You Have a Mind That Makes Sight of the Weight You Pick Up [Closed]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Black Tom and his interviewers (TWD!Nick, Jolie, Clara and Rochelle)
WHAT| Black Tom petitions for citizenship to "get out of the Games".
WHEN| Before the mission.
WHERE| Various Suites.
WARNINGS| Just your typical supervillain douchebaggery.



Tom treats this as he would any business negotiation, with respect and proper preparation. He does his homework. He finds out relatively quickly that no Tribute who's petitioned out in the last two years has been denied, and decides based on the files of those naturalized that the entire interview process is either an elaborate charade or, more likely, an information-gathering mechanic. As such, he's prepared not just to sell himself, but to protect what information he wants to keep close to his chest.

He doesn't dress up from his normal attire, not because he isn't taking this seriously but because he's prone to wearing suits and fine coats around the Capitol, blending in with the natives better than the Tributes who fight their Stylists or lack an appreciation for a little dramatic flare. His mustache is freshly waxed and curled, and the collar of his jacket flares upwards into a Dracula-esque peekaboo. His whole demeanor is sleek and sinister. Tom very rarely hides what he is, and his villainy is not part of the small parcel of secrets he wishes to keep from the Capitol, and it wouldn't be even if it would surprise anyone here.

On the day of the interviews he has a stock list of answers prepared, but he doesn't expect to need them. He's happy to just let the conversations go where they may and allow him to learn as much from his interviewers as they learn from him. He's not nervous at all; rather, he's a little irritated at having to undergo this at all for the scant rights afforded to naturalized citizens, which are nowhere near the ones afforded to native-borns (and those "rights" are debatable, given how contingent they are on a rebuttable citizenship). He's going to be asking permission for something that shouldn't have been taken from him in the first place, and he's going to have to act grateful if he gets it.

But Tom wouldn't have gotten where he is in life without some good acting and a little charisma. He raps his knuckles against the door of each interviewer, a blithe smile on his face as he pretends to introduce himself to them if they haven't met or exchange even the barest of pleasantries if they have.

Comments

[fuckitall]

Nick may have volunteered to be an interviewer but he hadn't expected it to happen to soon. It isn't much of a surprise to him to know that there are tributes that try to exit this cycle of death and entertainment. He can't blame anyone for that. He and Luke have mentioned trying to do the same for Clementine.

When he got the note that the interviewee was Black Tom, it was hard for him not to scowl...and he doesn't hide it when he answers the door either. He had heard from Luke about what transpired between him and Beth. Even if the odds were in Beth's favor (hah), he had the name memorized like everyone else he ought to look out for. Unless Tom has watched the footage, he may not recognize Nick. Either way, Nick gives the impression that he's not exactly happy to see him. Wearing only a fitted black sweater and jeans, he looks painfully plain in the eyes of a fashion critic. Nick doesn't care though. He has given half-bullshit excuses that he prefers the simple style that "reflects his apocalyptic roots."

Doesn't stop his stylist from dressing him up silly for events, but it's something.

"C'mon in." He says with the most neutrality he can muster, stepping a side to let the man enter. He has a feeling his decision wouldn't matter in the end, but the whole reason why he signed up to do this is to assess what folks are like here. It'd help in future arenas, if anything.

"Arenas ain't as fun anymore for you?" It's not exactly what the script wants him to ask, but it's close enough.

[pimpcanes]

Tom wasn't expecting Nick to be happy, but me meets his interviewer with a bland smile nonetheless, his face like a sheet of eggshell paint over the sharp edges that he keeps just behind his teeth and eyelids. There's nothing to be lost by going through the motions of politeness, usually, and sometimes your foe will even tie their own noose for you by looking the fool in the face of basic courtesy.

He is a bit disappointed, however, that Nick jumps straight to asking about the Arena, because to him that's something of a simple view of this whole system. It makes sense that the spectacle (the death hunger suffering killing) of the Games makes the Arena blot out all other concerns, like when the moon crosses the sun, but Tom's playing a longer game here, and he was hoping to maybe find some like minds among the 'apocalypse survivors'.

