They Sulk Behind Your Back, All the People That You Meet [Closed]

[whatisay]

WHO| Jason Compson and Trés Jolie
WHAT| Jason gets fitted and realizes his mother's in cahoots with a queen.
WHEN| About three weeks into the Arena.
WHERE| D8 Stylist's quarters.
WARNINGS| Usual Capitolite entitlement.

Up until nearly three weeks in, the Escorts are mostly working intense amounts of overtime, spending far more hours in the Tribute Center and sleeping on couches than they are in their own homes. Jason lets Jolie know via a laconic text message that he won't be able to make their Tuesday fitting. It's not until well later that he finds time to stop by the District Eight workroom.

Jason's appreciated the reprieve from small talk, at least. He hasn't seen Swann since the retreat, and he's both grateful and upset by that, largely because he isn't certain what he should say to her and because he suspects she's avoiding him even moreso than he's been evading her. It's not like what happened between them is anything scandalous; she was sick, she came to his bedroom, and they shared a bed in a tableau almost painful in its innocence. Still, they'd spent the train on the way back in separate cars, using the excuse that they'd missed breakfast as a foolproof reason to keep their heads down and their mouths full of sausage patties and toast if anyone tried to engage them in conversation.

Jolie's romantic misadventures aren't a secret either, although the gossip isn't news Jason's terribly interested in. He can't say he understands what would possess a person of Jolie's birth to stoop to sleeping with a Tribute, and to tell the truth the queen's been dragged down quite a few pegs in Jason's already limited esteem.

The offending suit, having been slept in three nights out of the last week, has seen better days. Jason has a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and smells like cologne over a new age massage parlor. He's been using camphor fumes to stave off the migraine he's been fomenting for the last six days and ginger caps to tamper the nausea of sleep depravation.

Jason knocks on the doorframe, where the door's cracked, before entering a lair that could never be mistaken for anyone's but Jolie's. "Swann's not here, is she?"

Comments

[reallynow]

From the tone (or lack thereof, as the case may be) of Jason's text, Jolie almost thought he wouldn't come at all. It's of very little consequence to her in the long run, beyond her hatred for his suit and it's state. She doesn't find him particularly compelling, he lacks the charm Cyrus has and so he fails to entertain her much when she couples it with his vile behavior toward Tributes and Avoxes. Never in a million years would she had assumed things like that would shape her relationships with people, but Tributes had filled holes in her heart she didn't know she had and Avoxes with the faces of her friends had been paraded in front of her more than she can stand.

So perhaps that motivates her to remain in cahoots with his mother. Not out of any affection for her, but just because she's egotistical enough to think that she can assist karma from time to time. It doesn't help that she's a little wary of where he's going with Swann, though she hasn't quite entered her circle enough for her to be protective of her. She's a few years older than almost all of the staff, having just missed the little cliques formed amongst them in their younger years. Likely, it has just as much to do with the fact that Reagans, Honeymeads and Compsons were old money and fame and the Pierces just served the drinks.

It was definitely a reputation formed from being good at what they did, so maybe that has a little to do with an easy stoop toward Tributes. That and the fact that they're fine as hell, of course.

She can practically smell Jason before she hears him enter, like a damn Only Bathsalts walked into her territory, honestly. She isn't doing anything of importance, and her drag is casual to reflect that she has social plans for a later time. For now, she's staring gormless at an array of fabrics in front of her, her mood still sour from the Retreat and everything else that dares weigh on her.

Her smile is a little tired, but still present when he asks his question. "It ain't Valentine's Day yet, stud. Give it time." She jibes, then she waves dismissively at him. "She's off walking her dog in her handbag. God only hopes she doesn't get lost or we're all screwed."

[whatisay]

"That's not what Swann and I- you know what, nevermind," he says with a defensive huff. He's aware that the more he protests, the more he'll look inculpated in something he isn't a part of, the more the rumors of Swann visiting his room at the chalet are going to grow legs. So he just drops it there. If Jolie treads on the issue in any way he's willing and able to throw the rumors about Bro in her face with a kind of vituperation he inherited from his mother's side of the family.

"This isn't a bad time for you, is it?" He doesn't wander around with his feet, but he takes in the quarters with his eyes, silently measuring Jolie's abode against Stig's. By contrast to Jolie's, the District Seven Stylist's world seems almost anonymous, and Jason settles firmly on his opinion that Stig's work is artless and that the genius is just the result of ignorance of basic skill. It's not that Jolie's quarters are neater, but that everything about it reads as professional, as part of the Jolie brand. "Because I could come back at another time if you're busy. I don't want to impose."

