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

[Cinna raises his brow a bit, giving her a slight, questioning smile.]

You look like someone who wants to say something. Go right ahead. I promise I won't bite. [He speaks gently as he offers her an opening. He recognizes her as a Tribute for District 3 and he wonders what her Stylist is thinking, letting her go out in public with her hair like that.]

[She looks away, Embarrassed to have been caught out, before smiling again at Cinna. With about the most elegant gesture Eponine is capable of, she shrugs.]

"I have nothing to say, M'sieur. And around here, who listens to us anyway?"

[She eyes Cinna up and down. He doesn't look like a typical citizen...]

"Are you a tribute?"

I'm a Stylist. [Cinna replies easily.] For District 12.

My name is Cinna.

Oh.

[So he is one of them. She probably shouldn't have complained.]

My name is Eponine. They say I am district three, but really, I do not know what this is...

[She takes a gulp of gin]

I don't like my stylist.

[Cinna smiles despite himself. He doesn't want to feel ill about another Stylist but it's still something that's a little funny to think about.]

District Three... is that Valeria?

Yes - she is nice, but every day, she says to me,
'Now, Eponine, what shall we wear today?' and everyday I ask for a dress, but... They are see through, or indecent. And she says, 'Brush your hair two hundred times. I shall not leave till you do!' but I do not know so many numbers. And always,
"We need to shave and wax and scrub.'
It is nice to dress up, but I would want to look like a lady, not a whore."

[She chatters nervously, not really thinking about what she's saying in her anxiety. She looks shocked at herself by the end, though. Perhaps she has said too much? She downs the end of her gin, and calls to the barman for another.

[Cinna shifts a little closer]

You should trust her. It's vital that you get sponsors, and you won't get those unless you have a look they like. It might be something you're not used to, but it will be something that the people here are. They're the ones that have to like what you're wearing.

"But WHY? Nobody will sponser me. Ever."

Eponine stirs her ice morosely, one elbow propped on the bar as she leans her cheek in her palm. The last shot of gin seems to have given her courage to talk more openly.

"You know, I suppose, they gave me a three? Nobody will sponser such a low score. I do not mind, though. I am not going back and I am NOT fighting. It is a horrible game, to want to see us die. And I am many things, M'sieur, but I am NOT a whore."

Not willingly anyway, and she certainly doesn't want to dress to emphasise her body. Recalling a conversation with Howard from earlier, she adds.

"I am not a pet. None of us are. I would rather eat nice food here than hide in an arena."

Cinna frowned a bit as he took in her words. "I'm so sorry that this has happened to you," he said first, expressing real, genuine sympathy. He doesn't say anything right after that, giving her time to react to it.

For a minute, Eponine sits in stunned silence, looking at Cinna curiously.

"Are you?"

But then she shrugs. Really, this place is no worse than home. It's just more obvious in its heirarchy even than France. But Eponine's fed up of being the scum nobody wants to associate with. She's fed up with being made to steal and stand on street corners and watch for police or rich people. Or anyone who'd pay for her company. Besides, she doesn't want Cinna's sympathy. That somehow makes her feel the worse.

"I should not have said that to you, M'sieur. It is just, WHY must we fight? Can I not just stay here? It is nice in the Capitol. There is free food. And clothes! I had not had new clothes for years before I came here, and even then, the chemise was my Mama's and the skirt 'Parnasse took from a dead girl and my belt was Papa's. I do like it here, mostly, you know?"

"The food and clothes are free for everyone," Cinna pointed out. "They were only provided to you because you're a Tribute..." He was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in before he continued.

"Do you know anything about the Districts? The War? What the Games were before we brought in people from other worlds? Have you learned any of our history?" He wasn't judging her with these questions. He only wanted to know what she knew already so he wouldn't be repeating information.

"So... I can be a tribute and live here in comfort and fight in the arena, or I can refuse to fight and have nothing?"

Eponine sounded as gutted as she looked. "It's not fair..."

She shook her head at Cinna's question. "I know I'm district three - and I know I am supposed to know about technology because of it. I think someone was laughing at me to put me there. But that is it. Does it matter?"

"It does. The Districts are everything. They are the reason that the Captiol puts on these Games. You should look into our history, get a better idea of what they're asking you to do and why they're asking you to do it."

Cinna wasn't sure how much more he should explain. A Tribute who refused to fight would probably have less than nothing. They would do horrible things to her if needed.

"I don't really care why you put on games, M'sieur. They are not games, not really."

Eponine took another sip of the gin the bartender had left in front of her, handing over her credit card thing to pay for it.

In her opinion, though she could never say it even as eloquently as this, the Games make a mockery of her life, her struggle for survival on little to no food and little to no sleep and in freezing conditions and against people who wanted to hurt her.

"They are not fair, and I don't want to be part of it. I just want to stay here. I would not mind a job. I can read, you know? And write, a bit. The woman said no, though."

She also said several other things, and made several threats. But they were mild enough for Eponine to ignore so that's exactly what she was doing.

Cinna nodded about that. "I understand, but it's not possible at this time. That's not why they brought you here. I wish I could help more, but it's not likely to change right away. Saying 'I refuse to do this' is a noble sentiment but you have to be prepared for what the government will do to you once you do."

He understood, to a point, why someone would feel the way that Eponine felt, but it was important that she understood everything that would mean.

"The government? And what would they do?"

She takes another sip and laughs. "Put me in prison? Well, I have been there; it is not nice, but I survived all right. Or perhaps they will kill me? Or have someone else kill me?"

She laughs at her own wit. "I am not scared of your government. I am not scared of anything. It is not a 'noble sentiment'. I just do not want to be a killer. I am a bad girl - but I am not SO bad!"

"No. They wouldn't kill you or put you in prison. They're so much more creative than that," Cinna said simply.

"Look, I'm not telling you to participate. If you want to refuse, refuse. But you should be aware of what that means."

[She downs the rest of the tumbler and signals for another. She's getting steadily more and more drunk; she was such a skinny slip of a thing, still in her mid teen years; it wasn't physically possible to handle her drink well, though she'd been drinking it for years. Still, she signalled for another.]

"I don't know what to do. I don't want to go home. I can't go home if I kill. I don't want to be killed again.

What am I supposed to do?"

All alone in a strange land where people want to kill her and kiss her and buy her drinks. She's so, so wary of them - most of them, and defiant to a fault to hide her fear.

"I'm not going to fight."

Cinna considered her carefully for a moment. "Then don't, but be prepared for all the things they'll do and say to make you fight. Even if you don't fight in the arena, you'll have to become strong and fight them another way."

She nods. "The lady - well, she did not say as much as you have, M'sieur... But it was enough. I am already in trouble now, no? Howard thinks I will be. I'm not scared. I have nothing they can take but my life, and they can have it. I'd die at home within the year anyway. It doesn't matter to me."

She speaks without self pity, and with self-loathing. How she had talked her way into trouble was unbelievable, but she couldn't back down now.

"I will be okay, M'sieur. As Howard says, I am a rat. I will be okay."

She downs the rest of the drink, and pushes the glass away, running her fingers through the tangled mop of hair.

"Don't tell Valeria you caught me, will you? She'd have a fit if she knew what I looked like now."

"I promise that I won't breathe a single word of anything we've talked about today," he said with all sincerity. "Good luck."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Conscientia

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject