Thicker Than Blood Start

[gamemakers]

For Tributes with keen eyes, they'll notice that Peacekeeper presence seems increased and yet infinitely more ineffective in the last few weeks. Peacekeepers seem harried, as do the Stylists, and most of the Escorts titter and plot without alerting the Tributes as to what, exactly, is so exciting. They simply say that this weekend they'll know.

And so it happens that on the weekend in question, the Tributes are woken by their Escorts early and brought to a restaurant for a hearty breakfast. The restaurant is nothing spectacular, although they seem to be trying to make an impression on the television cameras that float around. The sleepy, cranky meal goes by and then the Tributes are led back to their Suites for a mandatory meeting.

Sitting on couches and the floor, in chairs and on windowsills, standing off to the side - people from the Tributes' homes are waiting to greet them in each District Suite. Some are confused, some accepting, some frightened and some elated to see their beloved. Either way, it should be an eventful reunion.

Comments

District 6

[etcircenses]

Cyrus Reagan, for Stephen

[currupted]

Cyrus Reagan stands apart from the crowd as much as he can. The suites weren't made to accommodate so many people, and he has no interest in sharing a couch with any of the cow-eyed otherworlders crowded into the room; so he waits with his back to the far wall beside the window, his arms crossed and the morning sunlight spilling over one shoulder. Gloved fingers tap an impatient rhythm against his upper arm.

It irks him a little, to be included this way - to be counted among the others here, as though he were a stranger to this place and not the one in the room most intimately familiar with the gears turning behind this organizational nightmare. It'll look good for you! is easy for the publicists to say - those with the luxury of thinking only of how it looks.

There are things that aren't optional - not for Tributes, not for Escorts, and not for presidential cabinet members, and meeting his brother elsewhere was not optional. Not when the cameras are here. But he keeps his irritation off his face-- his expression is clear and neutral, a smile hovering around his eyes, which are turned to the door through which Stephen, he knows, will come at any moment.

There's the one upside to all this: Whatever fear, confusion, and uncertainty the Tributes' loved ones are feeling around him, he has no part in it. He's known for weeks that he's here to see his brother - the one person in all Panem who might make this bearable.

[capitolprivilege]

When Stephen comes in the door, he doesn't immediately go to Cyrus. He's herding his tributes, after all -- getting them into the suite and paired up with their visitors is his job, and he can't ignore that.

But when everyone is situated and the room is abuzz with conversation, Stephen turns to his brother as a smile lights up his face.

"What's this?" he says, as though he hadn't known this would happen for weeks. "There has to be some mistake. Everyone else has found who they're here to see. Who are you waiting for?"

[currupted]

Cyrus stands and waits while Stephen attends to other people. He considers taking his back from the wall, standing up straight with his arms ready to hold open, but then he doesn't-- he doesn't want to look impatient, doesn't want to look like the one who's being made to wait. He is, though. And that makes his jaw tighten under the smile he made sure to widen when Stephen walked in.

But even so: He can't help how genuine his smile turns when Stephen finally approaches him. His irritation can wait a moment. How long has it been since he's had the time to talk to Stephen face-to-face? Six weeks? Longer? Too long.

"Thank goodness," he says, finally stepping away from the wall. "A native." He has to speak up over the noise from the rest of the room - the racket of fifteen ongoing reunions is incredible. "I'm looking for my brother-- He's about this tall," (as he puts a hand up level with the crown of Stephen's head,) "blond hair, probably wearing sequins? You might have to peel him off someone else, but he's here, I'm sure of it."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen had missed Cyrus rather less -- not because of a lack of brotherly affection, but truthfully, because he'd just spent the better part of two years growing more and more restless, often in his brother's company. It's been nice to be out on his own again, back in the Tribute center.

But he still chuckles at the teasing, gives a shrug -- what can I say? -- and shoots right back, completely missing how serious Cyrus is about his disgust for off-worlders. It's a joke, right? Totally a joke.

"That's funny," Stephen says, "because someone told me that I was going to find my brother here. I told them there had to be some mistake, because my brother is married to his office and is rarely spotted outside of it."

[currupted]

Cyrus laughs, and with that the conceit falls apart. "No mistake, little brother. The office and I are seeing other people this week, by presidential decree." His voice is still light, still joking, and the implication that he is not here by his own choice entirely incidental.

