[open] we met on the moon

[fusshionable]

Who| Porrim + you!
What| Greeting her Tributes as they return from the Arena + introducing a new four-legged friend.
Where| D5 suites, tower commons, staff lounge
When| The last couple of weeks of the Arena through the finale.
Warnings/Notes| n/a



a. d5 suites

With Tributes trickling back in from the Arena day by day, it's not hard for Porrim to find something to do around her District's suites the way it was in the beginning. Each of her Tributes comes back to a modest gift basket waiting on their bed--nothing so extravagant as Swann's, but still filled with care and chocolates and a nice little bottle of wine. Things that she personally finds comfort in. And even though she knows it's all bullshit, Jason's comment about not having paid attention to her own Tributes struck a chord in her, so Porrim has resolved to pay better attention. To be more attentive to their needs. And to try and keep herself from getting distracted unnecessarily. If someone as inherently awful as Jason is commenting on her work performance, well--clearly something needs to change.

Within a day of coming back, each Tribute will get a knock on their door, and Porrim poking her head in to check on them. She's open to talking, if that's what they need, but mostly she just wants to make sure all is well, and to make herself available to her charges. She spends her free time in the suite commons, studying footage and taking notes, drinking her afternoon tea in the sort of silence that invites company, and going over Stylist sketches for each of her tributes. There's a new addition to the suites, as well. Somewhere along the way, Porrim's begun bringing in her new companion: a large, jet-black female Shepherd named Nicola. She's on a leash at first, while she scopes out her surroundings, and visitors will be greeted by a friendly nose poking and prodding into their pockets and hands, checking for treats and making certain they are trustworthy enough for her mistress. Nicola is friendly...unless you're someone Porrim doesn't like. In an alarmingly short amount of time, the dog has picked up on those Porrim doesn't trust.

b. tower commons/staff lounge

Porrim is a busy woman, and when she's not spending time with her Tributes, there's quite a lot of running around she needs to do. Especially in the weeks leading up to the finale, she can be found blazing trails down corridors, heels clicking against marble floors in a manner most determined, her hair pulled back and away from her face. Porrim's arms are usually full, be it with stacks of paperwork, binders full of information on odds and numbers from the Sponsorship program, or (more often than not) a half-full latte with more shots of espresso than she dares to count.

When she's not tracking down Sponsors like a bat out of hell, Porrim can be found taking a moment to herself in the Lobby Bar or one of the staff rooms. She doesn't slump, but she does the nearest thing to it over a martini or a cup of coffee depending on the locale, halfheartedly flipping through papers. She's tired, and her nerves are near shot from the suspense of wondering if she's going to lose her damn job any day now. Really, she could use a good distraction.

Comments

A.

[wickedgoogly]

Oh, she just had to pull that, didn't she? A gift basket, filled full of nice things and fortunately not including the wine older tributes may get. It's kind, thoughtful, and utterly repulsive. How dare she. Worse is that with the news that credit cards are funded by the work of the Districts, she can't just purchase some elaborate thank you gift; she has to be crafty.

Literally crafty. She's a knitter, after all.

The best thing is that she knits enough anyway that it oughtn't raise attention if Porrim spots her in the act, and she's sure enough to treat her with a veneer of manners and smiles just polite enough in the meanwhile. It takes a few weeks before it's done, her work industrious but fitted around the hours of school and whatever else a young tribute has packed into her life, but she does it.

With a last purchase of a nice basket, a bit of colorful tissue paper, and a cute ribbon, she arranges it all prettily for presentation. Porrim is easy to find when they share a district; it's within the same day that she brings her gift basket out to the common area to present it to her. Not much has been done to hide the contents, but the specifics aren't apparent beyond 'knit items' folded neatly together, with a lot of black and green.

She sees Porrim's shepherd is with her again, and it suits. She's noticed her before, though she hasn't given her a surplus of attention; she's always been more of a cat person.

With a soft sound to clear her voice, she takes a spot standing before them, basket held up before her in case Nicola should get too nosy about it.

"Hi. I thought since you were kind enough to give me a gift basket that I should return the favor. You'll have to forgive me for how late it is, but it took some time to assemble things. I hope it isn't too homespun for Capitol tastes." Not literally: she doesn't know the first thing of spinning yarn. Still, everything handmade over time carries a sentimentality imbued to make up for the unwillingness to drop too much money on fancy things - a deliberate move far into the opposite direction.

Inside is a tea cozy, some knit doilies (everyone needs doilies for something, right?), and a pair of matching, loose-knit shawls: one for Porrim, one at estimated scale for Nicola.

