District 8: The Planeswalker.

[senryakuka]

Who| Morgan & Open
What| A very confused young woman thrown into an improbable situation exploring her new environment as the freshest new arrival. A lot of things are missing. But damn, is she hungry.
Where| Training Center, beginning in the District 8 Suite.
When| Shortly after her arrival and quick debrief on the situation.
Warnings/Notes| Fire Emblem Awakening Spoilers, if you really care about them. Be prepared for a disarmingly cheery redhead eating a lot.

It wasn't the first time this happened. That didn't make it much better, obviously. At least she remembered where she came from this time-- hell, at least she remembered that she came from somewhere. That was already better than the last time she remembered waking up in the middle of a surreal divergent world unlike the one she had known by any extension. Could she really claim the one she remembered spending all that time with father when he was older was even the original, she wondered. Kinda like she was adrift among the pandimensional subspace, dragging the anchor of her memory through the abyssal sea and judging her bearing by the rattles of the chain up to her ship as the anchor hit substantive events she could clearly recall. Where her journey began, she couldn't really say. It sort of bothered her, the fact that she didn't know where she came from really, but with the Shepherds, it didn't matter. She was just another one of them. They were her family, her new family, having forged new memories. But she was careful to catalog them all that time around. She wasn't going to lose all of that again. No way. Even up to the day before she was apparently whisked away through the rift. Written down in her journal, the one she kept right...

It was gone. The journal was gone. Did she forget that somewhere, too? Morgan gritted her teeth tightly, padding herself down, glancing down at herself in this unfamiliar clothing, realizing that her robes and tomes and swords were taken from her, at some point, without explanation. She grabbed the crimson locks of her disheveled hair between her fingers and tugged, as if the stress would trigger her memory, but nothing came up. Did she even have it with her that day with Inigo? Maybe it was in her tent...damn it, damn it. It was already slipping, that odd baseless and fluid stuff that was the gnat cloud of her memory that so deftly slipped between her fingertips. She would never have parted from these things willingly. She hoped, prayed that they were still in her tent back with her silly and cloyingly optimistic young husband who'd waken up one day to find her simply gone.

What would he even think? That boy was a mess. Finally having landed the bright and brilliant and charming and pretty girl of his dreams only to have her robbed from him somehow. Part of her wanted to see the look on his face-- the other, however filled her eyes with sadness. The very real possibility that she could die here stared her in the face. And who would tell Inigo? Or mom? Did anyone tell her original (if he was original) father what became of his daughter thrown off to a divergent timeline? Was he still out there in that doomed future...past-- whatever-- timeline? Was he looking for her? All these questions flooded her temples and squeezed her eyes shut as she stood in the common hall of what she was told was one "District 8's suite."

The technology-- the air, of this place reminded her of one of her Aunties-Anna's outrealms, where great big steel beasts carried people and things to far off places that flew by blowing fire out from behind them. To tell the truth, aside from all the worries the plagued her head, she found it hard not to marvel at this place with buildings made of glass and steel, cities that spread further than the eye could see and towers like mountains you couldn't see the tops of. Maybe, like her mother's family, she'd be cursed to a life lived between a million worlds, forever walking between them, except without the benefit of consenting to do so-- or even turning a profit. That alone irked something in her she couldn't quite place; a little voice that said "I'd better be getting paid for this."

And maybe she would, after all, as she breathed out and accepted the situation-- no sense sitting around and fretting about a new environment, dad always said. Adapt and work with what you have. Strategy isn't about how big a stone you can throw, but how far you can throw whatever stone you've got. Right now-- right now she could smell something, and that something was absolutely delightful, whatever it was. What, what, what was that smell? Amongst the rather well decorated and upholstered suite and lounge a savory scent wafted through the air, and Morgan's stomach howled. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She wouldn't remember. Not that, at this very moment, she'd cared, because whatever that smell was, it was food, and all other concerns could take a backseat as she followed her keen nose (albeit the scent was far from faint; in fact the smell of food permeated the hall) as she moved from the door of her bedroom to a room she'd passed by before whose table was more or less cleared when she'd been escorted in. Not that she'd paid attention then, probably, or even remembered what she'd seen.

But there it was. Food, glorious food. 

Comments

[foundafamily]

Firo was just slipping out of his room when he spotted an unfamiliar person step into the kitchen. He hesitated a moment, then followed slowly.

It wasn't entirely surprising. New people came all the time, he'd been told, but he hadn't yet experienced a new one in his District.

There was something almost disappointing about it, and that feeling only got worse when he got close enough to see how old she looked; a kid shouldn't have to go through all that suffering.

