thecapitol | [closed] Hierbas Ibicencas

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[closed] Hierbas Ibicencas

Who| Sinclair and Swann
What| Capitolites celebrating the destruction of Temple's bidder
Where| Aquea Pax,
When| September 15th
Warnings/Notes| Capitol Privilege and Wall Street bullshittery

Augustus wasn't one to break a promise, especially to someone as dear as Swann but alas, that Wednesday dinner had to be delayed for a while. There was a bull market after all, with weapons and Tributes taking the coveted top spot as the hot commodities. Sinclair Solutions may not have been one of the first investors to try and market directly to the offworlders, but now everyone and their mother wanted to join into the greatest game of chance. Approaching Swann Honeymead and District 7 staffers proved to be a boost for Sinclair's business, as it allowed Solutions to expand into unexpected business sectors.

But it was no coincidence for those in the know that the industry-focused conglomerate would suddenly take up a cereal entity like the Ceres Grain Company. Of course, it was an act of mercy given the horrendous management practices and the lack of ethics that ran it before. It started with a Capitolite family finding glass in their children's breakfast and it all snowballed from there.

After a few days of the media and several emergency audits, Augustus was shocked and appalled at this discovery and vowed to not only acquire the company to bring it to "the quality Panem deserves" but also make it profitable for all involved. Well, an exclusive group at that but that's just semantics at this point.

By the end of that week, the Ashburne name was lower than the shit stuck to a District 10's cow and Sinclair was merely waiting for the right Wednesday evening to send Swann a text.

A bit late, but join me for an evening at the Pax?

He's not taking the limousine tonight, but a damn near perfect black convertible as he waits outside the Tribute Tower. He makes idle chatter with the Peacekeepers until his friend arrives.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Swann is very content with the fall of the Ashburnes, and has been in a significantly better mood since. Even if Temple doesn't really seem to understand, care, or appreciate it, Swann knows that she had done the right thing on several levels. Not only was it simply the humanitarian thing to do -- she firmly believes that even Districters don't deserve to be abused like that just for kicks -- but Ashburne had broken a serious, unspoken rule of the Capitol when he'd ignored Swann's request for him to withdraw his bid on Temple.

You don't blatantly go against the wishes of someone higher in society's eyes, not in the Capitol. If you can't do it sneakily, covertly, then you don't do it at all. And while Swann's job isn't particularly respected, her name alone boosts her into the highest stratosphere possible in this city. Ashburne got what he deserved for ignoring the rules.

When she gets the text, Swann is alone in the Escort Suite, brow furrowed as she works on the District budget for the upcoming month. She looks at her phone and hammers out a response before scurrying to dig through the (admittedly limited) wardrobe she keeps in the Tower.

Be down in fifteen.

When she walks through the doors, anyone would be hard-pressed to think she spent an entire day poring over paperwork and wrangling a parrot; Crackers is on an escape kick, and thus can't be around the elevator lest he make it downstairs. But she's changed and fully coordinated her outfit in just a quarter of an hour, making her look like a Ming vase turned human, all stark white and china blue from the sapphire-tipped hairsticks in her bun to her koi-print shoes to her glittering, bejeweled fish-shaped purse.

"Hiiii," she sings, flitting and click-clacking across the pavement to hug Augustus when she sees him. "Finally!"

"Finally indeed!" Augustus returns the tight embrace and laughs delightedly, "I swear, you look so much better than the last time we saw each other!" He even spins her around, safely of course, "This is definitely the Swann Honeymead I know! All fashion an' substance an' a million assi smile."

He'd rather wait until they're in the car before discussing their agreement, because at the end of the day, it's a business. And business shouldn't be discussed out there in the open. "How are things with Jason an' the District?"

Idle chatter and an update, "Is there anything your boys might be needin'?"

"Well, things have gotten a little easier, some of the big stuff has finished!" Swann is still exhausted, still not sleeping more than the barest of minimums, but it's better -- enough so that she can cover it with makeup and a smile, fool all but those who look the absolute closest at her. "Jason's fine, completely back in the game, really, and that helped a lot, because you know there are a lot of people who wouldn't talk to Emily, and Cassian is Jason's neon-covered Temple, so that was where I was helping. And Jack's ship is finally finished, so he's over the moon and I don't have to keep working on that thing day in and day out."