[fusshionable]

Porrim's sipping at her tea when Rose approaches. She's noticed her newest Tribute working away at something in between school and other obligations, but never paid it much mind. It's normal for Tributes to find hobbies, after all, and after Rose's initially chilly reception, she'd never have suspected she was working on something for her. So when Rose holds out a gift basket containing what appears to be items knitted in Porrim's favorite colors, she's taken aback, to say the least. The Escort sets down her tea cup with only the barest rattle, letting the last hint of bergamot fade from her tongue before she speaks.

"Well, that--wasn't strictly necessary, but thank you," she replies kindly, letting her lips curl into a smile. She's been keeping a respectful distance, and now she's thinking that perhaps it's all paid off.

Perhaps.

She reaches for the basket, taking it and setting it in her lap. "You made this all yourself? That's lovely," she says honestly, pulling out the tea cozy first, and marvelling at how cute, and strange, and weirdly appropriate it is. "This must have taken you an awfully long time." Immediately, Porrim takes the liberty of fitting the tea cozy over her teapot, chuckling at how very her it is. Nicola whines, nosing at the basket, and Porrim swats gently at her nose. "Down. Now, what else have we got here?"

If she's picked up on the passive-aggressiveness of this gift exchange, she certainly isn't letting on.

[wickedgoogly]

"Oh, don't worry. I wanted to," she says, brushing off the concern. Not strictly necessary, her ass--a passive aggressive friendly gift basket jab like that deserves comeuppance. "I like knitting, so I found time between things."

It's not really a lie. She'd be knitting something anyway, so the only difference is the purpose to which it's been applied. She watches as Porrim puts the cozy onto her teapot, a faint smile on her face. Things like hers, practical gifts, demand use lest the rejection become obvious.

She motions at the baskets. "There are a couple shawls in there, for you and her." The motions shifts to Nicola. "I tried to keep them light since we're moving into summer, but there's always places with aggressive air conditioning." There's the doilies, too, but they don't really need explanation.

[fusshionable]

"Isn't that darling," Porrim comments, when what she really wants to say is a very dubious 'uh-huh'. But she's trying to stay professional here, and that means taking everything at face value. At Rose's prompting, Porrim reaches in again and pulls out the doilies, running her fingers over the delicate knitwork before setting them aside in favor of the two shawls Rose has pointed out. Her lips curve into a smile.

"I love it," she says honestly, taking the smaller one and draping it around Nicola's shoulders, tying it with a knot. Nicola's head bobs to try and sniff at the garment, but the hound seems to accept it after a moment. Porrim laughs. "I think she approves. And so do I." Her own shawl is held in her lap, fingers playing over the soft ribs of the yarn. "Thank you, Rose."

[wickedgoogly]

Darling? Rose's eyebrow quirks, but she says nothing, instead watching as Porrim looks through the other gifts present. The smile doesn't look false, and seeing her secure the smaller shawl around Nicola is what she wanted. Nice too that the dog doesn't harm it; no matter the motives behind her gifts, it would be a pain in the ass if they just got destroyed right away.

For that, there is perhaps some sincerity as she answers, "You're welcome. I'm glad you like them."

She's still not fond of her yet.

Just leaving now would be too abrupt, though. And while half the point is keeping up a polite front, Rose does find her mind wandering to other thoughts which an Escort could presumably answer. She doesn't move to sit yet, but her expression draws more serious.

"It seems like the numbers are thinning out in the arena lately. Is it getting close to the end?"

A.

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis was merely exploring District 5, wandering the rooms and looking for any familiar faces in the Arena. He was just about to head out when he feels a wet nose against his jeans. "Pardon?" the mechanic instantly jumped at the sudden, strange touch before he spotted the frankly majestic creature booping him.

A Southern man who ignores a sweet pooch as this one is not worth their salt, as he was taught back home. Ellis offered his hand first before trying any scratches or petting. "You are a beauty o' a dog, sweetie, yer momma an' daddy must be so damn proud," he complimented while grinning, "I ain't got nothin' on me I'm afraid. Where's your owner, sugar?"

[fusshionable]

Porrim had ducked into the suite's restroom briefly to touch up her makeup and fix her hair; when she comes back out into the commons, she raises her eyebrows at the sight of a strange Tribute sweet-talking her dog. Porrim merely leans against the counter.

"She's right here," she replies, since Nicola cannot. The Escort cocks her head, studying the stranger. He looks familiar--oh. She's seen him before, while watching Arena footage. Of course.

"Ellis, right? Nick's friend?

[shiftingurbulls]

Even though Ellis thinks she's dressed for a classy funeral, the woman before him is stunningly beautiful in every sense of the word. She had to be a Capitolite, a Stylist? Or maybe an Escort? She looks too damn put together when compared to some of the people here.

"Tha' I am, Miss!" The mechanic rose up and took off his hat for her, lest he incurred in his mother's imaginary wrath. But it's the mention of his friend Nick that his smile loses some of the energy, "I don't wanna lose hope tha' he's gone but...I thought I'd find a familiar face, a friend an' instead, I found yer baby here. Wha's her name?"

