Oh, this is the night and the heavens are right on this lovely Bella Notte

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone who signed up for blind dating!
What| An evening of romance, or disaster, take your pick.
Where| The Swift Cut restaurant
When| 16th June
Warnings/Notes| The course of true love never did run smooth. Remember that if your character was not rolled in arena but you signed up for them to be here, you will need to mark their death on fatality reporting.

The atmosphere at the Swift Cut this evening is bustling. It's clear from the moment one enters the restaurant that they have pulled all the stops out for this televised extravaganza.

Every fire is lit and the air is filled with the scent of the roasting meat on spits over the flames; boar, beef, pork, venison and more. Pots bubble with the smell of hot stew, vegetables are being roasted in ovens and from giant casks around the room beer is being drawn. The staff are in full 'barbarian' getup, consisting of skimpy furs on both the male and the female servers but luckily for you they don't seem to expect a similar dress code from their guests.

Tribute's stylists may have had other ideas, of course.

The giant room has been clearly divided. Tribute's will find themselves directed to one side while trueborn citizens of Panem and petitioned out individuals are brought to the other. It is left up to them to find their table with the number they will be handed upon entering the restaurant. Whether they are the first to arrive at their table is a matter of chance but they can be sure that a cameraman will always be there to capture the moment of realisation on both participants faces when they realise who their date is.

Once everyone is seated the music will begin the play. Minstrels strum lutes and harps, their voices filling the air softly with traditional medieval ballads. There is a space set aside for dancing if anyone is in the mood.

Throughout the evening, and certainly at the end, Tribute's and Capitolites will find themselves sporadically approached by the show host to be asked questions about how they feel the evening is going. It's up to them how honestly they answer, though they should remember the camera's are always watching.

Comments

Table 4- Linden and Cyrus

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden almost didn't make it tonight, and it isn't even because he inherently thinks the blind dates are a stupid waste of time. He's spent most of the day at the doctor's, getting rebuked for dealing with his failing liver by drinking more frequently and in increasing quantities. His argument that the organ is done for anyway and he might as well kill it the rest of the way didn't go over so well, and almost got him held longer for suicidal behavior.

No, that isn't it. I like living. Maybe too much.

It doesn't help that he also got into a fight with Jason Compson, leaving the other man with a vicious bite mark on his hand and Linden with a heavy, dark black eye that makeup does little to cover.
The stylists hadn't been thrilled with him when he'd shown up later than anyone had expected him to and given them precious little to work with.

They aren't fresh track marks. I had a lot of blood drawn today, lay off and take this yellow out of my skin. If you're going to worry about anything, the shiner takes precedent, don't you think?

6's stylists are good, but they aren't wizards, and the result is Linden looking somber and peaked, but at least the effect is on purpose. His clothes are dark leather and fit close on his sparse frame, and his makeup emphasizes the contrast between his pallor and the dark shadows that appear where the skin is pulled tighter over the bones of his skull. When he arrives, he notices that beer is on tap and plays with the idea of maybe staying sober this evening, sticking to water and having a conversation with his partner. Maybe it's Stephen, Peggy or Temple and they can shoot the shit for an hour while they wait for their hearty, expensive courses to cycle through.

Please, no, don't let that be my table.

"You're sure I'm at 4?" He asks a touch desperately.

"Quite sure, Mr. Lockhearst. Enjoy your date with Cyrus Reagan."

"I need a beer."

"What size, Mr. Lockhearst?"

"Just put a keg by our table."

[currupted]

Cyrus is unusually private for a Capitolite. Most word about his love life is rumor; any occasion on which he's seen in public with another person at closer than professional distance sends up whispers in more talkative circles, and there are lists of his supposed indiscretions up in the depths of the network. This is something he controls as carefully as he is able. It isn't that he doesn't have indiscretions, not that he doesn't seek people out on occasion, when the mood strikes him; only that he is adamant that his personal life will be armor he can wear, and not a weapon that can be used against him.