"Is tedium the only reason someone should want for citizenship here?" Tom raises an eyebrow, limping in (the limp exaggerated somewhat, but still from a genuine source) and takes a seat without asking if he may. He tempers his accent a little, slipping slightly from his native brogue to something that sounds at least a hint American instead. "I want the protections of the government here, and I'm never going to get it as a Tribute. But yes, I think I've had my share of Games."

[fuckitall]

Nick is no stranger to the fact that he can be shortsighted on things sometimes literally. He knows when to speak up to let his opinion be heard, but also knows enough to let others decide the best course of action. As far as he's concerned, as long as the few he holds close to his heart is safe, that's all that matters. The Captiol and whoever else can find their own way.

He gestures towards the seat at the table by the windows, taking the chair on the opposite side. He hardly uses it himself but there needs to be some level of formality - enough so that he wouldn't get in trouble for it. 'Do you really think those assholes would protect you?' He wants to ask, but feels like he should try to stick to the program as best he can. That and from what Nick has heard, this guy shows that he's willing to play by the fucked up rules.

"Guess I don't blame you for that," he says with crack of his knuckles. "It can get dull after a while." Knock on wood.

"So what're you lookin' to do if your application is accepted?" If. He's not even sure which option is better at this point.

[pimpcanes]

"Yes, especially when you've spent your life doing more deadly and dramatic things even than these Gamemakers can conjure. Anyway."

Tom sits back, stroking the underside of his jaw slightly. He watches Nick's knuckles, as if thinking they might be like a viper ready to strike out at random, not from fear but from an experienced wariness of even the most professional and peaceful meetings. It's not an easy life, career villainy, not relaxing or given to creating trust. It's one of always watching people's hands rather than their mouths.

"I'm planning on going into counterterrorism. Terrorism was my trade back on my world, and the government here appears to have some...rather naive ideas about how to manage the crisis with minimal death and disruption. I could be a valuable asset, I believe."

[fuckitall]

'I get it, you're a badass asshole.' Nick wants to say, but it does come in the form of an eye roll. Let the cameras see that. He's not looking for a fight, he just wants to get this over with. More than anything, he wants to bite at his nails but he rarely does this in front of strangers, much less guys like Black Tom. Even Nick believes that his nervous habit displays weakness and nothing else.

"You're talkin' about the rebellion goin' on, right?" Nick hasn't had any personal ties with them and only pays attention to news footage whenever they're shoved at him. There had been rumors here and there that he doesn't have the knowledge to confirm or deny, but it's visible enough for him to guess that something big is going to happen soon. "What can you do to make things better?"

[pimpcanes]

"Well, I'm certainly not talking about the weather. Of course I am."

Tom watches the eyeroll with a bit of amusement. Let Nick be hostile; it doesn't cost Tom anything because he has no investment beyond providing cursory politeness here. It's not as if he's marked Nick as a useful asset in future schemes.

"Strategizing, resource allocation, intelligence. I have quite a broad skill set. Had they not put me all over the TVs I'd suggest infiltration into the rebellion itself, but I can't imagine that even I could rehabilitate my image now."

As if he had nothing to do with why he's seen as so deeply untrustworthy in these parts.

[fuckitall]

"That's too bad," Nick replies with a shrug. He thinks about the questions he's required to ask. The last one is an easy enough guess for him already, but might as well ask to get this over with. And maybe grab a drink once he can bring himself to make his decision.

If his decision actually were to matter, he'd have to think really think about it.

"Looks like you'll fit in with Capitolites just fine, but I guess I should hear it from you before assumin' so."

[somegrimshit]

Rochelle had done this, quite frankly, because she missed interviewing people. Because she missed her old job, the one she had before everything had gone to hell, and she had been stuck in the middle of zombie country. So the circumstances were a little unusual, and it certainly wasn't the type of interview that she had ever done before, seen before, or had been remotely trained for. But it is the closest that she's going to get for a while, so she jumps at the chance for something resembling normalcy.

