thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO | Signless and YOU, with a special prompt for Bayard and Psii
WHAT | Dealing with the fallout of the Capitol revoking everyone's credit lines
WHERE | D12 suites/out and about in the Capitol
WHEN | Nowish
WARNINGS | Definitely discussion of slavery in the closed prompt

A. OPEN | D12

It doesn't take a genius to realize that tributes who suddenly have no source of income are going to find it far harder to get basic things like food. Signless, however, is no longer a tribute: he's a Mentor, and that affords him a decent (if not cushy) salary. Even if he can't help his tributes hone their combat skills, he can most certainly make sure they go into the arena healthy instead of starved.

To that end he's made it his mission to stock the District 12 kitchen. While he can guess at basics (tea, coffee, sugar, bread, fruit), he's well-aware that he doesn't know the tastes of his districtmates nearly so well as they do. Anyone who wanders into the kitchen can find him pinning a pad of paper onto the fridge with 'Grocery Requests' written at the top in careful print. His current plan is to restock things either every other week or as soon as the paper is reasonably full, but that's assuming the idea takes off in the first place.

B. OPEN | CAPITOL SHOPS

While he waits for someone to make use of his list, he decides to go on a preliminary run to at least stock up the kitchen a little. He wanders between shops: a few loaves of different kinds of bread here, a bag of apples and a bag of pears there. Soon he has a small but respectable collection of bags.

Particularly of interest to him is coffee. It took him quite a while to get started drinking it, but thanks to Bayard he's started having it more than once every few weeks. Tea was easy to buy -- tea he was familiar with. By contrast he knows next to nothing about coffee; he's just been making whatever was already available in the kitchen in Twelve and trusting it would be good.

"What is everyone most likely to like..." he murmurs to himself, inspecting bags of coffee beans with a furrowed brow. Dark? Medium? Medium, probably, but then there's so many flavors... he probably needs a second opinion.

"Do you know anything about coffee?" he asks the person nearest him. Chances are they know more than he does.

C. FOR BAYARD AND PSII | ICE CREAM SHOP

When Signless stepped out of the tribute tower today he'd assumed it would be a fairly uneventful outing. Now, sitting at a table in an ice cream parlor between a very annoyed Psiioniic and a bloody-lipped Bayard Sartoris, he's wondering where things went so very wrong. He picks at his rose-flavored ice cream and looks between them with a wary expression. There has to be a way to say 'why did I walk into this establishment to find you punching a small child in the face' that isn't quite so... accusatory. Even the Psiioniic is usually better with his temper than that, so Bayard must have said something that really hit a nerve.

"Is your lip feeling a little better, Bayard?" is what he finally asks. He doesn't want to prod Psii for information before he's absolutely sure it won't prompt another blowup. Much as he cares for the other troll, he's well-aware of how difficult he can be when he's angry.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At least he thinks more of her finer feelings than Karkat and Psiioniic. They had had no problem making this her problem. Not the best introduction to such a complex subject, but one that had made this an easy step. She's used to the idea by now.

"You have no idea. Three on the network when I introduced myself, two babbling away at me about it. Pawfully upset with me--aha. I figured it must have been something like that," She taps her chin with the pen she forgot to write back with, "Like I said, prefer tea but I tend to put as much chocolate and whipped cream as I can fit in the cup when I get it. It really does help you stay awake at night. A columnists work is nefur done. Or what did she call it. Romance journalist. Much more fancy name, I liked it."

And suddenly, she stops herself mid-thought and shakes her head quickly. So rude.

"I'm sorry, I furgot to introduce myself. I'm Meulin Leijon. The Signless, right? I've read and heard so much about you."

He considers writing back explaining that he already knew her name and thinks better of it. He assumed her name, and finding out his assumption was correct only causes another pang in his bloodpusher. That isn't something he needs to tell her when it isn't something she can help. Is there a Kankri in the Capitol somewhere? Does she know him? Has she felt the same sense of half-recognition every time she sees a Vantas face on the television that he feels now?

Meulin. I think I've read a few of your articles. He manages a somewhat rueful smile. The ones I've featured in, anyway. I try to keep abreast of these things.

Oh shoot, he did know her from that. Frantically, she tries to recall what she'd written about him. Leo right? Was there anything else. It had been too long to recall and there was always something new to keep abreast of, new changes to account for.

"Oh--I know I don't always write the truth!" She heads that off, "So, I'm sorry for all that. I write what sells, not what I think. Though Beckily finally sailed, so that's a nice touch. I was rooting for them. So obvious."

She slips into work mode for a moment, eyes going a little glazed as she starts off, "Your quadrants purrove hard to pin down and so speculation abounds. Victors are always popular and even if trolls aren't as big anymore, quadrants are still interesting. Karkat told me a bit about them actually and I'm always learning more, but I think my stabs in the dark don't always hit the mark, especially with black. I should bug Kurloz for this month's--and I was just rambling. Sorry, it's just so..."

