thecapitol | [Open]

Who| Emily and YOU
What| There's a new mentor in town
Where| Various locations in the Training Centre
When| A few days after the end of Arena 12
Warnings/Notes| No warnings inherent. Prose and brackets both welcome.

a) District 7 suite - mostly for D7, but feel free to crash the pancake party otherwise

Every available surface of the common room is covered in silver platters laden with pancakes, along with various fruits, nuts, sauces and syrups to top them with. In pride of place are several large jugs of maple syrup, one of District 7's main exports, and Em might get a little offended if her tributes eschew it entirely. She'll give a reserved, polite smile to anyone who walks in, mentally sizing them up and trying to figure out if they have any chance in the Arena at all.

"Hello, there. I'm your new mentor."

b) Training Centre - open to all

She's positioned herself near the survival station - campfires, ropes, plants of all sorts - a place that's not nearly so popular as throwing around a sword or axe, but the one where she feels most qualified to give advice. She'll happily talk to any tribute that comes in to train, whether they belong to her district or not: as much as she wants to guarantee a District 7 win, she's not going to put the other tributes at a disadvantage before they've even got into the Arena. She's had enough of that duplicity for one lifetime.

c) Rooftop - closed to Jason Compson

Even out in the districts, Compson is a name that brings recognition, but only vaguely so far as Emily's own knowledge goes. She's fairly sure that he used to be the escort for District 10 - Calder's district, she thinks with the twinge of bitterness and shame that always runs through her thinking of him - and that makes her feel even more nervous about meeting with him. She tries to push it aside, to assume her usual mask, knowing that they'll be working together now, and that both of them surely have the interests of their tributes at heart.

She rises on hearing footsteps approaching the bench she's seated on in the rooftop gardens, offering a hand for him to shake, if he so chooses.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Instantly, Nick's mouth opens to make a quip about her tactics. There's a bitter part of him that rejects the idea of Mentors. He can't imagine anything worse than the shitshow of zombies and asshole humans that he's arrived from, and he feels vilified in knowing there's nothing she can tell him that he doesn't know already.

It's just that, well. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. The words die in his throat as he becomes increasingly aware of her discomfort, and in turn it makes him shift uncomfortably. Is that sympathy? Maybe. He's not very good at expressing it.

"Sounds about what I expected." It's a little dry, but he's never been good at apologising or being tactful in general. Which is why he proceeds to keep asking questions. "And now you've gotta be back here, schooling some asshole on the same shit again. Please tell me the pay is good, otherwise you're gonna make me feel bad."

She doesn't quite look at him now, trying to keep the sadness and anger she feels toward her situation under control, knowing how dangerous lashing out would be. "I've spent years dragging kids from my home out here to watch them die. No amount of money would be worth that." She forces herself to smile. "But I keep my family safe and looked after, and that's what's important."

"Guess you don't have to worry about that much now, what with the big guys importing its free labor from elsewhere." He points that out helpfully, reading the tone in keeping her control and blatantly speaking out anyway.

He puts his plate down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling a dry, mirthless smile. "Jason said a lot of us new Tributes aren't all that interested in winning. Kind of dulls the threat when you don't really die, I guess." He muses out loud, mining for her opinion on the subject.

"I guess it does. I'd hoped the pain of dying itself would have helped motivate everyone into trying to avoid it, even if the Capitol will resurrect you, but it's also a quick way out of the Arena and back to living here in the lap of luxury." It was one of the things about the new format she felt the most bitter about. She'd have to carry the burden of the children from her Arena for the rest of her life, innocents who were never given the option of being revived. "You just have to focus on the benefits of winning instead. For one you never have to go back in the Arena, and for another you're bringing a lot of food to a lot of hungry people."

"Charity was never my bag." He says, deciding there's no point pretending he's something he isn't. "Trust me, though. My motivation is fine. I have not come this far to go back and forth through murderville. If I get a chance out, I'm taking it." He spreads his hands out, just to be a little theatrical with his sincerity.

"But I guess all the suckers who don't want to try just make for easy pickings, then. So really, they're doing us all a favor." He's mostly musing out loud at this point, blissfully unaware that he's kind of an offputting asshole.

Despite the fact that she's just given him the very same advice, she still feels a little disgusted at that response. She's not sure how much of it is with him and how much with herself. "Just make sure it's not too easy. Viewers will warm up to you more if they think there's some difficulty being overcome."

The fact that his response is little more than a chuff of laughter is indication enough that he doesn't regret saying any of that.

"Got it. Give 'em something to think about." He taps his temple, dropping his hand and putting the empty plate back on the counter. "Anyway, sounds like we're done here." There's a tone of question in his voice, but he's pulling away anyway with a brow raised at her.

"Yeah. For now. Enjoy the pancakes." She nods toward him as he departs, tucking into her own stack.

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