He has encountered the occasional rabid fan down in the lobby, or when he'd ventured outside of the Tower. And while Jack didn't always appreciate being badgered about how so super cool it was to see that huge lake monster nearly crush him to death, or hear about how it's sad that his death wasn't more entertaining or exciting and maybe next time it'll be more brutal and interesting to watch -- the attention most Capitolites showered on him wasn't completely horrendous.
In his own way, Jack reveled in the constant admiration and starry-eyed looks that his mere presence received. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, he absolutely thrived on approval like that.
And so, Swann is basically preaching to the choir. He'd rather people judge him by his lavish, colorful tales from back home, or by the outrageous and fanciful fantasies they constructed about his past or the way he'd lived life. Not by his failures. Or weaknesses.
He inclines his chin a touch. "I can be whatever the lot of them want me to be, if that's what it takes to be kept alive." Honestly, it was a game that Jack was well-versed in playing, even back home. Be the person that people thought him to be, even if it wasn't entirely the truth. But while being well-loved by the masses wasn't a guarantee that he'd come out on top -- if Brock's disappearance was any indication of that, from what he'd heard about the man's fame -- it was a better shot than pretending it'd do any good to struggle against it.
The last remark tempers the expression on his face, however. "That ain't a guarantee I can exactly make, luv. What's it matter, either way? The Gamemakers'll take it upon themselves to torment me whether I've had a few drinks or not." Drinking was a vice that Jack clung to viciously and without remorse, and it'd be a monumental uphill battle if Swann thought she'd be able to stop him even for a night.
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In his own way, Jack reveled in the constant admiration and starry-eyed looks that his mere presence received. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, he absolutely thrived on approval like that.
And so, Swann is basically preaching to the choir. He'd rather people judge him by his lavish, colorful tales from back home, or by the outrageous and fanciful fantasies they constructed about his past or the way he'd lived life. Not by his failures. Or weaknesses.
He inclines his chin a touch. "I can be whatever the lot of them want me to be, if that's what it takes to be kept alive." Honestly, it was a game that Jack was well-versed in playing, even back home. Be the person that people thought him to be, even if it wasn't entirely the truth. But while being well-loved by the masses wasn't a guarantee that he'd come out on top -- if Brock's disappearance was any indication of that, from what he'd heard about the man's fame -- it was a better shot than pretending it'd do any good to struggle against it.
The last remark tempers the expression on his face, however. "That ain't a guarantee I can exactly make, luv. What's it matter, either way? The Gamemakers'll take it upon themselves to torment me whether I've had a few drinks or not." Drinking was a vice that Jack clung to viciously and without remorse, and it'd be a monumental uphill battle if Swann thought she'd be able to stop him even for a night.