He folded his arms as he stepped into the kitchen behind her. "I've never seen you before. You new?"

[senryakuka]

Like a wind blowing a dry leaf, the worry from earlier had dissipated as Morgan's hands resurrected from their lethargy, almost as if she'd...forgotten about it. It made sense; they were given purpose, now, as she noisily and ungracefully shoved gross proportions of rice, beans, and meats she couldn't readily define down her abyssal face hole.

It must have been a sight for him to see, as Morgan froze at the sound of another voice, for once now considering the possibility that this food was not hers to consume, but another's fruits of hard labor being sucked into the chasm of her appetite. The 19 year old must have looked like a right foolish child; not at all like the daughter of the legendary strategist or a fierce and brilliant young scion of the new future. With a ravenous look on her bright gold eyes open wide as saucepans she stared back at the stranger for a good five seconds before finally closing her mouth and swallowing.

"O-oh," she muttered as if an afterthought as she stood up straight and wiped her hands off on the athletic slacks she found herself in when she awoke. "Yeah, I..um, I guess so. This wouldn't happen to be your food, would it? I tested it. ...Every dish, so it's definitely safe to eat."

Her eyes flicked between the food and the man in the doorway behind her, and after a moment, began to suppress a small chuckle. Well, shoot. If I saw myself like this, I'd probably want to laugh, too. The result was a dumb little smile reflected on her surprisingly honest face, speckled with sauce from the chicken.

[foundafamily]

Her response wasn't quite what he expected, but he wouldn't have expected someone to go straight to raiding the kitchen, either. He had the feeling she was going to be just as interesting as the rest of their Districtmates.

He shook his head and laughed. "No. Lucky for you, 'cause I don't think anyone's gonna fall for that excuse."

"You're awfully..." What word to even use? Her reaction seemed completely bizarre for someone just waking up in this place. He hadn't had an appetite for quite a while. "...spirited. They don't feed you where you're from?"

He knew it happened, having gone through that himself, but didn't seem to care that his question might be taken as blunt or insensitive.

As if invited, he pulled out a chair at the table and plopped down across from her.

[senryakuka]

"Aw...really? I was sure I nailed it that time." Morgan giggled back, her obvious excuse batted away like a fly, taking a seat once more as she saw him move toward a seat of his own. "Ahah! Spirited! I get that one a lot...I also get 'a handful,' and 'kind of a big deal' a lot, too." She reached more demurely this time for a shish-kebab, and stuck it sharp-end first into her mouth, pulling off a few pieces with her teeth as she tugged the stick back out.

Blunt and insensitive was her style, after all. "Oh, no, I ate pretty well. We knew all the best places around Ylisse. Inigo took me to this one place where they served snow crab by the pound, once. And suddenly afterwards he went around saying he was broke? Weird. We had all this money, and then it was gone." She cocked her head as she took another bite.

"Isn't it...weird, like. How money goes away when you spend it on stuff?"

Her question was delivered to no one in particular as her focus remained on her food and, distantly, blithely, her fond memories of the things she may have lost for good. But she was a glass-is-quarter-filled sort of person. She'd come to treasure the memories she'd made, and the ones she'd recovered as well, beyond most things in the world, enough to have the mere fact that she'd remembered them save her from a crappy mood. And make her seem like a space cadet.

[foundafamily]

Space cadet. If Firo came from a time that had anything similar to that, he'd certainly agree. Already he was under the impression that this girl was plain bizarre; she jumped around topics like Isaac and Miria did.

The more she talked, the more he furrowed his brow and the more he felt lost.

"How it..?"

He shook his head, as if that would clear out the cobwebs. "That's kinda what it is, isn't it? Nobody's gonna do jack for free, so you've gotta hand it over. And then it's gone."

Or, well, in someone else's hands. But that was as good as gone, wasn't it?

[senryakuka]

"Yeah, but, like. Do you ever really just sit there and think about it. Wow. That money is gone. I don't have that money anymore. It's like when you say something really dumb but the sound's already gone and you can't stop someone from hearing it." She glanced down at her food with her same somewhat spacey smile on her face.

"Maybe it's because we're always spending so much stuff like time and breath and money that mom says money equates to happiness. It's, like, the one thing we can sort of replenish while we constantly lose the other two. The other two, no way."

He was friendly, laid back, straightforward. Not like Inigo, no-- more like Brady, probably. Heh. Brady was funny. This man was a lot less scary than Brady, though, so that much was to his credit.

Morgan offered the man a haunch of turkey across the table, brushing her hair from her face with her other hand. "I'm Morgan, by the way."

[foundafamily]

"Not really--" He was about to try and argue, but it seemed futile. And there was something about the speed with which her mouth moved that froze him--probably better just to wait for her to pause.

