thecapitol | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He tenses at the touch but doesn't lash out, doesn't touch her, just gives her a stony glare. He considers his options - sit through whatever it is she wants him for - for maybe half an hour or an hour tops, or avoid the entire suite for possibly days.

"Fine," he says, scowling. "Make it quick."

His face makes her skitter back a few more steps, and she smiles nervously, wringing her hands as she looks up at him.

"Okay! Um, well, I was thinking that since Cal and Sergius -- you know, the Escorts for One and Two? Since they're cracking down on their Tributes to get a Victor, I thought that we should work together up here, show them what's what! And remember that... that it's not really about us, that we're winning for all those people out in Eight. I've been out there, they're good people and they deserve a victory, you know?"

She clears her throat, looks around idly, then trots to the table and gets Joel's bag to bring to him.

"So I got everyone some stuff, and... and I want to work harder to make you guys happy, to present the image you want, instead of trying to force you into little boxes like the old Escorts were doing. Because I think you'll have a better chance if you're happy and comfortable."

Joel clutches the bag in his hand like it might explode at any moment - or at least like it's got something distasteful in it, like dog shit.

"Tell people to stop killin' me, and I'll give you a victory," he says, annoyed. "You realize it's all a matter of luck, right?"

Joel very clearly intimidates Swann. She's absolutely not used to people being so mean to her, so gruff and dismissive, even when she's trying as hard as she can to please them.

Her voice gets higher, without her really meaning for it to, and she laces her hands together in front of herself so that he doesn't see her palms sweating.

"Well, it's not all luck," she says, eyes darting around because of how much he unnerves her. "And that's why we have to work together... because I can help you! Imagine if you were hurt in the Arena, and I was able to send you medicine because you have Sponsors who want you to win. Don't you want help winning? Even if it's just so you can stop going in?"

And Joel is, frankly, unimpressed that just him being gruff and grouchy at her is enough to send this woman shaking in her boots. How in the hell is she supposed to help him if she can't even look him in the eyes?

"And what do I gotta do to get such nice treatment?" he sneers. "Sell deodorant?"

How is she supposed to help him if he won't even give her an iota of patience, is a better question! She's just doing her job, and she's trying really hard, here.

"No. You don't have to sell anything." Her voice is softened, her brow furrowed. "I thought... I sort of thought maybe you'd like do something with charity. Something with the orphans in Eight. I know that the emotional crowd likes how you were with... with Ellie, I know she's like your daughter. And this way you can help people and get Sponsors without having to shill."

Unfortunately, that is the wrong name to drop if she wants to get him acting sympathetic. Entirely the wrong name.

His face goes dark, and he looms over her angrily. "Don't you even say that name," he growls. "You people murdered her for fun and you expect me to play along, all sad and helpful? Go to hell."

It takes every ounce of strength in her little body to not cower, to stand tall and look him in the eye, because she knows what this means to her, and what it could mean to Joel, if he'd let it.

"No." She doesn't let her voice waver, even if she can't bring herself to be any louder than she was before. "I expect you to play along because you don't want to keep going in there, and because I'm probably the only person left in this whole city that wants to help you! And if you can't appreciate that... well... well then maybe I'll put the curfew back on you until you want to stop being mean!"

Swann's emboldened enough to have her hands on her hips now, and she abruptly sticks her hand in the gift bag he still holds, yanking it back out with something in her grasp.

"And you don't get this cookie!"

He watches the entire show with a faint look of distaste in his expression, though it's certainly better than her just pissing herself and running.

But the fact of the matter is, he doesn't care. He doesn't care about her, or her goodie bags, or any curfew, or whether he's being mean, for that matter. Joel rather pointedly shoves the whole bag back into her hands.

"I don't care what you do," he says with a scowl, "Just leave me out of it."

Then he turns to go.

Swann feels very out of control right now, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like how she feels, and even when she absently accepts the bag back, she is overwhelmed with negativity. Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, unbidden, and she forces them back, hands crumpling the beautiful black paper of the gift bag she so carefully prepared.

"Fine!" She nearly yells it, or as close as Swann ever gets to yelling. There's not really much else to say as she watches him stomp off, and when he's gone, she goes to sit on the couch, sniffling and swiping at her eyes with one hand.

Opening the cookie's wrapper, she takes a big bite and chews sullenly, trying to clear her head.

See who defends him from Jolie's outfits now.

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

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