He sees some half-made outfits that he's sure are for the Tributes for their first public appearance after they revive, and some for the date auction that usually pops up around this time of year. The idea of the next few weeks - of the next year at all - leaves Jason's stomach with a sour feeling, but he lacks the awareness to realize it's because he's a reactive person who lives in the present at the expense of the future.

[reallynow]

When Jason dismisses the insinuation, Jolie simply hums in an unconvinced tone with an expression that matches her voice as well as her make up matches her outfit. She's perfectly aware of the amount of dirt Jason could dig up and sling if he wanted to, but she wouldn't be in this business if she weren't good at taking vitriol in her stride. She is, however, well aware of how much trouble one little prick can cause.

Fortunately, the question derails her from her line of fire and she glances around as if looking for the imperfection she assumes he's seeing somewhere. She knows her standard is higher than a good half of the other Head Stylist's work, but there's something about Jason that puts her at least a little on the defensive side of things. Of course, this just spurs her on to make good on her offer, a sly smile pulling at her lips the more he talks.

"Not for the moment." She admits. "I don't intend to be busy for a few weeks, either." Because, sans Joel, she doesn't plan for her Tributes to bail so quickly. "So if you're..unoccupied, I guess we got business to attend to." She's taken note of the fact that he came in asking for Swann, but she puts a pin in that thought and steps backward to snap a tape measure up off her desk. It's generally a task better suited for an Avox or an assistant, but there will be no vodka related incidents again.

[whatisay]

"I guess we do."

He steps to the middle of the room, the place analogous to where Stig has his assistants take the measurements. "Thank you again for the favor. Maybe I can start actually talking to Sponsors in person instead of trying to hide behind potted plants and curtains when they get close enough to see the details."

He takes off his suit jacket. He doesn't have the body of many of the other Citizens here, the ones with either ab implants or gym memberships that cost several weeks of food. There's something almost sickly about him, even though he's got defined muscles in his arms and shoulders.

"Doesn't seem like most of the Style teams are right now. We've only got Cassian back, and since Shatterstar was the most unimpressive twelve the Quell's seen yet I don't suspect he's about to get returned to us." Jason rubs at his face a little, then stands still so Jolie can work her magic. "I may actually get home long enough to do anything more than eat or sleep at this rate. Not that I want to."

[reallynow]

"Well, it was either this or burn the one you have. I didn't think you'd be up for that much." Her tone is dry as ever, but there's some truth to it. The disaster of a suit has plagued her vision for long enough and she isn't polite enough to act like it doesn't bother her on some level.

There's a lot to find sad about Jason. Sad suit, sad body and sad attitude. Jolie might be growing out of oppressive mindsets, but vanity will always be her sin. Self presentation isn't everything, but no presentation and a personality that could be compared to a kick to the crotch makes for a depressing guy. Jolie, currently, has no personal reason to dislike him so any wariness she has makes her feel like a gossipy hen scraping for details. He's kind of an unsolved equation, especially now that his mother is involved, but it pays to have leverage over someone who may or may not fuck you over in the future.

She scoffs when he goes on to talk about his tributes, humming in commiseration as she flicks out the tape measure and begins to measure Jason's front side with an impassive, professional stare. "Still avoiding home, huh?" She glances upward and raising a brow, keeping her tone conversational. "Maybe you should just roost in the tower around all your chickies."

[whatisay]

"There's no saying we can't still burn it once this is done. I hate to admit it, but this outfit would hardly be suit for a Districter."

The last time he had measurements taken, it was by an Avox, and Jason does somewhat miss the easy silence that used to come with that, with not having to keep up a conversation. Measurements were never terribly enjoyable for him as a child - what his mother called 'a growing boy' his peers just called 'fatass' - and even as an adult, the same weight but a foot taller, it's not a favored activity.

He stands still, eyes focusing first on the ceiling in a roll that reveals a bit too much white, then on the wall beyond Jolie.

"'Still'? What do you mean by that?" He raises an eyebrow, but there's no sign he's suspicious of Jolie herself so much as worried about how it looks to spend so much time around the tower. "And don't think I don't have half a mind to. Most Escorts go home and don't have to hear screaming and whupping all night. Me, I have my idiot brother to listen to, and the only way he knows how to communicate is wordless bellowing."

[reallynow]

Enduring this is, so far, better than sitting back and trying not to flinch at Jason while he inflicts his temper on the mutes. Jolie's avoxes are professionals and she keeps them in line well enough, but she's still finding it hard not to look at them and see Cecil or even Victory. She was a dumb bitch, but it still put Jolie's mind through a wringer seeing her put down all those pegs only to die.