To wit: The fact that he's doing this is a concession. A pointed public relations maneuver. Publicity he planned carefully, a piece of his image whose incorporation he decided to allow. The risk was calculated.

He made a concession, as well, to the dress code. His clothes aren't nearly as wild as anything the servers or the Tributes are wearing, of course; his stylists wouldn't go for anything so flashy. There's fine fur trim at his shoulders and at the hem of his coat, cut long; his accessories are all in beaten gold, rather than the clean-cut gemstones he usually prefers. He looks... princely wouldn't be far off.

The ugly twist to his mouth, though, when he sees who's approaching his table-- when it becomes clear that Linden's trajectory can't lead him anywhere else-- is anything but.

He doesn't stand as Linden approaches. He does smile. A short, tight smile that pulls only at the very corners of his mouth. He takes in his date - the pallor of his skin, the black eye that makeup is doing all it can and not enough to hide - and even his lack of a reaction is pointed. Like a blade. Like a needle.

"Mr. Lockhearst," he says, by way of greeting. "What a surprise."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden tries to smile. He really does. The expression makes it bravely halfway before it flickers and fades and the results are more like a cringe. Cyrus is one of his best friend's controlling older brother. He's the author of rules that keep him from having a relationship with someone he deeply cares about, and he has nothing in common with Linden going by their public images alone.

"Surprise," he says, trying to make it sound lighthearted. Instead, it sounds sarcastic as hell. He clears his throat and takes a seat across from his date.

"So."

He grinds his teeth for a second, staring at the tabletop.

"Do you want to start a conversation, or should I just tell you how to build a hovercraft when you're out of .5 bolts and all you have are .45 to work with? I'm really good at it, and there's almost no circumstance under which I can't recite it."

It tends to happen a lot when he's blackout drunk, actually.

[currupted]

Cyrus is drinking wine. His glass is still full. He reaches for it, and sips-- lets the silence hang just a moment, and thinks briefly about allowing himself some small indiscretion this evening, as a... a tourniquet of sorts.

"Well," he says, evenly-- "You could tell me about that, certainly. I'm always pleased to hear about goings-on in the Districts. Or-- you could tell me how you came by that."

He's looking directly at Linden now, which means he's looking directly at his black eye. That's not makeup, or some strange District fashion choice. That's a wound. People in the Capitol tend not to carry those around so publicly.

His tone is pleasant, actually. Not friendly-- but there are cameras here. He's not going to allow any greater rumor to spring from this than absolutely has to. Not accusing. Just curious.

TW: slight mention of bidding

[dead_black_eyes]

Oh, are you? I bet you like hearing about it. All the death, disease, decay and drunkenness, not to mention the desperation. That's what the Districts are, just full of Ds.

His lip starts to curl. He schools it; maybe he can even pass it off for a tic. He possesses many of those, after all. Ultimately, the subject change is a welcome relief, even if the topic is unpleasant. He knows that at the very least, Cyrus is no friend of Jason Compson, and is calculating and impartial enough to see instability and maliciousness and distinguish between the two.

"Well, one of those subjects is certainly more interesting to the layman," he comments, lifting his fish fork and turning it in his long, thin fingers. "Celebrus will be all over it, I'm sure, but in case you don't feel like waiting... I was assaulted by Jason Compson in a clinic waiting room. Never a dull moment, and actually not a bidder this time."

He punctuates the last statement with a lighthearted shrug, as if it's just a trifle, to be punched hard enough to bruise when he's already sick enough to warrant frequent doctors' visits. And why wouldn't it be? Victors are supposed to be better at taking punches than the average citizen of Panem, and they're certainly not supposed to make a scene about the minor injustice of bearing an injury.

"I certainly hope he isn't punished too severely. He's in a bad way, lately... he needs help, not discipline, and I sincerely hope he finds it."

[currupted]

"Were you." Well, this interest is real, even if it isn't particularly sympathetic. Cyrus is looking at Linden more closely now, trying to gauge how bad the damage actually is. "I'm sorry to hear that. Mr. Compson has, until now, managed to avoid any assault charges; a pity, to see he's decided property damage isn't enough for him."

