thecapitol | [semi-open]

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[semi-open]

WHO| Stephen Reagan and the D6 tributes/mentors
WHAT| The former D6 Escort is back at his old job and wants to meet all his new Tributes. The Neverending Quell is so exciting!
WHEN| Saturday and Sunday.
WHERE| Tribute Tower, D6 suite
WARNINGS| Catch-all warning for a guy who's swallowed all of the Capitol's bullshit, plus whatever you bring with you.

For most of March 22 and 23, there was a new figure in the D6 common rooms. It wouldn't be hard to guess that he was a Capitol native -- the too-smooth skin, the lightly applied glittery-blue guyliner, and the precious stones that lined one ear were enough to give that away. He sat comfortably in the D6 common room, dressed in an ice-blue suit, sipping intermittently at something expensive and bubbly. Most of his attention was on the tablet on his lap, but whenever someone came in, his head immediately snapped up. He broke into a broad smile as he stood, crossed the room, and offered his hand (the suit cuff was lined with some kind of sparkly fabric that really shouldn't be able to reflect that much light) to the newcomer.

"Hello, hello! It's so good to meet you in person at last."

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Did Stephen want to walk away from this?

...did he?

"...you have blood on your hands," he points out, as steadily as he can.

Kevin simply stares, head tilting a little to one side. His smile doesn't flicker.

"...Yes? I know I'm pretty dry overall, but I figured that's just how things are done here."

...okay, that is enough. Stephen Reagan's job is to keep his Tributes in line -- to make sure that they follow all the Capitol's laws, that they don't make a disturbance, that they are where they need to be with their ties tied and their buttons buttoned.

If Kevin has killed someone outside of the Arena, then that is Stephen's business. As frightening as he finds the idea, it is his duty to investigate.

Oh, God.

"Does that blood...belong to a person?" he presses with as much resolve as he can muster. If Kevin's just dismembering pigeons in the park, then that doesn't matter.

There is an uncomfortably long silence as Kevin evaluates his answer to the question. Finally, when he speaks, it's slowly - with the tone of someone no longer certain what the correct answer is.

"...Well...I mean, I always thought that animals were people, too, but...I mean, if you think small rodents are people, then yes?"

The most would-be innocent of smiles.

Relief floods Stephen, both because no one had died at Kevin's hands and because Stephen will not have to handle the enormous mess that would be Kevin killing and eating a citizen of the Capitol.

"Oh, thank god," gushes Stephen, holding a hand to his chest. "That's fine. You can do that. Kill as many rats as you want, it doesn't matter. But please do keep in mind that killing actual humans is illegal outside of the Arena, and that any attempt to murder a citizen or another Tribute while in the Capitol will be severely punished."

He doesn't even sound angry. He just sounds relieved.

Edited 2014-04-28 17:37 (UTC)

"Oh my gosh - I would NEVER break rules like that," Kevin gasps, putting a bloody hand to his heart and subsequently getting blood and rat gore all over his lapels.

"That would be just awful! I would never do something illegal."

Deep breaths, Stephen, deep breaths.

"All right, good. As long as we're clear. Save all that energy for the Arena, Kevin. Okay?"

Only rats. It was only rats. It was terrifying, and disgusting, but not wrong. Not legally anyway. Stephen smiled brightly and did his level best not to imagine Kevin eating rats.

"I'll make sure the Avoxes get that suit cleaned up."

"Of course I will! You can count on me."

Kevin didn't see what about his suit needed cleaning, but hey. The Capitol was kind of funny about that, wasn't it?

He tented his fingers in a businesslike fashion.

"Now then - what did you want to speak with me about?"

Stephen cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. Business. He was here to talk business.

"As you know, the Hunger Games is a very public event. The entire country is watching. Therefore, your image as a Tribute is extremely important. Not only does it give the people of Panem an idea of who they're rooting for, but an impressive image will net you sponsors, people who will send you helpful things during the Arena. If they like you, they'll want you to win. If they think you're impressive, they'll bet on you -- and want you to win. A well-timed gift can mean the difference between life and death in the Arena." It wasn't quite as put-together and polished as Stephen would have liked, but he was still unsettled by the too-wide smile and the too-dark eyes.

"So, I'd like to talk to you about how you want the people of Panem to see you."

Despite how loopy Kevin could seem, he was a shrewd man. He listened to what Stephen had to say, nodding along, clearly listening despite that ridiculous grin of his. Playing to the crowd. That was important, and he knew that. He knew how to schmooze, and he was beginning to understand Stephen's role in all of this.

When he spoke again, it was still bright, but suddenly...savvy.

"Well, I like to think that I don't seem like I have much to hide! I'm an open person, Stephen. I don't lie, and I am an open book. I would like for people to trust me...and if there's anything I can do to be more visually entertaining, I would love to hear your opinions."

Business. All business.

That helped. That gave Stephen a focus. Talking business was something he could do. However, what Kevin was saying, it -- he couldn't portray Kevin as trustworthy. There was no billing family-friendly, honest Kevin.

"Uh huh."

