Brainiac 5 | Querl Dox (post-zero hour) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
googledox) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-09-26 11:37 pm
googledox) wrote in thecapitol2014-09-26 11:37 pm
Evil 102
Who| Closed to Brainiac 5 and Cyrus
What| Brainy offers Cyrus advice on being evil
Where| The Lounge
When| After the Lady Lazarus plot
Warnings/Notes| N/A
Brainiac 5 was quite pleased with the results of Eva Salazar's sabotage. He'd managed to make a solid handful of useful pieces of technology to give to his fellow Tributes, ones that would have been far more difficult to make under Capitol scrutiny and thanks to Lyle's sneaky deliveries, it still seemed to the Tributes that the technology was from an outside source, brokered by an agent acting on his behalf.
And he was quite sure, when he had the opportunity to provide another locked post, that he might gain some useful information from industrious fellow Tributes that had made the most of the outage.
The drink he was having, alone, was therefore more celebratory than soul-deadening. Despite the trauma of his recent death in the arena and Lyle's death, the outage had proven more than enough to lift his spirits.
So he sat there reading his tablet, drinking from a flute of something bright blue and glowing, ignoring the rest of the world around him. Which was what he often did in places around Capitol people, almost as if he found them below his attention.
What| Brainy offers Cyrus advice on being evil
Where| The Lounge
When| After the Lady Lazarus plot
Warnings/Notes| N/A
Brainiac 5 was quite pleased with the results of Eva Salazar's sabotage. He'd managed to make a solid handful of useful pieces of technology to give to his fellow Tributes, ones that would have been far more difficult to make under Capitol scrutiny and thanks to Lyle's sneaky deliveries, it still seemed to the Tributes that the technology was from an outside source, brokered by an agent acting on his behalf.
And he was quite sure, when he had the opportunity to provide another locked post, that he might gain some useful information from industrious fellow Tributes that had made the most of the outage.
The drink he was having, alone, was therefore more celebratory than soul-deadening. Despite the trauma of his recent death in the arena and Lyle's death, the outage had proven more than enough to lift his spirits.
So he sat there reading his tablet, drinking from a flute of something bright blue and glowing, ignoring the rest of the world around him. Which was what he often did in places around Capitol people, almost as if he found them below his attention.
no subject
It was exhausting, and frustrating, and shouldn't have been his job in the first place. He wasn't the type to dull his frustrations in alcohol; it was much more satisfying and overall more productive to find ways to get the source of frustration out of the picture. But that simply wasn't an option here (because he couldn't abolish the Hunger Games, as he'd told so many Tributes so patiently in the past few weeks), and so he allowed himself, before he left the Tower for the night, to stop in the lounge on the ground floor.
The seating was open; it wasn't his intention to end up next to Brainiac 5, but it didn't matter overmuch. (Moreover, knowing the names of Tower residents to whom he'd never directly spoken had never made it onto his list of priorities.) He dropped heavily into the seat and spent about four seconds looking over the cocktail menu before he gave up and set it down.
"Which of these is that?" he asked of his neighbor, with a glance at the glowing blue flute. It didn't seem to bother him that he might be interrupting; he wasn't used enough to being ignored. "And is it terrible?"
no subject
In general, tried to avoid talking to anyone from the Capitol that wasn't, say, Jolie or his escort, for very obvious reasons, but getting accosted one of the potential perils of sitting around in such a common area.
"I feel like an absolute imbecile actually saying the name aloud but I believe the bartender said it was a 'Blue Booty.' It's quite strong, if that's what you're looking for."
He kept reading his tablet, hoping the man would take the hint but feeling as if he might not be quite so lucky. If he kept talking, he'd have to put his omnicom down and possibly fake real interest.
no subject
Cyrus laughed, short and incredulous - of course. Of course that's what it was called. He shook his head, turned to the bartender, ad called for "What he's having." Between taking the time to focus his eyes on the menu and drinking right now, he'd take the latter.
He was pleased to find that it was strong, as promised. Not the most dignified drink, but he could elect to ignore that. He had no intention of ignoring Braniac 5, however. He'd spent the entire day at the disposal of anyone who walked into his office with a demand, or shot him a dirty look in the corridor; if he wanted to make conversation, he had every right.
He sipped, and considered his neighbor over the rim of the glass. "You're a Tribute," he said. People had stranger body modifications than Braniac 5 in the Capitol, but this was hardly the place or the occasion for it; he had to assume anyone strange-looking came by it naturally here. It was not a clever observation, but it established their relative places. Implied in it was I'm not. "What District?"
no subject
This was exactly how he'd wanted to spend his evening. (Not.) He tucked his tablet away politely, restraining himself from looking resentful as he did it, and proceeded to nurse his drink to have something to occupy his hands with.
"District eight. They make textiles - or something. I never really paid much attention when the assignment was so arbitrary." He figured it was best he show little care for the districts, rather than the intense, burning anger that his visit to his district had engendered in him. "You're one of the regime's henchmen, correct? Mr. Reagan. I'm sorry, I can't recall your first name."
Treating it like a supervillain organization was perfectly reasonable when he was pretending to be a supervillain himself. After all, he was stating it as simple fact, not with any sort of outraged or upset tone.
no subject
"--Henchman?" Cyrus laughed. More out of surprise than actual amusement, short and uncertain. "That's-- no. No, I'm a politician. A negotiator. It's Cyrus Reagan-- I'm here on behalf of President Snow..."
He paused. Reflected. Laughed again. Actually amused this time, if a little weary. "...Which-- henchman isn't usually the word I use, but." If the shoe fits... "That's not one I've heard before."