thecapitol | The Crowning of Mindy McReady

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The Crowning of Mindy McReady

Who| Everyone ~~who's anyone.~~
What| The Crowning.
Where| A warehouse on the edge of town.
When| Starting from early evening till late into the night.
Warnings/Notes| Be sure to check the linked thread for plot purposes, even if you don't tag into it.

The party is brightly colored.

The theme, subtly, is super heroes. Boldly paints city scapes are splattered across the walls, and hallways are made to look like dingy, potentially crime ridden alleys. From the upper walkways of the warehouse, party goers can get hooked into harnesses and swing out over the dance floor. Above them, tributes and VIPS can find themselves on a clear plastic dance floor levitated above everything, looking like they're hanging in air.

Masks are passed out in plenty, and capes are easy to find, while brightly colored drinks themed around super powers are plentiful. None of them actually work, but many of the Capitol people are happy to pretend, mocking super strength or invisibility with each new beverage.

Under the dance floor a catacomb of tunnels and rooms full of obstacles is splashed with black light receptive colors. Party goers are given vests and laser guns, marked green for villains and red for heros, and set loose to hunt each other in the laser tags playground. The screens in the dance floor keep a running tally of which side is winning, displaying the players on the screens around the room, along with clips from the arenas.

About half way through the night, everyone is gathered to the main stage for a special announcement.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sorry. I'll try to be more careful." A pause. "Provided the reasons you're in my space in this vaguely defined area -" He gestured with his free hand in a wobbly circle around himself "- is for reasons other than asking to feel my biceps. That's gotten old pretty fast."

He wasn't even that muscular. Capitol people were just weird. But they had a firm view in their heads of him being some wild muscleman. If he was physically stronger they probably would've been trying to get him to lift them over his head like weights or would've been handing over their babies for him to use as barbells.

"I promise," said Stephen solemnly, "it didn't even cross my mind."

He held out his hand.

"My name is Stephen Reagan. I'm the new escort for District 6."

By now he'd learned about the handshake thing, but he wasn't inclined to give people a gesture of friendliness when they were from the Capitol, not unless they turned out to be the kinder ones, like Cinna or Victors like Peeta and Katniss.

So he opted to just give a wiggly-fingered little wave in greeting.

"So you're one of the ones that tells us where to be while they control our entire lives, right?"

Stephen, like so many others in the Capitol, assumed Guy just didn't know about handshakes, and therefore took no offense.

He did, however, take offense to what Guy had to say. Stephen frowned, put off.

"That's a little harsh," he said, furrowing his eyebrows as he put his hand back in his pocket. "I'm here to help you navigate life in the Capitol. It's not all parades and formal functions -- you have plenty of time to yourself, and it's part of my job to make sure you get everywhere you want to go, not just where you need to go. I'll also be working with your mentors, to net you as many sponsors as you can get in the Arena."

"Where I want to go is home. I don't like the parties, I don't like being stuck living in one place instead of traveling the world, I don't like being away from my family, I don't like most of the people here - other than the Tributes, I hate the arenas, and every single minute that I'm forced to be in this world is one where I'm stuck somewhere I don't want to be."

He tilted his head at him.

"What about that isn't control?"

He didn't speak this way to normal Capitol citizens - he was all smiles and fake laughter when he didn't just hide under tables to avoid them - but he tended to hold back far less with the escorts, stylists, and mentors that worked with them in the day to day.

If they couldn't take a little cynicism from people forced into a death match, they needed to find another line of work.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking for a moment like a fish out of water when his spiel was interrupted. Guy was bringing up very uncomfortable things -- things Stephen was usually very good at ignoring: Stephen was easy-going and shallow, and liked it that way. What Guy was saying brought up memories of older Tributes over the past six years, Tributes who had very good reason to hate the Games, Tributes he had known, Tributes who had died.

Stephen felt suddenly, uncomfortably sober.

"I know that being in the Games is not easy," he began. The tone he took was not one of empty pacification -- he did know that these were murder games, death matches, and when Stephen couldn't avoid thinking about it, he did realize that the Tributes from the outer Districts (and, he supposed, from other worlds) had every reason to resent the Games. "But for what it's worth, I'm here to help you, with what I can. I can't send you home, Guy, but maybe I can make your life here a little easier."

He meant it. It was how Stephen did his job -- Ziva preferred to be alone, so Stephen minimized her public appearances. Jesse liked parties but lacked restraint, so Stephen orchestrated that and helped clean him up after. There was only so much that could be done, in the end, but consulting his Tributes' feelings about things like their public personas and their PR was important to him.

Now he pointed at him as if to say, 'Now maybe you can help me a little bit.'

"That, I'd appreciate. Just keep in mind that I am always going to be just a touch cranky when dealing with most of you people. I know how to fake it in front of any possible sponsors but it's gotta come out somewhere."

