I want that red velvet, I want that sticky sweet

[molotov]

Who| Molotov, Black Tom, and Arya aka Family Questionable Morals
What| Treating Arya after the first day of school
Where| At a super awesome candy shop
When| After the first day of school
Warnings/Notes| Shitty people being shitty, copious amounts of sugar

While she wanted nothing to do with the Capitol's war on dissidents and rebellions, even Molotov can see how absolutely suspicious this new 'educational' program is. It's terribly heavy-handed -- they aren't even trying to hide their intentions here.

But she also knows better than to call it out in any way, including shielding Arya from it. Molotov had rather enjoyed having the girl around in the Arena, and now that she's spending her time in Tom's room, she finds herself around Arya all the time anyway. It's been fun, teaching her to use various weapons and toting her around the city.

Molotov imagines that it's what having a very curious, talking dog is like.

She doubts that many of the children will be in particularly high spirits after their day of learning, and she knows that pouty-ness in young ones has an easy fix: candy. Lots of it. It'll make Arya happy, and it'll let Tom and Molotov get their information out of her in a more public setting, where their voices, at least, are likely to be drowned out in the crowd. They need to make sure that Arya knows (and can be trusted) to hold her tongue in school, lest it be cut out of her mouth.

By the time the bus brings all the children and teenagers back, Molotov has already laid out an outfit on Arya's bed -- not that she doesn't trust Arya to dress herself, it's simply just more efficient if she doesn't have to spend time on it. There's a note telling her to meet Molotov and Tom in the lobby, and once she appears, they ferry her through the city to the candy store, which is, in true Capitol style, a sensory overload, stuffed with everything any little (or big, frankly) kid could ever want.

They walk around for a bit, Molotov herself occasionally pointing out things with a degree of delight, and buy Arya whatever she likes before settling down at a table while the owner plies them with the sort of decadent, saccharine sundaes and pastries that only this city could be capable of.

"So tell us about school," Molotov says, sipping delicately at an elaborate drink made of coffee and ice cream.

Comments

[needlebearer]

Arya had been in a thoroughly bad mood when she'd come back from school, and all she wanted to do was go and hit things in the training centre. When she sees the outfit laid out on her bed she groans, knowing that she'd have to be in a social frame of mind for even longer, but she's glad to be out of the uniform, scrunching it up and tossing it in a corner before quickly pulling on the clothes Molotov's left out for her, and her reluctance to go out almost entirely disappears, feeling grateful that at least there's one person here who isn't trying to stuff her into dresses. And although so many people have told her in very strong terms not to trust her and Tom, Arya still very much wants to spend time with them, as she's sure she can learn more from them than anyone else here.

She's never seen so much candy in one place, and the bright colours and smells alone make her mouth water. Tom and Molotov buy her more than she can carry, and she stuffs huge fistfuls into her mouth between spoonfuls of ice cream, wondering how much she'd be able to smuggle in under her uniform to school tomorrow.

"It would have been all right if it wasn't so stupid," she grumbles. While she'd rebelled against her education at Winterfell, it was more because the sewing and courtesies that Septa Mordane had tried to instil in her were a lost cause from the outset. But Arya had always had a keen mind, and as cynical of the Capitol as she was, the thought of being instructed in maths, science and especially history was an opportunity she wasn't about to pass up. But in the end, the tuition had amounted to little more than indoctrination. "They managed to say how great Panem is at least every third sentence."

[pimpcanes]

Tom's never been much of a believer in the idea that flaunting wealth is tacky, and as such he's eager to buy just about anything that any three of them want, often adding unnecessary upgrades or otherwise sprucing up even the barest things with his affinity for complete flamboyance.

There's something about this strange tableau of family that the three of them have created that absolutely draws his heartstrings tight, and he misses his niece more than ever. He didn't realize how much he missed being a parent until he had the opportunity to relive it a little, standing Arya in for a younger, harder version of Theresa. He rests his chin on his hand and looks over at Molotov, pleased with her itinerary for the day.

He lays his cane flat across his lap, picking at a tart with spun-sugar ballerinas on the top, casting Molotov a glance of we knew it about the propaganda. "So you're telling me they're not terribly subtle about their indoctrination. I had no idea. Are you learning anything else?"

[molotov]

"Well, we hardly expected anything else. They make America's patriotism look positively tame here." Molotov says it with no emotion as she breaks open a truffle to examine its contents before she eats it. It's coconut, and she must approve because she pops it in her mouth.

