[open]

[tucky]

Who| Tiffany Doggett AND YOU
What| A smalltown jailbird arrives in the Capitol and immediately decides that it's the best place ever
Where| Various places; scenarios under cuts
When| Some vague nebulous time after the latest plot; can take place over a few days if needed
Warnings/Notes| If you haven't already, please take a look at her permissions post before tagging her so I know what you are and aren't comfortable with! Other than that, nothing (yet - it's always yet with her)

A: District 1 suite, Part I

If you're going to be unceremoniously pulled from your prison block with no warning and not much explanation, there are definitely worse places you could be landed. This place is insane - everything in it is more lavish and luxurious than anything she's seen in pictures or on TV, let alone in real life. It's at least a couple hours before she even considers leaving her suite - she's too busy trying everything out. She tests out her big, soft bed (which she can't resist bouncing on like a child for a minute or two), she takes a shower followed by a long, hot bath, she raids the fridge, she checks out the view from the deck. If something is available to be examined, turned on, or tried out, she does it.

Honestly, she had kind of glossed over the whole "battle to the death" thing. Forced death matches simply aren't a part of reality as she knows it, and until the idea is shoved in her face a little more, it's just not something she's going to think about at all. As far as she's concerned, this place is heaven. The Capitol has already begun to win her allegiance.

B: The streets of the Capitol

Tiffany finally leaves the Training Center, after being reassured (more than once) that this is her home now and she'll be able to come back whenever she wants. There's nowhere in particular that she's looking to go, but that's fine with her - she'll wander. She's bound to come across something or someone interesting eventually.

C: The Districts shopping center

Handed a credit card and set loose in a city, it's unsurprising that Tiffany finds her way to a mall. Not really one for thinking ahead that much, she immediately starts buying things - clothes mostly, but also earrings, bracelets, and makeup. It's only after an hour or two that she starts wondering if she's going to hit a credit limit, or be dealing with bills later. She looks around for people with similar-looking cards; when she finds someone, she stops them and holds up her own.

"Hey. How much is on this thing?"

D: Various clubs and bars (The Speakeasy, .infinity, Anomaly, The Cave, or Tesserae)

After gussying herself up at the shopping center, Tiffany eventually discovers the Capitol nightlife, and the rest is history. She bounces from place to place, skipping the sit-down restaurants but hitting all the clubs and bars, sometimes more than once. Affiliation means nothing to her at this point; any rebellion-minded talk at places like The Speakeasy mostly just goes over her head. She's shed her prison clothes and dressed herself to the nines (though she still looks pretty tame in comparison to most Capitol fashion), accessorizing with jewelry, shimmery makeup, and lightly-styled hair (nothing too fancy, but infinitely better than the untreated, unbrushed 'do she often sported in prison). She's a little underdressed for the fancier places and a little overdressed for the dive bars, but she doesn't seem to care. She'll have the time of her life - dancing, drinking, and occasionally chatting up men. She's not used to looking good, or feeling good about her appearance. The fact that she does now puts her in an amazing mood.

E: District 1 suite, Part II

Somewhere along the line, someone had slipped her some tapes of past Games - either out of a genuine desire to help, or because they'd pegged her as someone who'd be easily spooked and wanted to psych her out. She should familiarize herself with these, they'd said, because she'd be going into the arena herself soon enough. So later, tired out from her night on the town, she remembers the tapes and pulls them out, flopping down on the common room couch to watch.

And it's... terrifying. She watches intently, leaning forward, eyes wide. It's like a horror movie she can't look away from. She's killed before, and she's threatened, and she's gotten into her fair share of fights - but this is a whole new ball game. Can she really do this? Is she really going to be expected to do this? She doesn't want to die, but looking at the fighting skills of some of these people... there's no way, she thinks, that she would stand a chance.

She'll have to ask someone about it later; someone in charge. They've been helpful so far. Surely they'll continue to be.

Comments

c

[justoutrunyou]

"Huh?"

Sandy had idly picking through some elaborate looking socks with different silly patterns on them when the woman asked her a question. It took the girl a moment to catch up. New tribute, seeking information. She could do that.

"Oh um...well they don't really let us check it. So basically you just keep spending till it stops working. Usually you get a message or something when you're running out." She shrugs her narrow shoulders studying the new woman and trying to decide if she seems like a threat. She on the other hand was a healthy looking young girl who dressed as casually enough it was clear she didn't belong among the bright colors and over the top fashions of the Capitol citizens.