He makes about as big an affair out of Linden's injury as Linden himself does. There's concern in his face, in the very slight crease between his eyes; but it's less for Linden than for the enormous indiscretion this represents. A Capitolite assaulting anyone in public simply isn't done.

"Do you mind if I ask about the circumstances?" he asks. And with a dry smile-- "Though if you'd prefer just to leave me with Celebrus' take on it, I understand."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden perhaps didn't intend to get that much interest with his flippant statements; he had thought that they might be enough to shock an offworlder, but certainly not a man who has spent much of his life dealing with the affairs of staff and Tributes and Capitolites. That indicates that it's actually fairly juicy, more so than the steak that Linden had pressed against his swollen eye when he'd returned to his suite that day.

"The circumstances?" he repeats flatly. "Do those matter?"

But I don't want to leave him with Celebrus' take on the event, given how strongly they sided with Jason before.

"It was childish," he confesses with a shrug. "He was upset about his staff reviews and things escalated, but he was the first to make physical contact. Even with a lot of therapy, I've never been able to adjust well to that. My reaction wasn't... gentle, and his retaliatory one wasn't, either."

He doesn't say that he bit him, since that little detail probably falls on the superfluous side of things.

sorry this is so late, jeez

[currupted]

"What a pity," Cyrus says, shaking his head. "You know, I really hoped recent changes would cut down on that kind of behavior, particularly in public places. It's no kind of example to set for our Tributes."

His disapproval could be aimed at one or both of them. Guilty until proven innocent, on both sides. But a little more on the Districter's side, because that's what justice looks like.

"In any case-- I wish you a speedy recovery." Cyrus raises his glass. If he's going to get through as many of these as he wants to tonight, he'll have to start early. "...Perhaps we ought to toast briefly. There's a camera pointed in this direction."

That last murmured, almost offhand. Something of which he is always acutely conscious.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden hears an implied rebuke there, whether or not it was intended. It's incredibly difficult for a Districter to prove his innocence in any situation, meaning that sometimes it's actually cathartic to misbehave seeing that it's expected. It's a vicious cycle and a self-fulfiling prophecy in quite a lot of ways.

"No sudden change can take both quickly and effectively," he informs flatly, taking a quick sip of his own drink. "If it's a personal decision and conviction is ample, perhaps there's a decent chance, but unfortunately you might be waiting a little longer to see the measures of improvement you're hoping for."

There are some rules we all have to live by, even Capitolites, and I happen to find that comforting. I don't think I could say the same for you.

"Thank you for your kind wishes. What shall we toast?" He asks, raising his glass and his brows, wondering if there's anything they both care about mutually that he could sincerely drink to.

[currupted]

It's one of the stranger aspects of Cyrus' relationship with Jason, as well. There's no love lost between the two men and never has been; since they were children they've been building up a store of mean-spirited competition and simmering envy and mutual disgust, a well from which they both draw when they speak with each other. But still: No matter the circumstances, in a dispute between Jason and a Districter where an actual consequence is on the line, Cyrus will always take Jason's side.

"Mm... There's always Panem. I think we can agree that's worth toasting." It's the safest toast possible, really. "Alternately: District Six must have something worth toasting in it. I'll drink to that, if you name it."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden nods quickly at the suggestion of Panem; it's safe, and soft and generic and there's no way anyone could take it the wrong way. It's practically the definition of neutral ground.

Of course, it can't remain that way. Linden's eyes narrow as Cyrus subtly insults his District by putting the burden of naming something worth toasting on the Victor, the implication being that someone outside of the District can think of nothing.

It puts Linden in a difficult position. If he refuses to answer, he's essentially admitting that there isn't anything there to toast, and if he does, the implication is still that that's the only thing.

"Honesty," he says softly. "The people in 6 are honest to a fault. In fact, I didn't know how to lie, or what lies were, until I came here." He raises his glass, using his elbow to prop it up and support it. "To the honesty of my District."