thecapitol | I Ran So Far I Could Hardly Breathe [Open]

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I Ran So Far I Could Hardly Breathe [Open]

WHO| Temple Drake-Stevens and anyone in or visiting D8!
WHAT| Temple gives the D8 Tributes a very Temple gift.
WHERE| D8 Suite
WHEN| Before the reaping for the mini-Arena.
WARNINGS| Underage alcohol use, classist idiocy, Temple's special brand of stupid. Sexual assault topics will be warned within the thread subject headers.

Temple Drake would have hidden under the covers at the Mentor highlight reel that went up about her last night after she got off work. She would have stayed there all day, chewing on her fingernails until the manicure came off between her teeth, snot-nosed with her knees together and her hair in a mat of red curls and dried tears, knowing that every person who sees her on the street tomorrow will be thinking of how she was there on the television, helpless and violated and pathetic and scared.

But Temple Stevens, Temple thinks, that woman that the girl emulates more than she actually is, isn't fazed by the violence of the Games or anything that happened in them, and she has a job to do, or at least to pretend to do in valiant Capitol fashion. And so Temple, the person she is and the person she wants so badly to be together, gets out of bed in the morning and dresses in something not even a Mentor could afford on their own dime. Pearls drip down the dress and the fur feels as if luxury itself is giving her an embrace. Her impossibly high shoes, which with six-inch heels bring her to a grand total five and a half feet, click as she walks from her car the valet has parked to the elevator, and her five year-old son, on a leash and tended to by an Avox nanny, keeps the pace. She politely grins and waves at the few people between the curb and her workplace who tell her they saw her on TV last night.

Temple Stevens isn't fazed at all. She is the protective armor, fortified by wealth and fashion and charm, that no past can break down, no matter how many times it's regurgitated for the media.

However, for the sake of having something else to talk about when she gets to District Eight, she's had a gift for her Tributes (some of whom she hasn't even met!) installed in the Suite living room: a fondue fountain that, split into tiers, provides a constant stream of cheese, chocolate and bourbon, with Temple's favorite being the last one. It's not enough to keep burly men fed, but hopefully it'll cheer them up a little.

Throughout the day, Temple can be found letting her kid (who mostly sleeps and plays in Temple's private Mentor suite) sample bourbon-soaked angel-bread from the fountain, dropping little nuggets of wisdom like "I noticed when you make an Avox get down on all fours they have the same number of legs as a table - don't you think that means they were made to serve?" on anyone who wanders in, and very occasionally trying to order Sponsor gifts for the next Arena in between testing new pairs of shoes and trying out different earrings in the communal bathroom.

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Hearing a lady speak so callously about human beings unnerved the hell out of Phillip when he got off the wrong floor from training. That kid was barely out of diapers and the indoctrination was already taking over and- is that bourbon!?. More than just his old manager self coming out, Gray was pretty damn sure the instincts he had when taking care of Vivi came out in strides. He shouldn’t meddle, he really shouldn’t but he had to say something.

"Uh, I suppose...but then how do they serve if they're not on their feet?" Why is he questioning the logic of this Capitolite, he will never know but it'd be rude to ignore her. He also can't let his own feelings about Avoxes get to him...lest he be called seditious. "Are you sure your son should be having that? Is he teething?" It's not until he remembers some of the latest Mentor reel that he realizes who this person is. Let's just say that while Phone Guy's ready for Freddy but not quite ready for Temple Stevens-Drake.

"You could use them as a footrest!" Temple says cheerily, taking a shot glass from the tower next to the fountain and getting herself a little bit. She looks over at Phil with a broad smile, as if all of television hadn't just shown her painful history last night. There's something not quite manic about her, but disconnected, as if she's operating on a slightly different plane than reality.

"You're one of Linden's, aren't you? He's said such nice things about you. I'm glad he has a District that's treating him well instead of fighting him every step of the way." She takes her shot of bourbon and sets the glass down, then holds out her hand. "Bailey's fine, he teethed three years ago. I'm Temple Stevens, staff for District Eight. Linden's a friend of mine."

To say that Temple operated in a time and space that was not Gray's seemed to be accurate as he could see her down the glass and not feel a thing. It's impressive to say the least. Phil takes her hand and gives it a good and firm shake.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stevens, miss!" he does try to give Temple the benefit of the doubt when she says she's Linden's friend. His mentor spoke at length at how this particular mystery friend enabled their mutual addictions and allowed themselves to get this bad.

"I'm honored he'd speak so positively..." Gray's face gained a slight pink hue in actual pride before he spotted the drunk boy. "I think the little mister over there would use a nap before he goes out to play again. Is he in school?" Kids were an easier topic for Phone Guy to talk about than himself.

When they're done shaking each other's hands, Temple, despite being tiny, hoists Bailey up on her waist and staggers in her heels back to the fountain, picking up another glass. She kisses her son (who is drooling on himself and glassy-eyed) on the cheek.

