thecapitol | Maybe I'm a sinner and not a saint

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Maybe I'm a sinner and not a saint

Who| Jennifer Blackwood & You.
What| Open log to chat with the Tribute Comfort & Care Administrator
Where| Jennifer's office in the Tribute Center
When| Anytime this month. Feel free to specify as needed.
Warnings/Notes| N/A

With the new influx of Tributes, Jennifer has had her work cut out for her. There are so many files to memorize, so many new faces to welcome to the Capitol. It's time consuming, but she finds purpose in it, and playing welcoming committee chair is something she's rather good at. The task of putting a friendly, human face to the Capitol is difficult, but she's somehow thriving. Of course, it doesn't hurt to have so many wonderful stylists and escorts on her side for this.

And happily, she's found some recent success in terms of Tribute requests. By all accounts, Feferi's salt water shampoo campaign is a real hit, and Buddy Glass has reported his satisfaction with Junior Peacekeeper Terezi's role as a media assistant, and Justine Florbelle was apparently pleased with her medical intern, Joly. And Jennifer had just received the happy news that Albert and Jet would be allowed a special suite to share, one which would unite the second and third floors. Construction would soon be underway, and Jennifer was pleased to share the news with them. Little things like that mattered in the end. Happy Tributes meant happy viewers at home, and happy viewers meant a happy President. And that was the bottom line, wasn't it?

In spite of the work she had before her, Jennifer purposely kept open office hours to allow Tributes, mentors, and employees of the Tribute Center to visit her to petition for various requests. Everyone was welcome to see her, but Jennifer was cautious after the incident with Eponine and found she was more likely to call for Peacekeeper back up than ever before. The moment a situation seemed like it would get out of hand, she would press one of several alarms hidden around her office and alert the authorities that she was in distress. These alarms were a new addition to her office, but a necessary one. She wasn't going to risk being attacked by a Tribute again.

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When Molotov strides in, it is with her usual saunter and a cloud of cigarette smoke. She is, however, dressed nicely, appropriately for a meeting (or as close as she gets) -- a subtly sparkling and incredibly tiny dress in burgundy, lined with fox fur at the neckline and cuffs. There is a matching fur pouf on the toe of each sky-high stiletto she wears.

She doesn't bother to announce herself, although she does put her cigarette out before entering, gently tossing the butt in a wastebasket. Taking a seat in front of Jennifer's desk, she crosses her legs at the knee and rests her hands in her lap.

"Ms. Blackwood."

Jason's aware that without Jennifer, he wouldn't have a job. Even if her contribution to his hiring were minimal, at some point papers had to pass her desk for him to get on payroll. A nicer person might have made it a point to visit her and thank her, to maybe try to stir up that they were once acquaintances long ago, in their youth. Never close - he can't remember if he ever said two words to the girl more than five years his minor - but familiar, like trees off in the distance. Maybe they could reminisce about parties they were too young to appreciate, about trying to fit weedy pre-teens and toddlers around kids' tables in the nanny's quarters, about pretending to like their parents' friends whose names they couldn't keep straight and about smuggling candies in the hems of their junior's suits.

But there's no point opening up an old wound, and Jason's not that nicer person, and when he shows up to her open hours it's strictly for business. He clicks off the eucalyptus cigarette and takes a caffeine pill before stepping into her office. He still smells vaguely of the medicinal plant. It's a vice, but not one he'll call that.

"Jennifer." He takes a seat in one of the chairs, feet flexing in his shoes listlessly. He should probably address her by her last name, but there's a level of servility there that Jason rankles at assuming. He doesn't look comfortable in his suit, and it has nothing to do with the clothing; he's worn dress clothes since he was a child. It's all to do with the humiliation of having to come back to this job, over a decade after he quit the first time, and though he sits upright he imagines that he's crawling to her on his belly like some half-dead dog. "I'm guessing you have a moment, what with the open door?"

An open door made Phil wary at first but it was a welcome change. Trying to avoid any stray Peacekeepers' stares or unwanted attention was proving difficult, and maybe this lady could help. Plus, what the hell was up with all these Versaces on acid? Not to say he had a problem with the drag queens but he figured some of the accessories were eye hazards!

He was avoiding the issue as he knocked on the door frame, "Hello? Hello ma'am? May I come in? I-I'm having some issues with, um, adjusting to this whole, um, Tribute."

An ambassador to the tributes was the description Cassandra had more or less pieced together of the woman. She had little interaction with most natives here, the servants too silent and the general population too...enthusiastic to be of use. But in this case she made a direct line to the 'open hours' available. The seeker did not knock, did not take a seat before the desk. Rather she simple stood, one hand resting on the hip she sword should have been at, and scowled down at the woman.

"What is the point of my conscription?"

"Ms. Cocktease." Jennifer is a little surprised to see the woman before her, seeing as Molotov projects an air of self-reliance that generally would prevent her from really needing Jennifer's services. That said, Molotov was not at all unwelcome. If anything, Jennifer is pleased to meet a Tribute of such high caliber, one willing to work within the system and find some measure of success. "To what to I owe the pleasure?"