She starts to regret this slightly as she begins to research just who she was going to interview.

Well, people had interviewed worse, right? Those were the famous ones, intrepid reporters who got the deal on the villains of their time. The kind of interviews that people watched years afterward. And he didn't have anything on her, personally, surely. So. The show would go on.

When he knocks, she opens the door. She's dressed for the occasion, a sharp skirt, button up, and blazer, hair pulled up in a no-nonsense bun. She looks every part the professional that she had been once, and she greets him just as professionally, with a polite smile, as she steps back. The room is spotless, with just enough personal touches to feel like someone was living there. Flowers, impersonal but pretty pictures. It would make a good background for the interview.

Are they being video taped? Well, obviously. Whether or not the videos will show, this is how Rochelle knows how to do things.

"Hello, Mr. Cassidy. How are you doing today? If you'll take a seat, I can get something for us to drink."

[pimpcanes]

Tom's pleasantly surprised to see someone who seems to be taking this interview, if not seriously, then professionally. He doesn't know if this means Rochelle is oblivious to or forgiving of what he accomplished in the Arenas, or if she simply has a very strong divide between what happens in the Capitol and what happens in the Games, but it's a nice change of pace nonetheless.

"I'm quite well. Thank you, lass, I'd appreciate any sort of tea or coffee that you have at your disposal. And yourself? Are you preparing for your Games?" He's nearly aggressively amiable, the picture of a young grandfather you might meet dropping one of his progeny's litter at the playground, cordial, mannered. Using his cane only very sporadically he enters the room and takes a seat, looking over at the flowers with a genuine sort of appreciation that transcends aesthetics and borders onto a sort of fascination.

"The orchids here really are spectacular. Did you know that the Capitol has engineered a flower that produces a pearl? Remarkable..."

[somegrimshit]

The lass irks on her, just slightly, but she's used to old men thinking that it's a polite thing to do, so she says nothing, and smiles pleasantly. Instead, she leaves for a moment, and comes back with a pitcher of iced tea. She pours them both glasses, before sitting down, and giving a small nod, back straight, eyes alert, even as they chatted.

"I've been training, and watching videos. I suppose I'm at a disadvantage. I've never been in an arena before," She admits it readily. It's not like he wouldn't damn well know. "But my world wasn't very friendly, so I'm hoping it will be a quick adjustment." She followed his gaze to the flowers, eyebrows lifting up as he spoke. "Really...? This place is incredible. Like out of some kind of...book, or show." There's admiration in her voice, for her new residence. It may be beaten out of her, once she hits her first arena. It may stay, content to admire something beautiful, no matter how deadly it was.

It certainly beat back home.

"What about yourself, Mr. Cassidy? What do you think of the Capitol?" She asked politely, trying to slide smoothly into the necessary questions for this interview. "Any idea of what you'll do, if you're accepted and a citizen?" Probably...not the smoothest, but she wanted to make sure that she did this right. She didn't want them getting after her for not getting the questions phrased just so.

[pimpcanes]

Tom has a bit of a fondness for anything that weds botany and animal life, having once been a tree himself. He reaches out and touches one of the flowers Rochelle's proffered with tenderness before turning back to the tea, accepting it with a gracious nod of his head. "Thank you."

He listens to her with as much attentiveness as she gives him, knowing full well they might meet in the Arena at some point. "I think it matters more where you're from, personally. I made it to the last hour of my first Arena and I haven't done nearly so well since."

And with that he turns to the task at hand, the interview. "I'm very appreciative of the Capitol. You're probably aware that I'm hardly the most popular Tribute here among my peers, but I think that's mostly because I'm not bucking at the yoke the way some of the younger people here are. I see the Games as a necessary mechanism to keep the entire system from falling apart, and I think that my experience as an international terrorist will be helpful to the Capitol in keeping the city afloat."

