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

[cigne]

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.

Comments

District 8

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell appeared from the tribute quarters, his hair still damp and cheeks still wet from his morning shower and shave. (It had taken some getting used to, and some careful instruction, but he had rather come to like those particular developments.) At the end of the hallway, he caught sight of the bags, and Swann, all waiting expectantly and paused. Eyes flicking from the woman to the table and back again warily.

Surprises here had yet to be a good thing.

Hope this is okay!

[whatisay]

She's checking her communicator, and with her head down Jason takes a moment to recognize her. He never made it a point to follow SWANN or Stylistic, so his memory of the girl isn't of the elegant woman with the ponytail as high as her cheekbones.

It's of a girl, a little blonde-haired brat in a dress that cost enough to feed a family for a month, tagging along with the Compsons and the Reagans and the rest. "Go play with Jenny or someone," they'd told her. "Go play with the retard," Jason had said, cutting to the point quicker. "Maybe he actually wants you around."

But even the most aristocratic children would get bored while their parents socialized, and so there were games, hide and seek, tag, Egyptian Rat Screw, Never Have I Ever, between a ribbon of children ranging from young teens to six year-olds. Jason doesn't really look back at those games with fondness - he ended up as the butt of them as often as the younger kids, mostly due to his older siblings - but he remembers them.

"Swann Honeymead. Did the Capitol fly you in as an example to the Tributes of what happens if you blurt out seditious things?" He leans against the bar, but his eyebrows are raised in an approximation of friendliness that could let her interpret the comment as some goodnatured teasing. Not friend-to-friend, but children who were raised around each other.

District 8

[foundafamily]

Firo had just been poking around the kitchen when he heard the sound of someone entering the suites. They're not footsteps he recognizes, but he hasn't acquainted himself with all the other District 8 representatives.

He slips out and leans into the sitting room, studying this new person.

"Who're you?" He asks it with more wariness than rudeness; back home he'd easily assume that a face he didn't recognize was an interloper, but here he's far too recent to do that.

suite life of zack and cody

[samson]

The past week has been pretty rough on Brock. Not that he will ever admit it, but dying messed him up in the worst way -- not that he'll really have to admit it, because the haggard look on his face should make it pretty clear to anybody who takes a look at him. Then again, his perpetually pissed-off expression helps with nobody bugging him about it. So, all in all, it works out, really.

But to the point, dying. Dying was not fun. Dying is not a thing Brock would like to repeat. Dying is not a thing Brock really wants to think about too much, so he spent most of his time over the week in the gym. It's a good way to work out your aggression without punching people in the face for snapping pictures when you're on the street, and it also has the bonus of tiring Brock out to the point where he's too exhausted to think.

When he comes into the suite to change out of his gym clothes, though, he wishes that maybe he would have left just a tiny bit of energy to use for thinking. Because as it is, he can't really parse the... goody bags...? spread out on the table like a 12-year-old's birthday party. He gives the display a confused, withering glance, his pace slowing just a little.

d8

[reallynow]

It isn't that Jolie doesn't like spoiling their tributes, it's just that she can't help but think they're liable to become too spoiled at this rate. Sure, now that Brainy was gone most of them were actually pretty good and easy to get along with, but it's the principle of the thing.

The principle being that Jolie wants a present, god damn it.

She swans into the suits, looks at the bags, looks at Swann and looks back at the bags before narrowing her eyes suspiciously at them and back to her. If she had more drinks, she'd be dizzy.

"What are you buttering them up for, Honeymead?" She sidles closer, peering curiously at the gifts.

[cigne]

"I thought," she starts, picking up one of the black bags (pink tissue paper, because that's the kind of girl Swann is), and click-clacks her way over to Jolie, "that I would make us a little more united in this District, given the way that Cal and Sergius have gone all gung-ho downstairs. After all, we want a winner, right?"

She places the bag in front of Jolie, and then opens it herself anyway, presenting objects with obvious pride, starting with a black box containing a gold unisex bracelet. Everything is engraved with Eight is Great!.