After two years of doing this dance of arenas and death Sandy would like to hope she's developed a slightly more critical eye for people then she had when she arrived.

"If you do stuff like commercials or interviews or whatever they give you more. There's this company that still uses my face to sell their hover bikes so I never really worry about it."

If her mother could see how recklessly she spent money these days it would probably make her minimum wage mind spin.

[tucky]

Tiffany, for her part, looks pretty unthreatening - she's small and skinny, with no built-up muscle that would suggest training or conditioning. Her tone and expression aren't overly friendly, but she's not angry or hostile either.

But commercials and interviews? This is clearly the first she's hearing about this, because she just looks confused. "I'm not a..." Model? Celebrity? She's not anyone that most people would care about interviewing or using for product promotion.

[justoutrunyou]

That was enough to make Sandy snort and laugh.

"Well do I look like a model?" Maybe for street urchin fashion. "You're a tribute. That's like being a celebrity around here. People are always video taping you, reporting about you, even writing stories about you online." She explained looking incredibly unimpressed by the reality of it.

"It's dumb, but it's why we're here. Your escort might set up some deals for you, or maybe after your time in the arena the deals will come to you."

She was well spoken for a girl her age, well versed in the comings and goings of at least these matters.

[tucky]

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs, narrowing her eyes just a little at the laughter. She hates being laughed at and made fun of, but she also doesn't know if that's actually what's happening right now.

"It don't sound dumb." Because it sounds awesome. The word celebrity rings in her ears. There had been news stories about her, years ago, before she'd been sentenced and imprisoned; she'd eagerly watched them over and over. "Everybody wants to be a celebrity."

A; descriptions of wounds + police brutality

[crabmunicator]

The thing about getting shot twice through the thigh is that, even when the bullets went straight through, even being a troll, the wounds don't just disappear in a week. This is especially true when it took three days before a doctor would deign to look at them, and more still when the Peacekeepers graciously bestowed him a couple taser zaps, some other knocking around, and blatant targeting of his leg when they dragged him off to that white door he doesn't like to think about.

The thing is also that none of that shows under long sleeves and jeans - regular ones, thanks, not the skinny kind his stylist likes to push at him sometimes. He's never been a fan of Capitol styles, but he's been dressing more subdued than usual in the wake of his return. He stands out enough by species, and after Sigma and Quintus's announcements he wants no more reason to draw the eye of visiting fans or media the few times he visits something on the same floor as the lobby.

He's just coming up from the in-tower restaurant there when the elevator stops on the first floor. He lets out an ugh of a sigh as the doors slide smoothly open, followed by a "Just a second."

He's taken a spot by the button panel, since it's easier to get on and off the dang thing without extra steps added in. He shuffles back, notably favoring one leg, and sweeps an inviting hand in with an expression on his grey face that says he'd rather shove her back out for making him move when he's this sore.

[tucky]

Tiffany doesn't even notice his strange looks at first - she barely gives him a glance as she enters, then presses the button for the top floor. She'd heard there's an open roof, and she's eager to check it out.

When the elevator starts moving, she looks curiously at her elevator companion - and is noticeably surprised by his appearance. She isn't afraid or startled, though; she just assumes it's a costume.

"What is it, Halloween?"

[crabmunicator]

If she's not going to give him shit, then so much the better. He allows himself to relax the slightest then, and sets in for the rest of the ride--but of course he thought too soon.

His expression presses flat. She must be new, he gathers, but his patience for explaining promptly drops with stupid questions.

His hands fling up around his face as he launches in, "Yes, it's Halloween. That's why my horns are made of candycorn, I've painted even my insides grey, and I've taken the time to grow real, actual fangs out of my jaw." He sticks his (yes, grey) tongue out between the points of his teeth, with lips rolled back to bare them. "Thank you so much for noticing. Your powers of observation astound."

[tucky]

... Those have to be false teeth. And tongue paint, or something. Right? Tongue paint must definitely exist, because the only other alternative is that this guy actually has a gray tongue.

Maybe it's a symptom of some kind of disease.