She spins and her skirt flares, every sapphire and diamond on her catching in the lights and twinkling. "The boys are all set for right now, though we're about to ramp up and go back into training for the next Arena, so I have plans to make for that. But don't worry about it right now, I'm still working things out."

After their miserable failure in the mini-Arena, Swann is determined to put them through the wringer. No more willy-nilly trips to the Training Center when they feel like it; everyone will have to go onto a schedule, with specialized trainers and doctors and nutritionists. She expects that they'll all whine and moan about it, but she's paying for one of the empty bedrooms to be converted into a sauna (she already buys most of their food and basic necessities so that they don't have to worry about it), so they can just bite their tongues.

"Have you seen Rick's campaign for the new cologne? I'm really pleased with it!"

The less said about the mini arena, the better in Sinclair's eyes and for their business deals. He knows Swann pouted her heart and soul and then...well, Gus's jaw hit the floor when it was Temple who outlasted her entire district.

"I have! The man has a knack for showmanship, I must admit. And you! You definitely have that touch, that Honeymead instinct," he praised with genuine affect to his passenger.

It's on the road and the car noise that he then adds, "It's been too long since I solved a problem. Hope you're satisfied with the results, Swannie." That grin of his was dangerous when it came to that aspect of his conglomerate. "Consider it a gift."

And, in true Temple fashion, she managed to look exactly like the lucky idiot she is, instead of a Victor navigating their way to nearly the end. They didn't even get people's faith out of it, which would have been the silver lining.

"He's such a ham in front of the cameras, he's really fun to work with. Just don't ever let him get started on his experiences, he'll never stop talking." She turns a little pink and looks down at her toes, smiling. "Thank you."

A few fine strands of hair, escaped from her chignon, blow in the wind as he drives, and she turns to beam at him. "I'm so happy, Gus! It's the best I could have hoped for. Meritus magazine is profiling the whole company and ripping the entire family to shreds, that'll be out next week. I believe they're calling Sinclair Solutions 'the savior of Ceres' and 'bringer of bread'." She laughs. "I think you're going to have to take up baking now!"

"Ha! As if I'd get to baking," Sinclair chuckled, successfully holding back any bitterness that came with any servile duties. Marcus, the old man and only family he knew, taught him the best ways to pick out the best of the best...but Swann didn't need to know that part of his past. "But maybe a samplin' or two, just to see what I'm getting for my money."

To watch his work fall into place felt like watching a house of cards collapse from a tiny nudge. The Ashburne family should have known better than to push someone like Swann. Maybe that's why Gus liked her so much: underneath the frills and the fashion, there is a shrewd and ruthless businesswoman who could tear her competition apart and wear their blood like the next trend.

"I'd hafta invite you an' Jason for a wine event, you two should enjoy it."

"Baking is fun!" she protests, and it's true that Swann bakes for entertainment, more than she could ever eat even if she did eat. Gus will actually probably be receiving a lot of cookies and cupcakes once she gets back around to tooling around in her kitchen. "But Ceres makes some pretty good products, you can do a whole tasting in one of their kitchens and make it a publicity event. At the very least, it's a party."

Rare is the Capitolite who doesn't enjoy at least one type of party, whether it be in raucous club or quiet parlors with soft classical music.

She's definitely been revitalized in some way by this undertaking, by executing revenge, and even her skin seems better for it, brighter and dewier than before. "Maybe a viewing party during the Arena?"

"Tha' sounds more like your sorta deal, your baskets have been renowed in how much care you put into them," Gus chuckled, he genuinely believed that those Tributes were ungrateful idiots who overworked her. Until proven otherwise of course. Swann's suggestion was a pretty good idea to consider to boost not only his new company but the visibility of sponsors to the Games themselves.