He took the offering with a grateful nod. "Firo Prochainezo. It's nice meetin' you, Morgan."

It was certainly interesting.

"Sounds like you know some weird people back home. The only guys I've ever heard say money was happiness weren't very happy guys."

Though certainly many other gangsters probably felt that way. To Firo, money didn't even compare to family.

[senryakuka]

"Oh, likewise, Firo. And we all know mom isn't totally right. She married dad, after all. Marrying someone isn't a sound investment most of the time, but she married him because apparently she realized there were a few things money couldn't do for her or make any easier for her." It was true, she did speak, and speak a whole lot, very quickly. Morgan would never contest that. Her flighty and ever curious and exploratory attitude left many people bewildered. She was used to it by now. Inigo managed to keep up, and that was his ticket into her heart.

"Most people don't believe in the things she says. Most people also aren't magical pan-dimensional filthy rich merchants, either. You aughtta take everything into account before you make a judgment call, after all." Though her voice was whimsical and carefree, her eyes met his with a certain edge, as if saying, I know you're not disclaiming my mother, right? She took another bite of her kebab.

[foundafamily]

He was getting lost once again, which didn't surprise him at all, though it was an unwelcome turn of events. He'd been feeling lost way too much lately and he didn't like the feeling. Especially not paired with that look; he's also sick of being threatened.

He took a bite of his turkey and chewed it slowly before responding.

"Hey, you think you can repeat everything you just said, but slower? And in less words? And explain the part about the magical pans or whatever?"

A really bad headache was coming on, he could feel it.

[senryakuka]

It wasn't truly a threat so much as a playful warning-- family was important to her, but not enough to bring her to arms over a simple gaffe. She shook her head and allowed him his bite of turkey leg with a small grin. "That was just the abridged version. Couldn't even handle that, Firo?"

She took another chunk off her kebab. "I get it. Don't need to tell me money isn't everything. That's the super abridged version. But what about you, huh? What's everything to you? Since we're on the subject."

[foundafamily]

Firo shook his head, "No, I don't think I could." He wasn't shy about his lack of brains. Or listening skills.

He raised an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. "That's a pretty serious question to ask somebody you barely know, isn't it?"

After the talks Phil had given him about putting on the proper show for the Capitol, Firo probably should have given the question more thought. But he didn't need to. He'd always known the answer and he wasn't going to pretend he was cowed enough to hold back. "Family. What's more important than that?"

[senryakuka]

"Mmm, is it too serious a question? I thought it was one of those things they ask you at interviews and stuff, like when you try to enlist in the Pegasus Knights, even. They do that here, right? Ask us a bunch of questions." Morgan's uncanny ability to shift gears in a conversation without a single pause haunted her father back when he was still alive. He could never tell when his daughter sought a serious answer, or was making idle talk. And that was a dangerous skill to have.

"...Boring. What a cop-out. No specific goals, or anything? Just serving the best interest of the big ol' kinship, huh." She leaned back and picked up another shish kebab, staring at the ceiling. "But I guess that makes sense. You wanna survive all of this so you can keep protecting them, huh?"

[foundafamily]

"Er, well, it depends..." There were some venues where it might happen sure--publicity interviews, maybe--but he had the feeling that if you were getting grilled too badly, you might be in trouble.

Now it was his turn to glare, with offense that was probably too genuine to make sense in idle conversation. "What? How the hell's that a cop-out?"

It's the only logical answer to him. They took in some grubby, feral street kid who'd try to rob one of their own and they gave him a family. How could he not always put their well-being and honor first?

"Yeah. I swore everything to them." In a way, they owned him, if that's how he wanted to think about it.

[senryakuka]

"Muh. I guess I understand that. Are any of them here in this place...? Wherever this is. Do you have any chance of going back to them?" The questions weren't rhetorical entirely; Morgan could use some of these answers herself, though she wasn't about to start banging on the walls in desperation, preferring to see this as more of a positive captivity than an imprisonment or entrapment of sorts. She did something wrong, or got caught off guard, and this was her paying the price; the way she saw it.

And this was better than any price she would have had to pay if she were captured by, say, the Grimleal. "I'm saying that answer is too easy. The typical fallback. I love my family, too, but when my options for seeing them or hearing from them again are slim to none from where I'm standing...well, I figure I need to have a goal that doesn't depend on anyone else. You know what I mean?"

[foundafamily]

The last question was one he didn't know but was afraid to get an answer to. He shook his head at the first and shrugged at the last.