He slides his hands into his pockets and steps up beside Stephen, both to give them a view of the room, and to better speak over the Tributes. And he hasn't failed to consider where in the room the cameras are, of course, or what a clear line of sight from the lens to their faces this offers, or how well their looks complement each other. He never fails to consider this.

But to Stephen he gives only a playful nudge with his elbow, speaking in the same light tone: "Is that why you left me waiting? Has it been so long you don't recognize me?"

[capitolprivilege]

"Never," protests Stephen, also at ease in front of the cameras. "But what good is it to be the only person in Panem that Cyrus Reagan will wait for if you can't exercise the privilege once in a while? Besides, I do have responsibilities. This is an ambitious project, which I'm sure you know, and we can't spare a single pair of hands right now!" His manner is light, cheery -- he knows this will be broadcast as news across Panem. "It's very important that all this goes smoothly."

[finnickohdear]

"Aren't we being antisocial."

Finnick knew Cyrus didn't want to be bothered, which was all the more reason to bother him. He had to be here, and misery did love company. His bits of information on this family always made it interesting to interact with them, although his opportunities to see Cyrus were few and far between.

"No one here is out to get you, you should relax a little."

[currupted]

"...Finnick Odair." Cyrus' smile is suddenly tight around the edges. He gives Finnick only the briefest of acknowledging glances before he turns his gaze back to the room at large; a colder shoulder has never been given.

His tone, though, is polite, if utterly devoid of warmth. "I'm perfectly fine, but thanks for your concern." A frown-- "But what about you? Are you lost? This is District Six, you see. District Four's visitors are two floors down. You can ask any peacekeeper for directions. I'm sure they'd be glad to help you find your way."

There's the problem with the District herds: They don't stay where they're put.

[finnickohdear]

Finnick just smiled through the comments, used to taking a little abuse from people who were supposedly above him. This wouldn't be the first or last time someone insulted his intelligence or questioned his motives.

"I happen to have some good friends here and I was hoping they would be as gifted with visitors as I was. Looks like I was half right; I see a visitor, but he's hardly a gift."

Finnick could afford to be a little less cautious here. This was more or less his turf and it was clearly Cyrus wasn't happy to be here. That afforded him a little more leeway to give as good as he got.

[currupted]

In some ways, it was refreshing, talking to Finnick. Having to pin a smile to his face around a crowd of strangers about whom he cared very little was grating. Finnick's... history with the Reagan family meant that Cyrus felt no real obligation to be pleasant.

"Me, not a gift? Really?" he replied, with a mock-surprised lift of his eyebrows. "Because I certainly wasn't offered anything in exchange for my time." No one bid for government officials' hours off; funny quirk of the system, there.

[finnickohdear]

Finnick had to know it was going to be this sort of conversation when he started it, but things had deteriorated faster than usual. His smile hadn't faded, though.

"With that attitude, it's not surprising. And while we're on the subject of people no one wants to spend time with, how is your mother? I've been far too busy lately to pay her a visit."

He wants to make sure Cyrus understands that he doesn't think their family is important enough to bid on him at the moment.

Canon!Cecil and Kevin - OPEN

[goodnightdearlisteners]

Now HERE was a visitor who could go toe-to-toe with some of the brighter denizens of the Capitol. He looked as if he had been pulled from work, given the nametag pinned to his purple polo shirt, emblazoned with the name 'Cecil Palmer - NVCR Host.' The shirt may not have been SUPER loud on its own, but coupled with the red and white bowtie, orange and yellow plaid slacks that were just a little too short, and white gladiator-style sandals, this was not a man who was afraid of color. Never mind the third eye, blinking in the center of his forehead...OR the numerous tattoos, writhing and roiling across his skin. Or the fact that he looked STRIKINGLY like the Tribute he was apparently here to see.

His expression was one of confusion...but also one of excitement. This was so different from Night Vale! And look at all of these people, all of these...different, strange people! If only he had his recording equipment with him - but it seems as if he didn't get to bring it along with him to...wherever this place was. He began to rifle through his fanny pack, hoping maybe he had a tape recorder at least -

And then Kevin entered, and he froze, all three eyes wide. "NO," he hissed, voice low and full of derision. "Not you. NOT you, you...you wretch."

This, naturally, flew completely over Kevin's head, and he beamed, arms outstretched in the most welcoming manner he could muster. "MY DOUBLE! How great it is to see you - I'm just PERFECT, thanks for asking." He moved forward, trying to close the distance - Cecil backed against the wall, knocking over a chair in his fervor.