"Fuck off. How stupid do you think I am?" She still leans in to get a look at those fangs, though. She wishes she could score some fakes that look that real.

b

[knittingbackwards]

Something interesting, in this case, might include a wizard. He doesn't stick out so much in this company, where outlandish clothing is the norm, but he's still very clearly a wizard. It's taken him a great deal of trouble to get his clothes back to how he likes them, and some scolding of Stylists besides, but now Merlyn has the long, flowing robes he prefers. He's still working on stitching the runes and star signs onto them, and they lack the comfortable wear and tear of his own robes at home, but he feels a lot better for having them. The hat is a little less elegant; he ended up making it himself, knitted wool with a cardboard frame, and it's already a little battered at the tip. He is tall and bony and leathery-skinned, and some kind of small bird appears to have made a nest in his long grey beard.

His mild blue eyes look very distant, as if he's trying to remember something that's just on the tip of his brain, which may explain why he ends up tripping on a decorative little wall, sending the bags he's carrying flying. Yarn, books, and a couple of pairs of wooden knitting needles spill out of them onto the pavement, and Merlyn hops on one leg for a moment, rubbing his calf and muttering drat a lot, before going to retrieve his things. His hat has fallen off, too. Inside it is a fascinating assortment of odds and ends - some buttons, a handful of straw, an inkpot, and a letter written in a crabbed hand on old parchment - which he bends to scrabble back into the cardboard cone, cursing under his breath all the while.

"Don't just stand there," he says rather sharply after a moment, looking up at Tiffany. "Give me a hand, will you?"

[tucky]

Startled at being called out, Tiffany looks over at him. "Ain't you ever heard of asking nicely?"

But she bends down and picks up a couple of the books, glancing at the titles before handing them over.

[knittingbackwards]

"When you're as old as I am," Merlyn replies gravely, "you earn the right to be as rude as you please. Thank-you." He settles his hat back on his head, tucking the corner of the letter back under it, and takes the books from her. They're thin books by his standards, which is to say only eight hundred pages or so, and the titles are things like Panem: A History and The Dark Days. Uninspired titles for what he suspects are very insipid books, but they're the best he could find.

He tucks them back into one of the bags, then turns to shovel the yarn back into the other bag, with a long-suffering kind of sigh. "What I want to know," he announces to the world in general, "is just why you would put a by-our-lady wall there in the first place." Giving his leg another rueful little rub, he straightens up and proffers his hand. "Thank-you for your help, young lady."

[tucky]

"Welcome." The book titles mean nothing to her - she's so new that she doesn't even know this place is called Panem yet.

She looks at his hand, then at his face, clearly confused. "You want me to-- oh." She gives his hand a shake - a little awkward, and clearly not used to it. It's a polite, formal gesture in her mind; a gesture of respect. She's not very used to any of those things.

[pimpcanes]

Tom's a regular at one of the bars, not because he has any particular affinity for the drinks or atmosphere, but because he's landed a sponsorship deal with a whiskey brewery that loves to capitalize on that heavy Irish accent despite their not being certain if Ireland is a city or a country. It doesn't do to shrug off his benefactors, and so Tom makes regular appearances, playing the role of a celebrity charmed by his fans that mill around for autographs and then disappear into the corners of the bar to watch him in their peripheral vision and compare their experiences.

Typically, he would be draped in women lured in by the combination of Tribute fame and practiced charm, but as his lover is a jealous one he's gently turning away potential suitors and sitting by himself with a bottle that has his face on it, watching the crowd when a new girl catches his eye.

The way she's dressed and the way she moves, bird-like, captivated by every new thing, tells Tom immediately that she's a Tribute. He signals to a bartender. "Buy that bird over there a drink for me, will you? Let her know where it's coming from."

[tucky]

Tiffany doesn't notice him at first; when the bartender brings her the free drink, she's surprised. They have a brief conversation; he nods at Tom, and Tiffany turns to look... and hello, attractive older gentleman.

She tries for confidence, smiling at him and giving him a nod of thanks. Then she goes back to her drink, trying to decide whether or not to wander over to its buyer.

[pimpcanes]

He smiles back, that knife-like flash of teeth across his face, not predatory but intelligent. He has one of those faces that changes quickly between looking sharp and looking warm and fatherly. He gestures with a crook of his finger for her to join him, shows with his hand that there's plenty of space on the seat beside him, but if she doesn't he'll consider approaching her himself.

[tucky]

She briefly considers playing coy and flirty - but in the end, she's too curious for that (not to mention too unconfident; new clothes and makeup don't completely negate the confusion of finding herself mysteriously crashlanded in the weirdest city imaginable). She takes her drink and heads over.

"Hey."