"Trust me, my Family ain't typical." And he had to grit his teeth at them being considered a fallback. Even if she didn't mean it as a personal slight, well, gangsters took everything personally. "I can't turn my back on 'em just because they're not here."

But for someone not in his situation--and someone who he still thought was a kid, at that--he wouldn't stubbornly withhold any advice. He took another bite, then answered after chewing it over. "You could aim for survival. Gettin' outta here alive."

"Look, it's gonna be hell, but you should do your best the next Arena. The sooner you win, the sooner you don't hafta go back in."

He had no intention of participating, but that didn't mean he didn't want to see others released.

[senryakuka]

It took her a bit, but after a moment, it clicked. "Oh...Oh! You mean it's that kind of family! You're a gangster? " Cartels of the kind were not unheard of in Ylisse; bandits and ruffians ans thieves worked on an honor system of their own. Part of what made them so difficult to deal with back then. Organized, cryptic, and intimidating in their modus operandi. She has killed people like him at some time or another.

Her thoughts and expressions were often vocalized; raw feed straight from her brain to her tongue with disregard for social acceptability from time to time. Blunt and excitable at once, she found herself eating once more, looking at him with interest.

"How roguishly charming, Firo." A dumb little smile found purchase on the girl's face after swallowing, a toothy little smile with a glitter in her eyes that whispered mischief. "Survival is okay, but. I was thinking more along the lines of...well, I don't know. Testing yourself. Proving you've got the balls and brains to kick ass...you know. That sort of thing? The thought of getting stronger really gets me going." Her eyes turned upwards as if looking up at the heavens where her father might be looking down, across all these dimensions. She would do that legacy justice. Probably.

"But, uh. What if I do die? I mean...we do fight to the death. Isn't that a bad thing. Doesn't only one person survive."

[foundafamily]

The thought that she's killed people like him, or detests people like him, or wants to see him thrown alive into a volcano would be what he expects her to vocalize after she figures out the Family thing. He knows what he does is wrong, but he still does it every day with a smile on his face. He feels entitled to like his job and people are entitled to hate him for it.

He didn't expect her to make the comment she did and so he just stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out if he was being mocked. He decided it was probably too much trouble to try and figure that out, so he let the rest of her comment slide and just nodded to confirm that she was right.

The Martillos were both the typical crime Family and a genuine family to him, but he didn't need to go into that distinction now.

He smiled bitterly. "Lucky for you, they've got this great technology that brings us all back to life afterward. So you get to keep goin' in for another round."

"Seems kinda like slow torture to me, but if you wanna keep gettin' stronger and learnin' more each time, it might work for that."

[senryakuka]

"Oh, man...that's so cool! How do they do that? Sounds like dark sorcery to me, but, like, everything I see around here looks like dark sorcery, so I'd take my opinion with a grain of salt, heh." Morgan could entertain herself, likely enough, with a conversation with herself. But it was so much better with someone else listening.

The worry about mocking could be dismissed with a wave of her hand as she made no more mention of the mafia work for now; these were questions for another time when it became relevant. "So you lost before, then? What was it like? Dying? You know not many people live to talk about it, so it's kind of a new thing for me."

[foundafamily]

"Yeah, I'd imagine." Were he not so used to dying, he might have viewed the question as out of line. But he'd died more than once even before the Arena, so he answered her question with the hint of a knowing smirk. It wasn't his death that troubled him when he could remember dying in more ways than he could count.

"Takes 'em a few days to bring you back, but when they do, there's not a hint anything happened to you." Except for the memories, of course.

"You'll be just like you were before you went in. The dyin' itself..." He shrugged. "...how that is depends on who's doin' it. They make sure there's a lotta ways to go in the Arena."

Firo's death in the Arena had been one of the faster ones he'd had in his life. That didn't mean he was grateful to his killer, though.

[aintyourdad]

The first thing Joel notices about the young woman is the gusto with which she's eating. What that tells him is that she's possibly from a place where she didn't get much - which means she might be overcompensating.

He leans easily against the counter, scratching a little at his bearded chin, and mutters in his usual Texas drawl, "Might wanna take it easy for a bit."

[senryakuka]

The first thing Morgan noticed about the older man was the gruff but somewhat relaxing tone with which he spoke. A unique accent, one that sounded vaguely Plegian, but much too distinct to say for sure. Whatever it was, it sounded nice to her ears, as the pace of her eating considerably slowed in response. The earlier stress melted away due to the quality and volume of the food, to the point where her distraction consumed her attention.

"Hic-- you're right, mister, but, hic," she responded with just a bit of rice in her cheek, before swallowing against the hiccups she'd developed shoving food down her throat faster than she could breathe. "I can't even re-hic-member the last time I ate anything this good." She reached for another leg of turkey with her bare hand, and took a hearty chomp out of it. "I can't remember wh-hic-o my mom is half the time, too, though, so I guess that's not saying much."

