(no subject)

[conifer]

Who| Emily and YOU
What| A day in the life of a Mentor
Where| Around the Training Centre
When| Sometime after Cyrus' post
Warnings/Notes| No warnings inherent. Prose or brackets both welcome!


a) District Seven suites
The Arena's not even started yet, but Emily's doing all she can to promote her Tributes. This morning she's occupying the table in the common area of District Seven's floor of the Training Centre, pictures of her Tributes in front of her, holding up different colour swatches next to the faces in the photographs, her brow furled and her lips pursed into a tight frown as she tries to figure out what colours suit them best. Between her memories of how Stig had dressed her for her own opening ceremonies and Jason's reminiscence of him dressing the Tributes as marijuana leaves one year, she's decided to go over his head and figure out a little about the costuming for herself. It's not going well. After a while she just sits there with her elbow on the table and head propped up in her hands, eating her way through a large bowl of brightly coloured boiled sweets that an Avox has brought out for her (one of the many things she wished she could have had in the Districts as a child and was making up for now), looking thoroughly defeated. Later, she's moving sponsor logos around the pictures instead, figuring out who'd be the best pick to represent different brands she might be able to get a deal with.

b) Training Area
She goes from station to station, offering advice freely to her own Tributes - especially on trapping, hunting, identifying herbs and poisons: things that were second nature to her growing up in the forests of Seven. When she sees a Tribute belonging to another District struggling with the same activities she tries to guide them as best she can without giving away that she's doing so: Cyrus' announcement had scared her enough to make her stop openly helping, but she can't help herself. She feels like she owes it to the other Districts to give everyone as fair a chance at winning as possible, to give back the best chance of another person that she'd so brutally and underhandedly taken away.

c) Still in the Training Area
There's a loud clatter of steel, a yell from one of the Tributes training, and the loud noise makes her visibly jolt. Her eyes turn wild and distant, and she gazes about as though she's not actually seeing the room around her at all. For a moment she's not a Mentor at all, just a frightened girl back in the Arena, and she knows deep down that she'll never escape from there even though everyone tells her she's won.

d) The rooftop
Posted under the door to the floors of all the districts is a note with four words written on it: Come to the roof. Anyone who does so will find Emily sat cross legged at the edge of a blanket laden with food, beckoning them to come and sit with her, to take some time out and just enjoy the picnic.

Comments

c

[shieldofrohan]

She knows that look. She's seen it too much since the war, not least in herself. And so, when she sees the young woman start, sees the vacant, desperate way she stares, Éowyn leaves her place at the plant identification station and crosses the distance between them in a few long strides, clasping her hands behind her back.

"They'll be bruised, no more," she says, and her voice is softer than usual, although there's still that steel behind it. She could say more - reassurance, gentleness - but she doesn't know the woman, and the last thing she wants is to make her feel stupid. "Aught else is in another time, and a place far from here."

[conifer]

The soft, firm voice helps to ground her, and Emily closes her eyes and breathes in deeply a few times, imagining herself wandering through the forests of her District, following the sun through the gaps between the trees, rather than stuck here in the Capitol's gilded cage, training Tributes to go through the same horrors she faced.

"It's not all that far from here," she admits, glancing around at the equipment and the Tributes training.

[shieldofrohan]

"It is far enough," Éowyn says, shaking her head. "Here, no-one will die, nor suffer. In the future, they will, but the future is not here, and not now." She shifts a little, trying to meet the other woman's eyes, to draw her focus. "We cannot live in the future. No more can we linger in the past. In this place, in this moment, you are safe, and so are they... and nightmares, even waking nightmares, are only dreams."

She smiles, a little bitterly, but not without sympathy. "You may trust me, for I have known many such dreams."

[conifer]

She can't quite manage a smile in response, though she's grateful for the other woman's kindness. It makes a nice change from the impatience she receives from her closest colleague. "Then I'm truly sorry you have to go into a place where you'll be sure to have many more of the same dreams when you come out again." For she was sure the Arena would change everyone as it had changed her.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn shakes her head again, brisk and matter-of-fact. "I will not dread what dreams may come. I have spent too long in such dread." Besides, if she looks too far to the future - to the stretching out of her captivity, to nothing but entrapment in this cage of audiences and battle - she is sure in her heart that she will go mad. "And so, I think, have you. Come, you are a native to this land, are you not? Will you help me with my studies? Fain would I have a little aid from one who knows the plants of this place."

It's a transparent attempt at distraction, and she is not ashamed of that for a moment. Distraction, she suspects, is just what this woman needs.

d

[knittingbackwards]

The note under the door is a surprise to Merlyn, but not an unpleasant one. He's more than willing to take up the anonymous writer on their invitation. After all, given the deplorable state of the Capitol's libraries, it's not as if he has anything better to do. So, on receiving the note, he harrumphs a few times, gives it due consideration, then gathers up the yarn and knitting needles he's managed to procure and sets off to the roof.

