thecapitol | ain't no party like a capitol staff party

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ain't no party like a capitol staff party

Who| [Closed] to capitolites
What| Shit has gone down for months, the tower staff and those involved are having a little get together to see if they can work out a plan of approach for the coming months.
Where| Some ritzy bar/lounge you've never heard of in a private room.
When| Friday night, after the black-out
Warnings/Notes| Heartless Capitolites talking shit.

If you're native to the Capitol, you're pretty damn accustomed to party life. There isn't an occasion in which it is inappropriate to slap the word 'party' at the end and serve drinks. This get-together in particular is rather less like the garish and fashionable events that occur every hour of the day and rather more like the awkward Christmas staff party at an incredibly well paying job. This is of course because it's a very solemn occasion for a social event, the black-out had followed a number of events that most everyone was decidedly unprepared for and the backlash has hardly begun to occur.

They'll be doing a little more than just drinking, but that doesn't mean that there isn't going to be a lot of drinking, gossiping and venting about how hard their lives are in the privacy of a room in a bar booked specifically for this purpose. Tribute sympathisers had better watch their mouths because this has been a long time coming.

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Something like this has been in the works for a while and Trey isn't sure whether he's relieved or just dreading the idea of this happening. He's felt like he's been at a loss for what to do for a long time, but that doesn't necessarily mean that anyone else will have better advice. He had hoped to sort of come in with a neutral take on everything, then the black out happened and tributes were falling more and more into the depths of being ingrates and assholes who lashed out whenever they had the chance. Sure, it was understandable to some, but on the whole it was dangerous to look like you sympathised even a little with them now. On the other hand, it's also the perfect time to put on a face and bad mouth them like any self respecting Capitolite would.

Speaking of putting on faces, the drag has been left at home for the occasion. For once, Trey has opted for the subtle look and hasn't bothered with the chore of getting dolled up. If his voice didn't make him obvious, his penchant for cheetah print probably does. He's downing fruity drinks without much regard or care for whether he'll get tipsy, he gets bitchier when he is so it's all the better. If you don't approach him, he has no problems getting up in your personal space to complain about the past week to you.

[Closed to Stephen and Cyrus.]
Considering the fact that they had made vague plans for this a while ago, Trey isn't too surprised to get a private message from Cyrus regarding a little meet up. When the opportune moment arises (maybe before everyone else arrives), Trey will join the two of them and feel. Short mostly. Also a little uncertain, though he keeps a smile fixed on his face.

"Someone's gonna be in trouble." He points that out ever so helpfully and not so artfully considering it was Stephen in trouble not long ago. Sorry bro, sometimes you gotta take one for the team. He can't even imagine how the younger brother feels right now, but he can sort of venture a guess as to what Cyrus might be thinking about all of this. He more than anyone seems to take flack from tributes and Stephen wound up getting in a fight. It's all pretty shitty press.

It's been-- a week, to put it mildly. A real week, inside of a real month. The past few days, though, those have been nightmarish, because the Tributes going on an untracked rampage through the Capitol hasn't prevent citizens having to deal with them afterward. Sure, Cyrus has snarled at President Snow in his head more than once this week, Don't throw them all in prison this time. Don't take any steps to protect the rest of us now.

Cyrus will be standing close to Stephen from the moment they find themselves in the same room. Not even fully consciously - but he hasn't yet managed to shake the memory of his desperate, furious sprint through the halls of the Tower, searching and searching and not knowing what he'd find. He's been worried about Stephen before, of course, but never so... immediately. It's hard to look away from him too long.

He looks tired. He's not bothering to prop up a pleasant smile. When he sees Trey, he looks puzzled for a second-- that unmistakable split-second Do I know you--?

And then it clicks. There's only one person in the Capitol who has that voice. ...That voice, and that penchant for cheetah print.

"Jol--" Wait. Now a smile appears-- genuine, and a little sheepish. "...Trey. So glad you could make it." Their strange acquaintance barely exists outside of parties going back years; it's odd, to be at a party that doesn't have Jolie at it, and yet totally has Jolie at it. "You know, they haven't told me who's been fired over this yet, but when they do, it's going to be the highlight of my year."

Nightmarish is right. Only Eva and Wallander's deaths are taking the edge off his simmering anger: his frustration is there, just below the surface. He has a glass of wine that, earlier in the evening, had been significantly fuller.

...he's standing close to Cyrus, too. Stephen knows what the Tributes are capable of. He has a healthy respect for what they could do if they felt they could get away with it -- or if they felt they had nothing to lose. He had been terrified for his brother that night because he knew his brother was inches from being a target of very dangerous, very angry individuals.

