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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She doesn't want to change anything! She just wants him to shower and have more than one set of clothing, she doesn't think that's so bad. Swann is biting the lower corner of her lip, waiting for his answer, and she's nervous at his expression.

But then he speaks, and she's unconsciously letting out a breath of relief, her smile returning.

"Of course, of course! I can have Jolie use your existing clothes as a pattern, if you like, so the new ones will be very similar! Just different in fabric, and we'll get you the nicest ones from Eight. Silk, do you like silk? Maybe velvet for the winter. And when your hair is manageable, we can get you new beads for your braids, if you like. Gold and maybe some sapphires? Oh, or emeralds!"

She nods energetically, her ponytail bouncing, when he asks about his hat. "I wouldn't dream of taking it away! But would you be averse to allowing an Avox to clean it? Just once?"

"Silk? Aye, sure, silk would be proper enough."

That didn't sound as bad, if it was all based more on his current set of clothes and not so much on the ridiculous costumes he'd seen the Capitolites wear around this place. And the pirate hadn't quite figured out the showers, yet, or even that they existed, but that would take getting used to. It wasn't common practice for him and his ilk, nor had there ever been much importance placed on it. Fresh water was too precious to waste on that.

"Not entirely too keen on discardin' me beads." As much as she seemed excited at the prospect, most of them had personal or sentimental value to him. His head inclines a touch, brow furrowed. "An 'Avox'?"

"Yes, an Avox," she says, gesturing toward the one in the corner, awaiting orders. "That's what we call the servants here in the Capitol!"

Then she breezes away from that subject and onto the toughest one. "All right, all right. No new beads, as long as you promise me you'll add in fancier ones for special occasions. The people from Eight might like to send you a special bead as a gift, you'd have to wear that. Anyway, I have another question, Jack, sweetie."

She pauses, steeples her fingers and glances around the room before lowering her voice a bit.

"Have you... how often do you shower?"

Jack casts a look over in the direction that Swann gestures, and his brow draws a tick downwards. He's seen them before, of course, standing all around the Suites with their endlessly unnerving silence, their hands tucked together and head respectfully lowered. Something about their presence doesn't sit entirely too well with him, and Jack slips his gaze back to Swann.

"Servants. Yes. Right then." A considering pause, and Jack lifts a finger like he has a much better idea. "Or. P'rhaps, instead, luv, I could do the washing meself. It wouldn't be a bother to me at all." Easier to keep track of his hat with that, of course, and this way the Capitol servants wouldn't have to be involved.

A smile flashes onto his face when she moves onto the beads, and the pirate taps a couple fingers to his hat in acknowledgement. "And I can promise it." It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for him to incorporate them, if it was that important to her. As for her last question?

"Haven't found the means to since I've arrived." Of course, he also hadn't actively sought out a way to, either. There were much more important things to do, like frequent the Central Commons bar.

Swann ignores all the other answers and comments when he talks about not bathing the whole time he's been in the Capitol.

She looks repulsed, although she's trying to hide it at least, because she's never rude in front of people if she can help it. Instead, she quietly gags into her own mouth, then stands and reaches out for his hand. She's taking it whether he wants it taken or not, and pulling him toward the living quarters of the Suite.

"All right, well, we can fix that!" She's still perky, despite her disgust and the fact that she's sure she can feel his dirt and germs crawling onto her skin. "That door off your bedroom? That leads to a place where you can take a shower every day, Jack!"

That place is exactly where she leads him, into a bathroom that shines and glistens from the floor to the ceiling, utterly spotless and beautiful. There's a big walk-in shower, and she more or less shoves him in there.

"So there's knobs on the wall," she says, beginning to pull at his outermost layers with an almost businesslike determination, "and those turn on the water and make it different temperatures. And that shelf has all sorts of nice things to clean yourself with -- one for your body, one for your face, two for your hair. You should use them all, okay, sweetie?"

She has been attempting to forcibly undress him the whole time they've been standing in the shower.

Edited 2015-01-26 20:44 (UTC)

He briefly catches the appalled look, as well as the attempt to mask it from his view, but is ultimately pretty much unfazed by her reaction. He's more or less heard it all, before, from a wide assortment of people -- and has had worse reactions for even worse 'misdeeds'.

There's next to no resistance from the pirate when Swann grabs his hand and drags him off the couch, even less so as she leads him away from the common area and into the living quarters. She's going on about showering daily and Jack is only half-listening the entire time, and at some point in the conversation makes some sort of noncommittal noise in his throat. He'd poked his head into the bathroom on occasion since his arrival, sure, but the walk-in shower itself had been left essentially untouched.

As she starts to busily undress him and chatter about knobs and water temperatures and such, a gradual smirk winds its way into the pirate's expression. The well-worn (and most likely utterly filthy) frock coat that she slips off him is the first on a long list of clothes and adornments that Jack has layered over himself; next would be the sun-faded blue waistcoat, the baldric empty of weapons, then the two leather belts that are strapped over his hips. He doesn't help her do it, but instead lets Swann fuss over him and, in the meanwhile, enjoys all the attention from her -- business-like or not.