"STAY BACK, YOU...YOU MONSTER. Don't make me do something I'll regret!"

"Gosh, you're just as funny as ever, double. Oh - your name is Cecil? I see your nametag there - how rude of me to never introduce myself! My name is Kevin!" He extended his hand for a handshake, and Cecil recoiled from it, grabbing Kevin's wrist instead and spinning him around to slam against the wall. The visitor looked scared, desperate...but the tribute just giggled. "Aw, you want a hug? Happy to oblige! You give great hugs-"

With that, Cecil's hand was around Kevin's throat, and Kevin's hand was around Cecil's.

Cecil was gasping and snarling.

Kevin was giggling, a light happy flush rising to his cheeks.

Someone...might want to break them up.

[capitolprivilege]

"Whoa! Whoawhoawhoa!"

When Stephen had been told that they were bringing Kevin's brother in, he had been a little nervous, because of all his tributes, Kevin unsettled him the most. But then they'd said that Kevin's brother was named Cecil Palmer, which was a piece of gossip he had hardly been able to contain -- that Carlos's admirer and his murderer were brothers in another world, how thrilling, how awful! -- and Stephen had expected very little trouble.

He hadn't expected them to attack one another on sight. Had someone told this Cecil about what had happened in the Arena, Stephen wondered? But he only wondered for a moment. Stephen knew what Kevin-hugs meant.

It wasn't Stephen's job to do this, but he didn't have time to think. His first instinct was to break it up -- they were going to kill each other if no one stopped this, and a death here would be permanent! He leapt forward, getting right in between them. He braced one hand against Kevin's chest and pushed against Cecil's shoulder with the other.

"No, no, not here you don't!"

[goodnightdearlisteners]

Honestly, Cecil may not have stopped so readily when Stephen intervened - but when Kevin pulled away from his grip when the escort pushed against his chest, he wasn't about to stop his double from getting away from him. He glowered at Kevin with all three of his eyes for a moment before turning his attention to Stephen, trying to dismiss his ire in favor of a smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but-

"Oh, hey there, Stephen! We were just having a hug - it's been a long time since we've seen each other. Want to join in? Make it a group hug?" The discomfort is still just flying over Kevin's head, it seems, no matter how many people seem to be tense around him. He's grinning, plainly very, very pleased to see a familiar face (in more ways than one - they could be twins).

Cecil is not as pleased. UGH, this awful man. Not even letting him enjoy meeting new people. He sidles as far away from Kevin as he can get, pointedly trying to pretend the grinning man is not really there. His tattoos are actually writhing along his skin in an effort to get away, too - twisting around his limbs to try and lay the skin in Kevin's direction bare.

"Not trying to cause trouble! Sorry about that. Some people don't know better than their wretched, barbaric ways."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen felt panic rise in the back of his head, but fought it back with a deep breath. He knew exactly what 'hug' meant.

"No," he said, politely but firmly, remaining planted between the two of them. "Actually, I think you shouldn't hug anyone this week, Kevin," Stephen went on. "There will be cameras on you almost constantly, and it looks -- I hate to tell you this, but it looks a little unprofessional."

He had watched Kevin's tapes, had lived in the same set of rooms as him, and he knew how important a professional image was to Kevin. Stephen prayed that this would work.

For Kevin (and/or Cecil. Any of them)

[justvisiting]

She sat very still, eyes closed, trying to keep her mind cleansed, and her environment balanced.

Because this whole place was all full of bad energy.

But she knew she was waiting for something important, so she stayed put, and waited. Anyway, this place was beyond help.

[asmilinggod]

What a strange day this was. First his double appeared, and then his double ran away from him, off to go visit with someone else. It didn't bother Kevin, really...after all, this was such an exciting place to be, and so different from the little desert towns from whence they had come. Or so he was reasoning. he would hate to think the worst of his guest, after all!

It was with that thoughtfulness, all of those gears turning, that he walked back into the room...and then stopped. There was a woman sitting there...a strange woman, to be sure. He definitely didn't know her face. She was sitting alone with her eyes shut, and there wasn't anyone else moving to talk to her yet.

But something in him made him approach her, steps a little slower than normal. He grinned his trademark grin, face split open from ear to ear, void-like eyes wide and...maybe just a tiny bit unsure. His voice was as clear as a bell, as bright as the sun.

"Well, hey there! Are you waiting for someone, Ma'am?"

[justvisiting]

Yes, this was it.

