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]

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?"

[cigne]

"Of course I will."

Swann didn't have doubts about his coming back -- sure, there were no guarantees, but she just didn't think that he'd disappear after only one full Arena. Wouldn't that be a waste of whatever resources brought him here?

"I have some ideas for you before then, but I think it can wait a little bit, if you'd like to take a break for the day. We can meet later and discuss it."

[dreadinquisitor]

He nodded, and his expression visibly relaxed.

"That sounds like a fine idea," he agreed. Pushing off the couch, he paused - only a moment - then reached down to pick up the glossy gift-bag once more. "...Thank you. For everything."

[cigne]

Her smile is so wide that her face is starting to hurt a little, but it's all worth it for that simple moment of recognition, of appreciation.

"You're so welcome, Maxwell. Let me know if you need anything."