"I like tha' thought and more so now that I know you're whippin' those boys into shape," he remarked as they arrived at their restaurant. "My coworkers depend too much on processed data, shut-ins and numbers driven...pity they don't meet the tribtes they pay."

Such is life, "Your beau hasn't been out...has he met his father in law lately?" He's implying a lot now.

"You're exaggerating, stop it!" She's turning red again, forever terrible at accepting the praise she so desperately wants, though she can't stop smiling. In her Tributes' defense, though, it's not like they ask for gift baskets. She just really likes making them.

Swann puts a hand on his shoulder before they get out of the car, and beams at him. "You can bring them, if they'd like to meet the boys! I can set up a lunch or something, I'll have Rick and Jack and Maxwell come. They tend to do best with events like that." Mostly because Maxwell has amazing manners, and the other two just really enjoy talking about themselves.

As she reaches to unbuckle her seatbelt, her smile falls a little, and her head cocks to the side like a perplexed puppy. "Um, well, I wouldn't go that far," she says, and there's nervous laughter in her voice. "I mean, we've never even talked -- well, anyway, Jason's just dealing with a lot of stuff right now. The will and the estate, getting his brother moved to somewhere he can receive better care. There's so much to be done."

And he won't stay away from his house, insists on lingering around the cobwebs and dust and sinking floors every night. When he does go out with her, it seems to be mostly to occupy himself, and she doesn't know how to bring him back out of his own head.

"But we had dinner with Daddy a few weeks back, before... before everything happened. It was nice."

"I can try my best to make sure your Tributes look as good as you make them out to be," Gus joked around before he listened to what Swann had to say about the whole mess. If Compson was a sane man, he'd be on one knee and getting a ring the size of a child's eyeball. But instead-

"Tell me the man hasn't been living in that dusty ol' manor again?" Jason, you're making it easy for Sinclair to try and take Honeymead away. The past's in the past, Caroline is worm food and...ugh, Jason and Ben deserve better than to live in the shadows of a dead woman whose mere presence in the Capitol was received with both abhorrence and dark humor.

"Swann, have ya tried body language on tha' man?"

"Well, he has a lot to deal with, like I said. He has to deal with the house so that he can make arrangements for it." Which, of course, still doesn't explain why he needs to live there, to obsessively mill around the base of the stairs as if his mother might reappear, but Swann doesn't have a good enough reason to excuse it. It's easiest to just delude herself into believing that he stays away because he has to, rather than because he wants to.

But then Sinclair continues and Swann abruptly turns pink with embarrassment, her head practically swiveling on her neck to look at him with disbelief. "Gus!" Her voice suddenly drops into a whisper, every Capitolite woman's self-defense to impropriety. "That is not... even if I have... well, like I said, he's busy!"

"No one should be too busy to miss a playful wink or an extra bounce in your step," Gus added to the embarrassment just because he could. Anything to break Swann out of the image that she has to listen to Jason's brooding and let him stay in that relic of a house. As much as Sinclair loathed Caroline (but who didn't in the Capitol?), Jason had one hell of a complex towards her. "It's human nature! Even the offworlders can see that!"

Pulling up to the restaurant, Augustus sighed and tried to reason with Honeymead, "You're a woman in the prime of her life, and her career. If y'chose Jason, he'd better be there in the good an' the bad. Call me a traditionalist but he needs to demolish tha' old house an' get some of yer sunshine,"

Swann can only hide her face in her hands, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. "Gus!" she whines, peeking at him through her fingers before she gathers herself back together, even if she can't get her face all the way back to its normal color. "He'll come around when he's ready. You know, I really don't think that's where my mind would be if Daddy passed!"

She knows that it's different, that there's something much more toxic at play here, but she can't face that, even as tired as she is of the situation.

"I told him to take as long as he needs," she says when they stop, and she's turned toward him but she can't quite meet his eye. "The same as I would tell anyone else. And we're working on the house, he won't be there much longer. What kind of woman would I be if I can't wait?"

