thecapitol | [closed] when i walk in, sit up straight

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[closed] when i walk in, sit up straight

Who| Porrim + Signless
What| Having a little get-to-know-you lunch date!
Where| The cutest little cafe in the Capitol
When| During Week 2 of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| None!

It's a couple of weeks until Signless's schedule allows for Porrim to sneak him off for their lunch date; his new status as a Mentor combined with his newfound popularity as the most recent Victor means that even someone with her status has to wait a bit. But Porrim's not fussed; she's happy to wait as long as she gets to actually sit down with Signless and get some one-on-one time.

When the appointed time and day rolls around, Porrim escorts him to her choice in restaurant herself. The place was picked with a rather tongue-in-cheek manner; it's a small cafe, violently pastel and frou-frou, full of canoodling couples. It's the last place you'd expect anyone to be meeting up with their alternate universe not-son.

They're led to their table, and Porrim is highly aware of and highly amused by the fact that she sticks out like a sore thumb, dressed all in black and gold. She perches primly in her chair and orders a cup of Earl Grey for starters.

"I hope you like pink," she tells Signless across the table. "Almost everything on the menu is some shade of it."

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If he were newer to Panem, Signless might find the overwhelmingly pink and cutesy decor overwhelming. As things stand now it's really nothing more over-the-top than the Capitol usually is, though at the very least it's a new brand of over-the-top. It doesn't fit her and it certainly doesn't fit the intent of this meeting, which is perhaps the point. The less people expect them to be here the less of an entourage they'll have and the more they'll be able to actually talk.

"I don't mind it, though I've never seen so much of it in one place before. And I'm afraid I'm not well-versed in tea -- do you have a recommendation?"

It's a decent icebreaker, though perhaps not the best.

Porrim laughs. "I'm glad. I thought it might be...interesting." That's putting it lightly. She chose it partly for laughs, and partly because it's so unexpected that they'll be less likely to be interrupted. She runs a finger down the tea selection, humming thoughtfully.

"Perhaps a nice green tea. Sweetens nicely, not too perfumey. And I'll order us some finger foods, too. Their cucumber sandwiches are divine."

"It certainly is that," he agrees, smoothing the fingers of one hand over one of the many, many doilies within arm's reach. The sight of the black ink on the back of his hand still startles him despite the time he's had to get used to it. It's still strange to think that those tattoos will be permanent; no longer can he count on death to reset his body.

"Green tea, then," he says, and a server who was about to ask nods and bustles away. "So, now that that's taken care of. Where do we start?"

Porrim's gaze is drawn instantly to Signless's hands, interest piqued by all those marks on his hands and arms. "They made those permanent, hmm? I thought perhaps it was just paint." It's a good look for him, she has to admit, from a Capitolite perspective. But his next question quells the thought, leaves her feeling a bit perverse just for thinking that.

"Hmm." She taps long fingernails, claws really, against the tabletop, and laughs a little. "I've had so many questions since I found out all this, but now? My mind is blank." She cocks her head. "Really, I--I want to know what she was like. If you'd do me the honor of telling me." What little she'd gleaned from Initiate had been colored by emotion and nigh incomprehensible, after all.

Whatever he tells her will be colored by emotion as well, but at least he might be a little more eloquent about it. He folds his hands on the table in front of him, not looking precisely at her but rather past her and into his memories.

"She was kind, and fair, and fierce when she had cause to be. She was the only troll I know of to ever care for one of her own kind as a mother, and I think that speaks to how thoughtful and giving of a person she was."

She's not normally the most expressive person--her expression tends to be guarded more often than not, or schooled into something impassive, except when she's got her trademark smirk on her lips. But now, listening to Signless talking about her--the other her, the original her, she can't help but look a little sentimental. A little misty-eyed, even. It's ridiculous.

"She sounds wonderful," Porrim remarks softly. "Is it--normal, in your world? For there to be other versions of people? It's admittedly difficult to wrap my head around, still."