[fusshionable]

Porrim's expression is sympathetic, but more than that, there's empathy behind it. Because as much as she'd tried to force herself not to get attached, she's starting to gain a terrible track record when it comes to that. "I'm sorry," she says softly, fingers scratching behind Nicola's ears. "He was a friend of mine, too."

And then Ellis has to go and ask her name, and Porrim feels her cheeks flush just a little. "Ah--Nicola," she replies lightly, praying that this Ellis won't make the association. "She's a Panemanian Shepherd."

A

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Oh, hey, you got a dog." This is surely easier to discuss than anything like Nitou's death and subsequent release of Chimera in the Arena. Besides, the dog's the first thing Nitou has noticed; he'd been about to leave his room and the gift basket behind in search of mayonnaise and maybe some alcohol stronger than the wine left in the basket.

[fusshionable]

Porrim glances up from the Sponsorship summary she's been glancing over between sips of tea, her free hand absently stroking the pup's head. She gives Nitou a smile. "Mm, I did. I needed some company while everyone was gone."

Nicola gets up from her perch at Porrim's side and begins nosing eagerly at Nitou's pockets, which the Escort ignores save for a tug at her leash. "Down, girl. Did you get my gift basket?" This last is directed back at Nitou. His basket had included a small selection of gourmet mayonnaise in fancy glass jars. Naturally.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Huh, I never thought about that. I guess it does get quiet in here..." At least until the Cornucopia dead started filing back in...Nitou kills a shiver at the thought.

He reaches down to pet the dog, even if he doesn't have anything for her. "I did! That stuff looks like it's gonna be pretty awesome--I gotta find just the right stuff to eat with it!" It's much easier to act like nothing at all is wrong, even if coming back is always weird and wrong, and this time, he'd had Chimera griping at him and eating him in the end. Far easier to pretend like he's his normal bouncy, hungry self.

[fusshionable]

"Deathly quiet," Porrim agrees with a hint of mischief in her eyes. She cocks her head at Nitou, watching as he reaches down to pet her companion.

"Glad you liked it. The company who makes them actually seems interested in doing an ad campaign with you as its spokesmodel. Interested?"

b. lobby bar

[somegrimshit]

Rochelle's been doing a lot of drinking lately. Making up for lost time, she supposes, and Lord above knew that she had a lot of things to drink about. The Arena, coming back to learn that Nick wasn't there, and then that whole mess with blind dating and the ball. It was tempting to just get her own seat at the bar and never leave. Who'd even bother trying to stop her?

Porrim doesn't look like she feels, because the woman has a poise about her, a way of holding herself that means that Rochelle isn't sure it's possible for her to look quite that shitty. But either way, she did look a little...tense. Frayed, maybe. Rochelle takes a deep sip of her drink, and turns to glance her over. Capitolite, and one she'd seen before in the information...But the name escaped her for the moment.

"Long day?" She asked conversationally, lifting an eyebrow up. Not that she was one to talk.

[fusshionable]

If anyone is going to stop Rochelle drinking, it certainly won't be Porrim. She's a firm believer in a person's right to drown their sorrows a little, and damned if she hasn't done the same every so often. Maybe even now, just a little, even if she'd never admit it.

The question provides a welcome distraction from meddlesome paperwork, and Porrim closes her file folder with a finality that suggests that she won't be opening it again tonight. She glances in the direction of the speaker. Ah, well--another of Nick's friends. Of course.

"Extremely," Porrim admits. "Luckily, Atticus knows how to pour a strong martini." She gestures toward the bartender, whose skin is dyed an alarming shade of purple.

[somegrimshit]

She nodded to the bartender at Porrim's words. It's not like she really talked much to the man. Didn't need to. That whole weird trope about everybody talking to the bartender never seemed to make much sense to Rochelle--Not that she's likely to spill her life story to anyone, much less a man who has thought it a good idea to dye his skin purple.

"The drinks are good here," She admits, because it's true. Even before zombies put alcohol out of business, this place was on a scale higher than Rochelle could afford. She stares at her glass a few moments, before looking back over at Porrim.

"My name's Rochelle." It seems the polite thing to say, introducing yourself. She looks vaguely familiar--She must have seen her around, on the TV, or somewhere.

[fusshionable]

"To be fair," Porrim amends, "this is the Capitol. It's practically illegal for drinks not to be good." It is, after all, the center of gluttony and consumption. People don't want to waste their time not enjoying something.

With a pointed look, Porrim gestures to Atticus that he should keep Rochelle's glass filled on Porrim's dime, before holding out a hand to the Tribute. "I'm Porrim. I'm Five's Escort." She pauses. "You're, ah--one of Nick's friends from home, aren't you."

