is touching me, oh my god.) "Well. I've certainly had my eye on some of those... non human elements, myself." He mirrors Finnick's tone, with a sidelong smile. "There's one in your own District, if I'm not mistaken! But I'll have to watch out for this-- Hawkeye, you said?"

Of course Finnick would pick his own Tribute as the favorite - Cecil has no illusions about that strategy - but that certainly doesn't mean that Hawkeye isn't someone to watch. Finnick has seen more of him than most anyone at this point, Cecil is sure; if there can be said to be an expert on Hawkeye, it is likely him.

"Oh yes, there is a troll in my district, and I happen to know she's got more than a few good tricks up her sleeve." This is still a close, personal conversation. He is fairly sure that he has Cecil on the hook.

"But you know, even someone like you can make a difference. More so than most, you have the ear of the whole Capitol. And why shouldn't you? That voice could melt even the most stoic listener. You know, it's even better in person."

Finnick isn't actually interested in Cecil, but he wants Cecil to think he is. He's been at this a long time.

"--Oh! So you've heard me before." The modesty in his averted gaze does not make it as far as his voice. It's about as genuine as his surprise (of course Finnick's heard him before). "The Capitol does have many, many ears-- but I never knew yours were among them." He will have to think on this later - about how, if he is only as good as his audience, does that also mean he is only as famous as his audience? Is much of his audience this famous?

"...Is there someone you'd like me to mention, Mr. Odair?" Cecil's tone, slow and knowing, makes perfectly clear that he sees exactly what direction Finnick's pushing him-- and also that the flattery worked.

"You might be surprised at the parts of me that have been interested in you." Clearly, the time for subtly is over. He has Cecil on the line and all he has to do is reel a little more and he'll be in the boat. So to speak.

"And if you were able to put your support behind Mr. Hawkeye, I'm sure he and I would both appreciate it. Well, me more than anyone, since I'll be the one listening to you."

Finnick is laying it on thick. He may be setting himself up for a nasty surprise later, but for now he's pretty damn confident of himself.

"...Well." Cecil's eyebrows are practically in his hairline, and the grin stretched across his face is near-disbelieving. Here's something he'd not expected, not remotely, something that hadn't crossed his mind-- or, well, okay, it's crossed his mind, but never in any serious capacity-- that he would draw that kind of interest from a Victor. From Finnick Odair. People who have their pick of the Capitol usually don't have much interest in him. (He wonders briefly how much of it is genuine, and then decides that he doesn't want that to be relevant right now. Who cares, right?)

This isn't something he's prepared a response for, and so he latches onto the part he has experience to contend with, before the seconds between statement and reply can stretch too long. "--Well! I will certainly have to keep a closer eye on our Mr. Hawkeye, then." There is a promise in these words. Finnick's appreciation, he finds, is something he would be totally okay with holding onto. He leans just a little closer-- not difficult, as they're still shoulder to shoulder-- and says, low and heavy with conspiracy: "Keep your ears open, Finnick."

"You will have my complete attention, I promise." It almost seems too easy, he should probably feel bad for how hard Cecil had fallen. "And you know, doing me this favor, it means I'll owe you something in return. Keep that in mind and by all means, don't be a stranger. I want to hear from you again, and not just for your wonderful voice."

He gives Cecil one last wink before he removes his arm and turns his attention back toward the arena. He can't let his normal duties get too far behind, even if his duties include whatever it was he was just doing with Cecil.

Cecil's last reply is to Finnick's retreating back. "Oh, you will, Finnick! You will."

He watches Finnick go, wondering how long is polite to wait between talking with a Victor and talking again with a Victor. He wonders what the going rate is for Finnick Odair's time. He wonders if press discounts apply to vague promises made by charming young Mentors at green room parties. He wonders if he could get it counted as an on-the-job expense, or if Finnick would consider an hour or two alone sufficient payment for an increase in Hawkeye's sponsorship.

He doesn't know. He'll have to ask. He's never arranged a private interview with a Victor before, after all! And what a coup for his show, and the network, and for him! Just the thought of the ratings boost an on-air interview with the Capitol's favorite Victor will bring fills him with excitement.

He returns to his tablet, grin fixed firmly in place, with a final fond glance after Finnick. Man. He loves his new job.

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