thecapitol | Conscientia

Entry tags:

Conscientia

WHO| Open
WHAT| Night life at the Speakeasy
WHEN| Evenings this week
WHERE| The Speakeasy
WARNINGS/NOTES| Feel free to use this party post style, or however you like if you would like to set any threads here.

The speakeasy was a classy joint. Wood panels, and soft velvet, and usually some kinda of live music, something mellow and easy to relax to. It was big, with low ceilings and with many back rooms, some easy to access, others less so. Easy to get lost in. And it gave off an air of class, of comfort, and being a part of something a little different from the rest. The kinda place where everybody knew your name, and everybody knew to be discreet about it.

It was the perfect place to grab a drink, sit, talk, and relax. No one over heard you, no one got in your business, but everyone was glad to talk if you wanted to find a friendly face. The owner, Conscientia, made her round every now and then, saying hello to her regulars, welcoming those who were new.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Blaine looked up, brought out of his thoughts by - well, not someone who was well dressed as much as, less than dressed. When it came to the Capitol he expected a whole lot more. But, this guy, this guy was understated. He caught the glint of gold eyeliner. It was Kurt's influence that made him take note of fashion first.

"You don't have to do that," he replied, genuinely meaning it. Blaine wasn't a person who expected special treatment. Sure, at Dalton he got it - as did all the Warblers, but he was never wont for nothing. He thanked whoever gave him anything. He sent thank you notes to the bursar's office. He thanked parents, students. He thanked his Warblers. He missed them. He missed texting his friends. He missed good music on vinyl and he missed - God, he missed everything. It was hard enough to function daily - never mind this being the first day he'd gelled since he'd gotten here.

It helped that the Capitol was a cosmetic place. Make-up, hair products, fashion - it was easily found.

"I'm sorry, I don't... know what to say. Do you want to sit down?" He had lost his manners and his bearings. If this guy was going to pay for his soda, then he could sit with Blaine. To be honest, he wanted to curl up and cry. To hide. But, Blaine Anderson didn't hide. He wallowed. Outwardly. But, he didn't hide.

"And thanks," he added.

Cinna sat down with Blaine, giving him enough space as to not give the boy the wrong impression.

"No need to apologize. You have a lot to deal with already, you don't need to be in debt over a soda." He gestured to the bar keeper to show that the boy's soda should be put on his tab and them looked back at Blaine.

"I'm Cinna."

He watched as Cinna sat down. Normally, he wouldn't be questioning why someone would sit with him. He had a magnetic personality and a smile that could light up a room - maybe that was why he got a 6 as a score - but, he wasn't showing that right now.

"Blaine," he said, not able to even give Cinna a smile. "You know, you hear about bad things happening to good people. Choking on stage, kidnapping, carjacking, a relative's death..." But, none of that compared - maybe the kidnapping. Wasn't that what this was. "My biggest problem before coming here was my ex-boyfriend wouldn't talk to me."

That he laughed at. His laugh was low and humorless. More ironic then anything. He took a long sip of his soda.

"How do I..." live without you, I want to know. Weirdly enough, his brain kept connecting thoughts to songs or events - things that happened on Earth, in his life. Not here. "How do I do this?"

"You fight, as hard as you can," Cinna said simply. He didn't really elaborate on that though. There were many kinds of fighting that needed to be done, both in and out of the arena. "How much of what is going on has been explained to you?"

He knew the new recruits were given some summary of what to expect, but that didn't help prepare them.

It was a cliche for a reason but Blaine was a lover, not a fighter - and back in his old high school, a runner. He had run away. He wanted nothing more then to run but this was beyond homophobic bullying.

"The basics. Why I'm here, what's going to happen. Fight to the death," he responded, his voice hollow. "On camera." Like a sick, twisted reality show. It didn't matter how they explained it, it wasn't going to change that it was happening. That this was real.

"That it won't be the last time." Once would be enough - if it had to be any number of times - but more then once? At all?

Cinna folded his hands on the table. "Yes, the thought that they'll bring you back doesn't really make facing your death any easier does it?" he said softly. He really couldn't imagine the horrors this boy was going to face.

"The thought that they brought me at all doesn't make facing my death any easier. I'm still stuck on facing my death." He didn't mean to grind his teeth together and snap back at Cinna, albeit quietly. But, Cinna was being awfully nice to him - as if he knew what was in store but he knew there was no choice in the matter. "People just sit back and watch all this happen? It wasn't enough that they volunteered people who are actually from here, but they had to..." Pull others, he wanted to ask.

"I was just fine worrying about our club's trophy and a new friendship and an old boyfriend and not thinking about clever strategies that might keep me alive past day one. I don't go camping. I played sports but I never did karate. I box when I need to let off some steam and I go to school. I'm eighteen!" He looked around him after raising his voice and exhaled.

"Why is this happening to me?" To any of them? But, in a rare selfish moment, Blaine only had himself in mind. He knew nobody deserved this, maybe the least of all him. He was doing what he'd tried not to do all week.

Breaking apart.

"I'm thanking you for paying for my soda when in the near future there won't be any soda to pay for because I'll be running for my life or hiding or dying."

Cinna let the boy vent for as long as he wanted. He was quiet, understanding, he didn't take the snap personally and didn't try to calm Blaine down. He listened until he was done and took a deep breath, steadying himself away from the empathy he felt for this kid.

"I'd suggest taking this time to learn some of those skills," he suggested. "I'd also work on getting sponsors. Have you spoken with your mentor? Or your Stylist?"

"No," he replied, curtly. But, he knew he had to do these kinds of things. He had made a checklist. Everything he had to remember to get by. But, he had filed it away in the back of his mind.