B. Staff Room

[aves]

Trish, unlike some people, isn't afraid to slouch a little. She slides down into a seat a respectful distance from where it looks like Porrim is paying a little extra attention to that coffee cup, a cup of tea in her own hand.

"I didn't know you actually knew how to sit down and relax. How are you enjoying it so far?" She's really great at breaking the ice in a sensitive, gentle way. She's seen Porrim around, though-- but only in flashes around corners and through doorways.

She's not one to talk; she's been busy herself, but with a lot less running around and a lot more trying to get into the swing of this new job. She has a lot of catch-up to do, and a lot of basic prep work. She hasn't had any late nights at the sewing machine yet, but a lot of her free time has been occupied by taking it upon herself to try and get up on her Tributes' business. The attempt hass made for a lot of magazine reading-- it's not as enjoyable as it sounds, when you're chain-reading back issues of Celebrus for several hours, panning for snippets here and there.

[fusshionable]

Porrim glances up from where she's been staring into her coffee cup, watching the milk swirl along with the motion of her spoon. She's not sure how long she's been wasting, idly toying with the spoon like this, but the voice coming from nearby breaks the spell.

Instinctively, Porrim smirks. "It's taking some getting used to. How are you finding Tower life?"

She knows, of course, who Trish is. She keeps up with the latest gossip, a pop star-turned-Stylist certainly isn't going to escape her notice.

[aves]

"Not quite what I expected," Trish replies without a moment's hesitation. How was she supposed to know what to expect? She's never had coworkers before, at least not ones that she didn't pick out herself. The hustle and bustle she can deal with, it's the tributes that surprise her more. "District 6 got saddled with some pretty interesting characters."

Her sarcasm knows no bounds, not that she really needs to try and use polite words, especially not for the couple she's had the pleasure of interacting with one on one. "And I'm going to take a guess that I don't even know the half of it yet."

[fusshionable]

"It rarely is," Porrim replies easily. She knows that all too well. She hadn't expected to fall in love. Hadn't expected to be drafted into a rebellion. This job can be a surprising one, and she'll be the first to admit it. The Escort chuckles. "So I've heard."

She sips at her coffee again, letting cream and sugar and roasty sweetness melt over her tongue. "Not remotely, I'm afraid. Just wait until there's a winner. You'll be in over your head in crowning before you have a chance to call your assistants for help."

A - sorry for the late ;w;

[fuckitall]

First man in, first man out. That was how it went down for Nick at the start of the cornucopia. He barely managed to hang on for a few hours until he ultimately bled out and left Luke to do the final act of making sure he didn't reanimate. Nick had been anxiously watching the arena footage since, using whatever means he had to send his people the supplies to keep them alive.

Nearly all but Rick and Daryl met an end in the arena so far and none of them have heard a word from Clementine, which could only mean that she wasn't coming back this time.

Having spent the last of his means to help Rick and Daryl, he returns to the suite still feeling like a ghost from the one true loss he and the others have suffered. When the shepherd comes up to him he stares down at it for a while before eventually giving into the puppy eyes (all dogs got those, no matter how old they are in his book) and holds his hand out for her to sniff.

No worries!!

[fusshionable]

It takes Porrim a few moments of walking away from the suite's commons to realize that woman's best friend hasn't followed along at her heels. Cursing softly under her breath, the Escort doubles back, whistling loudly.

"Nicola!"

For what it's worth, the dog seems to ignore her, too caught up in smelling all the smells that reside on this stranger's hands. There's too much going on there for her to mind her mistress. She gives Nick's fingers a few experimental licks. Food? Was he eating food?

Porrim comes back into view, and stops short, snorting. "Guess you've been making friends in here," she observes aloud. "Hope she wasn't bothering you, Nick."

[fuckitall]

As Nick looks up at the escort, that's when Nicola nudges his hand with her nose. He takes that as an indication that it's okay for him to pet her, so he does. She's a different breed entirely, but her welcoming face reminds him of Luke's dog, Dixie.

"She wasn't. I just got here." He looks down at the dog again to give her a few good pettings behind her ears. "Didn't know you got a dog. Nicola, huh?"

The survivor practically wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's pretty easy to tell that this arena has him just as exhausted as if he was still in there himself.

[fusshionable]

Porrim has to smile, seeing how quickly her new pup has been taking to her Tributes. Rather heartwarming, actually. "Good, good," she replies mildly, stopping a few feet away, her black skirt swishing about her ankles. "Yes, that's her. I figured it was a noble name for a noble creature." Really, Nicola was meant to be far more intimidating than she's turning out to be, but Porrim also hasn't introduced her to Jason yet, so the jury's still out on that.

She hitches her chin toward Nick. "You doing alright? Do you need anything?"