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thecapitol2014-02-28 11:48 pm
void_whereprohibited) wrote in thecapitol2014-02-28 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] Imitation is the highest form of flattery
Who| Cecil Palmer and Kankri Vantas
What| Cecil conducts a private interview! If only someone had told Kankri.
Where| Cecil's apartment in the Capitol.
When| Several days after Kankri returns from the Arena.
Warnings| WALLS AND WALLS OF DIALOGUE.
It is eleven fifty-five in the morning, and Cecil is not at work. Or, well, he's not at the radio station. Technically, he is at work, despite being in his apartment - or, rather, is waiting for work to come to him.
He's grinning about this as he leans down to peer into the oven, where a lasagna is ten minutes from completion. Kankri Vantas - Troll From Another World - is coming to conduct an interview with him. Cecil looks at his own life sometimes these days, and barely recognizes it as his own - things this cool still feel like they should be happening to someone else. He's followed the Games his whole life, but he'd never dared to dream of the day he would be able to invite the Tributes he loves into his actual kitchen.
The bidding system isn't one he's ever had much taste for. It's always seemed... well, a little exploitative to him. The competition for Sponsorship, he personally believes, is difficult enough without adding such a crude bargaining element to it. That said-- it turns out that it is also an excellent way to guarantee two hours of a Tribute's time, and there are no stipulations whatsoever about how that time ought to be spent. The money goes to the Tribute, not to their Mentors or Sponsors or Escorts; and while the legal workings-out are a little hazy to him, so far as he can tell, so long as he uses it in the name of journalism, it even goes on the radio station's expenses list! There's no downside whatsoever!
Noon, he'd told them, in the single brief meeting where they'd worked it all out. He needs to be there at noon. He'd marked this down in triplicate - once in the bidding application paperwork; once on the company expenses docket; and once in his own calendar. He trusts that the Peacekeepers will be punctual. They usually are, in his--
Ah! And there's the bell. Cecil casts his oven mitts aside, the better to buzz the door open (which he can do from a small, sleek device hanging on the wall - celebrity has its perks, among them the salary for an apartment whose technological mysteries he has not come close to solving), and by the time he's leaning out of the kitchen the Peacekeepers are leading Kankri Vantas in.
"Hi!" he says brightly. "Come on in! I'm so glad you got my invitation." He talks as though the Peacekeepers aren't there (they stand, waiting for their cue to leave). He's dressed for the occasion in a SCIENCE ALLIANCE t-shirt, his most casual holographic-print leggings, and a high-quality pair of replica troll horns. On his arms and neck, patches of skin designed to resemble veined white marble are still visible - his cosmetic tribute to this Arena. His grin is wide and he cannot keep his hands still or his eyes off of the troll who is standing here, in his apartment. "I admit, I was a little worried I'd failed to fill out all the forms correctly - I haven't really done this before!"
What| Cecil conducts a private interview! If only someone had told Kankri.
Where| Cecil's apartment in the Capitol.
When| Several days after Kankri returns from the Arena.
Warnings| WALLS AND WALLS OF DIALOGUE.
It is eleven fifty-five in the morning, and Cecil is not at work. Or, well, he's not at the radio station. Technically, he is at work, despite being in his apartment - or, rather, is waiting for work to come to him.
He's grinning about this as he leans down to peer into the oven, where a lasagna is ten minutes from completion. Kankri Vantas - Troll From Another World - is coming to conduct an interview with him. Cecil looks at his own life sometimes these days, and barely recognizes it as his own - things this cool still feel like they should be happening to someone else. He's followed the Games his whole life, but he'd never dared to dream of the day he would be able to invite the Tributes he loves into his actual kitchen.
The bidding system isn't one he's ever had much taste for. It's always seemed... well, a little exploitative to him. The competition for Sponsorship, he personally believes, is difficult enough without adding such a crude bargaining element to it. That said-- it turns out that it is also an excellent way to guarantee two hours of a Tribute's time, and there are no stipulations whatsoever about how that time ought to be spent. The money goes to the Tribute, not to their Mentors or Sponsors or Escorts; and while the legal workings-out are a little hazy to him, so far as he can tell, so long as he uses it in the name of journalism, it even goes on the radio station's expenses list! There's no downside whatsoever!
Noon, he'd told them, in the single brief meeting where they'd worked it all out. He needs to be there at noon. He'd marked this down in triplicate - once in the bidding application paperwork; once on the company expenses docket; and once in his own calendar. He trusts that the Peacekeepers will be punctual. They usually are, in his--
Ah! And there's the bell. Cecil casts his oven mitts aside, the better to buzz the door open (which he can do from a small, sleek device hanging on the wall - celebrity has its perks, among them the salary for an apartment whose technological mysteries he has not come close to solving), and by the time he's leaning out of the kitchen the Peacekeepers are leading Kankri Vantas in.
