All I know is the steak tastes better... [OPEN to D6]

[asmilinggod]

Who| Kevin and anyone from D6!
What| The new Mentor wants to get to know everyone - so he's going to take YOU to lunch! Yes, you!
Where| D6 Common Room, then off to other places if your character agrees.
When| Just before the Arena.
Warnings| Kevin.


Hans had made the suggestion, and it had left an impact.

It was more than apparent that Kevin was going to have to get to know the other Tributes of District 6 to be effective as a Mentor - and gosh, wouldn't you know it, but so many of them just hadn't gotten the chance to meet him yet! Everyone has been busy, of course, and he knows that. Now, though, it's officially time to make time. Can't sell a Tribute you don't know! His team is counting on him!

So when you walk into the District 6 common room, you are immediately met by a familiar bright grin, neatly pressed suit, and a clipboard with a big list of names on it. He checks off your name as he approaches you before you get the chance to flee. Whether you have met or you haven't, he greets you with the same level of clinical, professional warmth.

"Hey there! Are you ready for a lunch date with your Mentor?"

No one can save you now.

Comments

[asmilinggod]

For a moment, Kevin doesn't seem to react. He certainly doesn't back down, standing still and strong as she prods his chest (which is firmer than perhaps expected); that fixed grin dials down by a degree, the voids where his eyes should be widen.

"I hate to break it to you," he begins, voice a cold hiss that sits at odds with his grin and demeanor, "But when you put a bunch of people in a cage together, they're all going to be animals one way or the other. I don't deny that I am one. You are one, too. Not admitting that you're an animal when your chosen profession is killing people for rewards is - oh! Well, now, there's something I could use."

He jots something down, under Molotov's name. 'Hypocritical.'

"The arena that I won in went the way it did, and I don't regret that. I don't remember very much of it, to be honest with you - but the fact remains that I won. I won, and now I am your management. Like it or not, Molotov, I am management to you. You can let me work for you, or you can keep calling me names."

Kevin broadens his grin, and it looks like it may split his head in two.

"So. How do you take your coffee?"

[molotov]

She wants to vomit when he keeps talking, wants to punch his face until there's nothing left but pulp on her fist and his horrible teeth are broken into shards. It wouldn't be the first time she's done it, but the looming threat of Peacekeepers forces her fists to stay in place, shaking at her sides.

"You aren't management," she tells him acidly, eye narrowing. "You are just the pissant that no one likes, Kevin. Good management is liked by their team, and I know because I had a team at home. My own company. You, if anything, are an asset that no one will choose to use, because you didn't win through any kind of skill, you just... got... lucky. Anyone could have done what you did. Anyone can be a monster. Don't call me an animal, you bastard, because you could never do what I do. I am an artist. You are trash."

Molotov suddenly grabs at the paper on his clipboard, intending to rip it off and throw it away.

"Stay away from me. In fact, do the whole District a favor and give up your pathetic attempt at help."

[asmilinggod]

The paper is grabbed, torn away, and it's hard to tell, but his gaze tracks it - watches his notes go to pieces, the way the tatters of paper sit behind in his clipboard from where the sheet once was.

He's silent for a moment - disconcertingly so - and then he takes the rest of the papers from the clipboard, holding them and letting the board itself fall to the floor with a clatter. Bloodstained fingers slick against white pages, leaving sticky smears under his grip. Two black voids are fixed now on Molotov, staring her down in uncomfortable quiet until finally, words fall.

"Is that it? Well, gosh...if you're looking for some big reaction, I'm sorry to disappoint!"

A flash of electricity behind him - the smell of burning flesh, smoke from under his collar. He scribbles something on the page facing him with his pen. "But I am, in fact, a man of business...so let me address your grievances. Working backwards -"

He turns the first page so she can see it - it's a chart, listing his duties and busy itinerary as a mentor. "Contrary to what you may think of my help, it's important for me to carry it out. Sure, I could go about my job without getting to know you...but if people ask me what you're like, it's a lot better for me to be able to tell them. I've been working hard to get things ready for the Arena! And gosh...all I did was ask you to coffee."

Without warning, his hand moves in a violent arc, shredding the sheet in two. He lets it fall and draws another - this time, it's a profit read-out for Strexcorp, graphed out just a little bit too well from memory.

"Second - I don't think you knew about this, Molotov, but I'm actually very good at what I do. Back home, when Strexcorp asked me to do something, I did it! I did it, and always with a smile. Smiling is, as you can see here, a lot more productive than what you are doing right now. Even in the Arena...I carried out my work with a smile! Even when," his voice shifts a little, distortion kissing his words, "Forces tried to take that smile away from me."

RIP.

"As for the first complaint...do you think you're going to shock me, saying that? Because here we go - let me show you. Our last chart, haha!"

The paper that is held up has only one thing written on it - 'People who actually like me.'

