I'm going to take you out, I don't feel like it's wrong

[cigne]

Who| Swann and open
What| Her worst nightmare: people are talking about her mom
Where| The lobby restaurant
When| Several nights before the Reaping
Warnings/Notes| nahhh

Swann's done her best to hide the fact that she's obviously overworked and hasn't been sleeping or eating properly; she never does when she's stressed out. But years of covering up the same behaviors have left her an expert in covering it with makeup, making herself look so flawless that you can barely even tell she's a real person, rather than a doll.

Not unless you get really close.

Hunger finally cracked her, though, and she decided to take a break from her work, heading downstairs to sit at the bar for dinner (it's... a side salad, and something pink with flowers floating in it as a drink). The bar stools are always high for her, their rungs an inch too low for her to reach with her feet, so they dangle idly as she eats, occasionally flicking through her phone to check for messages.

With all the Victor retrospectives and Tribute exposés, pretty much every station on television has gotten into doing "where are they now?"-style specials, highlighting everyone from politicians to models to famous animals.

It's been a while since the last Arena.

The screen nearest Swann at the bar is turned on one of the music-based stations, and the program keeps telling her that they're remembering Lost Divas!!!!. She's paying it little attention until she hears the familiar beginning of a song she's been hearing her whole life, and her blood runs cold as she looks up at the screen in horror to see someone who could be Swann herself, with a few minor tweaks in the face. The girl on screen is maybe five or six years younger, less curvy, and far taller than Swann, but otherwise, they could be fraternal twins.

"The bombshell known by the single name Viatrix had only one hit before her star faded too soon," the voiceover announces, "and now she only appears in public once in a blue moon. Let's trace her comet trail and find out more."

There's a freezeframe of Viatrix in the video, and it morphs into the last picture of her that Swann knows to have been taken in the Capitol, when she was home at Christmas. She'd only stayed for two days this time, left before it was even Christmas Eve.

The food sits forgotten on the bar.

Comments

[whittlingnickels]

Lost Diva was a proper term for the likes of Viatrix, a woman whose age and details were secrets kept under lock and key. There's no missing the eerie similarity between mother and daughter but only one of them mattered to Augustus. Capitol friendships were always about political advancement but there was something inherently sweet about Swann, more so with the events in her life. "Darlin'," he stepped forward, always in a fitted suit and tie, "As much as you should get protein in your diet, flies aren't the way to go." It can't be easy to live under the shadow of a woman like Viatrix.

[cigne]

Swann is just watching the screen in horror, tears welling up in her eyes. She's been trying to stop crying in public, to stop being such a baby, but everything they're saying is lies, spinning her father as a relentless pursuer who planned to keep Viatrix out of the spotlight so as not to risk the Honeymead name with pop star scandals.

She's so focused that she starts when Augustus speaks, almost off her stool. "It's not true," she says automatically, eyes huge and watery, her fingers white as she clutches the barstool. "I don't know who wrote this. It's not true."

When she lets go of the counter, her hands are shaking. "When we come back, we'll discover the truth about her marriage -- and her daughter!" the TV announces, and Swann only barely restrains from bursting into sobs right there.

[whittlingnickels]

There's nothing worse than watching Swann break down in public, and it wasn't just the runny makeup ruining the fair face. There were topics that were always, ALWAYS off the table and to have one of them brought up for the entertainment of the masses, it must have been easy to Swann on a good day. With pretty much everything from Jason's mother dying and organizing a tasteful funeral (and succeeding) to the Tributes' credit being cut off and finally having Temple Stevens run around with her son...

"Come on, Swann," his voice is stern, if to get her to focus, "the limo's at the front. You don't need this. Where's Jason?"

[cigne]

"Um, upstairs, he's still catching up," she mutters, after a moment of silence where she looks at Augustus like she can't recognize him. She wipes her cheeks with the sides of her hands, and even with the tattooed eyeliner and the enhanced eyelashes, mascara leaves her hands with black smudges.

She's already so tired. She doesn't understand why this is happening. Who cares about a one-hit wonder from thirty years ago, even if she had parlayed that into an old money last name?