It's only until Swann begins to tug the dirty shirt upwards and off him, fast and far enough to nearly reveal the deep, ugly scars that mark up his chest, that Jack softly and smoothly snags both her hands to halt her progress.

"Aye, I'll be sure to do all o' it, luv." A slightly more teasing smile, showcasing the silver and gold in his teeth. "Mind showin' me which is which? An' perhaps how it all works, give me a demonstration?"

She handles his clothing as briefly and sparingly as possible -- by the time he gets out of the shower, all of the garbage he has on will be gone (burned, hopefully), and replaced with nicer, more luxurious, clean versions. Only his hat will survive, and he won't have a chance to wash it himself, because Swann knows an Avox or two who would love to rid their work environment of that level of filth.

Swann's gotten so used to him just letting her go at it that she starts a little when he takes her hands, blinking up at him with big, doelike eyes and an equally in-the-headlights expression. There's a moment where she's too focused on his teeth to answer, and then she yanks her hands away to wring them before reaching for the knobs.

"Okay, um, well -- you might want to move -- you just turn this one." The water sprays on, whether he's moved or not. "And this one, and just sort of adjust them until you find a temperature you like! All the water will just go down the drain on its own."

She turns the water off, then clicks through the draining water to the bath products. "And this is shampoo, you clean your hair with it. Just put some on your hands and then, you know, you work it into your hair and rinse it out. And conditioner, you do the same, that makes your hair soft. The face wash and body wash are labeled, so you know which is which. And then you just grab the towel from that bar when you're done and dry off!"

Her smile has reappeared, seemingly unable to stray from her face for very long. "Got it?"

He doesn't make it away fast enough, and the cool water sprays him for a couple good seconds before the pirate is able to properly dart out of the way -- and it manages to partially soak the back of his linen shirt, either way, giving him a short jolt of cold. That wasn't particularly the outcome the pirate had aimed for with that comment, but all the same.

The smirk on his face softens and fades to something more mild as Swann continues to explain it all in detail, and at the end of it the pirate folds both hands together and grins.

"Aye aye. Clear as a bright, cloudless day, luv. You've been a monumental help."

Whether the pirate actually follows her instructions would remain to be seen. At least he's aware of his options at this point.

"Wonderful," she says, beaming at him, then takes a step backwards, out of the shower, and closes the door, trapping him.

She leans her weight against the frosted glass of the door so that he can't get out without pushing her away, and calls to him. "Now take a shower, Jack. Right now! Just turn on the water and throw your other clothes over the glass!"

She's out before Jack can get a word in edgewise, using herself as a barricade against the door. Of course, it'd be easy enough with his strength to push his way back out and escape from this absurd situation. But, in all honesty, the pirate was intrigued by the shower; back in his time, after a few rough months at sea, generally a quick scrub in local river or lake with freshwater would be sufficient enough to be called clean for the next few weeks. So being able to control not only when the water came out but its temperature, at will, was amazing.

It doesn't stop the nearly inaudible sigh in his throat and slight eye roll, however, because of how apparently and utterly preoccupied the Capitol natives seem to be with his hygiene -- so much so that Swann had to resort to this.

Jack slings off the shirt from his torso, pulls his breeches off, then tosses both over the top for her to deal with. His hand flits across both shower knobs, briefly, then he switches on the hot water. The first couple seconds douse him in a cool splash of water, then it starts to leisurely warm itself up. As it does, the pirate reaches for the collection of bottles that Swann had pointed out to him, popping open the top to the body wash and pouring an overly large amount onto his hand. The consistency of it is ... weird, to say the least, and initially Jack merely uses a finger from his other hand to rub at it and then takes a short sniff of it.

"Oh! Fruity."

Which is about the time the shower decides to finish heating up and turns hot -- causing him to let out a high-pitched yelp -- and a loud, short string of curses -- then yank the cold knob on.

"By all that's great and good, bloody hell."

His clothes fall to the floor, and Swann already has an Avox at the door, one who swoops in to take those clothes away. Far, far away. To the incinerator, maybe.

Once the shower starts up, she gently moves away from the door, taking a seat on a small decorative bench near the door, waiting to ensure that he's not about to run out naked and shrieking from a desire to avoid bathing. The Avox returns with a new set of clothes on a hanger, a silk shirt reminiscent of the one he's discarded, and a pair of tight, brocade trousers, black on black.

"Are you all right, Jack?" she calls, looking at her nails.

A muffled noise comes from somewhere inside the shower, then Jack calls out from it, "Aye, fine as can be. Don't worry yourself about it." Well. Relatively fine. He'd rather not be in this situation to begin with, being essentially babysat and humiliated like this by a Capitolite, but such is his life now. Apparently.

None of which will stop him from adding, "As it happens to be, were you to fancy it, there's more than enough room for two in here." He's already figured it's gonna get him next to nowhere by this point, but Jack will never resist a chance to take a jab.

It'll be a couple minutes later when the water switches off. "D'you have me effects at hand?"

"Jack," she answers, and her tone indicates amused scolding more than anything else. "I'm staff, you're a Tribute. You have to remember that."

