intenserer: (06)
ʀɪᴄᴋ ғᴏʀᴅ ([personal profile] intenserer) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol2015-07-10 08:42 pm

and I scream from the top of my lungs / what's going on?

Who| Ford, Temple, Jack, Merlyn, and possibly you!
What| Rick wakes up in the Capitol, what is this fuckery, he needs some booze.
Where| Around the Tower
When| During the last week of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| If you'd like to put up a prompt for your character to meet Ford, feel free! Otherwise PM me and I can put one up :)
cigne: (Default)

SWANN :D /says own name

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-11 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
Upon waking in his room, the first thing Ford should take note of are three very large, very beautiful gift baskets. One is filled with wine and snacks and chocolate, all sinfully rich and exquisitely decorated. One is brimming with impressively sized fruits of every variety, season be damned, and their colors are so bright and vibrant that one could swear they're painted. Breathtaking flowers accent the spaces between the fruit.

The third basket is the most personalized, featuring all sorts of things that should appeal personally to Ford, fitting his personal style. Because Eight is the textile District, there are several extremely lovely ties and pocket squares tucked neatly alongside the sets of cufflinks and and cologne and glass bottles of liquor. There's a bevy of silver pieces, pens and lighters and other knick-knacks, all engraved with his name and the enthusiastic phrase "Eight is Great!".

It's also the only basket with a card in it, thick cream paper with gold hearts embossed along the bottom, and the writing inside is curly and sweet.

Welcome to Panem, Rick! Thank you for being our guest.
When you're ready, feel free to join me in the common area of the Suite, and I'll be glad to explain everything to you.
Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.

- Swann M. Honeymead
District Eight Escort

PANEM TODAY, PANEM TOMORROW, PANEM FOREVER
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-12 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
Swann is busily typing away at a tablet on her lap, firing off emails every which way before her Tributes can get pushed out of the limelight by everyone else's. Sure, no one from Eight won, and only Ford had even made it to the last week, but that didn't mean that they couldn't have a little piece of the spotlight for their own.

When he speaks, she glances over her shoulder and beams at him before standing up, a sort of marvel on par with the gift baskets herself. Her dress has a cupcake skirt filled with actual flowers, visible and shifting as she moves, and she flits over on high heels molded to actually look as if she's walking in a pair of flowers. All that platinum hair is swept up in a loose, wispy sort of beehive that's dotted with flowers and butterflies made of diamonds and gemstones (the butterflies are slowly, mechanically flapping their wings). And it all somehow manages to pale in comparison to how happy she manages to be to see him.

"Hi! Rick, do you like to be called Rick? We can call you something else but I need to know now, because once it's out, it's out, you know?" She has a Capitolite accent on top of a breathy 'sexy baby' voice, making her sound a little bit hissy, but she doesn't let that slow her down as she grabs him by the cuff of his shirt to drag him towards the sitting area.

She's stronger than she looks.

Swann sort of gently shoves him toward the opposite chair, and sits back down, a glittering floral ball of smiles. "Okay, so hi! Formally. Welcome to the Capitol! Um, yes, I'm Swann, and I'm the Escort for District Eight. That means it's my job to explain everything to you, and to help all of this District's Tributes with their publicity and image in the city. We have two other Staff members in this District, who you'll meet later -- Jolie is our Stylist, and she'll be dressing you for the most part, and Temple is our Mentor. She's a former Games Victor and she'll be helping you best navigate your way to a win!"

She pauses for a breath and cocks her head, still smiling. This is probably one of his last chances to get a word in for a while.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-12 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
It probably does not help that this happens to be the moment that a pink Pomeranian and a miniature tiger, white with pink stripes, choose to walk through the room and then down the hall, where they disappear into one of the bedrooms. Swann doesn't even seem to notice any of that.

"No no, I'm not a babysitter!" she says, waving her hands. "You're free to go anywhere in the city and do whatever you like, as long as you don't break any laws or anything. Think of me as your advisor in how to deal with our culture and our media!"

She looks concerned now, more than anything, and it's a sort of concerned that rings of being worried he's upset with her, rather than the circumstances.