Swann slides down from the stool, which takes a second of feeling around with her toes for the ground, and sniffles before looking back at him for guidance.

[whittlingnickels]

"Text him you're going on a walk," Gus' voice is firm as he offered Swann a napkin and a discreet way out to let her get away from a probable public meltdown. "Or whatever you need to say, but you need to get the hell away."

Now, with everything that's been happening in the Capitol, anyone could be responsible for dusting this off but why would they? It's underhanded even for Sinclair, and that said something. He was the sort of man who would sell someone else's soul for more riches...but at least he was somewhat upfront to both parts about the deal.

"You haven't sleepin' at all have ya, Swann dear?" he commented.

[cigne]

Swann takes the napkin without questioning it, wipes away makeup smudges in the way only someone who's spent their entire life painted up would be able to -- leaving behind almost no trace at all of why she's wiping in the first place. Only around her eyes, right beneath them, is there anything out of place, where the concealer has been cried off and the bags are just beginning to show.

She lets him steer her without question too, taking her phone from her purse to text Jason first, and then her father. It was more likely than not that it was simply a rushed-out special to meet a deadline, but the ripple effect will show up soon enough. Swann's sure that her mother will be on the phone from Four as soon as she hears about it.

"No," she says quietly, tucking her phone away again. "There's not time to sleep. How can I sleep when there's always something that needs to be done?"

[whittlingnickels]

"There's always a time an' place for sleep," Sinclair corrected as he let Swann settle down in the limo, "An' that's what personal assistants are for. Temple's not always of sound mind but she needs to do her job...and Jason needs to get back in the Game. You arranged everything for him, let him give ya something back."

He figured Swann was doing the lion's share of work in the tasteful funeral Caroline had, with her somehow managing to make the Compson matriarch seem like a decent human being rather than the caricature she became. "You're takin' a break an' I'm sendin' my assistant...you're getting some relaxation in."

[cigne]

Big doe eyes peer up at him from the corner of the limo where she's curled into a ball, her tiny pink shoes left on the floor as her legs and feet disappear into the skirt of her dress. "I can't hire someone to do my job, and Temple can't do anything except tell people I'll call them back. Jason's getting back into the swing of it, it's not him."

When she's not forcing herself to sit upright and strong, she looks as tired as she is, small and vulnerable. The funeral had been a huge success, and she'd done everything short of coming up with the entirety of the guest list. She's still working on placements for Ben, on plans for whether the Compson mansion should be restored or knocked down before being sold, the meetings to determine what was a better financial choice. She's the one arranging lawyers and realtors and health professionals into an already-busy schedule while still leaving Jason enough room and time to not feel overwhelmed, and it's all on top of her own endless work babysitting an entire District of manchildren and a Mentor worse than any of them.

Even if she were the type of person prone to questioning things, she's just too tired.

"Okay."

[whittlingnickels]

"I can believe that but you're still overextended and overworked," Sinclair pointed out almost immediately after Swann rested on the plush leather seats. "You're an Escort, probably the hardest working of the bunch and you're going to tell me that you can't have someone help you?" A rare gesture for Augustus was to literally take off his suit jacket and place it on another person but that's exactly what he's doing for Honeymead.

"Anywhere you want to go, we'll take you but not the Tower. Your daddy's gonna be worried sick if you have a faint or worse, a breakdown. Jason wouldn't like it either, you're takin' so much..." he chuckled for a bit, "he might be afraid o' trustin' you with a cake. An' yes I read Celebrus, didn't know you had it in you, sweetheart."

[foundafamily]

Firo spends a lot of time in the bar, which has the drawback of making him very easy to find by curious fans. Maybe not such a downside now that even more of their survival depends on making people happy; Firo’s not going to thank the heavens for that, though.

So when he sees Swann, his plan is simple: stand in her general vicinity and grab onto her like a lifeline if anyone obnoxious tries to strike up a conversation. Yes, it’s selfish and he’s kind of disappointed in himself, but these are the things you have to do when you’re an irritable, immature person surrounded by strangers you can’t stand.

