thecapitol | Paper doll, come try it on

Entry tags:

Paper doll, come try it on

Who| Swann and D8; Swann and open!!
What| Mourning D8's best hope at a win; pity shopping with a mini-tiger and a pink pomeranian
Where| D8 Suite; out and about
When| Before the Crowning!
Warnings/Notes| General Capitolite stuff (gratuitous wealth, cluelessness, dramatics)

I. District Eight Suite
Now that she's gotten back all the Tributes she's going to and the need for Sponsors has calmed back down, Swann is only busy ferrying people around to interviews and photoshoots. When she doesn't have that to tide her over, she sits glumly on the sofa and watches replays of the last week, the various murders that don't make her flinch anymore because she's seen them so many times.

She's varying between not eating for days, and binging on whole bags of candy and cookies.

Today is one of the eating days, and if you walk in on her, she has a mouthful of jellybeans and another handful ready to go. She's slouched, all her crinoline bunched up, as she watches Brock die again, beautifully framed by the night sky of the Arena.

"Hi."

II. Out in the city
Swann always feels better when she shops. Always.

She's still tiny in towering heels, her arms overloaded with shopping bags from expensive stores, until she can only just hold onto the leashes of her pets -- a bright pink teacup pomeranian, and a thirty-pound tiger cub whose fur is white with rose-colored stripes, one genetically engineered to not get bigger. They trot in front of her, their matching gold leather collars sparkling with diamonds and pearls that match her rings and earrings.

"Pascal! Pascal, no!" she scolds, ponytail bouncing as she tugs the tiger back so that he can't pause and sniff at strangers.

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Éowyn has finally summoned up the willpower to go exploring alone, and is feeling more overwhelmed than ever. She's never seen so much colour, or so many people in such small spaces. There's sound everywhere - not the shouting and haggling she'd expect from a marketplace, but music and recorded voices and sounds she can't even start to place. Light, too, everywhere. The stale smell of bodies masked by a hundred different perfumes. Nobody makes eye contact, nobody so much as nods. It's starting to give her a headache, which may be why she almost trips over the tiger.

Not that she recognises it as a tiger, never having seen one. All she registers is that it's white, more or less feline, and extremely curious about her skirt. But it seems friendly, and licks her fingers much as she'd expect a dog to, when she holds her hand out curiously for it to sniff.

Despite herself, Éowyn smiles a little. Even if the animal is completely strange, at least it seems to be without artifice. Looking up to meet the eyes of its handler, she frowns a little at the slight girl struggling under so many bags. "You seem... a trifle overburdened," she ventures, after a moment.

Sam folds his arms across his chest and raises an eyebrow at Swann, making sure to keep his own eyes averted from the video she's watching.

He has changed a lot, but part of him still has a sort of instinctual dislike toward Capitolites that he can't quite seem to shake, which is why he tends to be just a bit standoffish to the escort in spite of her generally pleasant personality.

All the same, he's too good a guy to be an asshole about things when he sees someone being clearly upset. It's just not who he is.

"That is not a good coping strategy, sweetheart."

The sight of Jason actually carrying someone else's shopping bag is such a rare one that a few people snap pictures and send them off to gossip blotters. It's minor news - Escorts like him and Swann aren't nearly as newsworthy as Tributes - but it's an oddity to see him carrying two bags slung over his shoulder like a suit jacket, in decent clothing, vaporizer tucked behind his ear and absentmindedly checking his phone while Swann flits from jewelry display to jewelry display.

"You can choose one thing," he says, knowing full well that he'll buy her two if she asks and that she could buy as many as she wanted with her own fortune, but wanting to believe that this is some treat he's giving her. She bounces behind a counter to try on a pair of bangles and he takes the leashes for Pascal and Marcel for the moment, nudging them away from shedding or clawing at his pant leg with his shoe.

Firo's just stepping back into the suite when he spots Swann. In a nicer mood, he might think to offer some comfort, but Firo's not too great at that stuff anyway. And he's not sure why she looks all sad at someone dying when she's a part of this whole mess.