"So, you go along with them. You know, you look different but you're just like ..." Them, he stopped himself from saying. "Is it entertaining?"

"I'm a Stylist for District 12," Cinna explained carefully, voice low enough that only Blaine could hear him. "I can tell you that you need to be careful. If you're killed outside of the arena you won't be able to come back and the Capitol's government doesn't take kindly to people disagreeing with them."

"So, I have to find one of you, but for district three." He could take a hint. That was a mission to fulfill, it would keep his mind off of what was going to happen after. "I'm not trying to speak out against anyone. I'm just trying to - understand. Understand why I'm here why the Capitol ever decided this was a good idea, an entertaining idea. I don't get it." He looked down at his drink. "I don't get any of it."

He picked up his soda and took another sip.

"So, you're a stylist." He glanced back at Cinna. Did he only style others? He kept that thought back, preferring not to lash out at the instrument of the Capitol. Something read different about Cinna then the other flashy dolls around them. "How'd you get into that?"

"That's a complicated question," Cinna admitted. "It might be a good idea to find a history vid or two. I'd try to hunt down the story of the war, and how the Games came to be if I were you. Don't go asking too many questions about it though, tell people you're interested in finding out more about our world and culture and learn about more than just the Rebellion." Cinna offered carefully, as if he was only having a conversation with the young man. He could have gone into the history of the Games here, but he wasn't sure what he thought about this kid just yet. Except that he needed some guidance to stop himself from panicking, Cinna didn't have much of an impression just yet.

He shrugged off the question though and gave a simple answer, "It's a profession, the same as any other." He didn't expect Blaine to know him or his work.

Not yet anyway. That would change soon.

"Nothing about this is the same as anything. And you get to avoid - whatever it is that awaits me in there. So, it's not the same," he admitted. "Simple as that." He finished his soda and set his glass down.

He noted the information he should look for the research he'd have to do. Great, not in high school anymore and he still had homework.

Cinna nodded. "What you have to do... I couldn't imagine what you're feeling, but I am going to help you, as much as I can." There wasn't much that he could do though, which was frustrating. He didn't have the ability to Style this young man, which was a bit of a shame. He was beautiful. It would be easy to make sponsors fall for him.

"You're going to help me."

He didn't know why, but something told Blaine he could trust Cinna. Blaine had always been too trustworthy. Sebastian had proven that. But, Cinna was no Sebastian.

"Yes, as much as I can," Cinna repeated. "That won't be much. I represent District 12 and I have to look out for my Tributes first, but I don't see any reason not to help you out too. First thing, you have to get sponsors. They'll be able to send you supplies in the games. If I were you, I'd spend my time outside of the arena working on getting as many people to like you as possible. That doesn't seem like it would be that hard for you, but it is vital that you do what you can."

His voice was low, clearly not wanting people to overhear him. While most people here would know what he was doing, if someone who wasn't aware overheard the fact that the Stylist for 12 was giving advice to another Tribute could cause scandal.

Blaine listened. Carefully. What it was about Blaine that told Cinna he was likable even when lamenting his life alone at a table, he didn't know. But, he had never had problems getting people to like him. A lot of times, people liked him too much.

"What kind of people? Just... get my face out there?" he asked, finally lowering his voice as well. "Noticed?"

Cinna had been guessing based only on Blaine's looks. He had a classic sort of beauty that could be presented in such a desirable light. Even if Cinna wasn't Blaine's Stylist, he could think of ways to make the best of the material in front of him.

He nodded, confirming Blaine's guess. "There will be televised interviews," he explained. "You need to be charming during them. Usually, Stylists and Mentors will come up with a persona for you to embody. Dedicate yourself to it and do what they say. Some Stylists don't care about helping their Tributes survive, but all care about getting sponsors for their work. Don't fight them unless you honestly think that they're not helping you. Keep in mind that they know more about what the average citizen likes. Until you get a better idea of our culture," he said the word with a little hint of disdain, as if he didn't feel the Capitol had a culture worth noting. "You won't be as good a judge of what sponsors are looking for."

"And all of this - it helps inside the arena." He leaned in then, hanging on every one of Cinna's words. "Sponsors help. They root for you?"

"Yes. When you're freezing their money will allow your mentor to send you a blanket. When you're dying of hunger or thirst, they'll send you water or food or even the means to get food or water. You go into the arena with no supplies, having sponsors will definitely help you."

"Make a name for myself," he said, nodding, knowing he could do that. He put the Warblers on the map - except, in this case, the Warblers were one for all, all for one. This was every man for himself. How was that fair?

"Why are you giving me this advice?" he finally asked. "Do I look like I need it?" Like he was the first to die in a horror movie? Because, if the cliche were true, he wouldn't be. He wasn't a slutty girl or a beefed up jock. But, he wasn't a virgin anymore so he was fair game after that.

"You look like you're new. That means you can use all the help you can get," Cinna replied. "Let's just say, that being someone raised in the Capitol I'm looking to make up for the way my culture has treated the children of other places."

"That's good of you," he said, meaning it. "I - I can hardly imagine what it's actually like growing up here. It must be --" He couldn't help but think about it. Even if you weren't a part of the hunger games, you witnessed them. Violence in the media. It did terrible things.

"People here are jaded to it. They need a wake up call," Cinna said after a moment. "But you need to make sure you're okay. You can start by focusing on everything I've told you."

"Desensitized," he nodded, agreeing. "I will. Thanks." He smiled.

one tag in and i'm breaking him. just breaking him. also, CINNA

Blaaaaine. /wants to scoop him up.

/he is plenty scoopable

Mm. Yes he is.

As is Cinna, mmm.

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