"The answer is: a saint," he quipped as quickly as he could while they settled into their restaurant table. Of course he called ahead and made sure they had the best table for the occasion but something about Swann's admittance was off. Like she was tired of it, of being rebuffed by a man who clearly didn't see that even a Honeymead had limits.

"There's takin' time, and then there's postponin' the inevitable. Jason needs to realize that, contrary to popular belief, Caroline ain't cracking open the earth and coming back. He acts like a loyal dog than a son," Sinclair sighed, "When he should be a man to you."

It might not be what Swann wants to hear but it comes from a spectator in her private circus. "This is your time to relax, everythin's on me."

She's still pink-cheeked by the time she sits down, immediately busying herself with pouring bottled water, kept cold in a golden bucket of ice, into a provided glass and drinking it, like it might chill her very blood and let her stop blushing. Her voice lowers and she frowns at her bread plate, where two rolls -- one shaped like a rose and one shaped like a heart -- sit next to two spheres of flavored butters.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Gus. He's not trying to be this way, and I can't leave him because he's grieving for his mother. It's not like we haven't fought over her, you know, so I know what you're saying, but thirty-five years of her manipulation isn't going to be undone in a few weeks. And I think he's trying to be better, he just... doesn't know how. And he isn't good with change. So... I don't know, I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

She exhales heavily and looks up at him, her brow knit. "I'm not even sure I know the meaning of the word 'relax' anymore."

"I ain't tellin' ya to leave 'im," as much as common sense would dictate but Sinclair knows Swann is a grown woman, she can make dumb choices in her life and she can live with them, "Everyone can see you two are joined at the hip and-" he was stunned for a second, "Jason's younger than me? Doesn't act like it, but that just adds to what you were saying...Caroline washed that man out and Ben's off to someone who can care for him right?"

He offers her a slice, a petal from the rose bread, "And why do you think you're here, away from the Arenas and the sponsors? Honey, you're too young" and privileged, "To be working yourself. My threat stands, you're not allowed to work here. I could've booked you some time in a spa, or some retreat but then I'd be torturin' you."

She takes the bread, tearing it into pieces idly, almost forgetting to eat it. "I know, he's a grumpy old man at heart, but I'm pretty sure that's just kind of who he is. I remember even from when we were little, it's not something Caroline did. She just made it worse." Swann seems to snap back and realize what she's doing with her hands, so she takes a butter knife and chooses a flavor of butter at random to spread across the largest piece of bread. "I've found a place for Ben, and it's all handled, but you know that kind of stuff takes a bit of time. All their administrative work and processing, they're going over every record of his since birth. I'm paying the servants to stay on for the moment and take care of him -- Jason fired them all the morning she died, but they were still there when I got to him."

She chews slowly, and the bread tastes a bit like ash to her, like it's transformed the moment it passes through her lips. "So what? You think he's a lost cause? I just... I just have to find the right pieces to help him."

"I just want everything to be okay. For everyone, the Tributes and the Sponsors and Jason and Ben and Daddy. Everyone. That's all. I know that I can do it if I just try hard enough."

"Jason's a long shot, Swann. If Snow can keep Panem running, you can help Jason." Then again, Snow had an entire army and was an impenetrable fortress of a man. Swann had a man who seemed to be bitterness incarnate. Some secrets don't stay secret too long and Gus had seen her hard-partying days. Of course, she wanted things to be okay...

"You're doing enough, sugar...why do you think we're here? You can do pretty great things when you're focused. Your Tributes are strong and have presence in the Capitol. And with the extra money investors are putting into District 7 and 8, you should be proud of how far you've come. You're doing the work of a team and protecting your own."

None of that was fluffing the truth: out of all the Escorts, hell the staff, Honeymead was pulling the most attention and doing most of the work. Temple was useless as a Mentor, but she was there. Swann destroyed her bidder, and hopefully this would instill fear into anyone who tries to cross her again.

Swann rests her forehead in her hand for a moment, blinks back tears and sniffs before looking back up; Gus has a point. She doesn't know if she can fix Jason -- hell, she can't even fix herself. But she feels like she has to try, like she can't just let go of whatever strange, electric connection is between the two of them.