Jennifer recalls more about Jason than he likely does of her. The son of a family friend, old enough to have made an impression, especially since he'd gone into her chosen field just a few years before she had, only to leave it as she came into prominence. In some ways, she was a replacement goldfish, the new Capitol darling come to take his place. It wasn't malicious, of course. He'd never been a consideration in her pursuit of escort glory, but it had been noteworthy to her, anyway.

She smiles benignly though, and sets aside the memories of their strangely shadowed past to attend to their present business. She looks up from her reading, hands folding on the desk. "Of course, Jason. It's pleasant to see you, by the way. I do hope District Seven is working out for you. With Stig making the transition into styling full time, they were in dire need of an experienced escort. It was so lucky that you were available."

Molotov's foot bobs idly as she looks at Jennifer, smiling benignly. She doesn't really care to be here, but she's really seeing no other options -- with Stephen having something of a backbone now, Cyrus being totally out of the picture, and the presence of unwanted reminders of home in District 8's Suite, the situation has quickly become intolerable.

"I want you to revisit my request to have an ensuite built in my room," she says calmly. "I've gamely gone through two Arenas, I have more endorsement deals than anyone I can think of, and I'm one half of one of the most popular couples in the Capitol. At this point, I think it's become unreasonable to expect me to continue sharing a restroom."

Her tone is terribly professional, but there's an underlying steely note to it, one that begs not to be trifled with.

Jennifer looked up from her reading, tilting her head to better see the visitor at the door, meeting the unfamiliar face with a pleasant, sanitized. No, wait. He was familiar. She'd just read his file. Phillip... something.

"Yes, please come in. It's Mister Gray, isn't it? Phillip Gray? Did I get that right?" She rose from her seat to properly greet and welcome him into the office. "Please make yourself comfortable. Could I get you some tea or coffee perhaps?"

This sort of reaction wasn't unheard of, but in recent months Jennifer had become accustomed to less confrontational interactions. Seeing that Cassandra was clearly disgruntled set her on high alert, just in case things spiraled out of control and there was a repeat of Eponine's attack again.

"You're a Tribute, Ms. Pentaghast. Has no one explained what that means yet? No one at all?" She was mildly disappointed, but it was to be expected. District Three was in shambles lately. She'd make a note to rectify the situation as soon as she could.

"... You mean to tell me you've been sharing a bathroom this entire time?" There's steeliness to Jennifer's voice too, as well as a note of surprise. Her outrage was genuine, the dismay in her eyes mingled with anger. Her well oiled machine has a glitch, and this does not make for a happy Jenny. "I'm in full agreement with you. A Tribute in such high standing ought to reap the benefits she has earned. I assure you, this is an oversight that will be rectified as soon as possible, however this is the first time I've heard anything of your request. May I ask who you made your initial requests to? If there is a bump within the system, it's important that I iron it out."

"Coffee would be nice, if it's no trouble," he was quick to go back to his usual message voice, with a smile to boot.

"Yeah, Phillip Gray and I've been interacting more with some of the others here and, wow this is different." He was lying through his teeth when he said this was different if his file mentioned anything about the Pizzeria.

"So, um," he huffed a little and clapped his hand, "What am I doing here?" He didn't want to have Karkat and Sandy threatened for their explanations, and hopefully, he could come off as more ingenue than investigating. "What sort of clothes are these? Not that I mind them, better than the neon purple uniform I had but...this District 6, I'm a blank slate."

"It's working out well enough. I don't imagine any other District would fit me much better." It's noncommittal enough. He never attached to Ten at all, only to the paychecks that came from it.

She looks well enough, and he never bore her the ill will that he did many of his compatriots. Maybe it's because quitting being an Escort was a decision on his part, rather than a circumstance that fell on him like the mouth of a rat trap. His not being in her position now could be chalked up to his own actions, rather than the whims of a cruel and capricious fate.

"Stig? I'm hoping he'll do a better job styling than he did escorting. Did you know two of my Tributes didn't know what an Escort was when I first met them?" He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and rubs one fingertip over his cheekbone. "They've got no concept of the law of the land here."

The answer gives Molotov's smile something of a more genuine note, and she almost lets out a sigh of relief at not having to fight for something.

"Stephen," she answers simply. "He said he asked, when I first got here and requested it, and then told me that I couldn't have my own bathroom unless I won and moved over into the Victor wing of the Suite. Several people I trust have been kind enough to share their bathrooms with me, but it's getting to be more of a burden than anything else. Particularly given my... relationship. You understand."

"I am aware of the pathetic excuses given. I want a satisfactory answer, followed closely by a return to where I am actually needed."

For all the anger coursing through her, Cassandra does not move closer to physically threaten the woman, simply remaining where she loomed. She understood hierarchy well enough to understand whipping the underling would hardly gain her the results she sought. It was still a possibility, of course, should the conversation go poorly enough. But not one she was hoping to step down. The woman had not done her direct harm, so as Cassandra knew. But may give her the names of those which had.