"But yes, surely they have to be doing more than talking about Panem's virtues. There are plenty of other subjects that the children around here must be missing in their education. I imagine they aren't giving you a gym class, so maybe music or art?"

She doesn't particularly know what children study in school, given that she was in full-time training by age eight. It can make connecting to kids kind of hard.

[needlebearer]

Arya shovels in more ice cream, as though it's the last chance she'll ever have to taste it, as usual irritated that she enjoys the food the Capitol has to offer so much, feeling that it's giving into being held here. "Most of it was history and geography." The sort of subjects she would have loved dearly in another setting. "There was some number work too." She wrinkles her nose at that, not having much of a head for maths, but on further reflection it was far more useful for her to learn than most of the subjects on offer. "We could draw or paint in the afternoon if we wanted, or write to the President or people in the Districts." Arya had chosen the latter, still feeling a little humiliated at how Sansa and Jeyne Poole had laughed at her terrible creative efforts back at Winterfell, even though something so trivial should long have ceased to matter.

[pimpcanes]

"Oh?" Tom's actually a little bit surprised at that. He raises an eyebrow and pats at his mouth with a napkin. "I wasn't expecting they'd allow any communications at all with the Districts."

Although it wouldn't surprise him if the pen pals were just a bored Peacekeeper, and certainly the letters out will be heavily monitored and regulated.

The sugar ballerina falls over, its spindly ankle snapping and melting as he drizzles a sort of hot cream over the tart.

"I suppose it's a good thing they aren't teaching you practical things," Tom says, thinking of taking Arya to the Training Center and teaching her how to build a rudimentary explosive after they resume her sharpshooting lessons. "You'll be the only one who knows how to do them. But the history and geography is important too. It'll help you get into their heads. Success is a mind game as much as anything."

[molotov]

"I'm not surprised. They want us to connect with the people in our District, I'm sure it calms them down out there to think we're concerned for them."

Molotov pokes at her drink with a spoon, mixing it more, and makes a thoughtful noise. "Pay special attention to history. Read between the lines, because the winners write the records. Geography can be helpful if they talk about actual terrain -- it doesn't do anyone any good to only know how to survive in one kind of place. Last Arena, that was like where I spent a good chunk of my life, but the next one could be a desert, who knows?"

Her own efforts with Arya have been more focused on hand to hand combat and weapons; the girl's sword-fighting skills were sweet, but not helpful against competitors who weren't ready to fight the same way. Tracking has also been a fixture.

"For example, letting your opponent get into a long, self-indulgent speech. Because you can kill him while he prattles on."

She smirks and lightly kicks Tom under the table.

[needlebearer]

"They'll probably tell us all about the exact opposite of the geography we'll need for the next Arena, just to mess with us," she says a little bitterly, pushing the last dregs of ice cream around her bowl in an attempt to get them to melt faster. She really doesn't want to go back to school tomorrow, she wants to bash away at the training dummies and then load up on cheeseburgers and donuts, her usual daily routine in the Capitol. But she's sure Tom and Molotov will want her to go as much as the Capitol officials, if for different reasons.

"I tricked someone before into killing for me. It'll be different here, though. It depends on how the person I'm faced with thinks. What their sense of honour is and how to play with it if they have one."

[pimpcanes]

"I'd wager money that we'd be in the Capitol's graces a bit more if we started speaking of District pride again, rather than ignoring our designations as we do."

He rolls his eyes back at Molotov and catches her ankle with his foot against the table leg, then stretches his leg a bit forward to their ankles are linked. Because playing footsie never quite gets old.

"Smart girl," Tom says, as he often does around Arya, not in a condescending way but in the proud sort of way someone might take when marveling at their own child. "That's very true. Have you been studying the tapes of your opponents?"

[molotov]

Molotov smiles at Tom, all affection, and lets him toy with her foot as she turns back to Arya. "Don't count on them to give you information about the Arena, but Panem spans many different kinds climates. Use what they teach you. Knowing about things can be helpful even if it's only base information."

She sucks her spoon clean and makes a pleased noise, just as proud as Tom's tone. "If you can't be with us, play up being a little girl. Big eyes, tears if you can. Most of those adults won't touch a child, let alone one who appears helpless and in need. Let them protect you and then take them out while they sleep."

Tom and Molotov kill children, but few in that Arena are as pragmatic and detached as they are, even when they aren't really detached at all.

[needlebearer]

It's not her preferred act, but it's still one she thinks she can pull off. She'd prefer to be straightforward where possible, but she knows that she's not as strong as most of the adults in the Arena and will need to practice a sneakier approach.