Fortunately, it's not Jason's appearance that Jolie feels compelled to scrutinize. She's listening for the little ticks that prove she's justified in finding him unpleasant, she likes to make sure she isn't just projecting entirely when she takes issue with someone.

"Things change." She shrugs, ducking down a little lower continue taking numbers mentally, working as efficiently as she can. "It's been a while since we talked. Although.." She trails off, standing up to draw the tape around his waist as if she's wrapping him up with a bow. "I've heard Caroline can be a little protective." There's a hinting lilt to her voice, the comment about his brother going almost unacknowledged beyond a scoff.

[whatisay]

"I didn't realize we were supposed to be talking on the regular." He gives Jolie a bit more of that slipperiness, that defensiveness that borders on rudeness but isn't quite there, more a wariness than anything else. It's not even a conscious technique, him keeping others at arm's length; it's a sullenness he cultivated for his mother and perfected for a society that seemed intent to pry.

And he suspects Jolie is no better than a pryer.

"That's a kind word for it, 'protective'. But I guess it makes sense, given, you know, my siblings." The eldest two had spent a summer splashed across the tabloids, Quentin besides headline questions speculating on the cause of the young man's dramatic and unfashionable suicide, Candace becoming an entity so outrageous and scandalous as to hardly need descriptors when she appeared on the covers. Accusations of incest, child abuse, even murder were thick in the air. Jason was pulled out of school and aside from selling the land, the remaining Compsons hardly interacted with the outside world for the better part of a year, as if inside their own bubble.

Another family might have been able to recover, but the Compsons, almost out of stubbornness, seemed to bury, molelike, underneath it.

"What's got you all curious about Mother, anyway?"

[reallynow]

"I didn't think I was implying that." It's said curtly, but in a low, cold tone that smacks of restraint. She could say that if she wanted to hear him bitch on the regular, she'd be his therapist. She could say that he's flattering himself if she thinks he has time for his bullshit, but she has something much more valuable than two-bit snark from ruffled feathers.

"Where I'm from, protective is another word for nosy." Nosy bitch, in all honesty, but she isn't about to test the waters of words he feels are appropriate for his mother. She steps back, hanging the tape measure around her neck so she can pick up a notepad and jot down some numbers.

"About Caroline? Hmm, nothing, really." Her tone is airy to a fault, her focus on writing until she moves the notepad back down to her lap. "It's funny though, I was getting the strangest messages the other day. Sometimes I wonder how many people get their hands on our numbers, you know?"

[whatisay]

Two decades ago, Jason wouldn't have tolerated that tone from a Pierce, and it smacks all the more that he has to hold his tongue now. But he does, even as the muscles in his neck go tense and the back of his throat tastes like bile, and it feels all the worse when he realizes exactly what Jolie's talking about.

"Jesus Christ." Jason bends his head down and rubs his face. "She's been hassling you, hasn't she. She probably got ahold of my damn address book again."

He glances back up, eyes dark this time with suspicion, the cunning that separated him from his siblings. "You haven't responded to her at all, have you?"

[reallynow]

Two decades ago, Jolie might have thought better of it. Or maybe not, considering her penchant for toeing lines has only improved with maturity. Dumb kids are much less blatant with these things, but at least some dumb kids know when getting too far out of line isn't worth it.

"Guess so." She says with an air of nonchalance and disinterest, even if she's watching him a little intently. When he looks up, she smiles like it's all she knows how to do when she's this confused by him.

"A little, sure. I was a little curious about who would be calling me man-queen." She flits back from him, putting the tape measure back on her desk just for a little distance. "Nothing but a little hello and goodbye. I haven't got anything else to say to her, but I'm not rude." It's said with a haughty tone to her voice, as if she's more indignant about the idea of brushing off an old woman than she is over any implication that she might be relaying her information. "I just thought you might wanna know that she's putting her feelers out. Who knows who else she found in there- can you imagine if she got a hold of Stig? He'd have some choice words, I'm sure."

[whatisay]

Jason looks pained, and he reaches up and rubs his forefinger and thumb, over and over, across the top of his nose, until the skin chafes a bit and pinks. It's a new level to his 'doesn't give a fuck about decorum' stressed aura.

"Stig doesn't have enough of a vocabulary to choose words. Some choice drools and grunts, maybe." He sighs, slouching in a way that makes his unimpressive slip of a body seem even smaller, like a sad sliver of humanity that somehow got dressed in some designer underwear (the only pair he owns, but since someone was going to see it he chose it particularly - he's sure Jolie would have an opinion on it no matter what it was).