Case in point, he was keeping his voice low so the Capitol guests that were there didn't hear him.

The only exceptions, the only ones he did't let it leak out at were some of the Victors from the Districts, most of which clearly despised the games, and people like Cinna and Effie, who clearly thought the games were horrible without ever saying the words.

"But the first thing I need you to do is never talk about all this like I shouldn't hate the fact that my mate is probably going to grow old without me and my daughter is probably going to grow up without a father - and in my world, with one less person helping to keep her alive. She might die because two parents aren't there to protect her. That will never be okay. Never. All for a world where I'm being used in a fight that isn't my fight."

Edited 2014-04-13 00:50 (UTC)

The mention of family also served to quiet Stephen. Family, and family sticking together, was one of the most important values a Reagan held. His own father had died not so long ago, but at least Stephen had been a young adult then. Growing up missing half of your family and never knowing why, it -- it was moving.

"That," he said, "is one of the saddest things I have ever heard."

He ran a hand over his face, composing himself -- oh, but that poor little girl! -- and met Guy's eyes. "I think I can manage that," said Stephen, nodding. Stephen was still engaging with this on a comparatively superficial level, feeling the pathos like someone would feel for tragedy hitting a celebrity, but it was deeper than his usual unthinking cheer.

Why did even their sympathy have to be dramatic? What was wrong with these people?

Still, it was better than nothing. He didn't really expect most of them to know how to actually empathize - most of them were too false for that. Made out of empty things from birth. Hollow sympathy was probably the most some of them could manage.

That was why sometimes all he could do was pity them. At least, during the times he wasn't learning how to hate because of them, having it burn in his chest until it felt like fissures would open up and spill it out to scorch the earth bare of all life.

"I guess that's the most I can ask for."

"Actually," replied Stephen, brightening, "it isn't. That's not all I can do for you. Remember, your mentors and I help guide how the Capitol sees you. Is there anything about your image you're discontent with? Anything you'd like to change?"

Normally, Stephen would ask if Guy would rather enjoy the party than talk business, but since Guy apparently didn't enjoy anything, Stephen figured he might as well bring this up.

He enjoyed plenty of things! They just mostly involved a different setting and/or different company.

Guy thought about it for a minute.

"I know four languages and even more dialects, even if none of them are used here. I may have possibly invented shoes - I'm pretty sure I invented stilts, and if I'd grown up in a world like this one, being able to learn about all the science and everything, I probably would be working in a job where people invent and build new things."

His brows furrowed. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm smart. The only difference between people like the ones here and people like me is you all have years and years of knowledge passed down and people in my time are figuring some of it out the very first time. They treat me like I'm this stupid, backwards, noble...creature sometimes. And I'm tired of it."

"I didn't know that," said Stephen, boggling a little at how smart Guy apparently was.

You learned something new every day, didn't you?

"Wow. Okay, I can work with that. Selling you as a genius? Can do." A thoughtful cast came over Stephen's face. "But that means that in the Arena, you need to play that up. Use your surroundings, set traps, get creative. Show the audience you're as clever as you say you are. If you can do that, I'll make that everyone in the Capitol knows it."

"I have been doing that. The first person I even met in the arena was someone I trapped."

So it was already there, but the Capitol spin had gone off in its own direction, especially since Guy had no experience with working on anything resembling PR. Now attention had to be called to it to maybe turn that around.

"So it's already there. I'd just need help making that the focus."

He gestured to his clothes.

"Also, I want more clothes. I don't like wearing a lot of clothes because I'm not used to them, but at these parties they keep trying to put me in hardly anything. When I'm just going out for the day, they let me have more freedom, where I can wear some pants and boots and a wool wrap or something. I don't care what they have me in but at parties, I'm tired of this just-a-loincloth stuff. It's embarrassing."

It went hand in hand with them making him out to be wilder than he was.

...remembrance was visible on Stephen's face as all the times Guy had been clever resurfaced in his mind.

How had he missed all of that? he wondered. It just went to show how powerful a public image was: it really did color how people perceived you.

"Done," Stephen said. "I'll talk with your stylists. Once I tell them about the new direction your image is taking, a more -- ah -- substantial wardrobe will naturally follow." It was a pity, Stephen thought: Guy had the body to pull off that sort of thing, and if Stephen looked that good in a loincloth, he wouldn't be complaining. But, well, it was what Guy wanted, and that was that.

Edited 2014-04-19 23:09 (UTC)

The irritation of earlier had faded somewhat.

Okay, so maybe he was one of them and not in the way that people like Cinna were one of them, which was to say, one of them on the outside, but a normal person on the inside.

But there were some grains of goodness there, and it almost seemed as if he took pride in doing things that might make Guy's life easier.