"Hi!" he says brightly. "Come on in! I'm so glad you got my invitation." He talks as though the Peacekeepers aren't there (they stand, waiting for their cue to leave). He's dressed for the occasion in a SCIENCE ALLIANCE t-shirt, his most casual holographic-print leggings, and a high-quality pair of replica troll horns. On his arms and neck, patches of skin designed to resemble veined white marble are still visible - his cosmetic tribute to this Arena. His grin is wide and he cannot keep his hands still or his eyes off of the troll who is standing here, in his apartment. "I admit, I was a little worried I'd failed to fill out all the forms correctly - I haven't really done this before!"
no subject
It also doesn't help that he's been hustled in by some very imposing local enforcers. So when Cecil mentions the invitation, it's hard not to make a rude sound in reply. It's hardly an invitation when he was escorted here under duress, he thinks.
"Yes, well, since I'm still unfamiliar with the local written language, it was more than a little difficult to figure out what it was even for," he says instead, inspecting his just-filed claws rather than meeting the human's eyes. It's better than looking at the offensive mockery of his species being made by those mock-up horns. "Considering it was brought to me by one of those - what do you call them, Avoxes?" His nose wrinkles in distaste. "I'd have thought something with so much effort obviously put into it would take something that simple into account. And I suppose your customs must be quite different. Where I'm from invitations aren't so vigorously enforced."
It's not criticizing the regime if it's being discussed on a personal level, right?
no subject
Well, first things first. He steps into the foyer proper and waves the Peacekeepers away, suddenly self-conscious about their presence - of course they'd only make the situation worse! (He does not consider that he's just dismissed Kankri's only escort out of the apartment.)
"Look," he says as they file out, and his face is the picture of genuine concern-- "This must be very confusing for you. And that wasn't at all my intention! I mean, I imagine things must be pretty confusing for you anyway, being a relative newcomer to the Capitol, and to Panem, and possibly to our dimension, and everything. But I'm not talking about that confusion right now." There are many kinds of possible confusion; he has experienced many of them himself, and so feels confident talking about it in a general way.
"You see," he goes on, "that wasn't enforcement at all! ...Though I accept that it probably seemed that way, being in practice indistinguishable from modes of actual enforcement you may have experienced in your time here. But, believe me, that's a distinction we all have a little trouble with here in the Capitol." That's said with a brief return of his former grin-- Those hazily-defined totalitarian boundaries on our personal mobility, right? "However, assuming that coming from another world and speaking our own language as flawlessly as you do should extend to a command of our written language was insensitive of me, and I apologize." He somehow manages to make it sound both sincere, and like he is delivering a correction to a previous broadcast on the air.
And, with a hopeful smile, bright and a little sheepish under the candy-corn-colored horns: "I hope that I can make up for my insensitivity over the course of this interview, Mister Vantas."
no subject
And then Cecil says interview and the knot in his chest loosens in sheer relief. So it isn't for those things that had been ominously implied but never outright said to him. "I appreciate you making such an effort to understand cultures besides your own," he says with a little smile. "It's been honestly rather absent here. I apologize if I seemed cold, people here have just...made a habit of ignoring my boundaries, and I had expected you to be the same. I shouldn't generalize your species like that."
Now that he isn't so tense, he realizes that something smells wonderful. It's been a little while since breakfast, and anything that isn't stale pastries or rations has been like something out of a dream for him since his return. His mouth is watering, but he's sure it would be rude to just walk in and demand to eat this person's food!
Instead he says, "You seem to already know a bit about me, but I don't know much of anything about you." He gives him the shy smile that had been in so much of the footage centering on him and his friends that he's seen. "Since I obviously don't need to introduce myself, could you do me that courtesy for yourself?"
no subject
"Yes, of course!" he says, a little apologetically. "Sorry-- ordinarily, I conduct interviews in a much more formal setting - but I hope that, today, we can dispense with that, and just-- converse! As though there were no institutionally-established imbalance in power between us at all." He says it perfectly blithely - as though forgetting that should be the easiest thing in the world - as he puts his hand out to shake. "My name is Cecil Palmer, and I am the host of Welcome to Panem, a recently-established weekly radio show-- 'your source for all you need to know!'" That last quoted from the tagline of the show, with a you know how it goes air. "So, you may have heard me, even if you haven't heard of me."
Kankri might have been in the Arena when his show first began, he realizes-- but it is possible that his voice has found him in other ways. That someone else has told him to whose apartment he had been invited. (Privately, Cecil very much hopes so. He enjoys being heard of, more than he would admit.)
no subject
"I'm afraid I haven't really listened to anything of the sort here," he replies. "When I first arrived, I was so busy with the District visits - which were wonderful, I hope we get to see the people there again soon - and then I was in the Arena until now. But it's a pleasure to meet you all the same."
He hesitates a moment, then says, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but would you mind, er, taking those off?" He gestures to the false horns Cecil is wearing awkwardly. "It's honestly rather offputting to me. Horns are an indelible part of a troll's identity, and to have people wear them and then take them off again as if it were fun is...well. It bothers me, when humans don't seem to understand the meaning that horns carry to us."
no subject
He does remember to let go, after perhaps four or five pumps too many - it's so exciting, just looking at the gray skin against his, feeling the slightly alien texture, and warmly considering in what astounding ways the world has changed in these past months.
