And I've got a new apartment, baby.

[shenunigans]

WHO| Dave and Swann
WHAT| Swann said Dave could visit her house and meet her Avox, he decides to make good on those plans.
WHEN| Prior to the Arena.
WHERE| Swann's house.
WARNINGS| Capitolite and Tribute friendships, tragedy.

The weeks leading up to the next Arena are always the worst. There's the wind down, the party, the busy days of marketing yourself and then there's the lull of training or trying to enjoy as much of the decadence as you can before you leave. Dave isn't really doing any of that right now. He's tired of training, he never does well no matter how much training he does. Indulging in decadence is just going to make him all gross and bloated. It's a good time to hang out with friends, also a good time to make good on an invitation he posed himself. For a while he avoided it out of nerves, but he doesn't want Swann to think he's bailing on her or her Avox out of indifference. He's so much better at talking to people lately, he's so fly when he casually asks if it's cool to come hang out for a while. He enjoys hanging out with her, she's friendly and interesting in all the ways he likes when it comes to friends.

Plus, y'know, he should really give Feferi a break from tirelessly hanging around her. Karkat can suffer, but it's good to work on his other friendships. Speaking of which, he's particularly interested in meeting Eta. The way Swann speaks so highly of her, for an Avox, makes him think she must be something really special. There are voids he's still trying to fill from his life back home, Avoxes remind him of one of the hardest people to leave behind and one of his truest friendships. He can't help imposing himself and his friendship on them, he just wants them to have someone who cares. He's sure Swann cares, he doesn't need to worry about that, but he still wants to meet her.

So when Swann sends the car around, he actually puts one of his five hundred suits on. This one is only gaudy in that it has strips of metallic red embroidery over the black fabric. It's probably one of the more understated ones he has, because he's just trying to look nice and not woo anyone. He knows Swann is old, old, old money and her house probably reflects that. It probably definitely does and he can see that when he steps out of the car and onto the pavement.

He should come inside, but instead he's making himself a lawn ornament and gawking.

Comments

[cigne]

The building that Swann owns a floor in is majestically tall, white marble and glass on the outside with gold columns all along the front. Potted topiaries in the shape of animals, studded with flowers and gems for details, line the front of the building. It's fairly understated, by Capitol standards.

A security officer comes out shortly to bring Dave into the lobby, and after checking paperwork, sends him upstairs in a gleaming golden elevator with no buttons, only a badge scanner that the guard uses to send Dave sailing up to the twenty-third floor. Pleasant, calm music accompanies the smooth ride.

When the elevator doors open, Swann is waiting for him, clearly excited. "Hi!" she sing-songs, taking him by the hand to pull him through the foyer, the walls of which have been set up into a sort of strange, miniature art gallery of framed pictures. There are photographs of a younger Swann on set, an oil painting of her as a very young girl and/or porcelain doll, clumsy pictures drawn by a child. Photographs of her father, also short, round and pleasant-faced. Her mother, willowy and platinum blonde and severe-looking. A handful of pictures of herself with Jason, the most prominent being one of them flying kites together. Tall floral arrangements line the way toward the rest of the apartment.

"Leave your jacket and your shoes," she tells him, waving her hands vaguely, and she is smaller than normal, lacking several inches of stiletto heel. "Eta's just putting out dinner now."

[shenunigans]

Now, Dave did not grow up poor. Bro's business was surprisingly and disturbingly lucrative, but he still grew up in an apartment for two in Texan suburbia. He never wanted for anything beyond parental affection, but the decadence of his lifestyle pales in comparison to what he's seeing. When he walks through the lobby, he almost worries that he's lost. Is this actually a historic museum of Fancy Shit? Did the driver take him a wrong turn?

No. Nope. Eventually it's confirmed that this is exactly where he should be, and he's suddenly just in awe of the fact that he's casually babbled at someone with copious amounts of swag money. He tries not to keep gawking, he really does, but he spends the entire elevator ride in a dazed sort of confusion.

Seeing Swann manages to snap some of that out of him, he offers her a small smile when she takes his hand and he lets himself be lead without a fuss. "Hi." He says in turn, after a little bit of delay. He's still glancing around, still tall even when he steps out of his shoes to reveal the mismatched socks of someone who did not expect to be taking his shoes off. One is red, one is white with red gears on them. The jacket comes off without a fuss and he seems to consider taking his sunglasses off before he decides it's an on request situation.

"Nice place you've got here. Looks smaller on the outside." Like a tardis, he thinks. "Sorry for the short notice. I figured it'd be better before an Arena rather than after when everyone wants me to sign their body parts and come to their parties."

[cigne]

And this apartment is small and unimpressive compared to where Swann actually grew up, where she had had her own wing and a full staff to command pretty much since she could walk and talk. To have only one floor and one Avox, well, Swann is well aware that her father only approves because she's still fairly young and unmarried.

Being obscenely wealthy is such a struggle.

She doesn't notice his socks at all, given that she's barefoot -- she simply doesn't like people walking around on her cream colored carpets in shoes, tracking mud and dirt and grinding it in. She doesn't mind that her pink animals shed on the ground, because at least that can be vacuumed up.

"No, no, it's fine! I wasn't doing anything, promise you didn't interrupt anything," she says, beaming at him, leading him into the living room. Her nails stand out against his arm and her carpet, navy blue lace designed to match her dress. "Do you want anything? A drink or something? Like I said, dinner will be out in a minute, but I could get you some crackers!"

[shenunigans]

The less Dave knows about that, the better. Not because he's disdainful of it or even really intimidated, but because he would really want to see it. As it is, he still barely understands how important Swann is in the Capitol. Escorting doesn't seem like the most glamorous job and people seem to be dicks to her more often than not. His frame of reference is small, are all Capitolites this money?