"They might not believe it, if they've seen me training."

She was particularly vicious to the dummies in the training centre.

Hurr durr forgot to track the thread.

[pimpcanes]

"Most will. Training is one thing, but the average adult will get suckered into the idea of a child in over her head. Even the ones who don't trust are liable to give you supplies just to ease their consciences." Tom laughs and takes another bite of his little ballerina tart. "Consciences are the ball and chain created by the devil in these Arenas."

He gestures with his spoon.

"And then slit their throats and take whatever they've kept for themselves. It'll serve them right for wanting to stand in the way of a promising young lass like yourself getting to the pedestal."

[molotov]

"Consciences can be a ball and chain anywhere, but particularly somewhere that you're fighting to survive. Arya already knows that." Molotov smiles at Arya, pleased. "All you have to keep in your head is that you deserve to win, and that means you kill anyone who tries to stop you. Third place isn't so bad when it's third to us."

Because despite how affectionate and actually caring they are, both Tom and Molotov have been very clear about the winning order -- one of them, then the other, then Arya. But they'll both defend her until there aren't any other competitors.

[needlebearer]

"It's worse," she argues fiercely. "That means one of you will have to kill me to win. Don't think I won't fight back."

[pimpcanes]

"We would be disappointed if you didn't." Tom's been a little less clear than Molotov has, mostly because he hasn't decided himself on whether he would let Arya take his place - or at the very least if he would fight her to take hers, should the chips fall that way. Still, it's not as if he's glossed over the very real possibility that he may have to kill Arya, or vice versa. He just hasn't made vows or promises.

"You'll notice we aren't the charitable sort. It's not like Molotov and I are growing fond of every person here under the age of majority. You're special, Arya."

[molotov]

"Of course, sweetie. I didn't mean you should lay down and die, I simply meant that the student is hardly ready to become the teacher." Molotov is a woman who's taken out entire rooms of special agents while alone and practically naked. She isn't afraid of Arya, and she only thinks Tom can beat her if he has active powers.

She finishes her coffee and leans back a bit in her seat, nodding as Tom speaks. "You're very special. You have something inside you that none of these other children do."

[needlebearer]

Arya shifts awkwardly in her seat. She'd grown up hearing similar things, that because she was of House Stark she was inherently better than others. Ned hadn't tried to frame it in that way, but more that they had a responsibility toward those they sat above, but she knew his opinion was the minority. She thought of the way Jon had constantly been marginalised, of Sansa and Jeyne haughtily ordering the stable boys around just for fun ... and of Joffrey sneering down at Mycah, the Hound slinging his body over the back of his horse.

She isn't sure that's quite what Tom and Molotov mean, but she can't help frowning nonetheless. "What sort of thing inside me? I don't feel that different to anyone else."

[pimpcanes]

"You have, ah, what do Americans call it? Moxy. You aren't relying on anyone else to take care of you and you're willing to step up and fend for yourself when it comes down to it. That puts you leagues ahead of the other children here, who are largely surviving on the good graces of the adults around them."

It's not that Tom doesn't sympathize, doesn't believe that children shouldn't be put in this situation, but unlike the others here he won't stop short of choosing between the little ones. They can't all survive, so why pretend they will?

[molotov]

"Like a spark. There is a fire inside you that not everyone has, or that people intentionally put out for the sake of appearances. But yours is there, like mine, like Tom's, like every fighter's, and that's why we want to teach you, because you have something that not everyone does."

Under the table, she shifts her ankle, strengthens the hold she and Tom have on each other's legs. Molotov smiles at Arya and it's genuine, honest, something she so rarely is.

[needlebearer]

"Everyone has that," Arya insists. "It's just that most people lose it, or aren't strong enough to hold onto it when it appears." It was a struggle for her to hold onto it herself some days, but she'd kept going in the face of much worse than the Capitol before, so she was damned if she was going to roll over and surrender to them.

[pimpcanes]

"Everyone has that at the start. Like you said, not everyone keeps it. It speaks well to you that you've managed to keep yours, in spite of everything you've been through."

Tom's not terribly subtle about the fact that he's playing footsie with Molotov. But his smile at Arya is, too, honest and genuine. He does care for her, and it isn't even deep down; he holds it out on his sleeve.

[molotov]

Molotov reaches for Tom's hand, twines their fingers together and gestures vaguely with her other hand. "Do you know how many people just give up, Arya? Most do, most would rather lay down and die like dogs than go through your life and fight like you do. It's the best thing you can possibly have. That's what makes you different, that you won't roll over and forfeit anything."