"You've got my gratitude for not saying anything else to her. She likes to meddle, and you pay her the littlest bit of attention and it's like giving baking powder to a bottle of vinegar."

[reallynow]

With acting experience under her belt, it's not hard to feign concern for Jason as he seems to have a slow and oddly satisfying meltdown right before her eyes. She keeps her distance, but her eyes are watching with attentive worry. You know, like watching someone get hit by a truck when you're too far removed to do anything but stare.

What she has here is valuable, she's only just scratched the surface of the influence she has in her hot little hands. She makes the choice then and there to be careful with it, but the leverage she has isn't one she intends to relinquish if she can help it.

She lets a little humor come back to her expression when the response seems to work well enough on him. She shakes her head, folding her hands over her chest as she watches him. "Trust me, I have enough on my plate without being taken on as your full time babysitter. If someone took the bait, you'll figure it out real fast." A small smile creeps onto her face as she unfolds her arms and beckons for him to step forward. "C'mon you, quit standing around like a washed up Victor and put your clothes back on."

Jolie steps back, lifting what looks to be a huge tome of a scrapbook up off her desk so she can dump it on the work table and flip it open. The contents consists of hundreds of swatches of fabrics with labels alongside them, lovingly compiled by a Stylist who has hoarded fabric from the golden years of Tribute styling. Her meticulous organising knows no bounds, because it's colour coded and she's flipping through it like she knows this book better than she knows herself.

"I told you I was thinking about greens and browns, right? Like forests? Real original, I know." She crinkles her nose, as if pained to be cliche. "But we could do something exciting. Viridian, aubergine, russet.. Maybe pink if you're looking to do some colour matching." That is the smile of a bitch who knows something.

[whatisay]

"Dark green usually works on me. Olive skin tone and all that. I'd rather something practical than something exciting, if you catch my drift." That drift being 'too broke for something memorable'. He barely even glances at the book, knowing better than to imagine he has better taste than she does. Jolie's one of the few Stylists whom Jason holds some respect for, at least regarding work.

Jason doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs his shirt and pulls it back on, feeling smaller, or rather, more like architecture around which clothing hangs than a legitimate body of flesh and bone. He tries to stay in the moment but thoughts of his mother linger in the back of his brain like a spider. The hell with her. The hell with her encroaching on the one damn place he has without her meddling.

And like that, while he gets his pants back on, his head snaps up at Jolie, his brow pulled tight as the pocket of a sealed coinpurse.

"If you're talking about Swann, all that happened is that she came and puked in my sink because I guess she couldn't find her way to your bedroom at four in the morning. I'm sure if she had other options she would have gone to her coworker rather than me." He pulls his belt tight, past the place where indents in the leather show that he's lost weight recently. "If you're jealous, next time she starts looking green I'll direct her to your washroom."

[reallynow]

"Luckily for you, you've got those rakish good looks that make most things look high fashion." She casts a side glance to him, the corner of her mouth raising in a knowing smile. She's not saying it to be a flirt, she's saying it because it's true. A bad attitude very rarely dulls good bone structure and a well constructed face, even if it sullies the canvas some when he pulls stank faces.

"Green it is, bigfoot. You'll be a real forest dweller in no time, I promise." Her attention is briefly on the book again as she makes some considerations, but it doesn't linger long when he's still providing her with entertainment.

"She's not my type." She snaps back quickly, her attention fully on Jason now that his denial is taking a slightly more pointed direction. "I'm just saying- She's pretty, you're pretty, you come looking for her and make faces when I make implications." Her shoulders rise and fall in a lazy shrug, she makes an effort not to look bothered. "Some shades of green and pink clash. That's all." Her lips tighten briefly, but she's flitting back to her desk to make notes like he's not of particular importance at this second.

[whatisay]

"Thank goodness for that." He can't help but look a bit pleased, no- relieved- that Jolie would state that so matter-of-factly.

It's not that Jason's vain; it's that he's realistic, he thinks, sane. Rational. He knows that when he was uglier, a clumsy, puff-faced kid with a squashed nose, he didn't garner the same respect he does now. Those features were a smokescreen for that good bone structure, for those high cheekbones and defined eyebrows and heavy-lashed eyes, and they fooled most everyone until rhinoplasty and weight loss happened.

"No, your type is Tributes, isn't it?" Jason narrows his eyes a bit, snapping a bit like a stray dog that's been pressed into a corner. He doesn't want to play that card, but if Jolie's insistent on nosing around then Jason doesn't want the playing field to look uneven. "There's nothing going on between me and Swann, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't infer anything. I'm sure she'll appreciate it, too."