But his smile falters once more at Kankri's words. He puts a hand up to his head, where the horns rest just above his hairline. They weren't designed to imitate any particular troll, but he'd liked them when he saw them, candy-corn-colored and just a little curly at the ends.
"Oh!" he says, in the tone of one to whom this has genuinely never occurred. "Well-- I mean-- I thought having them might make you feel more comfortable! Everybody's wearing them these days," he goes on, earnestly, as though this is a compelling argument for his getting to keep them on. "It's not an insult at all. It's just a way for us citizens of the Capitol to show our support for our beloved Alternian Tributes!"
His smile has returned. "And," he adds, "I think they're rather fetching, personally."
no subject
He pulls his hand away when Cecil lets it go, delicately wiping it on his leggings. Humans do produce an awful lot of moisture, don't they? His gray eyes, crimson just starting to show in his pupils, lock on Cecil's willfully.
"Well, I did just tell you that it has had the opposite effect," he says coldly. "I feel far less comfortable because of how people treat my identity as a joke, or something to play at. If I tell you the cultural significance and meaning that such things have to me, and you then ignore it for your own personal comfort, that is very distinctly not supporting me. Furthermore," and now he looks thunderously disapproving, "I am not an Alternian, and I will thank you to remember that distinction! I may be a troll, but that does not mean I share a culture with the other trolls here. I am a native of Beforus, which is quite different. And if you think it is not, may I just remind you that there are several human Tributes here that are certainly not cut of the same cloth as Panem's citizens?"
no subject
He rallies as soon as Kankri is finished, though, putting up his hands in what he hopes is a mollifying gesture. "Well, of course!" he says, desperate not to be caught in any further act of cultural insensitivity. "And I do my best to show my support for them, too! See?" He points to the living room wall, visible through the wide, open doorway, where a large replica gladiator's shield hangs on the wall - clearly a tribute to Maximus' home culture. "It's like that! Only, on my head and not on my walls. Also horns, and not a large replica gladiator's shield. But otherwise, exactly the same."
no subject
He sighs. "Look - you didn't know, and it's unreasonable of me to expect you to have known how sensitive it might be, which I don't. But when I tell you that it is and you respond by making excuses for why you want to keep doing it anyway, I can't help thinking that it shows nothing but contempt for me and for my people."
no subject
...But. He is listening. He is looking at Kankri, and listening, and, as the seconds pass, seeing more than a small, adorable alien in fuzzy earmuffs and an oversized sweater. It occurs to him that he has spent a great deal of time in recent weeks listening to Tributes' opinions; but no Tribute has ever asked anything of him before.
The Capitol asks many things of its Tributes. In calling him here, Cecil has asked much of Kankri. He doesn't want to show contempt; he doesn't want to ask things of Kankri and be unwilling to offer even a listening ear in return.
After a moment, he sighs - though it seems directed more at himself than Kankri - reaches up, and with a moment's fiddling, removes the horns. There are two sort of flat places in his hair now, but he doesn't looks concerned about his appearance - just sort of abashed.
"There," he says. "Is... is that better?" It's an uncertain request, not a demand-- No, really, is it? He doesn't know what to do with them, so he keeps them in his hand; there's nowhere to toss them from here. "I apologize, Kankri. I have been remiss in my duties as a broadcast journalist - it is, after all, my job to listen to Tributes! And I have begun this interview by failing to listen to you."
Maybe, he thinks, standing awkwardly with the candy-corn-colored horns in his hand, there is some slim chance that he can salvage this interview. "Um," he adds after a moment, trying to remember how Kankri had phrased it-- "Is there... anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?"
no subject
He tugs the earmuffs down, letting them rest around his neck like a pair of headphones. "So, ah- something smells very good," he says shyly. "And might we have a seat? I've been doing a lot of walking around the Capitol, of late. Familiarizing myself with it, since I'll be here so often now."
no subject
"Of course! Right this way!" he says, and half-turns as he walks, so that he doesn't have to interrupt the conversation for the thirty seconds it takes to enter the kitchen. "I am absolutely delighted to hear that you've been exploring the Capitol in your time here. You know, at first, I thought we might go out somewhere in the city, but then I thought, that would kind of defeat the purpose of booking a private interview, right? So I made lasagna instead! I hope that's all right-- I figured, everybody likes lasagna!" He's impatient to put the most awkward part of this conversation behind them and get to the actual purpose of the visit: Namely, dragging private information out of Kankri the official way.
The kitchen itself is open and spacious and painted in shades of purple, like the rest of the apartment; the refrigerator magnets mostly feature Tributes' faces, past and present, and a Wyatt Earp action figure acts as centerpiece for the kitchen table, which has two chairs pulled up to it and two plates resting on it, with a microphone between them. Cecil waves Kankri in that direction and turns to the oven, where an egg timer designed to look like the Arena's countdown clock indicates that two minutes' cooking time remain.
Cecil halts beside the oven, one hand extended to pick up the oven mitt lying on the counter-- and then turns back to Kankri, his expression concerned. "...That's all right, right? I mean, lasagna is fine? ...Maybe I should have asked."