[somegrimshit]

She hadn't thought anything special about the flowers--They were pretty, she wanted her room to not look completely drab. He certainly seemed to like them, though. She'd offer to let him have them if that wouldn't sound really weird. No accidentally hitting on the old guy.

She nods when he speaks. Nick had gotten to the last stretch, too. Hopefully it was a feat that he could repeat, along with her and Ellis. Although Ellis SUCKS AND DIES IN THE CORNUCOPIA

She nearly stops and wheezes when he admits to being an international terrorist. She has to take a few moments, glancing off to the side with her mouth twitching, to be able to completely compile herself into a calm express. Once she was composed, she gave another nod, swallowing. Geez, it was a good thing they weren't at home. But people interviewed terrorists all the time, right? Yes. Eyes on the prize.

"I've heard things, yes," She admits, few people were very forthcoming, but the looks said more than enough. And after watching some video of him in the arena, she couldn't blame them. "So, if you get accepted, you'll be working with the Capitol to fight potential terrorism that they might face?" She asks, crossing her legs. "That's very noble of you. I expect you've seen some of that in the arena, too. Are you looking forward to leaving the arena?"

Not that he was leaving, but Rochelle didn't know that.

[pimpcanes]

He watches Rochelle pause and collect herself with a sort of wan amusement, as if it's she who's having the disproportionate reaction and he's just introduced a completely normal topic of conversation to the fray. Maybe in her world - not that he knows she's actually a journalist or reporter or anything like that - getting this sort of candor from a wanted criminal would net her a Pulitzer.

"Exactly. The Capitol has, I'm sure, a tight grip on affairs, but it can never hurt to have an insider's experience to how these sorts of cells work. And, well, we've recently seen the assassination of a public figure-" Tom appropriately looks solemn at that, but Penny's been in the ground for several months now and no one seems to have mourned her too hard- "so perhaps even the best-run government might have a need."

It's a bit difficult, trying to walk that fine line between relating to another Tribute and knowing that this is likely all going to be monitored by a Capitol government employee within the next few weeks. He can't say anything too harsh against the very government he's claiming to want to improve, but he has to be convincing that there is a niche that calls to him.

"Well, you've probably noticed my affections for Miss Cocktease and Miss Stark. I feel as if I can help them better from out here, wooing the Sponsors in their absence. I'm looking forward to that."

[reallynow]

Despite having a fairly fond relationship with Molotov, Jolie has yet to personally meet Tom. Really, things have been so busy and so strange she's barely had the time to talk to Molotov let alone her boyfriend, but all good things come to those who wait. She doesn't harbor any ill will against him, naturally. She understands why others might, but getting him out of Arenas would be a benefit to her own Tributes more than anything. She's currently devoid of the knowledge that he intends to return to Arenas, but that's a small misfortune and not one she'll lose sleep over.

Since she's just taking time out of a normal day to do this, the drag is on. The look is a little more subtle for the day, but it's very typical of a Capitolite to throw on glitter and make up and call it casual. She's claimed a table in the commons of District Eight for this, so there's a beverage tray and an Avox already waiting when she sits. She isn't waiting long before he arrives and she's quick to raise an eyebrow, taking in his appearance before she smiles brightly and invitingly.

"There's the man of the hour!" The smile takes a wry turn, but she's polite enough to stand and offer a hand to shake. She likes to add a little professionalism to her casualness, on occasion. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mr.Cassidy. I've heard a lot about you- and seen a lot, but I doubt that's a surprise."

[pimpcanes]

Of the people he's been assigned to, Jolie was the one Tom was most eager to meet. He generally understands (disdains) the views of the other Tributes, but Capitolites remain not a mystery but a curiosity. Some of them, especially the Staffers, seem to have staggering cognitive dissonance about caring for their Tributes while sending them into murder-meets.