[reallynow]

At this point, Jolie is more than aware that she's pressing his patience with her teasing and her goading. She can't help the fact that his defensiveness piques her interest, because she's not sure the concept of a budding interest in Swann is something to be bitter over.

And yet, he pulls that card, and it's a dirty, dirty card to play right now. Not that he'd know for sure, as far as she knows. She's never been discreet about her interest in Tributes, but she didn't precisely broadcast the fact that she's feeling particularly forlorn over that issue. She tenses, and it's obvious. Her shoulders hunch ever so slightly, because she knows that Tributes and Swann aren't remotely on the same level. Not to Jason, anyway. Not to most people, obviously.

Being defensive over it would be foolish so, despite a certain venom in her eyes, the sound she makes is high and humorous. Like she's witnessing a cat fight and not ribbing that went too far. "Ooh, feisty." Is her response, said as airily as she can manage. "I wouldn't define it with such a narrow scope, but if we got into that talk we'd be here all week." She smiles, lips curled just a little too much like a smug cat. Like she's happy to get a rise out of him even if it means prodding at her dignity.

"Alright, alright. I shall never again infer the possibility of a relationship between yourself or my Escort again. That was offensively out of line and I won't do her the injustice of it." She breezes through that without allowing too much focus on the fact that she only singled out Swann there, folding her arms low over her chest when she's finished. "Now, what else can I do for you?"

[whatisay]

Jason knows the etiquette doubletalk routine. He grew up around it, of course, in a world where a smiling face and extended hand was often matched with a metaphorical razor tucked into a cuff. He can see exactly the shade Jolie's throwing and he thinks himself a better man (the back of his head says a weaker, more debased man) for not rising to it and calling her on it.

"We would be, would we?" He's mastered the art of raising an eyebrow lazily, casually, as if it's not meant to imply anything at all, like some accidental paroxysm on the face. He doesn't even feel satisfied, having smacked at Jolie like that. It doesn't feel like a victory so much as a parting shot during a retreat. "All I'm asking is that you keep your opinions and questions to yourself. We all do better with a little privacy, don't you think?"

He pauses for a moment, considering. I owe you one is probably never a phrase that has crossed Jason's lips in earnestness. "No, that's all. Like I said, obliged for the effort you're putting in. God knows I wouldn't trust Stig to do this sort of work."

[reallynow]

In turn, getting him to raise his hackles like this isn't terribly satisfying. It's like bopping a dog on the nose repeatedly and being surprised when it barks. It does speak volumes of his inability to play along, though. It's just that she isn't surprised that he has the kind of humor that makes joking around seem more like stabbing wildly in search of vital organs. Charming, really.

Her response is a simple, subdued hum. It's a little passive aggressive and it only adds to the awkward air that seems to have settled over the room now. When he preaches, it's all she can do not to roll her eyes, but she refrains. People who say shit like that usually have a thing or two to hide, and again she isn't surprised.

"We live in a bubble, Compson. We're as exposed to the public opinion as the Tributes we herd around. I'm not gonna push it, trust me, but you're gonna have to get used to it somewhere along the way." She advises, and there's a bitter little voice in her head asking why she bothers. Her lips curl back up into a smile, because she'll take the compliment where she can.

"It's my pleasure." She cocks her head to the side, smile turning to a grin. "Good to see you Compson." Now go be weird somewhere else.

[whatisay]

"Believe me, I'm used to people prying into my affairs." Jolie would have to be an idiot not to have heard about the Compsons and their penchant for public disaster and scandal. "That doesn't mean I've got to welcome it."

Nor that he'll tolerate it from low-blooded families. Jason's aware that his family fell from grace to get him where he is. He doesn't think the Pierces earned any of the goodwill or did any climbing to end up at what feels, to Jason, like damn near rock bottom.

"I'll see you around." With that, he heads out, leaving behind only that slight herbal tinge to the air.

[reallynow]

After this, Jolie definitely thinks she deserves a cocktail. Or several, even. The urge to nitpick and snap back is ever rising with every smug thing Jason says. He's sitting on a goddamn jenga throne, even he knows it isn't that hard to pull out the crucial block. It's just not the right time, and it might never be the right time. In the grand scheme of things, a little passive aggressive war shouldn't be priority, but it doesn't mean that the urge to insinuate and mock has lifted itself from Jolie's mind.

As such, Jolie holds her tongue through his response. She looks attentive, like she's listening, but she's rolling her eyes on the inside for his trouble.

"I'm sure you will." She responds coolly, and she thinks it's because he has plenty of reason to be hanging around District Eight now.