"Some people drink and some people go crazy with sugar, huh?" He glances at the screen, folding his arms as he watches the action. Violence doesn't sicken him, but he does disapprove of it when it's like this. "Why're you watchin' all a' this crap anyway?"

He hasn't paid too much attention, but he's pretty sure the footage isn't new.

Swann is far from Joel's favorite person in the world. She gets paid to do exactly what he doesn't want anyone to do, which is to drag him around to parties and photo shoots and other stupid shit when he'd really much rather be left alone.

Also, her boyfriend is possibly one of the most terrible people he's met in this shithole of a place, and that's saying something.

But still, he can't quite ignore her constant presence in the common room lately, with the TV on, and even though he rolls his eyes at her, he can't help but comment:

"You shouldn't be watchin' that crap, it doesn't do anybody any good."

Much as he despises the unwanted attention he receives just by stepping outside the tribute tower, Cullen understands that the best way to learn about this world is to experience it, as best he can. He didn't have a headache this morning, so he figures he might as well give it another shot - though he'll probably regret it before the day is through, it never takes long in the noise and bustle and bright, flashing lights of the Capitol to set his head pounding.

Still, though, the weather is nice enough, as far as that goes, and he can't deny that the items in the shops seem very... unusual. Certainly, he's no stranger to fashion, jewelry, cosmetics and the like. But much else - the technology, the strange machines everywhere, is utterly alien to him, and he finds himself staring frequently into shop windows with a somewhat baffled expression on his face.

Right up until a striped cat of some sort starts sniffing at his boots. "I beg your pardon," he says, attempting to step away from the animal.

Phillip was window shopping himself, and trying to keep a low, low profile, especially with some of the shenanigans his Mentor and his Escort got into. He was looking at a new suit, or at least a nice tie to look formal...ish. Workplace appropriate. Sadly enough, nothing was even close to it and he was already starting to get creeped out at the sheer amount of merchandise the Capitol made of their Tributes. This was some Orwellian crap going-

Oh hello, tiny pink murdercat. Gray smiled at the cub with a hint of fear from it, "Stay, stay..." Uh, Phone Guy? This is a tiger, not a dog. "You're kinda cute, w-where's your master?"

It didn't seem to matter what time of day it was, somehow Jack always had some sort of already half-drunk booze in hand. This time was no exception, and after a brief and curious squint in Swann's direction, the pirate sprawls onto a couch nearest to her.

The images that flash across the screen bother him much less, now that the Capitol's focus had shifted onto the more recent Arena dramas and off of his own miserable death, and Jack takes a moment to watch Brock's downfall repeat with, of course, the Capitol's infinitely stupid version of colorful commentary.

The greeting she gives him is met with a lift of his bottle and mild crook of a smile. "Afternoon." Much like Jolie, the Escort appeared to be in a weirdly unusual mood and not her usual distracted and bubbly and hyperactive self. And most times Jack wouldn't care much to prod into why -- particularly because, in the face of it all, whatever bothered a Capitolite like her was most likely inconsequential or resoundingly vapid.

And, plainly, the pirate didn't hold much sympathy for her.

But Jack had been caught off guard with the 'welcome back' basket Swann had left for him when he'd revived at the Capitol after his death. The champagne had been nice touch -- and hadn't survived the first hour -- but of bigger note was the toy ship that she'd placed in it, with The Black Pearl lettering scrawled in fanciful handwriting on its side. It was nowhere near enough to make up for this entire situation, but Jack was appreciative. He'd been too distracted to properly acknowledge it back then, and so figured maybe it'd be a good time.

Jack leans out to offer the bottle in his hand, eventually, swishing it back and forth as if to tempt her. "How about it? Looks to be like you need this more than me right now, luv."

Edited (oops a word) 2015-03-26 20:18 (UTC)

She looks at Sam with a frown, her cheeks full like a chipmunk's and her red lipstick stained with little purple and green dots from the jellybeans. If she slumps down any more, she's going to slide right off the sofa. In the background, the footage switches away from Brock's death and onto someone else's, Caesar Flickerman commentating cheerfully over it.