[aintyourdad]

Joel sort of had that effect on people - especially young people - when he put on that tone of voice. The Dad voice, frankly. The "I know what's best for you" voice of authority and long experience.

"Yeah, but you keep eatin' that much, that fast, and you'll just get sick," he pointed out. "Not worth it if you can't even keep it down."

[senryakuka]

Her hands finally stopped offering her mouth more food, and she acknowledged the piece of wisdom dutifully. This man commanded a certain aura she'd only felt at times around her own father, and hanging around Khan Basilio later on in the war. The stern and calm chastisement and advice from someone with at least twenty, if not more, years on her, made a quick impression. Not one particularly to rebel against authority, Morgan was cognizant of the importance of social order, especially seniority. And he didn't seem like a douche, either. That definitely helped.

"Alright, grandpa. Hic." Morgan glanced around for a second, and reached over to grab a glass of water, shifting her neck-length crimson hair about her cheek with her other hand, making sure it didn't dip into the food as she leaned over. "I left some for you, too."

[aintyourdad]

Well, at least she wasn't mouthy.

"I'm nobody's grandpa," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Name's Joel. Guess you're new here."

[senryakuka]

"Morgan, pops. Does that work? Hum...I have to think of more nicknames for gruff old men who remind me of my dad." She tipped her head backwards as she grabbed hold of a glass of water and tipped it similarly back onto her lips to take a long sip.

[aintyourdad]

Nevermind, she is mouthy. "Great," he mutters, shaking his head and going for the coffee maker. He makes coffee at all times of the day and night, frankly. It's one of the more common sights in the D8 suit: Joel making coffee.

[senryakuka]

She was mouthy in her own, special way, really. Obedient, but cheeky. Generally a good kid, but constantly scheming, waiting for an opportunity, an opening. And always watching. She giggled the slightest bit as he muttered and turned away to procure some sort of drink, and her head cocked curiously. "...You're not much of a talker, are you, Mr. Joel?"

[aintyourdad]

Really, though, he was used to cheeky. It reminded him almost painfully of Ellie, to be honest. Which just meant he had to repress harder.

"Not much of one, you might be better off findin' someone closer to your own age if you wanna chat about nothin'," he said bluntly. "You got questions about this place, I can try to answer though. I've been here a while."

[senryakuka]

Morgan took another chicken wing. "Right. All business then, huh. Okay, Mr. Joel." she took a bite, and turned to lean forward in her seat toward him. Blissfully unaware of his own inner thoughts, she carried on about pestering him, but she wasn't aiming to make enemies.

"Am I a prisoner?" Equally blunt, only with a smile on her face rather than a perpetual grimace.

[aintyourdad]

He shrugged. "You can go wherever you want in the city, for the most part." Of course, that didn't mean they weren't all trapped here in other ways.

[senryakuka]

"So...that's a yes. It's just a really big, comfy version of a prison." Morgan leaned on the table and sipped her water as he sipped his own strange smelling bean-tea. In that crimson head gears were turning unseen. Her smile melted to a flat and pensive expression, and she looked down at her water for a few moments. "You've been here for a while, right? Does that mean you won a bunch of times? Or is it...something else."

[aintyourdad]

Joel just shrugged again. She said it, not him. On her own head be it if she got in trouble for it.

"No, it means I've never won," he said. "You win, you don't have to go into the arenas anymore."

[senryakuka]

"So...do you not actually fight to the death, then?" The issue raised quickly piqued her interest. She wasn't told that at her odd debriefing session, much less anything about where she was or what district 8 even meant. "I mean, I was told I'm supposed to kill everyone in the arena. "

[aintyourdad]

"Oh, you definitely die," Joel said darkly. "You die, and then they bring you back. Over and over again, in all the horrible ways you've ever imagined and probably a few you never have. They want us to kill each other - whether you wanna give them what they want, I guess is up to you. You can get some perks for it."

[cigne]

"Hiiiiiii!"

The voice is high and sing-song and birdlike, coming out of a tiny platinum-blonde in a rounded, puffed out skirt with a pair of kissing bunnies embroidered on the hem, a white blouse with ruffles, a cropped jacket of soft ivory fur. There's a big bow atop her head, and her high heels click on the kitchen floor as she comes to the table. She sets a big basket down in front of Morgan, filled with gifts and sweets and food.