The rest of the paper is blank.

He tears the rest of the thick stack up, grinning all the while.

"I mean, gosh, I'm not stupid! I already know none of you like me. None of you! I know an unhappy face when I see one, and I see a whole lot of unhappy faces when I talk to anybody here. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to help you."

Kevin stands now in a flurry of papers, the back of his collar smoking, grin twitching on his face. His voice carries the whine of static, the distortion of a bad speaker.

"̧͉̦W̶͙͇͉̣̺̟h̰̲̱̤̜y̬̞̠͔ ̛̥̗͚͚c͙͔͕ͅan̨̬̹͔'̠ͅt͚̭̠̟̬͠ ̞̞y͙ͅo̩̼̯̣̭̫̫u̞̻ ͠ju̶̺͖̫͕̻̰̞s͖̫͔̘̬t̛̰̠͔͔͙͎̮ ̗̣̪̦l͙̥̫̣̳̖̙e̖̥̩͎͠t̞͙̖ ̥͈m̻̝͍ḛ̰ ͎̟͘dǫ̰͓̺ ̭̯̰̗m̸̦͙y̧̖̘͓ ̡̜j͚̯̩͍͉ǫ̮̲͖̤̙̪b͓?͉"̧̖̹̹̣̙̭̫

[capitolprivilege]

It's the argument that catches Stephen's attention. He would be ashamed to admit, though, just how much he didn't want to deal with it. From his room, he sighed, stood, and headed to the door -- just in time to catch the scent of burning flesh.

Oh, no.

He rushes out into the common area just in time to catch the last minute of Kevin's diatribe.

His eyes widen. Guilt lances through his gut, and heat creeps unbidden onto his face. Stephen feels like he's been caught, which he has -- he's been caught in a lie. For a second, he hesitates.

Then he steps forward. Honestly, it's the distortion in Kevin's voice that does it: it tells Stephen that he needs to step in, that this situation cannot be left alone.

"Kevin?" he says, reaching out an arm, making a placating gesture. "Kevin, I think it's time you took a break."

[molotov]

Molotov has backed up by the time Kevin's voice turns into... well, she doesn't even know what it's doing, but she's backing up because the sparking and smoke has her a bit worried that maybe Kevin is actually going to explode. She didn't think he was a robot, but it turns out that you never know about these things.

She didn't actually care if he exploded. She just didn't want him exploding on her. Bits of Kevin all over her blouse, ew.

When Stephen steps in, her eye darts to him, as if to ask what, precisely, was happening here. That look doesn't manage to make it to the rest of her face, though, and her expression stays cold and hard, exactly like her voice.

"Yes, I think it is," she sniffs, taking the opportunity to walk a fair distance away, lest there suddenly be exploded bits of robot man flying everywhere.

[asmilinggod]

Stephen. Another on the list of people who Kevin is pretty sure doesn't actually like him. That's okay, he doesn't have to. They're in business together, that's all.

His bloody fingers twitch at his sides as he's spoken to, his gaze moving from Stephen to Molotov and back again. He steps backward, paper crinkling beneath his deep red tennis shoes.

"...Of course! Wouldn't want to break with protocol or labor laws. They're so...weird...around here." Something in his tone of voice is still not quite right, but at least it's not coming out like a bad radio station. "But you might want to have a word with your Tribute, here. Sour faces aren't going to hurt me, any, but a bad temper might be detrimental to her success."

Kevin turns his face to stare right at Molotov. Pointedly.

"And I still owe you a coffee."

[capitolprivilege]

"I'll handle it," Stephen promises. "Thank you," he says, and it is as heartfelt as he can make it, "for your hard work."

Standing up to Kevin is easier, now: Stephen doesn't feel as afraid as he used to. He had stood up to Molotov and survived not so long ago. He could handle Kevin.

[molotov]

Molotov scowls at Kevin and gives Stephen a withering look as she stomps away. He'd better not say a word to her -- Kevin started it! She'd tried very nicely to get out of it, he was the one that got angry and refused to let her be! Who didn't know how to just let it go and leave someone alone?

That freak had brought it on himself, she hopes Stephen knows.

[asmilinggod]

"Thank you, Stephen," Kevin breathes, chip sparking away as it takes the fire out of his temper. The look he's giving Stephen indicates something - he knows that Stephen had probably heard what he said. "And thank you for the acknowledgement."

With that, he turns on his heel, moving off to go and spend a little time praying.

The Smiling God will help him center again.

Maybe he'll even pray for Molotov.

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen looks from one to the other and gives a helpless shrug. He absolutely will talk with Molotov later, to give her advice on the best ways to get Kevin off your back.

He will also talk with Kevin. Stephen feels horrible -- he feels called-out, feels embarrassed, and feels like a liar. If Kevin was really that self-aware, maybe it was time Stephen stopped hiding things from him. But before he does that, he has a recording to compile.