She takes another gulp of water. "Yeah, but what does it matter when I can't get a winner out of them? Twelve, Ten, Six... they crank out winners like a factory, even though my Tributes are better. I don't mean to say the others are bad, but something just seems wrong when I can't even get one win, even in a mini. And it must be something I'm doing, or not doing. It's the only thing that makes sense."

After all, she's the only one doing anything, so she must be failing on some level. She just doesn't know which one.

"Hold that blame train, sweetheart," Sinclair raised his hand in a stop motion. "There ain't nothin' wrong with what you're doing. You're working twice the usual amount an' guess what? Temple's in there too. In fact, you could argue she's more responsible of your lack of victories than you are. You're lookin' for Sponsors, for publicity...what has she done?"

Ah yes, the passing of blame, universal in its simplicity. But there was a huge difference in Gus's mind that went beyond the usual comforting: Temple had a verbal contract with Sinclair. "She knows tha' she promised me a win, that all the District needed was a better mentor."

Her words, paraphrased and now Swann had the full details of that agreement done while she napped that day.

"You're pullin' your weight, I hope the Tributes are, now where's her accountability? She can't have ya coverin' her ass all the time, now will she?"

Even Swann had her limits and if Temple were one of Gus's employees, she'd be back in Gowan's house, cooped up and spending the man's cash, not Solutions money.

"Pardon my rudeness in the matter but an employee should show their performance, not talk about it then come home empty-handed."

Edited (my epic rant was cut off what a crime.) 2015-11-11 04:42 (UTC)

"What could Temple do, honestly? Tell them not to get raped on national television? Tell them to marry me out of spite? It's hardly her fault that she's only barely smart enough to keep breathing, let alone actually teach a bunch of men to not get killed by people half their size."

It's part of the reason Swann overworks, does her job and Temple's on top of it, lets Temple come and go as she pleases. Temple may be a Victor, but she has no business being a Mentor. But that wasn't her choice, she'd been ordered to do it same as she was ordered to be violated and abused for a night, and how can Swann fault her for these things?

But Swann looks up sharply, squinting at Gus. She goes out of her way to tend to all Sinclair matters personally, so Temple can't run her stupid mouth, and just now she's hearing that Temple is promising people -- promising Gus -- a win? Swann's mind is in overdrive, thoughts flying faster than she can sort them.

"Red wine," she snaps at the approaching waiter, before he can even speak. "Whatever the sommelier says is best. A bottle." Turning back to Sinclair, she swallows and rubs at her right eye, downing the rest of her water to soothe where her throat's gone dry. "She's not my employee, Gus, this isn't like running Solutions or HMH. I can't do anything except hope she improves next time, or that the Gamemakers swap her for a better D8 Victor. So yeah, in this case, she will have me covering her ass all the time, because it's the only choice I have."

She sighs. "Don't... don't talk to her anymore. She's not supposed to talk to people. I don't even know when she had the chance to screw up this badly."

"Make it two," Gus learned from the last time Swann drank that her little body can pack a lot of alcohol if given the chance. "And I think Jason would rather kill Temple than let her marry you to a Tribute. He might also kill the Tribute while he's at it."

Sinclair is severely overestimating Jason's strength and underestimating the man's rage. His dark humor carries a price though as he can see how much the extra work has drained the heiress to the point that THIS is supposed to be relaxing and celebrating.

"Swann, she's a drunk who went through hell, that I cannot deny her. But she is not an invalid, she's an adult and with a child. I treat her as I would any business partner, and I expect professionalism. You Staffers are a team right?"

Hell, it's part of the reason he destroyed the Ashburnes: to give Temple some peace of mind that she could be safe and sober up for more than an hour to help the District she was assigned to. And then...

"I'm talking about Temple Stevens. I forget."

Swann doesn't have the energy to answer for Jason, to excuse his rage even in joke form. The wine comes quickly and she has the glass to her mouth even quicker. Relaxing would be not having to worry about her boyfriend, her coworker, a group of grown men with the emotional ages of toddlers.