When the water turns off, she takes the new outfit provided by the Avox, and cracks the shower door to hand it through, still on the hanger.

"Be sure to dry your hair well, I doubt that style can easily be blow-dried."

And there's a quieter underpinning of sarcasm that shades his response to her. "Oh, o' course, luv, how foolish. I'd nearly forgotten that."

He takes the clothes that are offered through the partially opened door, and wrinkles his brow.

"What's all this, then?" Definitely not his old clothes.

"Your clothes!"

Swann, honestly, doesn't know why Jack would have thought she'd give the old, disgusting ones back. He clearly needed a new set of clothing, and so she got him one.

"They're nice, right?"

His clothes.

That. What. No. Swann no.

She can't see it but Jack makes a face at that, indignant. "Nice or not at all, where are my old ones?" He definitely expected his old clothes back, because they were rightly his.

She sort of blinks at the door, then tells a lie that comes extremely easy, simply because his old clothes were so disgusting that it doesn't even matter.

"I sent them to be cleaned. You'll get them back in a day or two."

Or never.

Sure, they'd discussed getting him new clothes earlier, but Jack hadn't thought that meant his old ones would be disappearing right now. Damn it all.

He takes a moment to lean his forehead against the damp wall of the shower and close his eyes, muttering under his breath. Then, finally, "My hat?"

"Um, hat... hat, hat, hat, hat..."

Right on cue, an Avox appears with the hat, which has been cleaned until it looks like new, and Swann sighs with relief.

"I have your hat, Jack. Get dressed and you can have it back."

He dries himself off with a towel, patting at his hair a little longer for her sake, then eyes the clothes on the hanger. He slips the silk shirt on easily, then rubs a patch of the brocade trousers between his fingers. It wasn't a material that the pirate was horribly used to, as it was usually reserved more for those graced with money and privilege.

That isn't quite the problem, however, when Jack puts it on. He eventually emerges from the shower, dreadlocks still mostly soaked, and tugs uncomfortably at the tight material with a grimace. "Quite a bit snug, these pants." He's definitely used to the more breezy, loose, and comfortable cotton breeches that he'd come with.

He takes the offered hat from the Avox as well, giving it a once over and realizing it'd been thoroughly cleaned. "And I coulda taken care of that, luv."

"Oh, but you look nice!" she counters, looking pleased, hands clasped excitedly in front of her chest. "And isn't it nice to have clean clothes and a shower and everything? I bet you feel so refreshed."

It does not concern her that he's uncomfortable in his new clothes. He's suddenly sprayed with cologne, and then she's fluttering out of the bathroom, still talking.

"And see, now, I can send you on camera to talk to people yourself! That's the best way to get Sponsorship, is to let your personality be seen by the viewers."

She breezes past his last comment and continues on with that perpetual perkiness of hers to Jack's exasperation. He's still trying to readjust the pants when the pirate flashes quick but mild smile at her. "Aye, sure, fresh as the first blush of morning sun."

In all truth, the shower hadn't been bad at all. He hadn't felt this clean in ... well, ever, honestly, since bathing options in the 18th century were pretty limited. And the peculiar products she'd had him use had not only helped to wash the months (and months) old grime from his body, but smelled somewhat pleasant.

Not that being summarily stripped and shoved into the shower -- or losing his clothes -- had been his favorite way of going about it, and it'd definitely take a more conscious effort to break the old habit of not bothering to bathe himself regularly.

As Jack places the tricorne back atop his head, she flitters by to spritz him with some sort of strong perfume that immediately has him gagging and scrunching up his face. "Oi! Bloody hell, woman, warn me first." A couple waves of his hand to dissipate the stink, and Jack swaggers his way behind her and out of the bathroom.

"On camera?" By the tone, it's not a 'do I have to' at all, but more of a 'what the hell is that'.

She again ignores his unhappiness, this time at the cologne, and just keeps going.

"Uh-huh! You'll be on with Caesar before the next Arena, everyone is, and I'll get you a spot on Panem Nightly, too, at least a little featurette or something. Maybe I can book you for something on the Yesteryear Channel, you can be a talking head on a pirate-themed special."

Swann maybe doesn't pick up on the idea that someone wouldn't know what a camera is.

She's going about a mile a minute with everything, while Jack is still trying to figure out what any of this means, particularly the camera part. He tries his best to catch up with her and cut off her walking, a hand held up. "-- Hold up and slow it down, luv."

His other hand quickly joins the first one. "What are you on about, exactly? What is any of that? What's a camera?" By the context, it sounds like he's going to be up on some theater stage talking to people about himself.

Stopping in her tracks, brow knit deeply, Swann peers up at him, then starts ticking things off on her fingers. She really needs him to start picking this all up quicker if they're going to get anything done before the Arena starts.

"Um, okay. You need to build up a fan base, you do that mostly with interviews. Caesar is Caesar Flickerman, he's like, the most important talk show host in Panem. The Yesteryear Channel is a channel all about stuff that happened in the past. And a camera is... like, okay, so a camera can record everything you and I are saying so that it can be replayed later. So say you wanted to watch a play, but the show was already done? If a camera had been around, you could just watch what it recorded. That's basically a movie."

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

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