And, to tell the truth, he appreciates the drag. It's not something he'd ever engage in himself, but he'd be a bald-faced liar to pretend that he doesn't enjoy a little flamboyance and camp. He wears a purple spandex outfit with a bat on it regularly, for Christ's sake. The huge hair and splashes of makeup and tight dresses remind him a little of that heroes-and-villains life back home, with the additional benefit of not needing to make any efforts to hide his less-than-heterosexual proclivities.

"A pleasure to meet you rather than just appreciating your work, Ms. Jolie." He shakes her hand; his are that curious combination of firm and rough from working in harsh conditions and softened over the top from a proper skin care regimen. "If you've seen Ms. Day at any time recently, send my regards. The Tenth District just isn't the same without her."

He takes a seat.

[reallynow]

It doesn't take a genius to start with a compliment, but it warms Jolie enough to sweeten her smile just a touch more. It's just as impressive for her to finally meet the man she's heard so much about from afar, even more so when his demeanor so strongly contrasts the one he presents in the Arena.

"She'd be happy to hear it, I bet. I hope whoever they replace her with is halfway competent for your sake." Or maybe not, given why he's here. She refrains from divulging too much more about Holly when her absence is something of a sore spot, but it just means she can move on better with the conversation.

"If there's anything you want to help yourself to, don't be a stranger." She waves a hand lazily in the air, beckoning an Avox closer to the table without asking anything of it yet. "And when you're ready, you can start by telling me why you want to step down before you snatch the crown." Why would anyone want to leave the Games. Really. What a stupid question. She feels stupid asking it, but she keeps her expression assured and confident.

[pimpcanes]

"They'll have quite the bedazzled pumps to fill." He beckons to the Avox and asks for a glass of water before addressing the meat of Jolie's question, the reason they're both here.

"Honestly? Rights." Tom brushes a stray hair from his forehead and leans back, crossing one knee over the other in a way that blurs the line between feminine and casual business-male. "Minister Reagan's - do we call him Cyrus here, or are we not supposed to act that familiar with our rulers? - new regulations are a step forward, but you have to understand, I was a very powerful man where I came from. Being completely at the beck and call of people I don't know, a rung below them all on the social ladder...well, it doesn't settle well with me."

He pauses for a moment, strokes the goatee. "And I'm not heartless. I care a great deal for some of my fellow Tributes, and I would like to see all of them treated better in general. Who better to advocate for them than someone who's been in their position but found a foothold in the very people who have the power to make their lives better, hmm?"

He doesn't know much about Jolie, and is taking a bit of a gamble playing on her sympathies when he doesn't even know if they exist. But her Tributes seem fond of her, and that tends to be the best sign that one of the Staffers is soft on their charges.

[reallynow]

"Call him whatever you want him to hear." Jolie answers that much quickly. Everything else takes more consideration, but surveillance and Cyrus are easy, eternal subjects. She likes one decidedly more than the other, however, but she seems amused nonetheless by Tom's approach.

Now, the everything else. It's true that she's extremely fond of Tributes and some of them in turn. It's hard to hide that, but she isn't aware that he's playing on it. It's logical for his perspective to come from that angle when he's one of them, and it plays into her next question.

"So what you're saying is, you'd like to make a difference for your fellow Tributes? That's sweet." It sounds sincere, if a little flippant. Even if she adores Tributes, she's aware of how careful her wording and tone needs to be. "And that's what you would be looking to do out of Arenas? Did you have a particular role or job in mind?"

[pimpcanes]

"It's not sweet so much as self-serving. I wouldn't be aiding all the Tributes except that there are enough of them that I'm fond of that it's beneficial for me. It's..." He waves a finger about, as if trying to pluck the word out of the air. "More efficient to better the lots of everyone than to try and cherrypick a few and improve their station, when they can be a bit uncooperative."

By which he means Molotov, who has a tendency to be so headstrong that she might impede her own progress, he thinks.

"Aye, I would like to aid the Peacekeepers here in combating the terrorism that has...caused some hiccups during my time here. Terrorism was my calling card back in the day, as I'm sure you're aware. I know how these sorts of people think and operate."