Swann chews and swallows all the jellybeans in her mouth, then looks at the ones in her hand, sadly pushing them around, grouping them by color.

"There are worse ones, considering that not only did we lose two of ours permanently, but one of them actually had a real shot at winning."

Swann leaves her other bags near Jason too, although they manage to clear out a decent amount of space in the shop purely by having two pets and Jason's reputation for unrepentant nastiness toward pretty much everyone.

She's thoughtful as she compares the two bangles against each other, then hands one back to the salesman, determining that it's too wide for her tiny wrist. The other is better, thin yellow gold dotted with tiny round diamonds, and the salesperson takes out a tiny matching charm that clips on and dangles, heart-shaped with the same polka dotting of stones.

"What do you think of this?" she asks Jason, holding her arm out for him to see. Marcel lies on the ground to wait out the shopping, but several salespeople come running as Pascal knocks down a round crystal paperweight on a low shelf and begins to bat it around with his huge paws. The carpet is plush enough that he doesn't break it, but this is the kind of store where nothing has a price tag, and the employees don't seem particularly eager for a tiger to try and bite through it or something.

"Sorry, sorry!" Swann calls as she gets through the crowd to her pet, having scooped up Marcel along the way so that he doesn't get kicked around. He now pokes his head out of one of the shopping bags, panting and looking perfectly content.

She smiles at the woman as Pascal rubs against her legs. "Oh, this? No, it's not that bad! I'm used to it!" Swann laughs a little. In contrast to the stranger's long skirt, Swann's is short and fluffed out with pristine white petticoats, her tiny waist accentuated by the roundness of the skirt.

"Everything is kind of... overburdening on me." She says it cheerfully.

She doesn't acknowledge the fact that she's eating half her weight in candy, and she only glances at Firo before looking back at the TV. "It's research," she says, glumly. "To see what I could have done better. He was our last hope, and he died, and I must have been able to save him. But I didn't."

Swann shovels another handful of jellybeans into her mouth.

"Eh, too small. Makes your wrist look big." In truth it's that he knows that it's the more expensive of the two, but certainly isn't about to point that out to her. He leans in to look at her wrist and some lookie-lous with their camera phones crane in, wondering if he'll kiss her hand, but no such display of affection happens and soon enough the tiger's causing problems.

"Pascal, no! Dammit!" Jason tugs at the tiger's leash, and Pascal gives a little huff as he's dragged away. He shoos the employees back too. "It's fine, it didn't break or anything. Keep your pants on."

It's a testament to how strange Éowyn's life has become over the last few days that the girl's outfit doesn't even warrant a raised eyebrow. She's seen far more outlandish things in the last five minutes alone, after all.

Although she doesn't particularly want to get involved with any of the Capitol folk more than she has to - why would she, knowing what they and their kind are capable of? - she finds herself smiling a little ruefully at that last part. "Of late, I fear I can sympathise." Understatement is too weak a word. She pushes herself to her feet, towering over the other woman, and tucks her hair back behind her ears. "You have no need to apologise, in any case. Whatever manner of creature this may be, at least it seems friendly."

He raises an eyebrow and just barely keeps from sighing. "Glad you've got so much faith in the rest of us."

He doesn't put much irritation into it, though. He's not planning on applying himself in the Arena anyway.

"What's the point in research if your 'last hope' is gone?

"I'm just trying to figure out where I went wrong," she mumbles, slouching so low that she eventually falls to the side and just lies there. "If I figure it out, I can fix it next time, make sure one of you wins."

She draws her legs up into her skirt, until she's sort of a ball of puffy white crinoline with a pair of gold-bottomed stilettos sticking out of it. She's been watching the footage at home, too, and it's practically burned into her eyelids, until she sees it when she closes them.

More jellybeans go into her mouth.

Swann is a step or two behind Pascal, still tugging on a leash that he's not terribly responsive to. "No, bad boy, Pascal, leave him alone!" she says firmly, bending to pull him physically away, as well as she can with at least a dozen shopping bags around her arms.

