thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I agree. That's part of why I got interested in electronic surveillance and all that. Having these--" He turns to the side, waving at a camera too small to see from where they're seated. "--makes it so we can catch things further up the line. Notice problems and do something before people get to the point of fighting. If there's one thing I hate, it's nasty surprises."

It doesn't escape her notice that he's deftly avoided giving an opinion on the political change that was implicit in Emily's statement, and she's a little disappointed, even if she's not surprised. A Peacekeeper through and through, then, rather than a citizen of the Districts foremost. But then, sometimes she feels the same of herself as a Victor, and she can't really blame him at all.

"How much do they see? Not that I'm planning a riot or anything," she adds hastily. "I just always wondered whether there really was someone paid to watch me sleep all night. They must have a pretty boring job." And an easy one, for the most part. Emily would gladly trade.

"A lot of the system is automated." Recalling how little she knows about the technology, he continues, "As far as most of the building's concerned, it's set up to just alert us when something needs our attention. I've got some cameras that won't record at certain hours unless they detect motion, some that ping the guys when they spot certain faces in places they're not supposed to be, all sorts of helpful tools like that. Which cameras do what depends on where they're located and whether we've got any special events going on at the time."

He finishes up the sandwich, picking up a few more chips. "I can't disclose too many details, but let's just say if someplace needs to be on continuous active surveillance, it will be."

"That's very thorough." She should expect no less really, but she doesn't like how she finds herself split between feeling reassured and resentful of the surveillance. She crunches her way through a carrot stick, frowning a little as she tries to decide which feeling wins out.

"We try to be." He quirks a smile. "I'd say this facility's the best guarded in the country but I feel like that'd be asking for something to go wrong. The tech's state-of-the-art, anyway. Most of the issues we deal with come from the people being hard to wrangle."

"I guess that's understandable with the Gamemakers bringing in people from all these different worlds." If she didn't want to be here, she could imagine how little they wanted to cooperate.

"Some of the offworlders adapt just fine after a few weeks. Others--I don't think they're ever going to get used to it. I don't know what kind of vetting process the Gamemakers use to figure out who should come in, but sometimes I wish I could send them a little constructive criticism."

He munches on a chip. "Not my department, though."

Emily bites into a plum, chewing thoughtfully. "It could become your department, though. If they keep bringing in people who are never going to get used to it instead of vetting them properly, that's potentially more trouble for you to put a stop to."

"Well, yeah. But it's not up to me; it's up to the ministers and the other Arena staff that have been here much longer than I have. I'm just security; my job is to deal with problems other people create."

"Yeah, I guess you'd be out of a job if they stopped the problems before they'd even started them." She deliberately tries not to sound too bitter there, unsure where the line is and how close to crossing it she is.

He snorts, amused. "There's always issues. Even if they were bringing in the most kind and gentle people, some crap would crop up. It's less a matter of whether or not and more one of how much."

"It's unimaginable for you, isn't it? A place where there aren't any issues."

"That's just life. People are people. They're worth protecting, but you don't want to expect too much from them."

"I know I should applaud you for being realistic, but ... I've always tried to imagine somewhere like that, even though I know it can't exist. It makes getting through the day easier sometimes, to be able to transport myself there."

"Nothing wrong with having that sort of fantasy. I mean, I had a good couple weeks after I first got stationed in 11 where I'd lie in bed and picture myself in a warm bath with a glass of brandy and a whole feast of food next to me. Nowhere to go, nothing to do." The thought of drinking has him reaching for a jug of juice positioned beside the plums, pouring himself a cup. "Kind of helped me deal with the overflowing outhouses and those wonderful rations."

"At least you were only stationed there. Imagine living there full time." She wrinkles her nose a little, but then her expression dissolves into a sad, nostalgic smile. "I'd take it over Capitol luxury any day."

"Would you really?" he asks, sounding more curious than surprised.

Emily shrugs, as though it's the most natural want in the world. "Wouldn't everyone choose their home if they could?"

Home. The immediate image that word conjures up for him is his apartment, in all its gray, stainless-steel cleanliness. Certainly not District 2. His mother still lives in that old brick house, he'd heard, walking through the same routines, wiping down the framed awards and tarnishing trophies in the room that had once been his brother's. His father, last he'd checked, had been lodging at an inn, blowing his peacekeeper pension on drink and drugs.

No, that was not home--more a graveyard than anything. Hardly more worthy of sentiment than any District he'd stayed in, knowing he'd inevitably be transferred out. As far as Emily's sense of the concept goes, he supposes, he hasn't had a home in years.

"Depends on if they've got something to go back to," he says.

She looks at him closely, interested by that response. "I never said anything about going back. Just that my home will always be in Seven with my family. Not the Victor's Village either, but the cabin I grew up in. That's where I was happy." She smiles sadly at him, feeling a little sorry for him. "Maybe your home is in the future, not the past."

"You think so, huh?" He looks down at his cup instead of her, her studying gaze making him uncomfortable. "I just go where I'm needed. That's how it's always been for me."

"It sounds pretty lonely." Something she could identify with all too well.

"Not necessarily. Out in the districts me and some of the same guys tended to be deployed together, and since we were all around the same age, going through the same stuff, we got to be good friends. After a while you just sort of bond with whoever you're around."

"Sure, but they're not going to be there forever, are they?"

"No one's going to be around forever. You've just always got to be open to making new connections."