"Not normal, no," he says with small laugh. "But my family and I are outliers. I don't know how much of my history you know -- and how much of what you know is incorrect. The media here can never get it exactly right. The point is that I only ever saw the the other versions of those I knew through dreams, but since coming here I've had it conclusively confirmed that those dreams were of a separate reality. If there could exist other troll versions of myself and those I knew then why not a human or two?"

Porrim shrugs. "A bit. I can cobble together a general picture based on what the media's said, and what Initiate has told me." It's interesting, though, that even there it's not a usual thing. "One of my colleagues told me that there are a couple other Capitolites who seem to be alternate versions of Tributes who were brought here--or vice versa. He seemed to suggest that the same might be true of me, just based on the Dolorosa's portrait at your Crowning."

It bothers her more than it should, that Jason had cottoned on to the idea so easily. It's not bad, or illegal--she's done nothing wrong (yet)--but it's still something she's tried hard to keep to herself. "I'd really rather not have an alternate version of myself brought here, as I'm sure you can understand."

"Oh, of course. I -- ah, thank you." He breaks off momentarily to smile at their server, who's just returned with their tea (and a plate of those divine cucumber sandwiches). A preliminary sip of the green reveals it to be just to his taste.

"As I was saying. I can understand how seeing someone who looks like you having to endure the hardships of an arena might be disturbing. I hope for both of our sakes that Panem never has another Porrim in residence."

Well. That's just a little depressing. He manages a smile for her that's a lot less impersonal than the one he gave their server.

"Not that I think you wouldn't get along. If anything I don't think the rest of us could handle how well you'd get along."

Porrim gives the waitress a little smile and a nod, taking a nice long draught of her own tea after adding cream and sugar at her preferred levels. Over the rim of her cup, she eyes Signless while he speaks, and then lowers it with a smile of what can only be described as relief.

"So I've heard," she chuckles. "Initiate mentioned something about a chainsaw...I'm not sure what to expect, honestly."

Her chuckle gets an answering one out of him.

"Of course he would have mentioned the chainsaw. I knew him when he was younger, you know, and he was always a little scared of her. She was extremely protective of me especially when I was a child, and I think he thought she might actually have killed him if he made a bad impression."

He takes another sip of his tea, smiling over the rim of the cup.

"She wouldn't have. The saw was only for daywalkers, beasts and adults."

"That...explains a lot." Porrim nibbles at a tea sandwich, contemplating the tiny smidge of satisfaction that accompanies the idea that she might be actually frightening to someone.

"Naturally," she chuckles, like she knew that all along. "You know, perhaps I ought to learn how to wield a chainsaw. Not a bad way to protect oneself."

"There's very little that can fight back against one when it's in the right hands," he agrees. There's something incredibly dissonant about talking about chainsaw fights in the middle of this frilly, flower-scented tea shop and he kind of loves it.

"She always said it was the best weapon because it did most of the work itself. All she had to do was direct it."

This conversation is fantastic, and Porrim is pretty much delighted that it's happening in such a ridiculous venue.

"Well, that does seem to be a major merit," she agrees. "And I'm sure it wouldn't look at all strange for an Escort to gallivant around with a chainsaw, hmm?"

He isn't sure if she's being sarcastic asking that or not -- but then, this is Panem. There's a woman not two tables away whose hair has been shaped into an elaborate birdcage inside which sits a live brightly-colored parrot in a tiny hat. He chooses to assume she's being dead serious.

"Probably not. I'm certain that with the right outfit it would make a fitting accessory, even. Something with torn metal and artificial tarnish."

Porrim snorts. For all that she's a Capitolite, she tends to err on the more...tasteful side of things. Her personal style is much sleeker and cooler than the norm.

"Now that's what I call sexy," she comments, leaning back in her chair. "Or, wait, wait, I can do better than that." Porrim clears her throat. "That's what I call a killer ensemble."