"Hi hi hi, sorry I'm late! I was finishing up your welcome basket, and I just lost track of time!" She holds out one hand for a handshake -- there are pearl bracelets on her wrists and tiny pink sapphires adhered to her nails in a polka dot pattern. "I'm Swann, I'm the Escort for District Eight! We're so glad to have you, Morgan."

[senryakuka]

Is that Severa? was Morgan's first response as her sauce-stained face turned to look at the honestly too-bright-skinned woman who'd just entered the room. No-- no, Severa's entrance wouldn't be that...florid. Suddenly, all that appetite was gone, when, for a moment, she realized she must look like an absolute mess, and Severa would throw a hissy fit about how much of a disgrace to femininity she was. Her hands were covered in barbecue basting and with splotches of juices on her training slacks and shirt, her hair probably had tangles that put a briarwood thicket to shame, and she must have looked like some sort of gremlin hunched over the food so intently.

She gulped, and pushed away from the table with a weak grin. Her head bowed in respect. "Thanks, Miss Swann, ma'am. I have no idea what I'm doing here," she answered with as much graciousness as she could muster.

[cigne]

Morgan is a little... filthy, Swann notes, and that's something they'll have to work on, because she already has the baseline of a persona formulated, and it does not involve this girl being covered in food. Pulling her tiny hand back, Swann pushes the welcome basket toward Morgan. It's highly decorated and mostly pink and purple and white, and there seems to be a lot of glitter, but it also looks professionally done, although since she doesn't know very much about the girl, it's filled with generic gifts -- boxes of expensive candy, jewelry, makeup, a bottle of champagne, and a stuffed bear.

"I wish they explained these things better to you guys before you get up here," Swann sighs, taking a seat across from Morgan. "Okay! So, welcome to Panem. You're in the Capitol, and this building is called the Tribute Tower or Tribute Center. We represent District Eight -- there are twelve Districts in Panem, and the Tributes, you guys, are really working for them! The next time we have an Arena, you and all the other Tributes go in and fight, and the last one left alive, they're the Victor, and their District gets extra food and supplies and stuff, so it's really good, we're helping them! That's called the Hunger Games. In exchange for being our Tributes and guests, the Capitol provides everything you want, and you'll be a celebrity! I'm kind of like your manager, and you'll meet Jolie, the Stylist, a little later."

She's smiling, but then thinks about what she said for a moment. "Oh, but don't worry, you don't die permanently! You'll come back, you just sort of wake up like it was a nap. Also, um, to preemptively answer some of your questions: no, I didn't bring you here. No, I can't send you back. No, I can't keep you out of the Games. And yes, I'm sorry you didn't get a better warning."

[senryakuka]

Well, that certainly cleared the situation up a whole lot. All she was told is that she'd be sent into an arena to kill people for sport representing a district. No idea who these people were, for whom she was fighting, or even enjoy whether she really would die. The woman's explanation relieved many of Morgan's stresses however, and that was enough to get a smile from her, and even a polite wipe of her hands and face with a supplied napkin.

Her welcome basket was filled with all sorts of expensive trinkets and candies and chocolates-- things she certainly did enjoy on the fly, though normally she'd ask Inigo for the lot of it just to see his face pale, but watch him go off and do it anyway. Not that she ever let them fall in the negative; her natural skills at heckling and salesmanship and some intimidation as well earned the pair plenty of extra spending in their arguably nomadic lifestyle.

"You know what, Miss Swann, I had my doubts before, but maybe this won't even be that bad!" Her voice once more matched the other woman's cheer and energy. "It sort of is like a game after all, then, isn't it. Except it probably hurts more than most sports...anyway, though, I do have a few questions-- oh wow, this bear is so cute." Morgan picked up the stuffed toy with newly cleaned hands and turned it over and over, feeling the soft fabric as she continued.

"I had a really important couple things with me last time I remembered, but. Now I don't have them anymore. Most of the stuff is whatever, but I'd really love to have stuff like my engagement ring and my journal back...you know, at least that much?" It was then that she noted the slight lump in her pocket as she was sitting down, hunger and curiosity sated by large degrees. Without breaking attention her fingers fondled the item through the fabric of the foreign pants, and instantly identified it. Something of hers she still had-- a black queen chess piece her father had given her during the war.

The tension in her body wicked away at this realization,one fond memory drowning out a million problems. For a moment she was indeed distracted, likely while this surprisingly knowledgeable woman explained more.

[cigne]

Swann is beyond relieved to have a Tribute who isn't angry at her, who even seems to find so enthusiasm for the Games. It makes her beam, and she listens intently before answering.

"Well, usually they take away everything except your token, but I can talk to Jennifer for you. Oh, Jennifer Blackwood, she's the Tribute Comfort and Care Administrator. You can always go to her directly, as well, if you have any problems. But if anyone can get your things back, it's her. I don't see why you couldn't have your ring back, at least."

