Stephanus "Stephen" Reagan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
capitolprivilege) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-11-13 02:42 pm
capitolprivilege) wrote in thecapitol2014-11-13 02:42 pm
Entry tags:
closed because you're not rich enough to be in this log
Who| Stephen and Cyrus Reagan
What| A chat, to feel out where they are. They've both learned a lot about Tributes, and they're not sure how much the other knows.
Where| The gratuitously ritzy Cyrus Reagan penthouse
When| This week
Warnings/Notes| None!
It's been a while since Stephen has been back here.
There's a damn good reason for that: this is where he lived during his hiatus. During the hiatus Cyrus had all but made him take. During the two most frustratingly boring years of his life, during the time he wasn't allowed in the Tribute Center, during the time he had to watch some hamfisted ex-D11 rookie manage his Tributes into dying again and again.
He's found himself with real distaste for the place.
But here he is, riding the mirror-walled elevator, treading the spotless gleaming hallway, reaching the door to his brother's completely normal and not gratuitously fancy at all apartment. He hesitates in front of the door, sighs, and then tries the doorknob.
(Knocking would be completely redundant, of course; Cyrus knows he's coming. The receptionist at the front desk has called him by now to let him know that Stephen's on his way up. He can't back out now. It would be awkward.)
What| A chat, to feel out where they are. They've both learned a lot about Tributes, and they're not sure how much the other knows.
Where| The gratuitously ritzy Cyrus Reagan penthouse
When| This week
Warnings/Notes| None!
It's been a while since Stephen has been back here.
There's a damn good reason for that: this is where he lived during his hiatus. During the hiatus Cyrus had all but made him take. During the two most frustratingly boring years of his life, during the time he wasn't allowed in the Tribute Center, during the time he had to watch some hamfisted ex-D11 rookie manage his Tributes into dying again and again.
He's found himself with real distaste for the place.
But here he is, riding the mirror-walled elevator, treading the spotless gleaming hallway, reaching the door to his brother's completely normal and not gratuitously fancy at all apartment. He hesitates in front of the door, sighs, and then tries the doorknob.
(Knocking would be completely redundant, of course; Cyrus knows he's coming. The receptionist at the front desk has called him by now to let him know that Stephen's on his way up. He can't back out now. It would be awkward.)
no subject
It's not unfriendly. Not exactly. But it's not as light a tone as a moment before. (Sure, it wasn't Stephen's fault, sure he got tricked, sure nothing came of it, but still-- still.)
I don't have a good eyeroll icon but I need one
He groans and takes another drink of wine.
"I'm not a traitor, Cyrus," Stephen sighs, as if the very idea is ridiculous. It is, of course. Stephen knows Cyrus believes that Stephen isn't a traitor, and Stephen has absolutely no convincing to do. The most natural thing is to treat the idea as a joke.
here use this one in spirit
...And then, suddenly, he breaks into an easy grin - the kind he doesn't wear often in public. It's too wide, too easy, too fond for polite company; it belongs to Stephen, and Stephen alone, and has for close to ten years. (It used to belong to others, too; this is no longer the case.)
"Come on," he says. "I know that." He leans forward, bending until his back creaks, to reach out and ruffle Stephen's hair, to give his shoulder a light, playful shove. He sits back, stretches-- "Now, I'm no expert on the rebellion-- but somehow I don't think you're what they're looking for."
no subject
He didn't believe for a second that Cyrus thought he was a traitor. This is nothing but playful. When the tension breaks, he laughs, and the smile stays on his face.
"Obviously," he says with raised eyebrows, like it's the most self-evident thing in the world. "They're looking for someone who is desperate, gullible, or both. Luckily, I'm neither -- I'm too smart to try to go against the Capitol. There's no point. I'd lose."
The assertion is almost a testing of the waters. Behind his easy smile, he wants to see how Cyrus reacts. Stephen Reagan has suspected for a while that his brother thinks he's stupid -- stupid enough to lie to, stupid enough to stay in a penthouse for two years. This statement he just made is deeply and profoundly stupid. What does Cyrus have to say?
no subject
Cyrus laughs. Just, not in a way that implies that he thinks Stephen is joking.
"Of course you are," he says, blithe and friendly and reassuring. "Way too smart." Gullible enough to stockpile supplies for rebels on Reagan property, but way too smart to get recruited. "Besides-- why the hell would you want to go against the Capitol?" The answer is obvious in the question-- You wouldn't.