"Oh," he says, and makes an utterly unpretty chortling sound into his cup. He decides here and now that he likes this Porrim. She isn't his mother and she isn't even exactly the Porrim from his memories of his Beforus but she has that same comfortable easy-to-talk-to quality that they both had.

"You have to actually design it now, you know, just so you can wear it out and make that pun every time anyone compliments it."

Porrim can't help but snort in laughter, cracking up a little at her own stupid joke. She needs this; she needs to relax and joke and talk about something that isn't a hundred percent serious.

"Oh, of course I will," she chortles. "I'll be sure to drop by Twelve and give you a little fashion show, too."

Signless quite agrees. Even in the midst of the murder games and the political intrigue there has to be time for real, honest laughter. That's what makes all the rest of it bearable.

"Oh, please. But only if you design me something to match. Pity I'm in Twelve or you could dress me up as a tree and we'd be a perfect pair."

Porrim laughs into her fingers, shoulders shaking and her eyes squeezing shut in genuine amusement.

"Wouldn't we be a sight for sore eyes," she giggles. "Still, I promise I'll design you something equally fabulous. With leggings involved."

"Thank you. I haven't had to argue for the leggings in quite a while, but my stylists still don't go out of their way to incorporate them into my outfits. I feel like I ought to have a say in at least that. It's something unique and recognizable -- not to mention comfortable. I don't know where the reluctance to let me wear them comes from."

He has a vague idea that it has to do with them being considered something women wear... or maybe they're just unfashionable no matter who they're on. Which is stupid. Leggings are great.

Porrim snorts. "Some Stylists are not quite as flexible as they ought to be, really. Something I learned during my tenure in Eleven was that sticking a Tribute in something uncomfortable and unwieldy isn't going to make them look any better. It just makes them look uncomfortable."

She shakes her head. "That aside, you look fabulous in them. It's a crime to keep you from wearing them, really."

"The rest of the Stylists in this tower could use to learn from you, then. Every time there's a public function half the tributes look awkward and unhappy and not much else."

Seriously. Every crowning, to say nothing of the various and sundry parties, he sees more tributes looking like they wish they could burn their clothes than ones that look elegant and inspired.

"I think it was all the walking I did before I came here. I wouldn't have the legs for them otherwise."

Porrim finds herself wishing suddenly that she'd stayed on as a Stylist--long enough to help make some changes around the Tower. Still, there were a lot of factors that led to her change in position, and not seeing her love for fashion transform into a chore was certainly one of them. "Maybe I'll set forth a few suggestions," she agrees nonetheless, because it's sort of ridiculous how much these Stylists don't even consider the affect their inflictions have on their Tributes.

"Makes sense," she goes on. "You're lucky. Not everyone is blessed with toned limbs."

"I'm sure at least within your district you could make a difference," he says in what he hopes is an encouraging tone. "And if they take, other districts might adopt them as well. We all want to be performing at peak capacity where we can."

And he means performing in every sense of the word. They all apply in Panem.

"That's true," she murmurs thoughtfully. "All it takes, really, is a spark."

And that's a rather interesting idea, one that definitely carries over into other aspects of her life. "I'll have to see what I can do."

"If you're anything like the other Maryams I've known, you won't have any trouble."

He finishes off his tea, allowing the last of the warmth to settle in him. This has been such a nice distraction from all of the stress he's been dealing with as of late, and he's going to enjoy that for the absolute longest he can.

That seems to amuse her, but there's also a faint glow of pride behind Porrim's smug expression as she settles back into her chair, popping a macaron into her mouth and finishing off her own cup of tea to wash it down. "Lovely," is her simple reply.

She's feeling much the same. A good distraction indeed, and a good start to what she hopes will be a good friendship. She ought to have tea more often.

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[closed] when i walk in, sit up straight

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fffff dat icon

there were others that were probably more fitting but i like that one best

i approve very heartily

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we can probably fade this soon unless there's anything else you wanted?

fine by me!!