She opened her eyes looking at the young man before her, and felt her stomach drop out. It was a sucker punch, seeing what they had done, what she had had no hand in being able to stop.

She knew it would be bad, of course. Many night had shown her bits and pieces.

But this bad? That she hadn't known, and it took a very long moment to get control over the queer mix of guilt and horror at what they'd done to him.

But it was done, and now the only option was moving forward.

"Kevin?"

[asmilinggod]

Something about the edges in the look on her face needled him.

He couldn't say why.

Instead, he canted his head to one side, his grin fixed and his eyes inquisitive. Everyone else in this room was clearly...important to everyone else. What he couldn't understand was...who was this woman to him? She certainly wasn't dressed in Strex-approved apparel.

"Yes, I'm Kevin! Being known on sight is so weird - I mean, I'm used to people knowing my VOICE back home, but...that's radio for you. And now? Now I'm here, and people know my face, they watch me. It's so exciting!"

Confidence cemented back into place, he stuck out his hand for a handshake, arm straight and strong.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

[justvisiting]

His excitement, at least, brought a little bit of joy to her heart. Because at least, if nothing else, he enjoyed what he was doing. Even if it was a false happiness, it was happiness none the less.

And being here seemed to be even better for him.

"Kevin...dear. I'm your mother." She said calmly.

IN THE RIGHT PLACE THIS TIME

[void_whereprohibited]

Cecil came with his microphone in hand and a smile fixed on his face. He came ready to talk excitedly, to gesture expansively, to welcome and to learn. He entered beaming, with no expectation and no real intent save a firm resolution not to speak to Kevin, if he could help it.

He saw her at the end of his first circuit around the room. He saw her, and his eyes moved past her, and then found her again, and then he saw her. He saw her, and experienced a sensation like the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Like the world tilting under his feet. Like the past twenty years being pulled out from under him like a rug, like falling backwards into a time when this would not have been utterly impossible.

He wanted to look away. He thought maybe he should look away, that this view must be in some way forbidden to him-- that just the act of seeing this woman who looked so much like his mother might be somehow subversive, and by extension punishable. ...But he'd done nothing for which he should be punished, right? Could this be a reward? Could they have brought her back for him?

His mouth was dry and his palms were damp as he approached her. Slowly, from an angle, like one approached a nervous animal, though he was less afraid of her than of the possibility that it might not be her. Or the possibility that, after all this time, she might not know him.

He stopped two long steps away, unable to make himself move closer. "Um," he said, and cleared his throat, and tried to find a place to put his hands, and tried not to feel quite so... fifteen years old. "...Mom?"

if anything is wrong or needs changed lemme know ok ok <333 I am wingin it.

[justvisiting]

There was something, just against the edge of her mind, like a bird wing against snow, there and gone, but leaving an imprint she jut couldn't quite grasp.

Looking up at this young man, she could feel that beating against the edges, just out of reach.

And when he spoke, she knew this moment was important. Clearly. But she wasn't sure what to do with it.

He wasn't the son she knew. But this wasn't the world she knew. Who knew how all these strings tied together. Still, she wouldn't like to him, and she shook her head softly, though not unkindly.

"I'm not from this world."

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[void_whereprohibited]

Cecil felt like his heart was swelling in his chest. Part of it was fear, but part of it-- part of it! Oh, it took him back. It was so exactly like something she would have said, twenty years ago. I'm not from this world, Cecil. Eat your vegetables, Cecil. Stay still and quiet and don't tell a soul where I've gone, Cecil.

Hope lit up his face, and he took a step forward-- and then remembered the very particular circumstances surrounding that phrase, and the meaning it had now that it could not have had twenty years ago.

"Oh," he said, and his heart felt like it was going to burst. "Oh. Well-- well, it's just that-- you look quite a lot like someone I know! Or, someone I used to know."

He thought that maybe he should go; that maybe he should leave this strange woman with his mother's face here with... whoever she'd come here for. But he couldn't make himself take the necessary step away from her.

"...Have you come here to see someone?" he asked, and really, that was only most of his question. Have you come here to see someone who is not me?

[justvisiting]

Such overwhelming sadness. A deep, old sadness.

And if he had called her mother, of course that made sense. Enough sense that, she felt, the muted quality of her powers here might simply be being overhwlemed by common sense.

It was good to know that didn't fade over time.

"Well, I was brought here to see a man named Kevin." She reached out to touch the curve of the tall man's cheek. "But perhaps that was not all I was brought here for."