"Um, yes, you do have to go back in the Arena... later, though, weeks and weeks from now. Um, maybe I should start from the beginning? Yes. Right now, you're in the Capitol of Panem, which is a nation made up of our city and twelve Districts, each of which fulfills its own unique purpose to the Capitol. Seventy-eight years ago, there was a war between the Capitol and the Districts -- there used to be thirteen instead of twelve. Once the Capitol defeated the rebels and restored order to Panem, our President, Coriolanus Snow, established the Hunger Games, an annual competition to remind the Districts of not just their own treason, but of the Capitol's love and forgiveness for them. Every year, one girl and one boy from each of the twelve Districts was chosen to enter the Hunger Games. The Victor would be bathed in riches and live in comfort forever, and not only that, but their District would receive extra rations of food and medical care, extra teachers for their children, everything that the Capitol provides."

She takes a breath and a sip of tea from an extremely girly-looking teacup, then smiles at Ford again.

"Now, you're probably wondering where you fit into all of this! So, every twenty-five years, there's a special Hunger Games, called a Quarter Quell. It just means something is different, like the last Quarter Quell had double the competitors. Because of some recently developed technology, it was decided that the Third Quarter Quell would be the Never-Ending Quell. And it was decided that they would use the technology to bring in off-world competitors, representing the Districts. For the first time, no one permanently dies in the Arena -- you'll be reset every time you die. If you, or anyone else from District Eight, wins, you'll be helping good people improve their lives. In exchange for your bravery and valor, you'll not only have access to all the Capitol has to offer, but you'll also be beloved by thousands and thousands of people all across Panem."
clotting: (Happy - Monroe)

[personal profile] clotting 2015-07-14 10:10 am (UTC)(link)
Ford doesn't even need to wink to summon Temple, but it certainly makes the little click and pop of her heels against the bar floor speed up a half-beat. She was heading towards him as soon as she saw him anyway, unsure, with these new Games rules, whether she should chastise the loser now that they're around and alive to chastise or whether she should start immediately trying to build up some esteem for the next Arena.

It isn't right, she thinks, for Tributes to come back. It's cosmically unjust. Temple's used to forcefully forgetting them, consigning them to the past until their names and faces are nothing but half-remembered syllables and blurs, all for the necessity of preserving her ability to get up in the morning, and yet here is the new order. Tributes, not Mentor, Tributes walking amongst the living after an Arena.

She struts right up to him like a peacock at a petting zoo, all perfectly pressed and tailored dress and daintiness, from her posture to the subtle upturn of her nose, proud and sensual. She gestures with her hand for her Avox to go order from the bartender; her servant knows what sort of alcohol she likes.

"Rick Ford? You are Rick Ford, right, not the man who looks a little bit like you?" Temple holds her hand out to him, unsure whether she wants him to be her Tribute or his doppelganger. "Temple Stevens, Staff for District Eight. Can I buy you a drink?"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-15 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
"Hm?" Swann turns to look at where he's looking. "Oh, yeah, that's just Pascal, he belongs to me. Marcel is the dog." She waves dismissively and that's sort of it. Welcome to the Suite, Ford.

She smiles at him, relieved but also not, because many of the offworlders don't seem to share the same idea of laws as Panem does. "I'm really glad about that, Rick. I'll make sure to get you a good copy of all the information you need to know about our city, but the biggest thing you should remember is that you are being recorded at all times. Everyone in the Capitol is. It's really not that big of a deal, but it's important because... um, well, we've discovered that most offworlders' homes seem to have a very different idea of what's considered acceptable speech. We take treason very seriously in Panem, so a very good rule of thumb is that, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!"

Another wide smile, and she ticks off the other big offenses on her fingers. "Also no weapons or fighting outside of the Arena or the Training Center, no public disturbances, and while I feel like I shouldn't have to say this, no personal relationships with any Staff."

Swann neatly uncrosses her legs only to cross them again at the ankle, and rest her hands in her lap. "Well, yes, that's why you've been brought here, and like I said, we very much thank you for your courage. You are allowed to enter a petition to leave the Games by being naturalized as a citizen, but right now, they aren't likely to approve you because they don't know you."

Strangely, and Rick will probably notice this is a recurring theme with Capitolites, she never elaborates on who "they" are.

"Unfortunately, I don't have access to any information about people leaving. That's something that's decided by the Gamemakers and their teams, and has absolutely nothing to do with me. Which I only say because I have no input, and I won't find out you're gone until... well, until you're gone!"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-16 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
"Well, that's kind of the point." She laughs a bit nervously, because she doesn't really need Quintus coming down on her for one of her Tributes being a pain. "Cameras and microphones. So like I said..." She places her index finger, complete with a long pink nail bearing a 3D flower appliqué, in front of her lips.