"Is the Tribute right, Bailey? Do you need a nap?"

Bailey shakes his head and makes a 'nuh uh' sound, resting his head on his mother's shoulder. She continues chattering, flitting around like a sparrow in spite of the extra burden.

"During the school year. He's with me for the summer, though. Drink?" She holds the glass out to Phil. "It's not been often that we Staffers have gotten to know much about our Tributes. Usually they don't come back from each Arena. I'm just glad Linden has friends."

And covetous, but Temple's not about to say that.

Phil knows that he really shouldn't take the drink, but it's an even worse faux pas to reject it from a Mentor. Though if any of his previous with Linden have taught Gray anything is that pacing himself is the key to survival. He gives Bailey a funny face to laugh at before focusing on his mother.

"Thank you, Mrs. Stevens," always proper, Phil gives her a slight bow of his head and takes a sip, "A-And I didn't think I'd come back...It was kinda sudden." He'd rather not relive how Wednesday killed him, thank you. "He's a very interesting individual and I really do trust him with my life."

Some things were best left unsaid. "Have you gotten to know your Tributes?" He prayed Firo didn't let his mouth run off.

"Why wouldn't you? You're a perfectly watchable Tribute. It's not like you're a District child or anything." Temple's eyes narrow slightly, and her head tilts to the side at an angle that nearly makes it look broken. She doesn't understand these Tributes, acting so put-upon when they're given chance and again. She remembers when she was a Tribute and her death was all but guaranteed, and she certainly wasn't eager to believe in her imminent demise. Hope was something that needed to be wrenched from her.

"Not as much as I'd have liked. They're all so busy, you know, and it's not like I don't have my arms full, what with my son around and his father away on business."

(While they're talking, she tosses back another shot.)

Edited 2015-08-20 02:43 (UTC)

Given the Victor reel from last night and his experiences with the unnatural jerky movements of the animatronics, Phillip could see how unnerving Temple looked at that moment. Though...he would be right there with the Victor in that: hope was the last thing he would lose. "I'm not but at least District kids get to be kids here, right? I-" he could point out that his life and death depended on the Gamemakers' whims. But Victors were the last people in Panem to complain about that, having seen so much death on. He took a long drink from his glass to loosen his tongue "I just hope I'm entertaining enough."

In regards to the Tributes on the floor, Phone Guy perked up to try and help Temple with at least one of them. "Well, I can at least tell you that Firo Prochainezo may be rough around the edges and he does need to improve his manners, you really can't find a Tribute more loyal than him!" he tried to round out any bad impressions his friend might have made.

Temple snorts. "I'd rather be a child in the Capitol than a child in the Districts."

She doesn't elaborate, really, on how she was selling embroidery since she was eight years old, how she learned to thread a needle before she learned to spell her name and how she still can't do basic math but can follow a sewing pattern without even paying attention.

"Oh? That's good to hear, so long as no one plays that against him." She toddles over to the edge of the couch and takes a seat on the armrest. The tips of her toes only barely touch the floor. "He and I didn't hit it off quite right, I don't think. He doesn't seem to realize how children here are raised."

"It's his ways, he lived in a different time. I trusted him in the Arena and out of it. You just gotta explain stuff and he'll catch on quickly."

Maybe it was Phil's dormant paternal instincts but he blinked, confused at the imaginary difference. "Ah, um, okay?" Linden's story about the children in Six made Gray blurt out,

"That's actually a really good question: how do people raise their children here?"

Phone Guy, why are you asking Temple Stevens in how to rear a child? The woman just let her boy drink a glass that an adult had to pace themselves. "I've always wondered about that...Linden tells me D6 kids are raised into doing factory work, but what about the Capitol?" He spots the Avox in the corner with what seemed like to be a leash.

"With love," Temple says, both wholly believing it and reciting it the way someone might after having read too many parenting books (although Temple's read none - she's watched documentaries). The truth is that Capitolites raise their children, at best, with a sort of peripheral guilt about not spending more time with them, with an unease about replacing actual affection with exorbitant wealth, if they care at all and don't see their children just as extensions of their legacy marching into the future.

"Bailey's going to have the longest and most wonderful childhood we can give him. That's his birthright, you know, as a Capitol Citizen. When he grows up he'll have nothing but happy memories."

"I'm not happy now," Bailey whines. "I want more chocolate toddies."

"So long as you promise not to get it on your clothes," Temple says, filling another glass with alcohol and chocolate.

"Of course, with love," Phillip agrees then flinches at the sight of more alcohol for the young boy, "I really don't want to be rude, but you really shouldn't give Mr. Bailey there more alcohol, he might get sick." Adding in the sugar content in alcohol and Phil really can't watch from the sidelines as Temple fed her child.

