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

Entry tags:

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

Brock's nonplussed expression continues throughout as he automatically holds his hands out for the bag, cradling it like some kind of mystical idol. But really, he's just having a difficult time processing all of this. What... who... why...

"Uh," he says, tilting his head to briefly glance inside at the contents. He's curious, but he doesn't want to root around like he's actually touched or excited by the gift or anything. Because he isn't! He doesn't need presents. Not like the last one he got was a coffee mug with 'World's Best Bodyguard' written on it in Sharpie and he's starved for material recognition or anything, no.

He looks back up, brow knit maybe a little suspiciously. "How..."

"We'll be united! Sort of like how uniforms bring about synchronicity, except I'm not Jolie so I can't make uniforms, but I can get you watches and bracelets and umbrellas and things like that!"

She seems incredibly proud of herself for having had this idea. Every bit of her body language screams out for approval, and yet all she actually does is keep smiling at him. She's really trying, here.

Did they even have uniforms? Okay, well, they all wore blue when they were in space, but Brock seems to vaguely recall Jolie bitching about that, so he has a feeling that wasn't an artistic choice. Brock glances down at what he's wearing, because he always does his damnedest to dress as low-key and simply as possible, and that doesn't seem very uniform either.

"Maybe try to get Jolie on board with that first," he says mildly, shifting the bag to one hand now and letting it hang at his side. He's still not going to rifle through it, he's going to wait, but at least he's not shoving it at her or throwing it out the window.

But he'll humor her, at least. "So we're all going to have matching umbrellas, huh?"

Swann, to her credit, is less flashy than many Capitolites. After so many years working so close to the fashion industry, she's a bit tired of the crazier fashions -- she now favors bouncy tea dresses in pastels and glittery prints, with tiny hats and the highest heels she can wear without falling over.

"No no, I would never have Jolie change anything!" It's a quick save. What if he were to go tell Jolie that Swann wanted something different? That would be awful.

"Oh, not just umbrellas! Watches and bracelets and everything!"

Is there a difference? As far as Brock is concerned, no. It's all very silly.

Brock snorts at what he interprets as backpedalling, but doesn't comment. He doesn't really care very much about interpersonal Capitolite relationships. He likes Trey, but he still doesn't exactly trust him -- and caring about someone's bullshit directly correlates to how much Brock trusts somebody.

He trusts Swann about the same, but he'd also fuck her in a heartbeat, so he's a little more forgiving.

"I'm not much of a jewellery kind of guy," he says. "Kind of goes against the, uh, image... I'm trying to cultivate. What else you got?"

"Oh! Um, well, there's a flask and a lighter and a shirt and a cookie," she chirps, ticking things off on her fingers and looking thoughtful. "I could probably trade your bracelet for a chain? That would work. Oh! That reminds me, I had an idea for you!"

Swann goes to the table where her handbag sits -- it pretty much just looks like a pink puffball with a chain attached -- and then returns with a notepad (pink, shaped like a teddy bear) and pen (pink pom-pom and bow on the end).

"I thought we could have a contest for you, on Caesar Flickerman's show? You can arm-wrestle a few members of the audience, and then you'll let the last one win and you can autograph one of your beer ads for them!"

"A chain?" he repeats as she goes to dig through her purse, because that doesn't seem very uniform. Unless all the links were made of... thread? Brock still doesn't quite understand what it is that District 8 does. How do you assign an entire oblast to just make cloth and towels?

For a second, Brock thinks that maybe she is going to give him the notepad set, but no. She's just taking notes. Extremely girly notes.

"Let them win? You gotta explain that to me."

"Yeah! It's just like a jokey talk show thing when you let them win -- maybe we pull a little boy from the audience and you make a show of it, you know?"

She pantomimes an exaggerated, good-natured loss, so that he can see.

"That way, everyone will like what a good sport you are, and they won't think of you as a gruff strong man, because there's already a lot of those, it's an oversaturated market. But a great, fun guy who happens to be a good bet in the Arena? People will love it. And it will help sell your action figures."

He's nodding along with her, because okay, sure. Letting a little kid win is something he can get behind; that sounds cute. And it wouldn't be a threat to his masculinity, which is the important part. Brock still doesn't 100% get all this celebrity stuff, but he's trying, and he's always been a quick study.

But then she says that last part and he thinks maybe he heard her wrong. "Wait... action figures. What?"

Swann very deeply appreciates that he's working along with her here, because no one else in the District has been particularly cooperative, and she doesn't really know why. Don't they know what Cal is inflicting on them down there in Two? Swann is giving them presents and smiles when she could be forcing them all onto low-carb diets and endless training.

"Oh my god, of course action figures! Look at you, you're like the perfect model for one. We can get a couple of different outfit molds, interchangeable accessories, they're going to sell like crazy."

She carefully notates cowboy edition next to her action figure idea.

Cowboy edition, no. Even though it is the next best thing to spy.

Brock looks a little scandalized at the notion, so she will maybe need to do some convincing, here. Though to be honest, if he really thought about it, Brock would realize he doesn't have much of a say in it, anyway. He has no rights. Can't veto something stupid.

Still, he is trying to appeal to the broader bases, here. The Capitolites who like to pretend they aren't super rich and go slumming, drinking this shitty beer whose ads he has his face emblazoned all over. Yuppitolites?