It feels slightly wrong to call the love lives of the tributes fascinating, but that's what it is. Always something new and it's a bit of a dichotomy between what she thinks will happen and what does. These things were easier at home when everyone was in the same spots.

"I mean, quadrants are interesting. And difficult. And I got completely off topic--yes I imagine you do have to keep abreast of these things. Have to know which way the wind is blowing."

It's alright. By now I'm used to the speculation. It doesn't bother me and neither does the Capitol trying to figure out quadrants. If it makes you feel any better even most trolls fumble with blackrom.

At least, the trolls he knew. It was hard to find that sweet spot between normal low-level annoyance and full-blown platonic hatred where things could comfortably turn romantic.

"Then you're purrobably the only one. I understand the want for privacy, really, I do. I took some request from tributes for lies rather than truth that I try to fufill and then there's the things I have to write about. I like it better when I can write what I actually ship, you know?"

She chafes a little at the restrictions but there's no point in fighting it. Writing what sells is what keeps her in a job and she needs this job. She wants and needs to stay in the Capitol. Her slightly too real pout slips back into a smile, her eyes raising from the middle distance to meet his again.

"Sorry! I get thinking about work and my mouth goes off without me. Or maybe it's just meeting you. All nervous. I know..." She gestures out with a hand, twirling it as if to signify what she knows, what they both know, "I read about her, as much as I was able at least."

Oh, thank goodness. She brought it up first. It's not really any less awkward, but it at least signifies that she's okay acknowledging it. He'd more than understand if she wanted to feign ignorance for her own comfort.

I can promise you, I don't expect anything of you, and I certainly don't expect you to be her.

He offers her a smile, full of fangs but as earnest as it can possibly be.

If you have questions about her I'd be more than happy to answer them, but don't feel obligated if it would make you uncomfortable. I'd just as soon listen to you talk about your ships.

"At least you don't blame me for it." She starts, then shakes her head, lips quirked up at the edges, "The Psiioniic and Karkat were a little more accusatory, especially when I didn't know it already. Not that I blame them. I know I'd be shaken if Taria showed up here, or my mother or something like that."

Meulin twists her finger in her hair, absent and habitual, and hesitates for a moment. There's a lot of questions she has about everything but better to begin with the simplest.

"I don't find a lot of information about her. All the fanpages are horribly out of date and Celebrus didn't talk about her much, and I know better than most how much they stretch the truth. I know she was friends with some of the people still here, but beyond that, she's a mystery," she sighs, holding up the pen decorated with a green leo symbol, "I had her pen for a while but I gave it away. It was just sort of a way to get to know her a little. I know it's a broad question, but what was she like?"

It is a broad question, but that doesn't mean he can't answer it. He'll never turn down an opportunity to wax poetic about his Disciple, particularly because it's the only way he has now to still connect with her.

She was wonderful. Smart and strong and caring to a fault. She was the kind of person that I think it was impossible not to like at least a little.

That may be his own bias showing, but he'd like to think there's some truth to it. Even when she made him furious and it was aggravating just being around her, it never ever crossed his mind that he might dislike her. How could he?

She was also incredibly brave. She left behind a safe life to follow me and she threw her heart and soul into our movement despite how dangerous it was. What I'm saying is that you're in good company.

The fan pages had never quite described it that way. It had been all about the tragedy of it all, brave but doomed. A reckless love to throw herself towards a certain death. It's so different to hear it from him. She picks at the words and finds bits of herself in there. Her eyes trace the words once more, her whole face lighting up at really finding that shaard of herself, that rebellious little hint of herself, in this other person. She'd likely never meet her but it's enough.

"It seems like it! Brave, strong and smart seem like a lot to live up to. But we're already pretty similar, I hear. For instance, we both do cat puns, which means we're both purrfect."

If she were a troll, this might be what finding her ancestor would feel like. A sense of understanding, obligation, someone to look up to. She isn't, but the feeling lingers all the same.

Yes, well. The fan pages -- and the Capitol -- love to focus on the tragedy. They've always twisted the story of Signless and the stories of his family into something dark and doomed, and they probably always will. That doesn't mean he can't choose to focus on the happier memories when memories are all he has of her left.

I haven't heard a cat pun in so long. I'm glad someone's carrying on the tradition.

Cat puns are a tradition well established and often forced upon others. There's not even an ounce of shame in her left for her fondness of cat puns and less left in how she sprinkles them into her speech. It's a gift to the world.

"I've been doing them furever. Since I was little, meowbe five or six? I'd have to ask. It's my tradition, though, I'd be kitten if I said it wasn't a happy coincidence. To have it be mine and hers," she explains, "Like--this."

She holds up her pen with the green leo marked so vividly on the black.

