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

[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.

[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?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"No, not always," he agreed, "But I have yet to find that to be the case here."

Even when he couldn't see them, he knew the strings were there. An invitation to an event, an offer of sponsorship, a smile -- everything had a price. Not that the Capitol was unique in that regard, but at least back home there he'd been able to take refuge - at Skyhold, or even on campaign.

But as she all put pushed the bag on him, there was little else he could do but take it. His fingers lingering on the slick, glossy material. On the delicate, pale paper artfully poking from the top.

Rubbing it between his fingers, mystified and fascinated, he almost missed what she said next.

"--What?" he looked up, still holding the tissue paper. "We're fighting for someone? Who?"

That was news to him.

[cigne]

Swann watches him excitedly, just barely holding back from audibly encouraging him to open it. But someone is finally appreciating the gift -- or the packaging, at least -- so she lets him take his time.

"Oh! Yeah, we're fighting for District Eight! When someone wins an Arena, the District they represent gets a lot of special treatment from the Capitol, extra food and supplies and aid. During the old Games, you know, they would take two Tributes from each District and the prizes would last a whole year, until the next Games. But now, we have more rounds, so there's more chances for everyone to get the help they need! And it's been a while since Eight put out a Victor, so I think we should work extra hard this time around!"

[dreadinquisitor]

His brow furrows as he listens to her, stare equally parts incredulity and horror. When she paused, looking at him expectantly, he wasn't even really certain where to begin there was so much wrong.

"You would take your own people, force them to kill each other, force the others to watch the murders, and then reward them with basic necessities?" He paused, as if hoping she might interrupt and correct him. "...And now? What happens if we lose? They're just allowed to starve?"

[cigne]

"They can always get food with tessarae, if they don't make enough money," Swann explains, gesturing vaguely. She's actually not sure about the tessarae, now that there aren't District Tributes -- it's not anything she knows much about, as a Capitolite. "They have jobs, though, and make money, so they aren't starving. And that's why we have to win, so they don't have to work so hard!"

She's trying to be encouraging. It's not her system, she didn't set it up, and all she can do is try to push her Tributes to win.

[dreadinquisitor]

The bag is all but forgotten now, sitting in the palm of one hand absently as he watches her, all exuberance and flippant gestures. He didn't know what 'tessarae' was exactly, but from the context he gathered enough to be able to roll over it.

"If assisting the districts is the goal, why not simply help the people directly instead of going through all this? It can't be easy to bring us all here, or cheap to house and care for us."

Particularly considering what the end intention was.

[cigne]

"No, that's just a side benefit."

She's willing to clarify this, because of course no one has ever explained the history of Panem to the Tributes. Swann takes a seat on the couch and pats the spot next to her, but she starts talking before he makes any move to take a seat.

"So! Seventy-five years ago -- well, maybe a little more now, what with the Never-Ending Quell -- the Districts rose up against the Capitol. But in the war, the Capitol won. So, as a reminder to the Districts that the Capitol gives but will never forget, the Hunger Games were created! A boy and a girl from each District were reaped as Tributes once a year, and the battle stood as a way to remember the uprising. The Victor is a symbol of the Capitol's forgiveness and generosity, forever given all they could desire."

Swann smiles. This is just history for her. But surely he must understand, now that she's explained it.

[dreadinquisitor]

He sits, the bag set between his heels as he perched beside her, watching her face intently as she spoke. Unfortunately, however, as she finished, he neither smiled back, not understood.

"So this is meant to be a punishment," he said, the incredulity back and slowing the words. Making them careful and deliberate as if that might somehow help. As if the problem lie in the words themselves, rather than the ideology behind them. "For them. Then why bring us? We had nothing to do with it."

That he would have agreed with the alternative either, but simple evil he could wrap his head around. This stupidity....

[cigne]

She shakes her head, and moves her hands emphatically.

"It's not a punishment, it's a reminder! If you forget history, then it repeats itself, and nobody wants another war! Not the Capitol, not the Districts, no one in Panem! That's why we've had peace, because of the Games."

His question, though, makes her wring her hands a little, pink nails clicking together. "Well... I don't know exactly why they changed it. I think maybe it was to make the Games... better? I'm not a Gamemaker, you see, so I don't have that kind of insight. I'm very sorry."

[dreadinquisitor]

Gamemaker - that was another new word. He filed it away, making a mental note to mention to the others next he saw them. But before he could find out more, the distress in her expression had him pausing.

For as full as his days had since his arrival - strange new magics to decipher, overly friendly strangers constantly trying to touch him, long sleepless nights - he hadn't seen so overwhelmed as to miss how even those who were native to this world didn't necessarily have more real power than he did.