Internally, Swann sighs and rolls her eyes, because she doesn't understand why everyone else seems so deadset on intermingling. "Yes. It's been deemed a sort of unfair advantage to fraternize between Staff and Tributes, so they made it illegal. Both sides would face charges."

She smooths her skirt down and cocks her head a bit. "Well, you do receive a monetary reward for each Arena kill you accomplish, but mostly the Capitol provides you with accommodations, food, wardrobe, nearly everything you could ever need. However, if you're interested, there are a lot of ways for Tributes to make their own earnings -- product endorsements, modeling, singing or acting, television appearances. They're all really good because they also build up your fanbase, which increases the likelihood of getting Sponsors in the Arena."
clotting: (Happy - Monroe)

[personal profile] clotting 2015-07-16 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
"Charmer. In this old thing?" Temple grins and winks, brushing a hand down the front of her tight dress that covers a body that seems to have stayed exactly the same, despite carrying two children to term. The dress, of course, isn't old, and was bought off a mannequin and tailored in-store yesterday.

Temple leans forward over the counter, tilting forward even in her heels to reach over it (and to present her derriere in a manner that's only superficially innocent and would, without the way she calls for the bartender, look like nothing more like a cat in heat) and orders Ford a whiskey on the rocks, the most expensive kind they have in the bar, with as little care as if she were just getting a glass of water.

Then she takes a seat, folding one leg over the other and angling her back, the effusively feminine yin to Ford's radiant yang. "So tell me about yourself. Your file was a little...well, I want to know how much of it is hyperbole."
dreadinquisitor: (sit)

Maxwell

[personal profile] dreadinquisitor 2015-07-16 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)
One of Ford's suitemates was in the common room, sitting at the head of the long, dark dining table, his back to the window bank. Afternoon sunshine streamed in behind him, shining off the glossy magazine open in front of him.

The latest issue of Celebrus.

And apparently it wasn't very good reading.

Resting his elbows on the table, his face sank into his heads, fingertips rubbing at his eyes and forehead.

"They are never going to let me forget this," he sighed with a wry, snorted chuckle.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-16 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Swann arches her eyebrows and nods in a way that indicates that just maybe she doesn't really believe that whole sexual prowess boast, but she also doesn't care to continue the conversation. She clears her throat and then bends slightly to reach into a tote bag at her feet, one printed with saccharine cartoon bears that still manages to ring of having cost more than many people make in a month. She pulls out a leather folio (cream, his name embossed in gold on the front), and a pen with a large pink fur puffball on the end.

"Okay, that's good!" she says, jotting things down. "Anything else I should know about you, about the kind of image you want presented? Other things you'd want to rep, TV specials or spots you'd be interested in, special talents or things that you can promote? Oh, and where are you from? You don't have the same accent as the other ones."

Reaching into a folio pocket, she pulls out a black credit card, weighty and elegant, with his name on it. "Oh, and this is for you, Rick."
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-18 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
She nods and her pen flies across the page, notating things and jotting ideas down, and she even manages to somehow doodle a little sports car without really losing her pace. "Um, Old Spice man?" Swann pauses in her writing to cock her head at him, looking confused. "Do the spices have something to do with why he wears a towel? Is it an herbal bath? Does he only talk to women?"

Swann is very interested in this spicy gentleman.

"That card is courtesy of the Capitol and District Eight, as thanks for your services in the Arena. No limit and no APR." Not that Swann really has any idea what APR is. She got her first credit card at age seven and no one ever explained anything about it to her. This is money, was basically what she was told, and that was that.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-07-19 12:57 am (UTC)(link)
"All right," she says with a shrug, and smiles. "But the bar and restaurant downstairs in the Commons will serve you for free. Just so you know."

"Deodorant..." She says it slowly, like she has to turn the word over in her head. "Well, I was thinking a line of watches or cologne, but we can go deodorant if that's what you'd like. I'd love to get you a liquor company, but Black Tom and Molotov have that market cornered, and no one wants to be in competition with them. Maybe a party at The Speakeasy, it's thematically appropriate... or Anomaly on the right night..."

By the end of it, she's muttering to herself, looking down at the notepad and biting the corner of her bottom lip.

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