"I take it this is what I am supposed to come here for?" he remarks, seeing her beckon him, and arches an eyebrow at the laden picnic blanket. "Quite a spread, I must say. But I do hope you have a chair. I'm not entirely sure my knees can handle sitting that way." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, and, despite what he just said, carefully lowers himself down onto the blanket, taking out his knitting. "The curses of old age," he remarks when he's settled, "are manifold, and far more terrible than young people give them credit for. I don't believe we've met?"

[conifer]

She's about to pick up everything and move over to a bench when he seats himself on the picnic blanket. Emily watches as he slowly lowers himself down, feeling incredibly embarrassed that she hadn't considered this as a possibilty. The man is unfamiliar to her, she can't recall seeing him in the footage from the last Arena, so she takes him to be a new arrival, and she finds herself even more disgusted with the Capitol for drafting in the aged to fight than she is children.

"It's a better curse than some I can think of." Like being born simply to die so young as cannon fodder in an Arena as punishment for something that happened generations ago. "My name's Emily, I'm the Mentor for District Seven."

[knittingbackwards]

"Ah. You say that now, but I wonder whether you would change your tune after a few centuries in a cave." His tone is rather gentle, though, and he smiles as he casts on a few more stitches. "One can say a great deal for solitude and rest cures, if one wishes, but there's no denying that the damp crawled its way right into my joints. Ah, well. It can't be helped, I suppose." Taking both knitting needles in one bony, age-spotted hand, he proffers the other to her to shake. "I've had a few names in my time, but these days I mostly go by Merlyn. I'm led to understand that, by whatever arcane ritual they placed us (for all my magics and all my wisdom quail in the face of doddering bureaucracy), I have been attached to District Two. Whatever that means."

He shakes his head, reaching for a pastry. "Well, in any case, pleasure to meet you, Emily. And I must say, delightful to come across some staff with a modicum of professional courtesy."

[conifer]

"A little time away in a cave sounds pretty good, actually," she admits. There wasn't much she wouldn't do to get back to the relative solitude of the forests of Seven rather than being stuck in the busy, artificial, facile Capitol. She hesitates at his remark, looking at him apologetically. "Don't tell me you've met Jason Compson."

d

[lex_paciferat]

There's something about the roof that attracts a lot of the Center residents. On most occasions he supposes it's the relative solitude--relative, of course, because it's populated with as many electronic eyes as any comparable space in the building. Between the breeze and the view of the city, it must be a nice spot to get away from face-to-face contact for a while, an appropriate place to brood.

Emily's picnic is probably the most cheery use of the roof he's seen. He's not sure what inspired it, though if her posted notes are any indication she's looking for some company. And hey, he thinks on his lunch break, who is he to pass up free food? It's not as though it's a bribe.

"What's all this about?" he asks in mock disapproval as he strolls up, smiling at her.

[conifer]

She hears him before she sees him, freezing in a momentary panic as she wonders whether she's violated some rule or other, then sighs in relief, smiling shyly and pushing a plate of sandwiches toward him.

"It just seemed like too nice a day to pass up something like this."

[lex_paciferat]

He seats himself on the blanket, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite out of it. "Did you make these?"

[conifer]

"Me? Oh, no. I don't have the free time to make all of this and take a picnic." She looks a little embarrassed at admitting it.

C

[yoknapatawpha]

Nearly every weapon in the Training Center is too heavy or unwieldy for Bayard to use. Back in the day, there were weapons made for every sort of hand, including the very small and weak. Bayard's a respectable size for a twelve year-old boy of his age, with strong hands and shoulders from laboring outdoors, but many of the swords and bows are made for grown men and women now, and well-built ones at that.

He drops the spear he's been trying to pick up, and the head of it clatters hard against the floor. His face sets into a firm grimness, not discouraged but all the more stubborn for the difficulty. He exhales deep through his nose and looks up to see he's scared a lady.

"Pardon, Miss..." His young face crinkles a bit with concern when he sees that she's got the sort of shell-shocked expression he's seen on a very few men, the troops returning home to Jefferson. It's that unspoken face they don't talk about, that his father says is for Bayard to understand when he's older. Bayard sets the spear back down on the table (it clacks again) and walks over to her. "I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to startle you."

[conifer]

For a moment she's lost to her own panic, no longer in the training centre but the scorching desert of her Arena, and she finds it difficult to focus on Bayard until he's right there next to her. She blinks a couple of times, straining to concentrate on him, on the words he's saying to her, but as she takes a few deep breaths and feels the solid ground under her feet, she manages a thin smile toward him, which she hopes looks reassuring.