E

[whydoyoushine]

"Hey, what are you watching?" Zed doesn't particularly feel the need to familiarize himself with anything--he's been through one Arena and it would take a supreme idiot not to get the point of a murder game--but the clips of it are interesting. "Oh, hey, that's a lousy way to go," he comments helpfully as someone on the screen has a particularly messy death. He doesn't sound quite as disturbed about it as he probably should.

[tucky]

It takes a moment for his question and subsequent comment to register - when it does, she turns to look at him, blinking and bleary-eyed. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, that's a bad one." There's lots of bad ones.

[whydoyoushine]

Zed still doesn't pick up on any blinking, bleary-eyed discomfort, and he flops onto a nearby armchair to watch too without so much as waiting for an invitation. "You watching the recaps, or the copies of the live broadcasts?" He snaps his fingers. "They've got Best Of specials, too. Those probably have the really nasty deaths."

C

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's waited until dusk to set foot outside the tower, because the light is softer and the stares of others won't be drawn to the swollen shiner ringing one dark eye or the finger-shaped bruises encircling his neck. They're covered with makeup, but only to an extent; his skin is so ashen-pale that most natural foundation tones aren't close matches, and though 6's stylists did the best they could, evidence of a nasty encounter is still pretty clearly broadcast to everyone he might meet.

Despite the fact that his face looks rough and he moves as though his body aches, he cuts a striking enough figure. His clothes are close-fitting, tailored black on a gaunt frame, his hair is pitch and uncombed, and his eyes are sunken and hollow in a greyish face. He is the poster child for the dangers of addiction and how it can wreck a person's body, and when he spots a young woman he's not seen yet wandering around the streets of the Capitol... well, the old adage about an addict usually being able to recognize another addict rings depressingly true. How could it not? She looks like him, in all the wrong ways, and he's uncomfortable staring them in the literal face as she asks him about the Tribute card. She has no idea yet, does she? At least not any substantial one, of what she's in for.

"When did you arrive, and what District are you in?" he asks carefully, trying to establish as quickly as possible whether or not she's one of his Tributes.

[tucky]

An addict herself who ran with other addicts before (and while in) prison, Tiffany isn't at all unused to people who look like Linden. She is, however, surprised to see one here. The Capitol is glamorous and perfect - too perfect for someone like him, and maybe too perfect for her, too.

She really needs to get her hands on some better clothes. Some better everything.

"Um, the first one. District 1. I guess." She doesn't sound too sure of herself, but District 1 is what she had been told, so she goes with it. "I just got here."

[dead_black_eyes]

Tiffany's right. The Capitol is grand, opulent and majestic, and twiggy, frost-touched people don't look right against its ornate and gaudy backdrop.

"District 1?" he tries to keep any note of obvious relief out of his voice. He's still drinking, will probably still always drink; it's too much a part of Capitol culture to avoid with any real success. But his favorite vice, Morphling, a powerful narcotic... he has to wath out for enabling, anything that reminds him how much better it is to lose himself to a needle rather than face the music and feel the blows that leave bruises.

"It's very clear you just got here," he confesses, even though it's very likely kind of rude to say it so bluntly. "I take it you're looking for some more appropriate clothing and cosmetics?"

The latter is what he's here for, specifically some concealer that's a little closer to the unhealthy bone-white hue of his skin.

E

[letthemburn]

Iskierka will be the first to admit that she hasn't been keeping good track of who is and isn't newly arrived. Mostly because a lot of the time it's more trouble than it's worth, in her opinion, but even she would have been hard-pressed to miss a video of what looks very distinctly like one of the previous Arenas.

"Oh," she comments, as soon as she draws close enough to actually identify what's actually going on. "I think I was there."

Not immediately on-screen, no - a dragon is a pretty hard thing to miss - but she was still present. She isn't flinching from the on-screen violence either, but that's more to do with who she is than anything else.

[tucky]

Tiffany turns at the voice - and immediately yelps in surprise and fear, scrambling off the couch in an effort to put as much space between her and this strange creature as possible. Dragons aren't real. Talking dragons aren't real. What the fuck is this?

[letthemburn]

She certainly looks real enough, if nothing else. Admittedly, she's a lot smaller than most dragons are traditionally said to be, but she's awfully solid for an illusion. Which might not exclude the possibility that she's something dreamt up by the Capitol, but that's not something that Iskierka is likely to address, without first being prompted.

"There is hardly any need for that," she comments, presumably meaning Tiffany's undignified scramble off the couch. "I should hardly have meant to harm anyone, at the moment."