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

[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.

[dreadinquisitor]

"It's a long story..."

He looked at her sidelong... then sighed, and began to explain.

"There was a terrible event, an explosion that killed hundreds of people. I survived, how or why, no one was quite sure at first -- all anyone knew was that when I was found, there was a woman with me. A woman who disappeared as I collapsed. They believed that woman to be Andraste, wife of the Maker. They believed she chose me." Idly as he spoke, he rubbed his thumb into the palm of his left hand, kneading a long, pale scar unconsciously. "Later, because of this - at least partially - I was chosen to be the leader of the Inquisition. A movement dedicated to discovering who and what caused the event and seeing them held accountable."

[cigne]

Swann listens intently, expression showing nothing but deep interest, and she takes notes as he talks. Her brain is churning, ideas flitting around like fireflies, and the Maxwell Trevelyan that the Capitol will know is taking shape in her mind's eye.

He's proud and strong, but gentle. Illuminated by the rising sun, chosen by the heavens to help the citizens of District Eight, to be their champion. She can see him carrying sacks of grain to them, thrown over his shoulder, smiling at children as he distributes supplies.

He's perfect.

"That's terribly noble," she tells him softly, smiling. "Have you gotten very far in your mission?"

Spoiler alert for DA:I.

[dreadinquisitor]

"We had, yes," he replied, stressing the word 'we' intentionally.

It hadn't been a singular effort. He might have struck the final blow, but he never would have gotten that far without the help of the rest of the Inquisition.

He paused a moment, then said carefully. "Some of them are here... my fellows They're good people - the best people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. If there's any way you might be able to help them as well-- that would mean a great deal to me."

And he would be willing to concede quite a bit for it, if that was the way it needed to be.

[cigne]

She taps her pen on the paper, and carefully thinks about the right way to word her answer.

"Well, if they aren't in this District, then they have their own Escorts," she says, slowly. "I'm not allowed to impinge on other Escorts' jobs. But... I could always see about arranging for you to work with your friends, have interviews with them and such."

[dreadinquisitor]

His mouth opened... closed, and a breath pushed heavily through his nose as he looked away.

"It's not that simple," he told her, voice going soft. "In bringing us here you, or your leaders anyway, changed things. They don't remember me, and... I'm not sure how much they would appreciate anything like that."

He swallowed, pushing hard into his palm, then turned back.

"But I appreciate that you're willing to try, and if you can think of anything else, I'd love to hear it."

[cigne]

"How would you want me to help them?"

She's not sure what she can do, if apparently his friends didn't even remember him, but she can make an attempt -- he obviously had something in mind when he asked for her help.

[dreadinquisitor]

It was difficult to explain, both technically and personally, and he was glad when she didn't ask him to. Instead, he considered silently for a moment, brow furrowing as he tried to come up with something she might actually be able to do.

"I don't imagine you could tell another escort to be less of an ass, could you?" he asked finally, half-joking, half-serious.

[cigne]

She chuckles and smiles a little, setting her pen and pad down on her lap.

"Well, it's not really in my power to make them change their methods, but I can always talk to them," she says. "Who's having a problem? Is it down in Two? Because Cal is just very... driven."

[dreadinquisitor]

He wasn't expecting her to laugh, much less offer to actually do it. It caught him off guard, blue eyes blinking in surprise.

"No. No it's not, and I was teasing," he said, the edge of a smile pulling at his mouth. "Mostly. He really is an ass, but I don't think talking to him will help."

If anything, he imagined it might actually make it worse. A man holding that tight to control probably wasn't bound to like anyone - much less a stranger - trying to undermine him.

Shaking his head, he suggested instead, "How about -- if something happens to me, in this arena... Can you send them my things? If there are any."

[cigne]

"Well, let me explain how it works, when... when you don't win," she says, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Anything on you can be looted before the hovercrafts come and retrieve your body. When they pick you up to bring you back to the Capitol, they'll bring anything you have on you, so if you want to leave them your supplies in the Arena, make sure it's hidden and they know where to find it, whether you're around or not. Sam and I can't send anything that's been earmarked by your Sponsors to anyone else, but when you wake up, you're always free to support them by sending in gifts!"

Her face softens. "It's going to be okay, whether you win or not."

[dreadinquisitor]

He wasn't as convinced of that as she was, but it was rather sweet of her to say either way. Maybe some of them did care, in their own way.

"I didn't know about that," he admitted. "That I could send them things after. I would like that, when - if, I come back."

Yes, he'd already heard that it wasn't always the case. That, at best, it was based on popularity, and at worst, completely random.

"You'll show me how?"