thecapitol | If you ever get to the place where the sun is shining everyday

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If you ever get to the place where the sun is shining everyday

Who| Swann and maybe you???
What| Gotta shape up these Tributes. And maybe have a drink.
Where| D8 Suites and also the bar in the lobby
When| TODAY

a. District 8 Suites
Swann enters the Suite with her heels clicking on the floor, peering around for any sign of life in here. She carries in her shopping bags, each labeled with the name of her Tributes. The bags overwhelm her tiny frame, the sheer amount of them and their size. Even her sky-high stilettos can't balance it all out.

She approaches the sitting room and carefully arranges the bags on the coffee table, placing them just so, very intent on the appearance. She wants everything to look just right when the Tributes come in, wants to see their eyes light up at how pretty the bags are, with their pristine edges and rich black shine and ribbons on the handles.

They have to show up first, though.

b. Lobby bar

All she needed was a single lemon drop martini, and she has it. Sitting on the high barstool, Swann looks out over the lobby, watching people come and go, watching the crowds ebb and flow as the Tributes enter and leave the building. It's interesting enough, made nicer by the drink, and the screens replay all the best scenes from the past Arena.

She occasionally fiddles with her communicators, checking emails and messages and the tabloids, making sure everything's in order while she dares to lounge for just a few moments.

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Swann... frowns. Knits her brow.

She pushes the bag back to him.

"Well.... well your family isn't here, and I'm the best you've got, so maybe you should listen to me," she says, sort of taking a stand. "It's my job to help you, and you're not going to get any Sponsors with that kind of attitude, so maybe you do need someone else. Someone like me."

He scowls back. Inside, at least, he can't deny that what she's saying is probably true. It hurts to admit that he's essentially stranded here, stuck in an unfamiliar situation that he can't fight his way out of. Coming so close on the heels of his latest humiliation with Victor, it's even more painful. Fortunately for Firo, though, said defeat being so recent makes him somewhat more aware of the fact that he can't always win.

He tries and fails to suppress a wince when he envisions how disappointed the Martillos would be in him if they knew he were going along with all this. Any one of the other capos could probably get out of it. Or they would at least take death if they couldn't. But he can't give up hope of seeing them or Ennis or the Gandors or even Czes so easily. So cooperation it'll have to be.

He struggles for a moment to think of a way to phrase his next questions without making it overly obvious that he's giving in. Words were never his specialty, though, so he settles for mumbling one of the first things he can think of, "...How exactly are you gonna help? Have you even been in a fight?"

Firo's one of the last people who should be judging by appearances, but she doesn't look like the type to get into back-alley brawls.

"I don't need to be in fights," she tells him, looking perhaps a bit confused and still frowning. "I can't go into the Arena and fight for you. My job is to help you get Sponsors, people who will spend money to send you useful things in the Arena, so that you can win. And I want to work with you to help you craft the right image, so you're portrayed the way you like. And then... then you have a better shot at being Victor!"

Her smile slowly grows as she talks more. The Tributes unnerve her a bit, but she feels confidence in her mission, to coax a winner out of this group. Surely they want to win, so they should be open to working with her.

He opens his mouth to retort that he wouldn't want her to fight for him and to clarify his skepticism. He closes it when her explanation points out an element he hadn't yet considered at all--politics.

If it wasn't apparent enough already, Firo needs a lot of help in that area.

He moves to set the bag on the floor--he considers himself being courteous in that he doesn't just drop it--and folds his arms across his chest. "If that 'image' is gonna involve me divin' into an Arena and cuttin' off people's heads left and right, it ain't gonna happen."

What other image would these bloodthirsty people want? Firo doesn't have the imagination to think of another presentation the Capitol citizens might want to root for. By his (admittedly very hasty and bitter) diagnosis, these Sponsors are like the thugs he's dealt with all his life: they only respect violence.

"Well of course that won't be your image, you're hardly a head-cutter-offer." Swann rolls her eyes, then takes her chin in hand and thinks for a moment. "No, you're definitely more of a pretty boy. I think if we keep you in trendy clothes, you can hand out roses to fans, or maybe do some charity dates with young girls, take them in a carriage around the park... that's good! That way, even people who wouldn't usually Sponsor you will do it to please their daughters."

She's been moving around him now, idly touching his hair and his collar, almost like she doesn't know she's doing it.

"We'll set up a photoshoot, you can be like a romance novel cover model! And we'll name it Firo the Hero, and debut it in Celebrus!"

Somehow Swann's managed to say the most terrifying thing Firo's heard since 'welcome to Panem.' What's scarier than a fight to the death? Girls.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at her touch, frantically trying to bat her away. "W-wait, what? There's no way in hell I'm gonna do any a' that!" He doesn't even know which part of it he objects to the most.

At least he's so taken aback by the rest of it that he hasn't mustered his usual anger at being called pretty.

She jerks her hand back, surprised to be batted at, and frowns again.

"Why not? What do you want your image to be?" she asks, although she personally doesn't really think he'll be able to come up with anything better. That just means she'll have to convince him how successful the pretty boy campaigns are.

He bites his lip and spends all of five seconds trying to think of a proper answer. Those seconds do little more than convince him that he really does need help with this. 'Image' isn't something camorristi spend much time on and what little of it Firo has is tied to his job and his determination to convince people that he's not girly.

He scratches his head anxiously, "...I dunno. But not that--it's embarrassing!"

He only has so much dignity left; he'd like to try and keep it.

"It's a guaranteed winner!" she argues, holding her hands up. "Lots of the greatest Victors have played the role, it's a really good way to get Sponsors! You want people to be invested in you, and them being in love with you is a great way for that to happen. How is having a leg up on your competitors embarrassing?"

"It's embarrassing if you hafta date somebody to get there!" It's the principle of the thing. Who's going to respect a guy who needs to get all mushy to win?

He frowns and shakes his head. "And, besides, it's easy for you to say when you don't actually hafta do any a' that!"

Swann heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. "You don't have to date anyone, I just thought it would be cute little thing to get the public hooked on you! And you don't have any better ideas, so I can't come up with anything you like!"

She rubs her temple -- she's beginning to see what the other Escorts bitch about. "Look, it's for your benefit. I won't fight with you about it, because I already know that it's better for you to have Sponsors than nothing."

He pouts through her retort, but listens to the end nonetheless. "Well, I get that part." He just doesn't know how to actually attain such a goal while not hating everything about life. Something will have to give.

"...Just gimme more time and maybe I'll come up with something." He fails to sound at all convinced of that possibility. "If not, then I'll try whatever they taught you in Escort school."

"If you get it, then you should just listen to me, shouldn't you?" It's barely even chiding, more just pointing out the obvious. "How about I give you three days to jot some ideas down? If you can't figure out anything, then we go with my plan. Deal?"

She holds out her hand, all sportsmanlike and everything.

She does have a point there, so he doesn't argue, just does his best to pretend he didn't hear.

"Perfect. Three days is a lotta time."

That statement is only going to come back to bite him when he ends three days with no ideas except possibly extortion. Not for lack of trying.

He reaches out to give her hand a brisk shake. "It's a deal, then."

With a smile, she picks up his bag and hands it back to him.

"See you in three days, then, Firo! Good luck."

She has the utmost confidence that she's got her District pretty boy.

He doesn't withdraw quickly enough to avoid the bag and simply sighs as he takes it. He'll have to kick it under the bed later or something.

"Yeah, yeah, see you."

Almost as an afterthought: "...Thanks."

She *is* giving him a chance, and no matter how unwanted, a gift is a gift.

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If you ever get to the place where the sun is shining everyday

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