"Don't worry about it. You'd think that by now I'm used to the noise in this place."

[yoknapatawpha]

"Is it the noise that troubled you?"

Bayard's eyes are wide and kind, not satisfied to just leave a problem he caused be. Maybe if he were younger he would, but he holds pride in being an upright sort of man (or a man-to-be) who atones for his mistakes. Especially when it's a woman to suffer the consequences of his carelessness.

"It's alright. I can bring you some water if that would settle your nerves some."

[conifer]

"It was just a little sudden, that's all." She leans back against the wall, looking down at him and blanching as she realises just how young he is. Certainly no older than Calder. To see such young eyes looking up at her with such innocent concern was nostalgic, and disturbing. "If you wouldn't mind, water would help a lot."

D

[a_minute_younger]

The mysterious note slipped under the door of District 11's suites isn't exactly on the level of the grand party invitations of the Capitolite Sponsors, but it is suitably mysterious to catch Gary's attention and send his imagination running. The rooftop, as Thorongil--er, Aragorn--had told him, was a place where the Peacekeepers couldn't hear them as well. So if someone is asking everyone to meet up on the roof, then it's Gary's assumption that they're going to talk about something important. Exciting. Damn, could he do with hearing something exciting right now! The opportunity is too great to resist.

Gary appears as soon as he has some decent clothes on, looking enthusiastic as he jogs out of the elevator and eagerly scans the rooftop. No big gathering, not yet...unless he's just come early, which is possible. He's willing to overlook this and remains hopeful, right up until he finds Emily and the picnic.

Oh.

Well, it's hardly a Rebellion rally, but it's still food and company! Gary's confused expression breaks back into an open-mouthed grin as he strolls over, hands casually tucked in his pockets, just as suave as a kind of embarrassingly hyperactive teenager is capable of. He stops at the edge of the blanket.

"I heard you were looking for some company," says Gary, idly rocking on his heels. He is going to play this so smooth, he's determined. "I'm not too late for the big party, am I?"

[conifer]

Emily returns his smile, moving the plates and dishes around so that there's room for him to seat himself on the blanket if he chooses. There's far too much food laid out, which implies that she was expecting a far bigger turn out, but if anything Emily's relieved that she doesn't have to play host to a lot of people - she wasn't good at being the centre of attention like that.

"Right on time, actually. And it's not all that much of a party, but you're more than welcome. Please, help yourself to the food."

[a_minute_younger]

Gary doesn't read too far into the situation; all he sees is that there's an awful lot of food and he's been invited to partake in it. With a delighted, open-mouthed smile, Gary drops onto the blanket and snags a plate.

"Don't mind if I do," he chirps, loading up on as many finger foods as possible. "So who's my mysterious host? Or am I not supposed to know?"

[conifer]

"It's courtesy of the District Seven staff." Even though Jason was completely unaware it was taking place. Emily wanted to make a good impression on the rest of the training centre to counterbalance the damage Jason had done, that she was constantly having to clean up after. "I'm Emily, their Mentor."

D! Hope this isn't too late?

[capitolprivilege]

"I didn't know the note was from you," he says, stepping out onto the roof. She might not recognize him immediately; over the past month, Stephen Reagan's clothes had been getting more and more eccentric, and it had been very normal to see him wearing some truly ridiculous things, but now, what he's wearing is practically subdued. It's a suit with only a hint of glimmer to it at the neck and the collar, and there is, thankfully, nothing experimental about it whatsoever.

"Do you say that to all the Districts?" he teases as he makes his way over.

Never too late!

[conifer]

It is indeed a surprise to see him dressed somewhat less flamboyantly, and with the brightness and eccentricity of Capitol fashion, it's quite refreshing for Emily to see. "I wasn't sure if people would turn up if I put my name on the note," she admits. "District Seven aren't the most popular staff these days."

[capitolprivilege]

"Please," Stephen says, waving his hand dismissively. "Everyone knows it's Jason making an ass of himself personally and that you have nothing to do with it." Are they going to bitch about Jason? Because he's always down to bitch about Jason. He takes a seat across from her, settling cross-legged on the blanket. "You've handled it all very gracefully." The compliment is sincere.

The thing that's not being mentioned, of course, is just how un-gracefully Stephen himself was behaving up until the unveiling of Cyrus Reagan's new laws. He's less a mess now, but it was a very public mess.

[conifer]

"Believe me, it's taken a lot of patience. He has a very punchable face." It always feels liberating to admit it, though she feels a little guilty too, some part of her admiring Jason's attitude despite how volatile and destructive it is. She wishes she could care so little too, it would make life a lot easier for her.