"I looked it up and I am a Leo and green was always my fafurite color."

He is only vaguely aware of human astroligical signs: somehow he's managed to go this long without ever really getting an explanation. He knows about them in that vague way one knows about something a lot of other people are into, enough to know that it's a way humans categorize (hah, categorize) themselves based on the season of their birth. That it shares the same symbols as Alternian signs doesn't even surprise him at this point. He's seen enough overlap between the vastly different worlds represented in Panem to just take these things in stride.

That really is a happy coincidence. I wish you could have met her, you would have had so much in common. Do you draw? She was always happiest when she was drawing or painting.

A very, very tiny hint of sadness settles itself in his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

She could have used more friends here. Panem was incredibly hard on her.

Meulin laughs at first, happy coincidence indeed, but the rest of his words settle the smile into something quieter. She supposed the arenas would have been hard on anyone, but there had been no dearth of people who had recognized her as someone else when she arrived. Perhaps it had been timing and not a lack of options. After all, Meulin hadn't arrived in time to meet her.

"I don't think it's easy on many tributes. It's such an adjustment. I know she had some friends, though?" One that befriended her and ones that did not. Either way, she shakes her head now.

"And sadly, I don't draw well. I write meowstly, stories and, well, other things now. You'd want my mom or my sister for the artistic side of things. Beside them, there's hardly a comparison. Ahh, I suppose we have to differ some way outside the obvious."

Of course the Disciple had had friends. She had that kind of personality where, in Signless's opinion, it was impossible not to like her. He's sure Meulin would have if they ever had an occasion to meet.

He lets the conversation shift away from her naturally as it happens. Meulin probably doesn't want this to be another compare-and-contrast session between her and an alien with her name.

I suppose you must. I didn't realize you wrote other than your column -- are you published? Celebrus was right about my taste for romance novels. I'll take any recommendations.

Meulin shifts her feet, teeth catching her lip as she thinks about the various stories kept in old journals and written on scraps of paper. They're still in her room back in District Four where she's sure they'll be forgotten. She hopes they do, at least, they star a few of her friends who might be slightly upset with what she did to their love lives.

"Nothing purrfessional yet! I'm working on getting a base of readers in Celebrus, then publish! Something romantic probably," And she gets excited all over again. She bounces on the balls of her feet, hands moving with her words in something that isn't actual sign language but something between it and mere gestures.

"Oh oh! Well, let's see. I don't have anything from myself but, well, there's some nice things if you don't mind some sadness in the middle. Authors usually let Districters end up with other Districters in the novels. If they're from the Capitol and the District, you might as well get ready to cry at some point." She shakes her head with fake solemnity, but there's some real hurt somewhere under there, "I'm not well versed with that weird subset of stuff about offworlders. Always seems a little...odd. But for something nice, I recommend Pine Needles. Two girls from District Seven and one gets reaped. It's sad at first but it has a happy ending."

That's probably spoilers but she felt the need to reassure him about that much.

I'll remember it. I like them best when they have a happy ending.

Not that he doesn't mind his romances with a bit of drama, but he has enough of that in his daily life to want to minimize it in what he reads. At the very least if there's drama it's good to know that it resolves happily, instead of how it is with the war that hasn't come yet: constant waiting, constant uncertainty.

As for offworlder books, I've read a few and a few is enough. Not everyone is as correct in their observations as you.

Oh. This warm feeling is probably pride as much as it is her being flustered. Correct in her observations was a definite compliment for one in her profession. She thinks he means her grasp on trolls, which while shaky, at least seems to be based in things that actually can happen. She's read the things said before. She bounces a little, unable to stop her wide grin. There was definite merit in talking to the tributes once in a while.

"I'm glad I get at least a few things right! It's so hard in this job," she begins, but a flurry of movement at the counter catches her eye. Her gaze drags up to the clock above it, ticking away the minutes. She has a little time, maybe, if she runs home rather than walks.

"And I do hope you read it. Maybe you can give me a recommendation, next time?"

I'll be sure to look for something you might like.

He notes her gaze flicking to the clock. She probably has things she needs to be doing, and he's in the middle of an errand, isn't he? Probably best to end this now when it's going so well than wait for something to go wrong.

Until next time, then.

He caps the pen and holds it and the paper out to her. His half of the conversation looks almost odd, a huge block of uninterrupted red.

It would have been strange back home, to see so much written in such a vibrant color. Then she'd come here and red was merely one of the many neon like colors her coworkers favored. She reads, nods, tucking everything back into her bag.

"Until next time! Thanks for talking with me," she says in parting, then stops a few feet away to throw a few more words over her shoulder, "Oh! I like happy endings, if at all possible. So work on that."

She winks as she waves her goodbye, then disappears off to purchase her things and wander back out into the world.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(no subject)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

we can probably start wrapping this soon i figure

sounds fine!

no subject

no subject