[senryakuka]

The littlest comforts could turn Morgan's mood in an instant. Delighted to have a piece of candy in the middle of a snowstorm, or to be given an egg in trying times. Oddly positive, and so too did this woman seem to her. And she found that agreeable, in some ways. She carefully took another piece of food, albeit more daintily.

"Ah! So they just took my stuff to make sure I didn't hurt anyone if I woke up like a crazed madwoman. Can't blame them for being prepared. So all I have to do is just talk to Miss Blackwood and I could get my ring and book back, huh? Easy enough!" She munched happily on a fried chicken strip, dipping it in all kinds of sauces before giving it a go.

"They left me a thing, though. I thought I'd lost it. Is this, um. Is this supposed to be that token you're telling me about?" She put down her food for a moment, wiped her hands on a napkin, and produced the chess piece from her pocket, before looking up at her.

[cigne]

"Oh!" Swann examines the chess piece, then nods. "That's your token all right! It's the one personal item you can take into the Arena with you -- everything else is totally fair between all the Tributes. You wear the same things, start in the same place, and have the same options at the start. Either run for the Cornucopia and maybe get some supplies, or else run the other way. But no matter what, run."

This is advice. She looks serious right now. But the bubbly aura comes back easily enough.

"Anyway, yes, you need to talk to Jennifer. I won't promise she can get them, but she has the best shot at it."

[whatisay]

"I take it Swann hasn't put you on a diet."

Jason's in the District Eight Suite again, waiting by the counter with a cup of coffee and his eternal vapor cigarette while Swann finishes up some Escorting business before they go out. Every once in a while he's checking the clock on his phone, wrinkling his brow at how their lunch hour is ticking away even while he and Swann never give religious adherence to it.

Even though Jason's the Escort for District Seven, and something of a stranger here, he acts as if he's authorized to be here by some heavenly hand. There are fewer locked doors than there are red carpets for a Capitolite, even one with a tarnished family name. He finds a spoon and he stirs some flavorful spice into his coffee, one that he's plucked from a rack intended for Tribute care and comfort. He's in a nice suit, one that isn't tailored yet and thus doesn't quite fit perfectly, but exudes wealth.

"She's glad to finally have a girl. Don't eat too much, she's going to want to dress you up in things that'll look cute. No one likes a pudgy Tribute and the costs are getting them lipo are highway robbery, I say."

To tell the truth, Jason's glad that Morgan's a girl too, not because he's a jealous lover who thinks Swann would stray for male Tributes - he might as well be jealous over male dogs, in his mind - but because he imagines a few female Tributes might be less keen to get up in Swann's face and threaten her. A certain amount of threat feeds into Jason's persecution complex and sates his desire for victimization, but too much and he just feels impotent and powerless.

Morgan, with her face stuffed with food, doesn't seem to be too much of a threat yet. Jason looks at the way she has food smeared across her hands and chin and raises his eyebrows, wrinkles his nose.

"Does everyone eat like a pig where you're from?"

[senryakuka]

Unbidden, the man's voice simply began talking, and the pace at which Morgan ate slowed, but not enough to stop. No, she was hungry, as often she was when she woke up robbed from her own dimension. It felt like she hadn't eaten in days, and she wasn't about to let some apparently snooty dude mock her for serving herself. However, as was Morgan's manner, challenges and resistance were met with enthusiasm. She gained something of a thrill from getting into trouble and working her way out of it. And with this one, the cheekiness was bidden openly.

"Does everyone look like a pig where you're from?" She began, setting down her fork and wiping her hand and mouth with a napkin from the table. Though she looked small and rather nonthreatening, her life was dually spent as a student and a soldier; trained in many aspects, though she had much to learn. Such as table manners, which were never an issue save with Maribelle, at the barracks. Father ate just as sloppily, as did Stahl, whom she'd come to appreciate as her uncle with whom she'd pass the time. Even so, with a startling metabolism and an attitude that itself seemed to use all that energy, Morgan wasn't all too worried about the amount and richness of the food she consujed, though there was, of course, a limit to everything, such as the space in her stomach.

Even now she felt pretty full as she took a sip from her glass of water, and looked now squarely at the man with her blithe smile on. "Cute, huh? I like cute. I can probably do cute. But, uh." Sip. Her golden eyes flickered between his drink and his face, trying to glean some sort of understanding from the situation. "You seem to know a lot, big guy. About all this. Who are you supposed to be?"