Stephen scowls into his glass. "It's hard to fire someone who's already dead." He's referring, of course, to Peacekeeper Wallander.

If Trey, as a Stylist, is feeling the burn here then Cyrus is probably living on fumes right now. He'd often wondered how the guy deals with stress so elegantly. Maybe he just smashes faberge eggs or has sex with a lot of hookers in his spare time, the point is it's none of Trey's business.

But that's never stopped him before, realistically speaking.

The confusion on his face certainly doesn't offend Trey, he just takes it in his stride as a compliment. It's always good when your face is done up so well that even your distinctive nasally voice doesn't give you away entirely.

"You can call me whatever, just don't call me after three." He quips, raising his drinks to his lips when they speak as he considers it all. "Maybe Peacekeepers ought to have chastity belts, huh? Might nip some problems in the bud." It's a very controversial joke, but he doesn't give a damn. "How do you think they're gonna want us to handle everyone now?"

Cyrus' stress coping mechanism is nothing but long practice, and the ability to live without a functioning sleep schedule. He doesn't measure sleep in nights anymore, especially not this week.

His smile sours at Trey's comment. Not because he's offended by it, but because he was there. He was in the Peacekeepers' headquarters not a week before, being offered a doughnut by the perpetrator. He'd told Eva Salazar he appreciated her cooperation. He'd told her to say hello to Wallander for him. That stings.

"There's some debate over that," he replies. This has been a source of some discussion; he's speaking from a place of authority, here. Though his tone makes clear his opinion of the entire discussion. "Kindly, some are saying. A soft approach, to encourage sympathizers to come out of the woodwork."

He rolls his eyes. Not a gesture he often makes, and never one he makes on the clock. "...Though how they plan to do that and discourage further fraternization is a point on which they have yet to agree."

Stephen drags a hand down his face.

"What a goddamn mess," he says. "Eva was crazy. What did she think this would do? It isn't going to help her District, it won't help the other Tributes -- she wanted a bloodbath.

"I only spoke with her once or twice, but I had a weird feeling about her. Talking with her made me feel like...like I was inches away from a trap." Stephen doesn't mention that he had promised Eva an owed favor; he already feels how close that dodged bullet had come. God, if he had been involved in this...

He shifts an inch or two closer to Cyrus.

Trey can't help a nervous shift at the way Cyrus changes expressions, but he doesn't blame him for it. This barely reflects on Stephen and Trey professionally, but it's got to be a gold star getting peeled off the older brother's chart somewhere. Trey isn't sure if he pities him entirely, but he certainly isn't inclined to side with Eva.

"I'm just saying, I wouldn't be surprised if it were true." He lifts his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "If anyone didn't know she was a live-wire they didn't do their research, Wallander was lucky to have his face intact. She was feeling the violent fantasies, slapping people and screaming at them, honestly." He cocks his head to the side and rolls his eyes. He might side with tributes for the most part, but Eva personally crossed lines for him when she slapped Oliver.

"I'm guessing they want us to pet them with one hand and slap them with the other." He observes tiredly, not much malice in it. "They're gonna think we're all idiots."

Cyrus glances at his brother as he speaks. There's something in him that wants to put an arm around Stephen's shoulders, and doesn't-- but he also doesn't move away, lets him stay in his space. They're all but bumping elbows. No trap here, little brother. "Eva was dangerous," he says. "Unpredictable. Of course her... instability was common knowledge, but if she'd been allowed a looser rein..."

But he lets that train of thought trail off. He laughs in reply to Trey, and it sounds about as tired as the statement it's replying to. "...Well. In all this chaos, then, it's nice to know some things won't change."

A tray passes by at eye level at this moment; Cyrus neatly lifts a glass off of it as it goes past him, and drinks before continuing, with bitterness that he does not manage to mask under humor, "Seriously-- politicians will call you stupid, but they're civilized enough not to do it to your face. Tributes, on the other hand...!"

The list of people who have called him an idiot in the past month is not a short one. He's working under the assumption, here, that the Tributes' disdain for him has less to do with him as a person than with his role in their lives, and his status as a citizen of the Capitol. He assumes that everyone else stuck working with them must face exactly the same difficulty. Tributes don't like their staff, right?

"They have no idea when to keep their mouths shut," Stephen grouches. "Honestly, I don't know how they still think they can get away with it. After the punishments Hsiang and Cruentus gave out, you would think some of them would have figured out that if they weren't careful, they'd end up like Starkiller, or Justin Law, or Fraysong."