Telling Stephen what to think, telling him sidelong what's right and letting him believe the idea was his-- it's second nature. He's known for years that Stephen is stupid. That's exactly why he needs to be protected, isn't it? Why he's always needed to be protected. He's never wanted to be involved with anything bigger than his friends, his parties, shopping trips, his Sponsor meetings. Being involved in bigger things is Cyrus' job. This is the natural order of things, the way it works between them.
Cyrus has never for a second believed that Stephen is a traitor. That would require the brains to form a contrary opinion-- a skill that Cyrus has never credited his brother with.
no subject
Stephen's smile doesn't falter. He raises his wineglass to Cyrus, and says in a half-mocking, self-parodying way, the way you might say liberty and justice for all --
"Panem today, Panem tomorrow."
He recognizes, now, that he's being guided, like he was guided into staying in this place for two years. The familiar feeling, in this familiar setting, makes his stomach twist.
no subject
"Panem forever." That with no little irony. He drinks, and is satisfied - this is the way it's supposed to be.
"...Hey-- I didn't mean to sound so... suspicious, I guess. I wasn't serious." A smile that's much more real-- "We're good, right?"
This, too, is part of the pattern. Stephen's always hated it when Cyrus is upset with him. Disapproval; guidance; apology. That's the way these conversations always end, whether it takes them minutes or days or weeks.
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"I know," he replies. "Of course we're good."
He resists the urge to take another bracing mouthful of wine.
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..."Jeez. It's my night off, and I still manage to spend half the time talking about politics." A grin and a short, self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry. You came here to drink wine and put your feet on my furniture, and I made it weird."
no subject
"Is there anything happening in your life that's not politics?"
He wants to talk about something else. Actually, he really wants to leave -- even the clean lines and open spaces of the modernly furnished apartment feel suffocating, confining -- but he'll take a change of subject. He can't leave on this note.
no subject
"...I went home last week," he offers. "Had lunch with Grandma." He's thirty-three years old, has had this or some other apartment for his own use for more than ten years, but the Reagan estate is always, automatically, going to be home. "We went to that, like... District Seven place? With all the animals on the walls?" It's well-known, and a place that no one from District Seven would ever be able to afford to eat.
He nudges Stephen's leg with his foot. "She says you can stop tiptoeing around and call her any time you feel like."
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From Stephen's end, the conversation feels automatic, like of course, this is the thing to talk about, this is the thing to say.
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"Nah." A pause, an eeeeh sort of hand gesture. "Or, well. Less mad. It's been a few weeks and no one's come to collect the key to the manor over it, so I think she's decided the family name can take the blemish." Dryly-- "She has a lecture prepped, though. Sorry."
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But he has to. There is a wall up between Stephen and Cyrus that Stephen is desperately pretending is not there.
He wants to get out, and he thinks he's going to take this opportunity.
Stephen draws a hand over his face.
"...I should probably get that over with, actually," he says, with deep resignation. "If I don't do it now, I'll just put it off for weeks again." He retreats from where Cyrus has come into his space and gets to his feet, stretching. Then, once he's rolled his shoulders out, he raises the glass to Cyrus, then drains the rest of it in one swallow.
"Wish me luck."
no subject
It's playful, mock-regretful. It's a little too earnest. He hasn't relaxed back into the couch; he's waiting on Stephen's next move, hanging on it a little. "Come on. You've been here, what, a couple of hours? Stick around. Call tomorrow."
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Stephen's made the decision. It doesn't look like he's leaving because he can't stand to stay; it also doesn't look like his mind will be easily changed.
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He takes a sip of wine - finishing the glass - and observes Stephen over the rim. "Fine. Abandon me. I understand." There's mock-woundedness in his voice, the sorrow of the long-suffering.
He does stand up - he'll show Stephen to the door, and pull him close for one more lingering hug. a No hard feelings, seriously kind of hug. "Say hi to Grandma. Tell her we'll talk next week."
no subject
"Send her a message yourself -- I'm not your secretary," Stephen says as he pulls away, turning and heading for the door. "But I'll tell her you send your love."
cool to end here if you are! c:
He stands in the hall a moment when Stephen is gone. The grin slides off his face, replaced by an expression both thoughtful and mildly troubled. The Avox moves past him, to return to its place. He ignores it.
After a long moment, he shakes his head and returns to the couch, letting himself take Stephen's place and put his feet back up. He pours wine for himself, without waiting for the Avox.
He'll spend the rest of his evening off trying not to think of work and finding himself thinking instead of Escorts; of I'm too smart to go against the Capitol; of a cuff. Reminding himself of all the reasons he has not to worry about it. Letting himself be comforted by what he knows of Stephen. Sleeping early, and alone.
A good night off, all in all, he has to conclude. Whatever they talk about, it's always good to see Stephen.