With no standing in Capitol society other than being a "celebrity" ready to die for their entertainment, he knows he's probably crossing the line and mentally braces for the consequences before he comes up with an idea, "Hey, I can make him a chocolate cake i-if you want? He can decorate it all he wants, how's about that?" Let him be messy but just get him away from the booze! that was the plan.

"Oh, no no. He knows how to hold his liquor. Like his parents, you know, even though Gowan hasn't touched a drop in years."

She pats her son's head and bodily lifts him, glass of boozey chocolate and all, and totters over to the couch to set him down. She's strong for a tiny Capitol woman - no, she's familiar with carrying a load. There's a difference. Capitol women born and bred never remember to lift from the knees. "That's very kind of you, though. Bailey, would you like a cake from one of your favorite Tributes?"

"I want a cake!" Bailey says.

Temple strokes his cheek and then gets back up, tick-ticking her way back to Phil. "Is this a home recipe?"

As much as Phil wanted to yank the glass away from Temple and tell her that children's livers are pretty fragile by default of not being fully developed, he knows he can't police a native...especially someone that went through hell.

"Yeah, uh, really spongy and sweet," he tried to cover up his horror with a nod that was quicker than usual and stuttering, "Normally there's amix but for Mr. Bailey over there, he deserves the best I can give him."

And he can control the epic hangover that toddler will have. "I wouldn't want to impose on your district resources, I-I can make it back at Six and bring it up here for him to have fun with."

Linden never mentioned the fact that Temple was this enabling and more so when Phil actually tastes the liquor and not just sip it for appearances' sake. Something about her seemed manic, her eyes just slightly veering into the uncanny valley. And for someone who worked night in and out in the concept, needless to say, it creeped Phone Guy out.

"It's fine. You can run it on my card if you want." She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a credit card, which she places in the hands of an Avox with instructions to follow Mr. Gray's requests for ingredients to the letter. Then she takes another drink, having already gone through several since Phil arrived on this floor.

She doesn't expect that the cake will be any better than the indulgences that they have in the Capitol, and so she believes herself to be doing Phil a favor - after all, as the mother, she'll be the one bearing the brunt of the tantrum if Bailey finds it wanting.

The TV in the background starts to play last night's reel, and Temple moves with speed that fits uncomfortable with her drunken state to quickly turn it off, hoping Phil doesn't notice.

Phil barely registered the change in sounds but he did see a flash of movement fit for an athlete and not the Capitolite before him. He doesn't turn the Avox down and merely writes down a list of ingredients for him to work with.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit down for a while?" he offered Temple a seat, having counted at least five drinks tossed back like they were soda pop rather than fully aged liquor. She was a woman who embodied the Capitol lifestyle, a little too well. Stare too long into her eyes and Gray could see glimpses something familiar.

She was definitely the enabling friend Linden had...and Bailey's appearance made a lot more sense. His unease was lessened the moment the Avox came back and he smiled at it, "Thank you." And with that, he's getting to work with a hop to his feet and a performance for the young mister. "Come on up! Wanna join me?"

He keeps treating Avoxes like staff, deepest apologies Temple.

"I don't cook," Bailey says, eyeing Phil curiously. Bailey is every bit a child of the Capitol, one who not only has never needed to cook but has grown up knowing he never will, that these things will be provided for him by the forces that be. Domestic tasks have no appeal to a Capitolite; they never need to find enjoyment in these routine habits.

"I'm fine," Temple says, her heels clicking on the floor as she heads over to the refrigerator and picks through the available foods, finding them all wanting. She tells an Avox to bring her a salad. "I may look small, but I've lived here a very long time, Mr. Gray. You don't need to worry about me."

She pats his hand, looking at his with that glassy, bland expression. "I'm invincible. Didn't you see the footage?"

"I did." For the sake of not discussing what Phil definitely agrees to be the Worst Games Ever, he nods and swallows down anything else. He avoids the gaze as he pinpoints exactly what made her so creepy. She talks like a person, and she certainly loves her child as any parent would. But the way she behaves, Temple Stevens would right at home with the animatronics back home. She was nestled in the uncanny valley, a point where dolls had more life than her eyes.

Given the hell you've been through...I don't blame you if you lost part of your soul in that shed, Gray didn't dare voice his thoughts and those sensations of fear gave way to pity.

"I would have to agree on the invincible part, Mrs. Stevens." As he works, he offers to give Bailey a spoonful of cake mix to distract the young boy, "And a good mother to boot."

"Thank you," she says, almost as a purr, not because she believes him for a second - it's not that she isn't that stupid, but merely that she feels her inadequacy as a parent lying within her like a layer under her skin, made all the heavier whenever she imagines hearing her daughter cry, or when she mentally must correct 'children' to 'child'.

It has nothing to do with the woozy expression on her boy's face.

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I Ran So Far I Could Hardly Breathe [Open]

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