thecapitol | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Johanna could do that. In the back of her mind, that's what Johanna does as well. It's what they all did - what they'd had to do to be stood here now. And Johanna hated it. And so she tried now not to acknowledge that she thought of it at all.

"I don't think this lot are bright enough to think of that, though." Johanna frowned at Barbara. She thought back to her District Tour. The glares. The hostility and forced welcome to her. Not the Tributes. The idiots loved the damn Tributes. And then the ball where Penny wound her up and crushed her arm and Johanna had stabbed her with a fork and ended up arrested. And she was dressed up as a tree. Again.

Originality, people. Would it kill you?

"That was the biggest waste. They dragged me here for two days before packing me back off on those damn trains. Idiots."

"You, me, Finnick, who else? She smiled, giving a shrug of her shoulders. "Seems like they called in as many of us as they could right before."

Another powerplay from the Capitol, but she had to wonder at the intended results. Having more of the Mentors in town seemed like something to be viewed in flux. They were competing for attention with their own Tributes, in a way. Unless that was part of the point. A further devaluing of their public worth, and what that might mean for disposability. Barbara didn't think Snow was that stupid, or that he'd let the other political presences touch on the grounded interests of Mentors familiar to Panem over the years and decades, but veiled threats and increasing Peacekeeper activity made for uneasy bedmates.

"I guess it makes sense, to get the getting to know you part out of the way before we were getting to show them where we're from. Or a little portion of where we're from. District 9's so big! There'd never be time to tour it all in a handful of days."

Such brief stays made it easy for highly edited experiences. She still shivered, thinking about some of the things the Tributes had heard from looser lips than had a right to be speaking. People talking about taking from the warehouse without permission -- in front of Peacekeepers?

Barbara's lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the screen. "How many floors is this? Three? Four?"

"Yeah, well I'm fed up of it." She looked up from the screens, and directed her words to nobody in particular. "You hear that? I am SICK of it."

But what, really, was she going to do about it? What could she do? Johanna and what army?

Shut up and put up. Or shout out and put up. No difference, really, except that she pissed a few people off. So she glared at Barbara. Not that it was Barbara's fault, but hell. The woman pissed Johanna off as well. So bloody reasonable about it all.

"They saw a few trees and a log cabin." Johanna snorted. Fat lot of good that did anyone. They didn't get a real sense of District 7... perhaps the more astute might have realised how much she was feared and how much Penny was loathed. She rubbed her bruised wrist. Bloody Penny. The woman's hand print was clearly visible on Johanna's skin. She hated that, wearing even that reminder of the Capitol's power over her.

"Six floors." She spat on the floor.

They all acted for the cameras, far past when they were under constant scrutiny. Barbara was as guilt of it as Johanna was in her own way; as Eva was in hers. It's what makes their lives an ongoing balancing act, where cutting free meant someone granted you the wiggle room to not feel the knife against your throat to be on your best behavior.

Katniss and Peeta had helped provoke a different degree of watchfulness over the whole. The Endless Quell, such as it was, added it's own deciding pressures to the mix.

Barbara didn't flinch when Johanna spat. She nodded her head, eying the screen. "A whole six? Oh boy, that'll be a doozy."

She leaned forward, squinting at the screen. Barbara brought her hand up to rest her fingers against the outside edge, where it wouldn't interfere with Johanna's controls. She seemed oblivious to the glares that were cast her way by her current companion. "They saw a church and a hotel in 9." It sounded like idle contemplation when she added, "I think the only time I ever stayed in that place before then was after the Reaping."

There'd been a problem with the Mayor's residence at the time. She remembered that much. So much of the rest was a blur of emotion and disparate, stark images burned into memory.

"Six floors... is that counting the roof?"

"That'll be a doozy?" Johanna was scornful. "You make it sound like a hoe-down.. Do you think they're gonna barn dance around the arena? How out of touch are you? Have you even watched any of these Games? They're more brutal then we were. More creative."

Johanna moved her controls so that her screen zoomed in on Justin. "Idiot." And Homura. "Suicidal." She ticked her tributes off on her fingers. "I doubt any of them will even think of using the roof." She rolled her eyes at Barbara. "You have eyes, don't you? Count the floors yourself. I am not your personal arena commentator."

Did Barbara really want to blabber about their Reapings? Johanna remembered shaking and being physically hauled onto the stage by the Game Makers. She remembered clenching her fists as her name was read out, and saying to herself, 'this is the moment where you win. Make it good."
She remembered looking into her dad's eyes and longing to go home to him one day.

"Oh shut up." She didn't want to think about her father.

She smiled in spite of herself. None of them, or those who had been decent people at some point in their youth, enjoyed rehashing the past. They were forced to often enough on television, live or for a studio audience. They were questioned by curious and invasive faces and personalities anywhere they went. Only the rash of Tributes in this new style of Games was helping pull attention off those love children of the media that former Victors were, no matter how well or ill put together they were in the end.

"More creative, but not creative enough to use the roof?" She cocked her head to the side, eyes lingering on the image of the last Tribute brought up on screen.

Johanna glared at Barbara. She didn't like being pulled up about anything.

"More creative in killing. Lots of blood. What the idiots here want. They're far too eager to appease and make the deaths as violent as possible. The roof won't cut it. It's too quick. Too easy."

Like as not they'd be dragged back down if they did stay out of the firing zone for too long -- or they'd go Enjolras' route. It was difficult to say.

"It's all so sad." She can say this with real regret in her voice. Her sunny expression dimmed for a beat, blue eyes taking in the screen. "Trying so hard for so little in return."

Losing more and more of themselves each time if they fed into the Games. Losing a different portion if they surrendered and died.