Frustrated and exasperated, Stephen Reagan has tried so many times to talk down so many Tributes and is so fucking tired of them getting themselves into trouble.

"I still think a lot of our punishments are inhumane. But when they know they're in a system where those punishments exist and they still mouth off to Peacekeepers? I'm not saying they bring it on themselves," Stephen says. "But it makes keeping them from harm very, very hard." God, he's needed to get this off his chest for a while.

Also, it's nice -- it's comforting -- being so close to Cyrus. That combined with their mutual frustration makes it almost, almost possible to forget that they're working on opposite sides. For right now, it almost feels like nothing has changed.

"Well, you know what it's like. They all think they're special, like they're an exception to rules because they're big shots back home- and we don't really let them think otherwise. They're all like those wild teen celebrities thinking their rebel crap is cute." That came out far more viciously than he intended, but he's been huffy about this as well. He's been stewing on having so much work thrown back in his face thanks to some little shits getting violent.

"Some of them have their shit together, you can even have a good conversation with them, but do you guys ever get the feeling that every nice conversation they try to start with you is because they're angling for something?" There's a little bit of sincerity to that, and it sucks to say it. "Most of 'em don't even know how to go about that much. It ain't like it's hard to smile and say please and thank you, right?" He gives Cyrus a sympathetic look. "You probably cop the worst of that crap, they're used to Stephen and I trying to weasel them into clothes and interviews."

God. God. Cyrus is thinking of many people, as he listens to this; thinking of all the hard words, the wearying and pointless negotiations, the open declarations of mistrust, the incredibly pointed hints of kindness. Nothing, ever, without price.

"Oh, yes," he says, and the only concession he makes to the fact that he is probably not supposed to acknowledge this is to drop his voice a little. "For the ones who won't deal with me, rudeness is a point of pride; of the ones who will, well-- I guess I'm supposed to hand out favors for basic courtesy now. Overwhelmed with gratitude, or something."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm the first to admit I wasn't sent here to make friends, but none of them is willing even to pretend at genuine friendliness."

A pause. "...Well." He drinks. Pauses. Drinks again. "Except for Eridan Ampora, I suppose."

Stephen turns -- well, whirls is probably more accurate -- to stare at Cyrus in surprise. "What? Okay, first of all, fuck Eridan Ampora. Second -- he's friendly with you?" The amount of disbelief on Stephen's face is stunning.

His grudge against Eridan is a little personal, he'll admit, but anyone who roughs up Holly Day absolutely qualifies as an asshole. Objectively.

Jolie is huffing out a sincere laugh at Cyrus when he speaks, even if she's fond of a good many tributes there's a handful she could easily leave in the wake of some terrible things. Such is Capitol morality, really. You take care of your favourites.

"Please, that little shit is desperate for attention. He was loafing around a damn. Whatchamacallit funeral." He waves his hand airily for the word. "Anyway. He was looking dour and downtalking everyone, just waiting for someone to act like they cared." He rolls his eyes. "Figures the little shit would come for one of the people who cares way too much here. If I get my damn hands on him he's gonna be genuinely fucked up." He follows that with a little huff and then a long swig of his drink.

"Oh my god. The funeral." Even Cyrus' voice is rolling its eyes. "He talked at me for twenty minutes about the Capitol's refusal to allow the trolls to cannibalize their young." He twists his lip and makes an attempt at an Eridan impression-- "Maybe if you actually put your inferior, pink human sponge to work..."

He frowns at the other two, though-- not out of anger, but mild confusion. Eridan Ampora is not someone he'd mourn, were he not to come back after the next Arena, but that's a lot of anger coming out of Stephen over a Tribute, and a genuine threat of bodily harm out of Trey. It seems a little... out of proportion. "...But I figured I was getting special treatment," he says. "What's he done to you two?"

At any other time, maybe Stephen would have considered the consequences of his words a little more carefully. If it had been any other crime, maybe Stephen would have considered covering for a Tribute, someone who had been acting out in anger, someone whose overall situation was much worse than an Escort's.

But he's nearly through this glass of wine, and they are here to bitch. So Stephen Reagan is going to bitch.

"He assaulted Holly during the blackout," Stephen grits out, absolutely fuming. "He broke her ribs -- and threatened to do worse. I'd bet he would have, if I hadn't found them."

He knocks back the last of his wine.

Even if Trey is beyond furious about Eridan, he can't help covering his mouth to clumsily conceal a snort of amusement at Cyrus doing impressions. For a jerk, he's pretty damn endearing. Must be a Reagan thing.