"See? We have these bracelets, and... oh, and these water bottles, look at it! I even got people's names on these. And here's a poster of all the current Tributes, I figure I can just update it every so often, and there's a nice shirt so everyone can see their pride at mandatory events -- yes, you got both a man's and a woman's version -- and this watch, look it has two little diamonds to make an 8!"

Swann is obviously terribly proud of herself, and there are still more useless, engraved objects in the bag. She beams at Jolie, looking very much like a proud little puppy who's brought her master a toy.

suite life on deck

[cigne]

"Brock!"

The voice is high and oh so very perky, and Swann is tiny next to him even in her sky-high heels. She happily presents him with his bag, marked on the tag with his name in elegant, girly script. It is filled with a variety of engraved objects and clothing, all as useless as they are expensive. The personalization says Eight is Great!, and some of the objects, like a very fancy platinum lighter, have his name on them.

"We're a team here in Eight, and we're going to start acting like it."

[cigne]

Still busy touching up the exact placement of the tissue paper in the gift bags, Swann looks up, her high ponytail bouncing around as she does. A wide smile crosses her face, and she beckons Firo into the room more fully.

If he doesn't comply, she'll just trot over and pull him.

"I'm the Escort for this District!" She's got a chirrup-y voice, matching her stature and demeanor. "My name is Swann Honeymead. You're Firo, right? You must be, you're the newest, I think!"

[foundafamily]

Firo's determined to not relent so easily to the pettier matters of this place, so he doesn't immediately move to join her. (He has to try and salvage his pride somehow).

He's not expecting her to actually make him come over, so once she grabs him he's startled enough to follow. Though he does try shaking off her hand. "...Um, yeah, that'd be me."

So many questions. Number one being why she's so peppy about this whole thing. He'll settle for what is surprisingly one of the less rudely-worded queries he has--though he's still guarded, she does seem kind of nice. "What do you want?"

[cigne]

Swann is terribly excited to see Maxwell, or as excited as two practical strangers can possibly be. She's always excited to see everyone, because people like when you're happy to see them.

She is waving him over and holding up his bag, his name in fancy, pretty script on the gift tag. She has so many presents to give him!

"Good morning, Maxwell! Come over, come over, I have treats!"

[dreadinquisitor]

He didn't know her well yet. Their interactions had been brief, and left with him vaguely dizzy, both from the whirlwind energy she fluttered about with and her sweet perfume, lingering long after she'd gone. ...But, she didn't strike him as particularly dangerous. Overly excitable, perhaps, but oddly well-intentioned.

That, brought him closer, when he might otherwise have lingered safely out of range.

"Is there some sort of occasion?" he asked, approaching slowly, but approaching.

NO IT'S NOT lol jk

[cigne]

It takes a moment for her to recognize Jason as well -- the Compson family name is better known than its faces. But there's something that clicks after a moment, and she remembers feeling hurt and unwanted even as she chased them around, clutching her doll. Jason and Quentin and Caddy and Cyrus, they were older and therefore better, so she didn't want to stay with Jenny and Stephen and the one that they sort of hid, the one with problems.

It's a nasty flashback, a flood of remembering how bad it felt. And Jason was always the worst one, always the meanest, and she never knew why.

Swann looks up and smiles at him, not sinking to the low that many people would. "I never said anything seditious, Jason. My guest was declared mentally insane. You know that. How are you?"

[cigne]

She is not easily shaken off. In fact, she doesn't let go of him until they're standing in the sitting room, near her many labeled gift bags. She never stops smiling, not even for a moment.

"To help you! It's kind of my job," she explains, handing him a bag. "Oh, this isn't like an official welcome bag or anything, I just wanted to sort of bring our District together, you know? So we represent Eight well! Plus, we totally want a winner, so we have to motivated for it!"

[cigne]

"No, not at all!" She's so perky about it, presenting him with a bag that bears his name. "Why do we need an occasion for gifts? Isn't it nice just to give and receive them? Everyone always likes it! And you're new, and the last Arena didn't have sponsor gifts, so I want to make up for everything you missed out on."

She talks like she moves, all chirps and flitters like a little hummingbird.

"Anyway, I think it's a good idea if we all start presenting a united front in this District. After all, we're fighting for real people out there! It's been a while since we've won for them, and I think that's really important. Don't you?"