While the old man preferred a reclusive life in his room, Sigma was not oblivious to what had happened between Jennifer and Eponine - it was not the first time Eponine had threatened a high-ranking Capitol official. In the darkest part of his heart, Sigma wondered if jailing her might teach her a much-needed lesson - but he crushes these thoughts beneath reason. Eponine was still a child. She did not deserve prison for all of her immaturity.

In spite of this, when Sigma enters Jennifer's office, he does not appear to bear any ill will. He is, in fact, perfectly calm, and offers the woman a kind smile as he crosses into her office. It was no secret, not since advertisements that exploited their relationship began running, that Sigma considered Eponine his daughter. It would, perhaps, remain an elephant in the room for the duration of the conversation.

"Good morning, Miss Blackwood," he begins. "I do not believe we have met in person. I am Sigma Klim, or Zero, of District Ten. I have a couple of matters I would like to speak with you about, if you would permit me..."

He'd thought it would be difficult to find out who he needed to corner around this place. Maybe some spying, maybe some prying, something like that. Instead, it seemed the person he needed was open about being that person and had an open door for him to walk through. It certainly wasn't his normal way of dealing with things.

He didn't bother dressing up or trying to make an impression when he went down, he just scrounged together the most 'normal' thing he could find (in the darkest colors he could find) and made his way down to the office of Jennifer Blackwood.

Cassian stood in the doorway and knocked twice on the door frame, hesitant but careful not to seem unsure or even remotely intimidated. Like as if his question didn't mean anything to him no matter what her answer would be.

Dorian had made a note to himself, after Jason's threats, to figure out exactly who was above him - who might be able to make a splash on his behalf if things got... well... ugly. He was so furious that he was ready to snap at anything that moved, but a part of him realised that what he needed was an ally here, and surely he must be able to find one in the woman who actively took petitions.

Hopefully he could manage to hold in his anger long enough to make a decent first impression.

He found her open office door and knocked on it, briskly, before stepping inside. "I am to understand that you are Jennifer Blackwood, and are a - ah - liaison, of sorts."

They play the Grand Game in the Capitol, even if they don't call it by name--that much has become obvious. Josephine isn't about to waste the opportunities that fact implies, particularly not when the lives of key Inquisition members are at stake. It's time to see what doors she can open in this strange land.

"Greetings," she says, dipping her head slightly, when she's allowed into the room. "Thank you for seeing me, Madame Blackwood."

If Jennifer felt any level of nervousness at Sigma's appearance, she was doing a decent enough job of masking it. For all intents and purposes, she seemed calm, poised, and pleasant as she greeted her latest visitor.

"Of course, it's lovely to meet you at last. Please make yourself comfortable." She gestured to the available seat across from hers. Barely ten days ago, Eponine had been in that very seat, muzzled and snarling, untamable. "What can I help you with, sir?"

"Please come in," came the answer from inside the office, the occupant standing just out of eyesight of the doorway, arranging some sort of floral decoration on one of the side tables. Her back was to the door, and while it was open, she seemed utterly unconcerned with whoever might be waiting to see her. She took her time with her flowers (genetically altered tiger lilies with neon orange petals) then turned to face Cassian, expression open and friendly. "Forgive me. They were in dire need of attention."

She hadn't yet heard all of the details surrounding Dorian and Jason's interaction, so his slant on things would certainly come as news to her. Rising to welcome her guest, she offered him her hand in greeting. "That's right, I am. And you're Dorian Pavus, correct? A new Tribute for District Seven. What brings you to see me today?"

"Curiosity, mostly," he replied, with a charming smile, forcing the anger down to embers in the pit of his stomach, refusing to let them show. He took her hand and raised it, ducking his head as if to kiss it, but not actually letting his lips touch - that would be horribly rude.

"I admit I was somewhat at a loss when I first arrived, and I do so hate to remain uneducated. I thought it in my best interest to introduce myself."

Josephine's file has provided Jennifer with some interesting reading, especially since she can see glimpses of herself in this woman. A diplomat. A liaison. A mender of broken things. Someone Jennifer could have been in another place and time. In a small way, it is a little heartbreaking, in others, it's exciting to have the chance to speak with her.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Montilyet." She is warm and inviting as she leads Josephine in to the office. "May I offer you something to drink? I have coffee and tea, if you like?"

Well, that explains that.

"Stephen Reagan?" Jennifer lets out a low chuckle. "That's quite unsurprising. You may not realize this, but Stephen and I were childhood sweethearts. It's not at all shocking that he might try to avoid me now, though I harbor no ill will toward him and recall our times together fondly."

Now, to address Molotov's concerns. "I'm sure we can attempt some sort of accommodations for you. It may take some maneuvering, but an arrangement can certainly be made."

Molotov's eyebrow arches high as her smile falls. She's unimpressed with this -- it's not an acceptable excuse to avoid one's job. Stephen might have grown a backbone in recent months, but it wasn't the strongest, and could certainly be broken with the right chewing out.

"Thank you, Ms. Blackwood. I leave it up to you, with my only request being a large bathtub." Her long legs swing uncrossed and she stands, taking a few steps toward the door before glancing over her shoulder. "There is one more thing. But I think he might be above you anyway."

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Maybe I'm a sinner and not a saint

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