[whatisay]

It's not that Jason's temper's gotten any better or his insecurities less demanding; it's just that he's flipped his lid at enough Tributes lately that he knows going off the handle at yet another one, especially one of Swann's, isn't going to cow them as it should and is only to to hurt his reputation, which came into this damn job tattered and bruised from his family's mishaps. And so he doesn't snap at her when she gets cheeky at him, although the way his brow sets and the way his lips tighten show that he doesn't think her comment cute at all.

Nothing about her strikes him as cute. He takes a seat with his spiced coffee, measuring her up behind the counter, taking a seat behind marble countertops that they switch out every few months when the color of the season changes.

"I'm the Escort for District Seven. Your downstairs neighbors. I'm an acquaintance of your Escort, whom I hope you've met already."

[senryakuka]

Swing and a miss. Morgan's amusement, however, didn't skip a beat. For whatever reason, the sight of frustration and pain tickled her fancy in ways some might find rather worrying, but which she seemed unconscious of. Or maybe it was very conscious. It was never very easy to differentiate. Still, getting that barely restrained look of "boy I really want to chew you out right now but I can't" was more than enough for her.

"I've hardly met anyone with a name yet, Jason. Today is my lucky day, huh. A mountain of good food and a friendly stranger." She sipped from her water and took in the curious smell of his spiced bean tea, finding it incredibly agreeable. The downsides of the situation faded into the background, though she still felt it a trap by all means. Something was amiss, and her happy face masked the inquisitory and restless soul behind it.

"And what exactly is an escort, again?"

[whatisay]

Jason chuffs a sound from his nose, one of grudging acceptance at her spritely comments. It's hardly the first time someone's responded to his cynical, sulking and outright nasty personality with a sarcastic what a charming man or aren't you just a ray of sunshine?. He's become inured.

"I have half a mind to start printing a guidebook for you offworlders, except that I have my doubts that some of you can read. And even if you can, I have my doubts that most of you are capable of understanding even the most straightforward instructions." He pauses for a moment, then clarifies. "Your fellow Tributes are idiots, is what I mean."

He puffs at his coffee then takes a sip. "We Escorts are not, contrary to popular belief, the ones that brought you here. We're just here to try and help you survive in the Arena. Your Escort is Swann Honeymead, Ms. Honeymead to you, and you're damn lucky for that, because unlike some of our coworkers she tries her best and doesn't try to fuck the Tributes."

[reallynow]

It's been a rough week for District Eight's Stylist, having lost a considerable amount of Tributes but still needing to dress the remainders for upcoming events. It makes sleep something more of a luxury than a necessity, but the drag queen naps when she can. Her workroom has ample room for doing so, but it means that she sleeps through the memo about a new Tribute.

As such, she's surprised when she slips out of her room to find a stranger stuffing their face in the kitchen. More importantly, it's a girl stuffing their face in the kitchen. District Eight has been something of a sausage-fest for god knows how long, so Jolie barely allows herself to believe that she might be making gowns and skirts and dresses in the near future.

There's a barely restrained excitement in her movements as she makes her way toward Morgan, her fists balled in front of her as she steps closer. She leans in, all glitter and heavy make up under a long, curly wig with her lips a very vivid red to top it all off. "Well hello there." She says smiling and arching a brow at her. "Someone's hungry. Hungry aaaaaand new, maybe?" Don't dash her hopes.

[senryakuka]

Morgan blinked, a chicken wing still in her mouth as her head turned, noting the presence of another with her in the dining room of this lavish place. It still mystified her, though with an increasingly full stomach, it was more of a positive curiosity than the shock one would normally expect from a kidnapee. Her eyes widened at the look of this gaudy woman, and she began to smile. She was tall and pretty, dressed like a lady of court with maybe more skin showing than usual. A small "whoa" escaped her mouth as she looked on, fascinated and excited. This woman was smiling, and that was a welcome sight in a place where everyone she'd seen acted like there was some sort of broomstick stuck so far up their ass it extended to their throat and kept their backs straight.

"Uh-huh," she said with a cheery nod as she gulped down the meat and pulled out the bones of the chicken wing. "Haha. What gave it away?"

[reallynow]

Admittedly, Jolie can't help crinkling her nose a little at that chicken wing, but the nagging can come later. Her excitement makes etiquette pale in comparison. She has gaudiness to share with the world, after all.

"Well, I work here." She spreads a hand around to gesture vaguely around the suite. "I know everyone who lives here and I don't know you, so that gave that one away. The hungry thing? Dunno, a hunch, I guess." She gives her shoulders a lazy shrug, pulling out a chair to sit alongside Morgan. "I'm your Stylist, Très Jolie. People also call me Trey because I'm also a man, but Jolie works the best. How are you, by the way?"