thecapitol | Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

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Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

Who| Elias and Open (with guidelines below in notes)
What| Elias getting to know those the Rebellion might want to court.
Where| The Speakeasy.
When| Evenings and late nights spread across several weeks.
Warnings/Notes| You would only have the chance to meet Elias if you had shown obvious, observable pro-rebellion tendencies. He will not approach anyone he's not sure of. If that happened, you might notice people around you letting you know you should maybe check out the Speakeasy, maybe, just try it, go.

The man seemed very unassuming, another done up Capitol fop with lop sided hair covering half his face, and ridiculously heavy makeup. In another time and place, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but here he was the norm.He moved around the club, never staying still too long, and never getting caught in a conversation for long.

He was trying not to be noticed. And he was good at it. He was on the hunt for those that had shown they might be of interest to the rebellion.

The list was growing, and he was becoming frustrated with having his hands tied, locked to this local.

Luckily he had some cohorts out, to suggest this place, and drive those he wanted to meet here.

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Again Albert is at the Speakeasy, though this time it's not to escape the things he can do nothing about. This time he's here because he's been nudged, prodded, and had hints dropped at him that this is where he should be and considering there are few sponsors to schmooze for those in District 3 and Jet's apparently lying low in the arena so there's little news of him on television, he took the hint and planted himself at a booth in the bar, swirling a beer around and watching the other clientele with a benign air that hides his caution.

Still, he doesn't notice Elias at all in the crowd of strangely dressed Capitolites undulating through the place, but while the other man blends in, Albert still sticks out, having resisted his stylist enough that he's left alone to dress himself in whatever plain clothes he can muster. A black leather jacket, black t-shirt, jeans and (go forbid) naturally silver hair that shows his age, or rather would if he hadn't had it all his life.

"Albert, Albert Heinrich!"

Elias comes forward with a smile and a drink, putting on the friendly Capitol fan face. It was the easiest, most Tributes were trained to respond at least someone civilly to it. Did he himself know?

With people he knew the least about, he found it the easiest to approach under. He set the drink before the man, sliding in across from him.

"I hope you don't mind the drink? Ale, from District 10."

An unfamiliar voice calling his name would have garnered suspicion from Albert before, but after some time here in Panem he's some to at least acknowledge that most Capitolites know his name from the Games. With District 3 gone, he's even more pressed to try for sponsors (if not for himself than his allies) and so he puts on a smile of his own and accepts the drink via stopping it sliding off the table.

"Not at all. In fact, I thank you for it, though I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Just looking for a few good Tributes to hand some Assi off to next arena." he shrugged, glancing around as if worried that Albert was a commodity someone else was going to snatch up.

"I am very particular about where my funds go though. Would you mind if we had a chat, man to man, about the games?"

He knew this sort of over assuming wasn't that abnormal. How many Capitolities had asked him to meet one of his tributes over the years, after all?

"I have the Silver room booked up for the night. Join me?"

Being asked into a private room does indeed give Albert pause, especially after being given a strange drink, but the offer of assistance in the arena is too strong of a incentive to pass up, especially with Albert being quite sure he can take this guy if necessary. He nods shortly and stands, indicating he'll join his potential benefactor.

"I would like to know your name though, please. I tend to care about details like that with an offer of aid. It helps to know who to thank."

Joan has heard from more than one source that she should check out the Speakeasy, that it's this really great place. Nice atmosphere. Great people.

She got the message.

She didn't know what to expect when she entered the club, but she went in paying attention to everything, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She went to the bar, ordered a beer, and sat, sideways to the bar, watching the people, wondering if this was some sort of Capitol plot to get all the dissidents in one place.

Joan he has heard much about. Which made his life a little easier, but likely made hers harder.

Sitting at the bar next to her, he ordered a new drink, and waited for a lull in the crowd around them.

"Joan Watson?"

She gave him a casual glance when he sat next to her, but nothing more than that. When he spoke to her, she lifted her eyes from her drink, but didn't look at him.

"That's me. You are?"

"My names is Elias. A former mentor. I'm...seeking assistance."

He didn't want to be too blunt until he caught most of her attention. Using language that around here was easy to be mistook for bidding or other sorts of pandering from the Capitol.

Of course it could backfire.

"I'll be in the silver room, if you're interested."

The silver room was easy to find, behind a solid silver door, and they decided it was the best for this business a few weeks ago. He stood, taking his drink and slipping off to the back of the restaurant.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to seem like she was paying that much attention. If this was the contact with the rebellion, she didn't want to chance exposing him, not even in the Speakeasy. She does a slow count to thirty, then picks up her drink and makes her way casually to the silver room.

When she entered, any coy Capitol act was gone. Elias was sitting behind a table, glancing through papers.

This was the woman he was looking for, no doubt, and she was about as sure a bet as they came.

He smiled up at her, gesturing to the chair across from him.

"Sorry for the creepy come on out there."

It was weird, how different he seemed. Still it made perfect sense.

"That's okay," she said, sitting as she was bid, putting her drink on the table. "You had a cover to maintain."