It made it so complicated. He didn't understand why, if someone could manage kindness or sympathy, they could only seem to make it partway to being decent.

"Thank you," he said softly, though his brow was still furrowed slightly with thoughtfulness.

And Stephen, being an easygoing sort, held no grudge whatsoever about it. His cheer was back in full force.

"Just doing my job," he said with a smile and a wave of his hand. "If you have any other requests, please feel free to bring them to me. I'm staying in the District 6 rooms, so I won't be hard to find. If you need help with anything, I -- well, I can't promise miracles, but I do pull a little bit of weight here," he added with a conspiratorial lowering of his voice and glance around the room.

It always came back to the self-importance and wanting to feel special, didn't it? Some people liked to be the Tributes' special friends.

But Guy was going with his gut here. There seemed to be some potential goodness in this guy - maybe something at least a little real.

There were ways to prod at that to make it come out, ways that wouldn't necessarily get him in trouble. And it wouldn't hurt to have someone from the Capitol on his side. There was so much to navigate and there were times he felt overwhelmed, even with the help of his friends and fellow Tributes.

So he tried to let the bitterness and resentment go, pretended it was draining out with his breath and down through his toes.

"Why don't we try this over? I'm Guy." He held out a hand. "This is how people say hello here, right? The hand-clasping thing?"

Oh, it wasn't even that at all. Stephen wasn't in friendships with Tributes for the prestige -- he had plenty of that thanks to his circumstances, which were privileged even by Capitol standards. He was being completely honest: as a Reagan, Stephen had connections. He had a brother in the presidential cabinet, for crying out loud.

But, well, friendliness from Guy was all Stephen had really wanted for the moment. He took Guy's hand. "It's good to meet you," said Stephen, playing along with the clean-slate act. "I'm Stephen, and I'm looking forward to working with you. And yes," he added, after a moment, trying not to think about how quaint it was that Guy called it a hand-clasping thing, "handshakes are used for formal hellos, formal goodbyes, and deals or agreements."

His hand was as leathery as it looked, worn down by by a lifetime of tool use and occasional rough living.

"See, these are the things I need to know. All your little unspoken rules that have to do with dealing with other people are entirely different."

And navigating them successfully might mean the difference between life and death.

"I'll do my best to catch you up," said Stephen. "I'm -- not sure I can list things like that off the top of my head, since they come so naturally to me, but I'll keep it in mind, and if I think of something it might be useful for you to know, I'll mention it."

And he would also try very, very hard not to be condescending about it.

"You've probably picked up a lot of them already, since you're smart and you've been here a little while. But was there anything specific you were wondering about? Anything we do that's still confusing?"

Immediately he had a questions.

"The wigs. Why? They look like dead animals."

Oh. Oh, no. Stephen couldn't resist. He just couldn't.

"They're supposed to," he replied, suppressing a grin. "A long time ago, our women would hunt and kill animals, treat them with chemicals, then wear them on their heads as trophies. The bigger the beast, the stronger the woman, which is of course desirable. We don't do that anymore, of course, but we still find it very attractive when a woman has a large, dead animal on her head." As he talked, the grin became harder and harder to hold back.

"That makes sense," said Guy, scratching his head because it totally made sense. That was why he painted himself with stripes. Because he'd almost got eaten by a stripey thing but then he killed it instead. The stripes advertised that.

"False advertising now, though."

He really didn't think many of the men or women in the Capitol would stand a chance against dangerous animals now.

Oh, no! Guy believed him! This was terrible: Guy hadn't been supposed to believe that!

Stephen buried his face in one hand, and his shoulders started shaking. He couldn't in good conscience leave Guy believing that -- that would be a cruel way to take advantage of Guy's unfamiliarity with Capitol culture. He had better clear this up.

"I'm sorry -- I'm sorry, that wasn't true. That was all a lie. A very big lie. A lie so big Effie could kill it and wear it as a wig. I was kidding," he said, laughing into his hand.

Now Guy just rolled his eyes at him and then gave him a very linefaced look. It wasn't as fun to be fooled by Stephen as it was to be fooled by, say, Hawkeye, who often messed with him about what kind of things he had back in his world.

The difference was Hawkeye was always just silly but the Capitol had dragged Guy here against his will and understanding them could mean the difference between life and death and his ignorance was being taken advantage of, as if he was supposed to innately understand why they did the ridiculous things they did.

"For that, I'm going to lie constantly about stuff from my world, but also sometimes tell the truth and you're never going to know the difference until I clear it up."

He crossed his arms.

"Besides, the animal thing makes more sense anyway. If they think it looks good..."

He cringed slightly.

The Crowning of Mindy McReady

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i am so sorry for this idiot

Re: i am so sorry for this idiot

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