"Isn't that a little commercial...?"

Cowboy, army guy, limited edition astronaut version... There are so many possibilities!

"Maybe it's a bit commercial, but I think we need to take you in a different direction, make you more relatable," she says, tapping her pen against the paper. "There's already so many dangerous, aloof types repping alcohol and cigarettes, you know? But I want to know what you want."

She smiles at him, then moves to sit on the sofa, expectantly waiting for him to follow. If they're going to actually talk, they might as well sit down.

"The point is to make yourself distinct, so you stick out in people's minds! Tell me how you see that happening."

Brock stands there for a second, casting a forlorn glance in the direction of his room. He is still in gym clothes, and sitting down to talk... business... is just about the absolute opposite of that.

"I'm not really dressed for a marketing meeting," he says slowly.

"It's just a little conversation!" she tells him, still beaming, and pats the cushion next to her. She doesn't particularly seem like she'll be easily put off, but if he's insistent enough, she'll let him go.

It's not that Brock is particularly peevish, he just thought he would be polite. But alright, Swann, if you think you can survive Brock's musk and still control yourself, that's your decision.

"Alright," he says slowly, then comes over to sit. "So... action figures."

Honestly, Swann doesn't really notice it. Her own perfume cloud is enough that she barely notices other smells, and besides, she sort of thinks all these off-worlder men smell bad anyway. Capitol men smell like rosewater and cologne, not like human stench.

"Yeah! But, I mean, like I said, I want to work with you, so tell me what you have in mind."

Oh, you mean like an actual human being and not a walking flower shop? Incidentally, in Brock's opinion, Capitol girls are fine to dally with but he feels like he needs a gas mask half the time. It's not like the city is covered in rotting garbage or anything where they need to mask it, so it's weird.

"I don't know. I mean, I'm fine with being... relatable. Anything that'll look good to Sponsors. But I don't want to be on, like, backpacks and lunchboxes, you know what I mean?" he says, rubbing his cheek. "Legitimacy, I guess. I don't want to be a joke."

Swann smells sweet, like her perfume is made of crushed candy gently laid over flowers. It's probably just as heavy as everyone else's, but she doesn't spritz herself obsessively or anything.

She takes a note or two, and nods. "Okay, definitely. I understand. I still want to make you accessible, though -- so maybe nix the action figures but keep the light-hearted talk show interviews, you know? It's pretty easy, and really, Caesar and the others will do most of the work for you. I know you're already tied to..." She pauses, flips through her pages, "Best Red Ribbon, but is there anything else you've had in mind that you'd like to represent? It doesn't have to be as extensive as your BRR ad campaign."

But are they freshly-cut flowers?

That offhand comment makes Brock think, actually. Caesar and the others will do most of the work for you. Just how much are people in the Capitol willing to help out the Tributes? Brock would have assumed they'd throw them all under the bus to get their bloodsport jollies, but... well. Maybe it's just more interesting to them to make a game out of it. The idea that they're invested in any of the Tributes on an individual basis, trying to help them escape the endless bloodbath, is ludicrous, really.

Brock shakes his head and focuses. "Right. They keep fillin' up the fridge with that shit, it's ridiculous," he says, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. Brock might start making little airplanes out of the cans, he has so many empties.

"That kind of fell into my lap, though. I didn't seek 'em out or anything. Uh... I don't know. You said cigarettes are kind of standard for my... type... so something outside the box, right?" So he'll stand out, he means. He's just thinking out loud; this is not his forte.

What did John Wayne rep for...

"What about, uh... like an institution or something. The zoo, or... if you have museums. Things like that."

Well, she really only meant that talk show hosts are pretty good at leading their own interviews, but Brock is free to interpret it however he likes. It's wrong, but she can't correct him if she doesn't know.

"Oh!" She looks pleasantly surprised to hear that he might like to be the face of an institution, and she jots it down. "I'll look into it, we'll find something that matches you. I'll contact BRR and get them to stop sending so much beer, too, and I might have a look over your contract, see if there's anything that needs to be amended in there."

Swann beams at him and lets her shoulders relax a little. "Okay! That should just about do it for now... do you have any questions for me?"

Well, like a national park or something. Not an art museum or anything dorky! He just hopes she'll run it by him first before he's stuck repping for the Panem Museum of Tapestries.

He's a little surprised by her question, though. Questions... for her?

"Wh... uh. Like what?"

"Uh-huh." She nods cheerfully. "Like if there's anything you want to know, or anything I can do for you? That kind of stuff."

Brock has a lot of questions, actually, but he is smart enough to realize she probably can't answer them. Or won't.

"Okay," he says, screwing his eyes up in thought. "Trey said something about seeming vulnerable to appeal more. You got any suggestions? 'cause I don't have a clue where to go with that."

"Oh, that's easy!"

She almost sighs with relief, that he doesn't want to push about the bigger issues, the things that are out of her hands.

"You just want something a little personal, preferably about love or some kind of loss in your past? You talk about it some point in an interview, organically, and it makes you vulnerable, emotionally, I guess. So just figure out something along those lines that you wouldn't mind sharing."

Wouldn't mind sharing is the operative phrase, and Brock slowly runs his hand down his cheek, giving her a bit of a skeptical look.

"Okay... what if I just made something up?"

the suite life movie

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