However, maybe if he knew more about Kevin, Stephen could craft an image that was closer to the truth.

"Would you mind telling me a little bit about your history?" Stephen asked, gesturing for Kevin to sit at one of the attractively-modern, streamlined, but comfortable chairs that sat in the living area of the D6 rooms.

"Sure I can!"

Kevin took a seat - his carriage was comfortable, easygoing. It was clear that he considered himself trustworthy and family-friendly, despite Stephen's thoughts...but then, he WAS, back where he came from.

He steepled his bloody fingers in front of him.

"Well, back home, I'm a community radio host. I do the news for our little town! I've been doing it for a long time...gosh, I can't even remember when I began." A little giggle.

"I also work with and for my parent company, Strexcorp Synernists Inc! I speak for them, act as a figurehead sometimes...plus I've been the subject of some of their medical miracles. I owe them everything!"

"Do you mean your mouth and your eyes?" Stephen prompted, a little gingerly.

"Oh - well, yes! It's all right, Stephen, don't be shy! You can ask me anything."

He reached up to run a finger over his own lip, as if reminding himself how far out it ran to the edge of his face.

"I couldn't...see very well when I was young, you see. They fixed that! And now I can even stare into the sun for the mandatory ten minutes a day. As for my mouth...well, smiles are important, right?"

He grinned, wide and bright, all jagged teeth on display.

"They've done other things, too, but I guess those are the easiest to see."

Stephen listened, tilting his head to the side, furiously scribbling down notes in his head. He didn't think Kevin's smile was anything unusual -- body modification was common enough in the Capitol, after all, and so was the healing of disabilities that couldn't be healed on other worlds. However, the devotion to the company was interesting, and something Stephen might play up later.

"You seem like a very reasonable man," said Stephen, interested but still professionally distant -- the conversation had somehow shifted to have the feel of an interview. "Talking to you, I can hardly believe those things you did in the Arena. Was it really just devotion to what you saw as your job? And what about the 'hugs?'" he asked. "What can you tell me about that?"

Interviews were perfect. Kevin could do interviews without fail. He tilted his head to one side in a mirror of Stephen's carriage, breaking the steeples of his fingers to gesture when he spoke.

"Honestly, I don't understand what it was that I did that seems so terrible. I was just doing my job! That's it exactly." A grin and a nod...and then the lift of eyebrows.

"What about them? I love hugs! Who doesn't?"

"Your victims in the Arena didn't," said Stephen, and the nervousness crept back into his stomach. "You -- you realize that what you call a 'hug,' most people call 'strangulation,' don't you?"

"They do?"

Honest surprise crosses Kevin's face, though it's really hard to tell with that smile.

"Gosh! I didn't know that! Customs are just so different here!"

"So what you're saying is," Stephen goes on, enunciating each word carefully, "that you love...strangling people to death. Is that right, or am I misunderstanding?"

Edited 2014-06-04 19:20 (UTC)

A long, uncomfortable silence, where you can very nearly hear the gears turning in the man's head. He's not stupid, not at all...but this is the look of culture shock.

"...Yes? I mean, I guess, by your definition? But you have to understand - USUALLY, death isn't even a factor! Not at home, anyway. Not really. Like I said - customs are just sooooo different here."

There's something chilling about his voice at the end of that comment...something less than innocent in the way his smile quirks up.

Hm.

It sends an ice-cold stab of fear through Stephen's lower abdomen, and also makes him seriously consider calling a Peacekeeper or two.

"I apologize," said Stephen slowly, "if any of these questions seem intrusive. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Quite the opposite: it's my job to help you adjust to living in the Capitol. However, out of curiosity, I have to wonder: was it that people did not die when they were strangled where you were from?" Or was it that their death didn't matter? he did not say.

"Oh, I'm not uncomfortable at all!" Amazing how this guy could go from a chilling hiss to a giggle, isn't it? He waves a hand dismissively before folding it with his other hand in front of him, resting both with fingers laced upon his knee.

He halts for a long time while he considers the question - or maybe is considering the question? - and then finally, when he does answer:

"Well, not always. Strexcorp tends to frown on putting people out of commission for a work day."

...Oh.

"Just so we're clear," says Stephen, who feels like he's on tenderhooks, "hugging others to death in the Capitol, be they Tribute or citizen, is very strongly frowned upon and will result in disciplinary action. It's not what you're used to, and I recognize that. However, as long as you are a guest in Panem, you'll be expected to abide by our laws. Is that acceptable?"

This conversation, tense and carefully diplomatic, might be one of the bravest things Stephen Reagan has ever done.

A very long, uncomfortable silence follows the dispensed information - Kevin sits there, processing it, staring the golden-haired Escort down with his wide, lightless eyes....

"...I understand." Take a breath of relief, Stephen, while you can. Kevin laughs softly, nodding his head in a casual fashion before speaking again. "But it's fair game within the Arena, isn't it? I mean, gosh...isn't killing my job in there?"

"Yes," says Stephen, enthusiastically and unequivocally. "Absolutely. You are meant to kill in and only in the Arena."

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