[seestheman]

Clara doesn't know why the Capitol chose her out of the wide pool of mentors and districtmates out there. It's no secret that their relationship is tense at best, and outright loathing that causes both of them to behave like petty children at worst. And, really, in some ways Alex's death has only made her hate Tom all the more. It's naive and childish, but there's a part of her brain that insists on believing that, if Tom hadn't killed Alex in the Arena she would've been able to get him back to normal and could have kept him from being hacked.

Of course, that would have never happened, but it's one of those things that helps her sleep at night.

As much as she hates letting him into her space, she opens the door when he knocks. Her room is spotless, yet homey. The standard comforter that comes with every room has been replaced by a quilt that was imported from one of the Districts, there are pictures of Alex and all the various kids she's taken under her wing framed on her walls and desk. "Come in," she says, gesturing him towards a couch and some large, plush chairs that sit around a chic coffee table that obviously came with the suite. "Is there anything I can get for you before we start? Coffee, tea?"

[pimpcanes]

If Tom were the type to be anxious, he might have been nervous to find that Clara was one of his interviewers, but he's already certain that her vote doesn't really have much impact on his results, and so he approaches her entirely calm, thanking her for holding the door.

"I'd appreciate tea." He looks over at the photos of Alex with a definite smirk. "But you don't have to. I'd understand if you'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible."

He sits in the chair near her bed with a sort of chesire grin, as if this is something he's doing for entertainment rather than because it's something he must finish before he completes his petition.

[seestheman]

For a moment, Clara wishes she had tucked away her photos and mementos before his arrival, but at the same time, that would show him that he has some sort of control over her life and she refuses to give him that kind of satisfaction.

"And let you believe I'm an ungracious host? Never," she says as she crosses over to grab the tray she had set aside earlier before carrying it over and setting it on the table, and handing him a mug. She grabs her own mug from the tray (one sent to her by a fan that says "Momtor Knows Best" in pink cursive) and adds liberal amounts of milk and sugar before settling on the couch. "So, Tom, why do you want to leave the Arenas?"

[pimpcanes]

"A better host than a flatmate, I see." He takes the tea and swills the bag in it a little bit, taking in the scent of it and finding it neither impressive nor disappointing. It's from the Capitol, so flavorful and sophisticated, but it isn't anything particularly adventurous, and so he just figures that Clara doesn't have very refined taste.

He suppresses a snicker at her mug.

"I'm looking to not get stabbed in the throat again, can you believe it?" He raises an eyebrow. "Actually, I took a gander at the rights afforded to naturalized citizens and found it somewhat more palatable than that which we receive as Tributes."

[seestheman]

In truth, Clara was always more of a coffee person than a tea person, not to mention the fact that she doesn't really care if Tom approves of her tea selection because she wants him out of the one (relative) safe space she has in the Capitol. "I hope the same can be said for you," she says with a heartily implied 'not that I plan to find out' before setting the tea aside and picking up a notepad.

"Maybe you should stop having such a stabbable throat." Okay, so maybe that's immature and victim blamey, but she can't resist. She nods and moves along, knowing that if she voices her opinion, that would only keep him here longer, which is the last thing she wants. "What can you offer the Capitol? Do you plan on finding a job?"

hurr durr lost the notif

[pimpcanes]

"Point taken. How is your prosthetic feeling?"

Tom very nearly makes a snippy comment about how he's a perfectly fine flatmate, but even he knows that would be hypocritical, so instead he just throws his girlfriend under the bus a bit. "It's Molotov that drinks your milk, not me."

He twists his mouth a little to the side and stirs the tea more.

"I'm sure you know from personal experience that I'm no stranger to war and combat. I'm a professional mercenary and terrorist, you know, and it seems that the Capitol has- a bit of a problem with terrorism, lately. I believe I can use my personal knowledge to aid the Capitol's security teams. I have a mind for tactics, after all."