Because clearly this was the person she had been directed here to see.

"I'm Elias. I'm a...well, now a former mentor from District 10.The Capitol, to my knowledge, thinks I'm still there."

He set down her folder, not feeling like anything in there was something to be kept from her.

"I'm in charge of feeling out who belongs in the rebellion."

She glanced down at the file.

"Mmm. I guess it's not just the Capitol that's been watching." She said it simply, with no particular accusation. "Someone told me to look for you. I assume you asked him to?"

Nasir did not feel like leaving his room but if he wanted to tear this place apart, he would have to learn more of it first. And he had other reasons to be here. He was not sure they were entirely trustworthy reasons but some stranger, claiming to be a fan, had approached him in the Commons and suggested the this was a fine place to drink. Assuming he wasn't lured in to be killed, perhaps Nasir could suggest this as a place to sate Gannicus's thirst and pray that he would forgive him.

Nasir tried to make himself inconspicuous as he walked in. He even had a shirt on and had left his phallus necklace behind, though the one of gold he'd kept. He scanned the crowd as he walked farther inside. It seemed comfortable enough but it did not put his mind at ease.

Elias was thankful for the toned down look of Nasir. Approaching Tributes was never easy, but the more lowkey, the better.

Then again, he highly doubted he was the first young man to approach Nasir fawningly. It certainly made things easier for him.

"Nasir?"

Nasir turned an appraising eye on Elias, managing to hide the wariness from his gaze.

"I am called that," he said. "Is there reason for desire to break words?"

"Just feeling out some new tributes I might want to throw some funds at."

He gave him a smile, tilting his head towards the hallway that led to the private rooms in the back.

"I like to meet tributes one on one before I invest."

Invest. A sponsor. Nasir's lips immediately curled into a look of disgust before he restrained himself. If this was what he had to do to have a hope of staying alive then he'd do what he must. He had done worse, after all.

He nodded and followed Elias. "I will see questions answered within reason."

Harley was dressed surprisingly conservative today...of course by Capitol standards that meant a lime green business suit and her hair done in a bun with pink flower topped pens sticking out of it.

Her sunglasses were wide and reflective like a pair of bug eyes as she sauntered into the speakeasy. It was a little too mellow for her taste but she'd over heard something in the commons area and was investigating for herself.

Taking a seat at a table near the corner she watched the patrons of the bar with a glass of something foul and brown. She didn't much care for drinks without mixers in them, but she wanted to be different today. She wanted to make sure no one was watching her.

Pretty much the opposite of her usual day to day life of attention whoring.

Elias didn't see anyone in the bar who was on his radar, so he was staying to himself. Looking at game streams, keeping an eye on the feeds. Nothing too odd if anyone were to look over his shoulder.

The drink before him wasn't alcoholic, and the bar kept a steady stream of food and drink going to his table as he worked.

It had taken her awhile to work out how to make this happen.

Rumors and whispers were easier to hear when you were as small and inconspicuous as Sandy tried to be most days. It seemed to be her luck that whoever had mentioned this place didn't know she was sitting just on the other side of the bushes in the garden.

Curious about how it tied into the rebellion Sandy had come snooping around, but of course a girl her age wasn't likely to blend in around a bar like this. Most bars in the Capitol had pretty lax rules regarding tributes but she still didn't want to make a scene.

Settling on a cover story she ran up and down the alley outside till she'd built up a sweat and then entered making a B-line for the bartender while still catching her breath.

"C-can I get some water please?" she asked in her best "Innocent child." voice. He gave her a raised eyebrow but complied pouring her a tall glass of ice water and setting it down where she could reach it.

Sandy thanked him and moved to sit near the air conditioner. Hopefully she could pick up another clue as to what was so interesting about this bar.

Were he human, maybe his own facepaint would allow him to pass unnoticed the same way. But he is most certainly not human, he is seven feet of troll and his horns are long as hell-- a highly sought after feature in trolls except for when it came to going unnoticed and getting through doors. The only plus side is that people usually tend to move out of the way and turn their head when he comes, the ones what have learned anyway.

He doesn't drink. Or he does, but not alcohol, or even coffee, that shit was nasty, he'd stick to his elixirs. The point was, he doesn't know why he's being told to go this way. He more than half wanted to just not go at all. The speakeasy was crowded, it made him twitchy, and he has no purpose there.

He almost wonders if it's a trap of some kind, fool him and have him walk into a wall of armed peacekeepers. Bang. Over.

And yet, here he is. He asks the bartender, as per usual, if they have the proper elixir, and as usual, they don't and he settles for soda. Then he takes himself and his drink to the furthest back that he can go, where his back is to a corner and his horns and height are a little less conspicuous. He rested his forearms upon the table and poked at the striped bands-- black and indigo, just like he'd asked-- that went around them and partially over his palms and the backs of his hands. He taps claws on the table, sips his drink, then sits back.

"The fuck am I doing here?" He asked no one.

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Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

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Let me know if he's not an obvious enough candidate