He's a little warier about sharing, but when Stephen progresses he decides it probably isn't a problem. It's as interesting for him to see Stephen a little mad, just as endearing as it had been watching Cyrus be a goofball. He raises a hand to give Stephen's shoulder a squeeze, both out of comfort and appreciation. There's the slightest bit of guilt in his expression, Holly had run off on him and instead of going to find her, he'd found Steve Rogers.

"You did a good fucking thing." He says gravely, glancing toward Justine as discreetly as possible. "Pretty sure that freak was a little busy that night."

There's not much closer to Stephen Cyrus can really be at this point, but he manages it, somehow, moving until their shoulders are actually brushing-- with a glance at his brother that cannot decide on what expression it intends to settle. Protectiveness is in it, and disapproval, and concern, among other things; it's like he can't decide whether he intends to comfort Stephen, or just to keep him as much in his sight as possible.

Cyrus lifts a glass of champagne deftly off of a tray as it passes and holds it out to Stephen, to replace the empty one. Passing drinks and talking at the same time is, evidently, an inherited Reagan skill.

"Dr. Florbelle was, I imagine, in hiding. As Capitol citizens were expected to be." He sounds terse-- whether because it's a pointed statement at Stephen, or from anger at the memory, or in defense of Justine, is uncertain. (Not that he'd spent a single moment before he'd learned where Stephen was in hiding, either.)

Edited 2014-11-30 14:22 (UTC)

"I stood a better chance out there than you did," Stephen mutters into the glass. He lifts the champagne and takes a sip of it, which softens the truth bomb a little. Standing this close to Cyrus might have been awkward another time, but cut Stephen some slack: he'd been very frightened by that blackout, and not for himself. He raises his eyes to look sideways at his brother, frowning.

"Look, Cyrus, I knew you'd be looking for me, and I knew I had a better relationship with the Tributes than you did. I had to find you. With Peacekeepers spread that thin, you'd be safer with me than with anyone else, short of one of the Tributes themselves."

Justine won't be drinking. It doesn't mix well with what treatments she's had to undergo.

She's in a white sundress and light makeup to cover what are presumably blemishes from strain and a lack of sleep. She's quieter than usual, but she still smiles and laughs and holds conversation, even though some of her bandages are visible and she can't stand for long periods of time without steadying herself (perhaps a little exaggerated, but it's not like there's anyone who can tell what's real and what's a pity play).

How brave. How strong. What an example for how to deal with an unprovoked Tribute attack.

By now, Trey has heard all of the stories about Justine's attack. While he's always suspicious of news being fed through the Capitol, he can't say he isn't convinced. One of his little clique-family had been attacked as well, it was frustrating when you were putting yourself on the line and people turned around and did this. He just needs to remind himself that not all tributes are as good as his favourites.

So, sympathy is in his expression when he slinks over, but he smiles anyway and holds out a fruity looking drink for her. "Don't worry, it's a virgin." He can't help smirk, because there's something ironic about both of them and the word virgin. "I'm sure you're sick of being asked how you're holding up, huh?"

Justine looks up at Trey in mild confusion when he approaches, since he doesn't seem familiar, but the moment he speaks--

She smiles. Ah, she knows him. "At least one thing here is." Ha, virginity is for squares. "Thank you, Trey." She relaxes as she takes the drink, but she doesn't sip from it immediately. "I appreciate that people care. I just wish I didn't feel like an invalid in the process." She sips slowly, waving her bandaged arm. "I'm holding up as well as can be expected, I suppose."

"It's overrated anyway." Virginity, that is. "Purity is for people who don't know how to have fun- or, y'know, just survived a traumatic incident." Good old tasteless humor. He invites himself to sit beside her, drawing a long sip from his drink after he does.

"You're always valid to me, honey. Mostly because you could probably kick my ass with or without an injury." He muses in a dry tone, leaving a bit of silence before asking the tough question every gossip searches for. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Justine gives Trey a wink as she sips her drink. "And don't you forget it, darling." Then she puts the drink down, looking at it thoughtfully. "Well, you know me. I'm hard to ruffle. But... well, it's... rattling."

She folds her hands in her lap, her knuckles white with how hard she holds onto herself. "You don't expect to be attacked in your own office. And you don't expect to watch someone be murdered." She averts her eyes and looks towards Holly from across the room. "Holly was attacked too, wasn't she? It didn't happen to be a troll who did it?"

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ain't no party like a capitol staff party

Trey

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Justine

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