[foundafamily]

He hasn't been smiled at this relentlessly since the last time Isaac and Miria were together. The stray thought brings a pang of sadness, but he brushes it off to better try and digest what she's babbling about.

He takes the bag without a word--he just might be concerned about what she'll do this time if he doesn't comply. He barely glances at it before his befuddled gaze is back on her. "'Bring our District together'..? Uh, miss, whatever you got in here, I don't see how this could help."

He's never been patriotic before, so mustering any spirit for this place is going to be quite a challenge.

d8

[aintyourdad]

It doesn't take long for Joel to appear - he spends a fair amount of time in the kitchen, at least. He likes to cook, it's soothing, it takes his mind off the bad things, even temporarily.

Then again, at the sight of a new person, clearly a Capitolite, pristinely dressed, it's enough to make him turn on his heel and prepare to leave immediately. Because this can mean nothing good. No, thank you.

[cigne]

Little fists on her hips, Swann smiles perhaps a touch.... menacingly? At least what she thinks might be menacing, which means it's not at all menacing, because she doesn't know how to be anything but extremely nice.

People only like nice people.

"Yes it will! It'll help because we'll be united, studies prove that unity in mind is brought by unity in other areas! And when we all have on our Eight is Great! bracelets, then we'll remember that we are great, and we can win! Don't you want to win? Be a Victor?"

[foundafamily]

He really can't tell what she's going for with that look, so his face doesn't much change from the blank look of confusion it's been for most of this conversation.

He has to wonder how much of a help unity will really be. If only one can win, then they'd have to kill each other at the end, right? If that doesn't put a dent in morale, what would?

That probably seditious thought is chased out of his head for a moment for something far more shallow, but still distasteful to Firo. "'Scuse me, did you say bracelets? How the hell are those gonna help?!"

[cigne]

Since she's already made her presentation on the coffee table perfect, Swann is pouring herself a cup of coffee when she hears the telltale sounds of shoes on the tile. When she spins, her ponytail flies, and she is happier to see Joel than probably anyone else has been in the history of forever.

"No, Joel, come back!" she calls, flittering after him as fast as her high heels will take her. "Come back, we have to talk!"

[cigne]

The end killings are irrelevant -- it doesn't matter so much who wins from District 8, just that the winner is from District 8. The important part is having a Victor, being able to say they're the winning District.

"Well, we'll be united," she says again, reaching into his bag for him. "And see, look, there's a shirt, it has your name on it! And a water bottle, and an umbrella, and a really nice pen, and look, I even got you guys this little treat! Cookies with Eight's logo! Teamwork is really important, Firo."

[aintyourdad]

"No, I'm pretty sure we got nothin' to talk about," Joel says flatly, making a beeline for the door. "I'm not wearin' whatever you want to put me in, I'm not gonna diet or shave or anything else."

[foundafamily]

Just when he thought this place couldn't get more bizarre. How any of these items are going to help him not die is something he can't even begin to guess at.

"Yeah, no thanks." He reaches out to try and hand the bag back to her. "My Family taught me enough about teamwork and I don't need anyone else to do it."

Perhaps it's a harsh thing to say to someone who hasn't been outright bad to him, but Firo can be blunt at the best of times. Now is not the best of times.

[cigne]

"But I don't want you to do any of those things!"

Well, there's a monogramed shirt in the bag, but it's not like she's going to force him into it.

She manages to catch up to him, and her little hand just touches his back before she pulls it back, like she's afraid of scaring him. Folding her hands in front of her, she backs up a step.

"Please don't leave? Really, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to."

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack truly loves to spend time in the District 8 common area; it's his main source of endless booze, without the bother of Capitol fops and their equally as flashy women. Not that the latter was entirely unwelcome, oddly peculiar manner of dress or not.

Speaking of, the pirate is part of the way into the room when he catches sight of Swann. A pause is given, curiosity framing his expression, and then the pirate wanders closer to her and her neatly done set-up. He's spotted the bag with his name on it already, and spares her an inquisitive look.

"What's this, eh?" He should be wary that this women practically screams Capitolite, sure. But Captain Jack Sparrow has always been nothing but reluctant to ignore a pretty face.

[cigne]

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."