He lets himself be lead, though he dawdles a little as he takes everything in. He's beyond fighting her on being touched when he's decided she doesn't threaten him remotely. Not that she ever did, really, but the defense mechanisms aren't always defined by logic.

"Nah, nah. It's cool, I won't spoil it. I wouldn't mind a drink though. Got any apple juice?" He says that, then he purses his lips to consider what he's asked for and frowns. "Or. Wine. Love wine. Good stuff- Oooohh, but I'm underage, right? Juice it is."

[cigne]

Well, to be fair, Swann hadn't really expected it to be so bad when she became an Escort -- she was under the impression there would be more mingling and less nannying grown men.

The living room is cream and gold and rose and almost sickeningly plush, every surface looking like something one could sink into and disappear. There's more pictures on the walls, another oil painting of Swann herself, one in which she looks closer to Dave's age, and a display case in the corner that holds various awards from her former career. There are about a dozen, all different shapes and sizes, made mostly of glass or gold, twinkling in the case's lights. The chandelier above has strings of rose quartz beads draped from it, casting everything in a vaguely pinkish tone.

"Underage?" Swann started drinking wine before her teenage years, albeit sparingly, and it's never occurred to her that there might be an actual law regarding little things like that. Of course she knows that no child can go order shots in a bar, but the idea of self-policing wine confuses her a bit. "Um, I don't know about plain apple juice, but I know I have some juice around here!"

She disappears into the next room to root through the bar refrigerator, then quickly comes back with several fancy-looking bottles that she reads the ingredients of with her brow furrowed. "Okay, I have... grapefruit mint, apple strawberry coconut, and vanilla almond. Any of those sound good? I also have lavender and blood orange soda."

[shenunigans]

It is absolutely the opposite of Dave's aesthetic, given his penchant for the ironically hideous and cheap looking life, but he can appreciate it. He needs to incline his head to study the oil painting and nod approvingly as one does with art of hot people.

"Oh, you know- In my world it's illegal for people under twenty-one to drink. Not that it stops people. In space." It definitely didn't stop his sister, and that's kind of a sore spot. "I don't like wine that much anyway. Tastes weird. If you're gonna have grapes, why not have juice, right?" He keeps talking even once she's left the room, and he's still muttering about why moldy raisins are such a commodity when she comes back. He's making a slow round of the room, pausing when she comes back and inclining his head slowly to the side in a manner reminiscent of an owl.

"Are you sure you didn't grab soap?" He furrows his brow, tilting his head back to where it belongs. "The one with apple in it sounds like a winner. I won't lie, though. Lavender soda sounds like something I want in on. Actually, it reminds me of my sister. She's all about lavender. So weird when people are defined by a colour, right?" He says, with his red sock and his red eyes and his red embroidered suit. "Surprise me." A pause. "Please."

[cigne]

"Oh! Well, the law here is eighteen but everyone starts younger, usually at home. You know, wine, champagne at parties, nothing crazy." She is, of course, referring to the fact that some Capitolite families think nothing of taking their children to massive parties and plying them with flutes of champagne because it's 'cute'. "I think I had my first glass when I was... I don't know, eight or nine? But I didn't really drink until I was older. And I don't drink much now."

Mostly because her boyfriend is a complete teetotaler, and it's not that much fun to drink alone and also know you're disgusting the person you want to sleep with.

She hands him the bottle of apple-based juice and places the rest off to the side. "I think these are left over from a juice cleanse. Lavender soda is pretty good though! It's more like, um, lavender flavored seltzer water, I guess."

Swann smiles and takes a seat on one of the plush chairs, which dwarfs her. Her toes just brush the floor. "What color am I?"

[shenunigans]

"Guess I'm against the law either way then. It makes sense, though. I guess. If it's not something crazy like eleven year olds downing shots because the colours are pretty." It's still not something he's particularly interested in, but he's also not particularly surprised to hear that's the way the Capitol cookie crumbles as far as alcohol is concerned. There's a lot of baggage there for both of them, so the juice seems like a far better topic.

"I might hit you up for some later." He doesn't want to leave without trying something he can hold over Rose if he ever sees her again, after all. He unscrews the bottle and sniffs it curiously, taking a sip before he moves to sit down.

"Not bad. I can feel my insides being polished as we speak." After one single sip, of course. He takes another one while he watches her settle and speak, mouth pulling into a smirk. "Is that even a question? Chartreuse, c'mon." He spreads a hand, letting the joke sink in before he gives the obvious answer. "Pink. Like cotton candy pink."

[cigne]

"You can take it with you, I can always get more. You know, one less thing for you to have to remember to pick up." She smiles and wraps her arms around one knee, foot resting on the edge of the chair as she looks at him.

"It's funny, everyone always says that, but I think of myself as like... cream. Cream and gold. Oh! Did you know I'm white?" Swann veers off-topic like a stock car driver crashing into the wall, but she seems awfully proud of her discovery. "So that's exciting. I'm pink and white."

Suddenly, an older woman, easily in her sixties at least, appears in the doorway, smiling. She wears an Avox uniform, simple and clean-lined and stark white, but otherwise appears absolutely normal. She has long silver hair, and though her face isn't the stiff, surgically created pretty of older Capitolite women, she is still beautiful, in the way that someone naturally would be, even after working a whole lifetime.

Swann is up in a flash to stand next to her, beaming. Next to each other, it's obvious physically that they aren't related, but they radiate the same sort of energy, at different levels.

"Dave, this is Eta."