"Sorry, I'm really sorry! He's a baby, I'm still training him!" She's very apologetic as her tiger lets out an indignant, scratchy little roar and then winds himself around her legs, tangling her in the leash. She brushes her hair back into place and smiles. "He won't hurt you, though."

His master is right behind him, skittering faster than she should be able to in that height of heel (she's still only shoulder height to most of the other people in the crowd) and with that many shopping bags on her arms. One of them contains another animal, a bright pink dog who seems extremely happy, his tongue lolling out.

"Sorry! We're still working on boundaries," she explains as she yanks harder on Pascal's leash, to make him back up a few steps. "He's a baby, he's just really curious, but he won't hurt you at all!"

Swann herself had painted the words on that ship, sitting on the floor in her craft closet (the walk-in closet of her spare room at home is devoted to crafting) with an array of paintbrushes and a book of lettering that she had pored over until she found the right script.

She looks over and shakes her head at the bottle -- she's given up drinking to appease Jason's hate for it, so that she doesn't smell or taste like it when she sees him. "No, thank you. I don't really drink all that much. Besides, it would be unprofessional right now, I think."

It's all said distantly, as if she's too lost in thought to really process what she's even saying.

Swann does dress conservatively, compared to most Capitolites -- she doesn't experiment with her hair or makeup or style, preferring the signature look she'd developed years ago, a sort of precious, fashion doll chic.

"Oh, Pascal? He's a mini-tiger!" she says, tilting her head jauntily, still smiling. "He'll always be about this size, even when he grows up! Plus, you know, his color, he has good coloring. The orange ones are more common. But yeah, he's really friendly! He won't bite you or anything, you don't have to worry."

Pascal, being an animal, sticks his head under the woman's skirt.

She ignores Pascal except to frown at Jason swearing, but keeps looking at her wrist, second-guessing the choice now. Swann finds that she suddenly hates this bracelet, sees only an enormous swollen wrist in it, and throws it down on the counter before moving over to a necklace, a thin gold chain lariat, with a heart and single pearl for a closure, just long enough to rest on her cleavage. She squints at it for a moment before taking it off the display and putting it on, pushing back her hair as she examines herself in the mirror.

It is becoming painfully obvious that the salespeople would have thrown them out already if not for their names -- mostly hers.

"I meant that he was the last one left," she says immediately, and it's halfway true -- Brock was the strongest, the most disciplined, and by far the easiest work with, and all of that added up to a strong shot at the crown. But she wants all of her Tributes to win, thinks they can do it if they only try hard enough. "He was the last one from Eight left."

She sighs and lets her hand rest in the crystal bowl she's digging candy out of, the feel of the jellybeans sort of pleasant against her hand. "If I research now, I can help the rest of you better next Arena."

"Oh." He knows that the right thing to do would be to apologize for jumping to conclusions, but he doesn't. He's only that charitable to very select people.

He moves to lean his elbows on the back of the couch, at the end farthest from where she's sitting. "And how's the research goin'? Got any grand plans yet?"

He's curious rather than mocking. It was alarming how quickly she formulated a marketing strategy the first time they spoke, but she seems rather less energetic now.

"I'm sure," Cullen says, quirking his eyebrows at the woman - she's so obviously a painted and pampered native of this world, and frankly, she would almost fit in on the high streets of Val Royeaux. He clearly doesn't fear her animals will actually attack him.

However, she does seem overburdened with packages, and Cullen is nothing if not well-mannered (most of the time).

"Do you require assistance?"

"Ma'am, that's expensive..." the man behind the counter says, checking to make sure the little bracelet is fine. He looks as if he dare not say anything else, especially with Jason shooting a glare at him as if he were Swann's bodyguard as well as friend.

Boyfriend. Acquaintance. Coworker. Whichever. Jason hates assigning words to important things; better to chatter on about things that don't matter, petty concerns and complaints that drag him away from the honest-to-God truths that defy language.

"I like that one better." He wraps Pascal's leash around his wrist and jams his hands in his pocket.

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Paper doll, come try it on

II. should i maybe stop tagging ALL the posts? naaah.

d8 suite

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I. you're getting both my guys CAUSE I SAID SO

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