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.

[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'?"

[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?"