How many of them, despite everything, were actually quite harmless. Even well-intentioned, if woefully misguided.

Swann, he wanted to believe, fell into that category, and a part of him felt bad, watching her face wrinkle uncomfortably.

"...It's alright," he sighed, wanting to push for more, but not wanting to see her cry. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I was blaming you personally. I'm just trying to understand the thinking behind all this."

[cigne]

Well, he's probably going to see her cry at some point, so he might as well just accept the inevitability of it. Because Swann is pretty prone to tears.

"I don't really think anyone expects you to understand." She says it quietly, looking at her notes. "I don't know that I could understand everything that happens in your world. But... but you're here now, and I want to help you, so you can win and stop going in the Arena. All you have to do is work with me. I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

[dreadinquisitor]

Swann had already proved herself to be a great deal sweeter than the horror stories he'd heard about escorts - or about one escort in particular - but that what she said still surprised him.

He shifted slightly, a small lean of his weight on the elbow away from her as if to see her better.

"Do you really mean that?"

[cigne]

She looks almost puzzled, like she can't figure out why he would question what she said.

"Of course I mean it. I don't think forcing people into things is a very good way to get what you want." The pen in her hand jiggles idly, like she can't stand to sit perfectly still. "I can't keep you out of the Arena, but I can help you be marketed the way you prefer, so that you have a better shot in there."

[dreadinquisitor]

"That's... unexpected," he murmured, by way of explanation. "I had heard escorts believed quite differently."

And he wasn't sure what to do with it, having prepared himself for the worst.

He looked back at her and bowed his head slightly.

"I'm sorry, it seems I misjudged you."

[cigne]

There's a beat where Swann blinks, but she smiles at him all the same.

"It's all right. All Escorts are different people, so we all approach our jobs a little differently, so... maybe whoever told you that has a more aggressive Escort." She thinks of Cal in particular, knows how strict he is. "I'm sorry that you were mislead. Are you willing to work with me now?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"You could say that," he replied with a frown, thinking of Jason. (Why couldn't Dorian have ended up here?) "I wasn't misled, I merely assumed...."

He shook it off. He'd apologized, and the mage had wanted him to stay out of it and he intended to. As much as he could.

"I'll make you a deal, if you tell me what they are first and allow me to make an argument for or against, then I think we can keep things civil."

[cigne]

"Well, of course. Now, I have to warn you that some things are less negotiable than others -- mandatory things like Crowning appearances, certain parties thrown by the Gamemakers, anything dictated in any contracts that you might agree to." She's ticking things on her fingers, thinking. "But everything else, I want you to have a fair choice, as long as you can justify why you choose it."

She looks at her notes for him.

"Tell me some things about yourself, Maxwell. How you want the world to see you."

[dreadinquisitor]

He listened, not partially liking the sounds of the things she listed, but not arguing. He wasn't unwilling to make a few concessions to make things easier in the long run.

At the question he paused, just a moment, before replying simply, "As me. I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not just to please some strangers."

[cigne]

She brushes her bangs from her face, and smiles gently at him, like she thinks maybe it's cute that he answered that way.

"So tell me who you are."

[dreadinquisitor]

The kind of man who didn't typically sit around talking about himself, apparently, as he blinked at her, his brow wrinkling uncertainly.

"Maxwell Trevelyan, of House Trevelyan, formerly of the Free Marches. More recently Haven and Skyhold."

He knew that would mean little to her, but he's not sure where else to begin.

"...What do you want to know exactly?"

[cigne]

Swann jots down his titles, not that she knows that they mean. That's what the library is for, double checking all these things.

"About your personality, how you want the whole of the Capitol to know you. My job is to sell you, your appeal, so I need things I can market. Like if you were a prince or anything in your world, see?"

[dreadinquisitor]

He didn't see why it mattered. Shortly he would be dying for their amusement. Would whether he preferred blue over red really make any difference?

Tiredly, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"No. No, I wasn't a prince. My family enjoyed a place of privilege, but that would be going quite far." His hand dropped, and his fingers threaded loosely together between his knees. "I was the Inquisitor. Or, to some, the Herald of Andraste, but I wasn't born to those. One I earned by chance, the other was awarded to me by the choice of my peers."

[cigne]

"And what are those?" she asks, but it's with genuine interest, her eyes big and sparkling as she looks at him for explanation. She can't make it so that the Arena isn't part of the plan for him, but knowing what color he liked better, what his life was like, could be the difference between his dying of an open wound, and a jar of medicine floating down to him from the sky.

She only wants to help.