As he gets close, he notices the sudden shift in her posture and the way her eyes suddenly fix on the screen. Curious--and maybe a little concerned, though he won’t own up to that--he moves up beside her to try and figure out what’s going on. His face whips from Swann’s to the screen and back again.

"Whoa. Long lost cousin or sister or somethin'?"

[cigne]

Firo's company isn't exactly welcome right now. In fact, it startles her, make her twitch and snap her head to the side. Tears are prickling in the corners of her eyes, but she isn't crying, not yet -- she's determined not to, even as it gets more difficult by the second.

"Um... 'or something' is about right," she says slowly, quietly, and wipes her eyes the way one might if they were having hay fever. "Did you need something, Firo?"

[foundafamily]

Hands on his hips, he raises an eyebrow at her. "You're askin' me that?"

In the absence of full-on sobbing or anything of the like, he doesn't entertain the notion that she's even starting to tear up. Nobody cries in public; that's just weird. But she definitely doesn't seem okay, being all fidgety like that.

Welcome or not, he doesn't show any signs of moving on. "What's the matter with you?" His casual tone doesn't really match up with the unintentionally harsh wording; he's not very good at this thing, so he tries for a joke. "I didn't like the music, but I didn't think it was that bad."

[cigne]

"Well, you came over here. I figured you might need something." Since it's kind of her job to fulfill his needs.

She's cringing, turning her head away as she wishes he would stop questioning her. "It's nothing. I just really hate this song, that's all." Swann gulps down some of her drink harshly, and flinches when the TV announcer loudly declares their return from commercials by booming, "Viatrix Paylor-Honeymead, where is she now?!"

Swann swipes her face like she's tired. "It's just... they're just talking about my mother, it's not a big deal. They're not supposed to talk about us, though."

[foundafamily]

"Just the--?"

Firo would like to register the complaint that they're not supposed to talk about him either, but now's not really the time. And, besides, he's intrigued. So many people in the Capitol seem like they want to jump right up on display, and he readily assumed the same of Swann and her family.

Thoughtful, he leans against the bar. "In a 'you're not interesting enough' way or a 'they're not allowed to' way?"

[cigne]

And Swann would like to point out that that complaint is incorrect, because Firo is a Tribute and thus they are supposed to talk about him, keep him in the spotlight whether he wants to be there or not. If Firo likes eating in the Arena and making money outside of it, he'll do well to not bitch about that.

"Well they're allowed to," she says hesitantly, pausing to drink what's left in her glass. Her throat is suddenly dry. "We can't really stop them, I guess. It's not like Mother is a state secret or something. But they should know better than to do this."

She holds up a finger, orders another drink, alcoholic this time.

"Daddy's going to lose his mind." The way she mutters it, it's more to herself than Firo.

[foundafamily]

Even the mob has something of an insistence on safeguarding wives and mothers from the public eye and the shady business, so Firo thinks he understands where this is coming from.

"He's the kind to take this stuff personally, huh? What's she gonna think about it?"

If anything, he feels the worst for the poor woman having her life paraded around on the screen, Capitolite or not. The plain enough signs that the diva could be more a participant than a victim are lost on him.

[cigne]

Swann shrugs as her drink is delivered. "She's out in Four right now, so she probably won't see it until later, but she's not going to be happy. She doesn't like the press to talk about her at all."

For good reason, considering all the unproven rumors swirling around her, mostly hushed up but there all the same, about why a woman might basically abandon her family to go live on the beach by herself.

Head tilting back, Swann downs the entire glass in a gulp. "He's gonna shut this whole channel down," she sighs, looking at the screen blankly. "At least until it can be restaffed. I hope he doesn't just play Trish's stupid Tribute songs back to back until then."

[drinkupmehearties]

Besides the incidental rabid fan or obnoxious paparazzi, the lobby bar wasn't a completely horrible place for Jack to frequent. It's not the same rowdy, loud, chaotic mess that he's accustomed to -- and most days misses -- in taverns, but the alcohol is decent and it's better than being holed up in the Suites.

He's spotted Swann from somewhere further down the counter, and it's not until he's swaggered over to take a seat beside her, a neat rum clasped in one hand, that the tense body language and exhaustion on her face catches his notice.

His gaze follow hers up to the television, watching the program and images flash across the screen. Then Jack tilts the glass in the tv's direction, indicating. "Family, I take it?"

[cigne]

Well, if he wants chaos, the Capitol has many other clubs where everything is deafening and a lot of people are pressed close enough to transfer body glitter between them. Those places also have alcohol, although usually you get jostled enough that you spill half your drink before leaving the bar.

Swann can tell Jack's coming from thirty feet away, having become so accustomed to that particular swagger that she can sense its approach two floors before it ever reaches her. She's still stiff though, fixated on the screen, and her hands are shaking.

"Um..."She sounds distant, like she's still processing Jack's presence, and she speaks slowly as she turns her head toward him. "Kind of. Yes. I guess. What?"

[drinkupmehearties]

"Kind of?" His focus comes down, away from the television, and over to her. Her reaction, the way she speaks, draws a worried crease to his brow.

" ... What's amiss, luv? You're not actin' quite yourself."

[cigne]

The network has somehow acquired a picture of the Honeymead family, taken when Swann was still a toddler -- even her grandparents are there, posed with her mother and father. On the screen, she can't be more than two, still miniature, and she's held by her father, short and round and looking utterly joyful. Swann's mother is the tallest of the group, willowy and vacant-looking. But even from the single picture, it's clear that these are tremendously wealthy people, draped in fur and jewels and gold. Even tiny Swann is in a fur-trimmed dress that must have weighed twice what she did, a tiny diamond-studded crown pinned into silver blonde hair that was long even at that age.

She looks away from the image, like it's foul to see, and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, kind of. She's my mother. That's my father, holding me. They're not... I don't even know how they got that picture, we don't even have it framed anywhere..."

[drinkupmehearties]

He finishes off the rest of his rum and sets the glass aside on the counter, only briefly glancing upwards to get a better view of the family picture. It's easy to sense the tension she has about the subject; he's well-versed in family troubles himself, has had plenty of his own in the past.

So Jack offers a plaintive, subdued smile. "Capitol always has it's ways, eh?" There's the temptation to come out with something snide, too, to say 'doesn't feel great to feel exposed like this, does it?', but instead the pirate thoughtfully scratches a couple fingers over his goatee.

"I'm guessin' you're not much on friendly terms with 'em? Or, at least, her?"

[cigne]

Swann has been exposed before, willingly subjected herself to the limelight in exchange for love, but it's an entirely different thing for her family to be involved, for the danger of damage to their name happening. And to the Capitol's credit, they do tend to focus more on relationships the Tributes have now than the ones in their home worlds (assuming those people aren't here too).

"Viatrix -- Mother lives in District Four, at a beach resort. Brightbee, your big Sponsor, he actually owns it. She prefers the climate there, so she only comes back for holidays, usually. Daddy lives here, at the Manor. He can't leave, not with the Games always running now, there's too much to do."

She sucks hard at the straw in her drink, making suction-y noises because there's barely anything left in the glass anyway.

"That's why it's so nasty of them to run this, and not even tell the story truthfully. He works so hard and they all owe their lives to us and this is how they repay us? It's just mean."

[drinkupmehearties]

"Doesn't sound very fair o' them to do that, no."

But it's struck him, now, that for all the many months that he's known Swann, Jack hasn't been able to glean much information about her personal life -- besides, of course, the tabloid pieces that focused on the occasional drama between her and Jason. Color him intrigued, then, when she mentions other Capitolites 'owing their lives' to her family.

"If I could ask, then, what's the true story? I'm afraid I know little to nothin' about your family, meself."

[cigne]

"The true story? It's nothing special, same as most people's, I guess. Daddy met Mother at a party, took her out, and then they got married a year or two later. He didn't... hound her or anything, they're making all that up. He sent her flowers with a note asking her to dinner."

If there is any more to it, Swann doesn't know about it, but she thinks she would have heard something in her thirty years of being in the family.

Her brow knits, and she looks like she doesn't exactly know how to respond. "I'm... a Honeymead," she says slowly, like she's explaining that the sky is blue. It's a query she's literally never had to answer before, because everyone just knows who she is, who her family is.