But she doesn't get that luxury anymore.

She just snorts and glances away, long lashes cast down. Temple hadn't even appreciated what they'd done, how they'd decimated a Capitolite family partially out of concern for her, a Districter. Her denial runs so blood-deep that she can only pretend such a horrible thing had never happened, that Swann had gone to Gus out of only her own fury at being ignored by someone beneath her in station.

"It's not worth focusing on. It's not like I can change any of it. I can only work around it."

"If you say so but again, you know where to find me if you need any more problems that need fixing."

Because there is such a thing as holding someone accountable and for Swann and her family, no task is impossible. He can't imagine what it feels like to have someone like Temple, a Districter, be so far into their constructed fantasy that it bleeds into reality.

"You and Jason need a retreat somewhere out towards the sea or something. Let that air clear your lungs an' let both your troubles slip away."

And also away from the Capitol and the scandals her tributes caused.

"We talked about going to the mountains in Seven, one of the cabins. But we can't go until one of us has a winner." In reality, it's that Jason needs a winner, that he can't afford the vacation time without the Victor bonus, and he won't let Swann pay for it even when it's her idea and desire.

She's already got a full glass down, and she picks a little more at the bread when the waiter comes to take their orders. She only orders a salad, unsure of if she'll even be able to get that down, and then she figures that it doesn't matter very much because it's easier to drink calories than eat them.

"They have these chalets on like... stilts, kind of? And the bedrooms have a whole wall of glass, so when you lie in bed, you can see above all the trees and the mountains on the horizon, and the sun sets behind them at night. I saw it on TV."

At at least they were talking about something less complicated, like vacation times and...of course Jason wouldn't be able to afford it. He sipped from his glass, deep in thought before speaking up.

"That sounds wonderful...but am I to believe that Jason will not accept even a gift from yours truly?"

Evidence pointed to no and even less from someone like him, but Gus is the type of man who would do the gift anyways, just so Swann would have a breather. No love lost between the two men but they did want the same thing: her happiness.

Edited 2015-12-05 02:36 (UTC)

Swann snorts, can't help such an instinctive reaction, and shakes her head. "Jason doesn't like gifts from anyone," she says, speaking from both experience and from knowing him so intimately. "And I don't know that he likes you very much anyway. He doesn't like banks very much."

And Sinclair is the veritable face of banking in Panem, making him a particularly easy target for Jason's hatred. But then again, Jason doesn't like anything very much, so it might not be all that different than if Sinclair ran a charity for elderly dogs.

"We'll just wait. One of us will have a winner sooner or later."

"I reckon he detests me and my presence, but it is what it is. I know you're both working yourselves to the bone but- the odds are there and yours will somehow succeed. They're built for the Arena, almost! As long as those rumors about Temple aren't true of course."

Swan, he's heard them and he knows how destructive those sorts of lies would be of they reached their mutual interests. Why go through all the trouble of protecting a less than responsible Mentor who sleeps with her Tributes? Why would they go through the trouble of destroying the Ashburnes if that enabled unbecoming behavior? It subverted the purity of the Games themselves. And the hypocrisy is not lost in a man who is celebrating the shattering of lives as part of his job and position in Panem. Gus simply ignored it.

Edited (correcting legality of Mentors sleeping with Tributes) 2015-12-10 01:23 (UTC)

"They aren't," Swann responds immediately, unthinkingly, and of course they are, it's far too fast of an answer to mean anything else. But rumors have to be proven, and Temple can at least cover her tracks, as far as Swann can see, so it's easier to turn a blind eye and pretend that Jack and Rick and the others (Swann doesn't even know how many there are) just never happened.

"I really hope they do. Eight needs it. And I think Panem could do with another Victor who actually earned their crown, you know?"

Sinclair noted that slip in his file about Temple Stevens, playing fast and loose with her tributes, or so the more insidious

"I agree fullheartedly, Swann. The last good one was Black Tom, the others have been sorely lacking," he stated without a drop of mercy towards pacifists and housewives who were better off moping themselves to an early grave.

"Think you'll be eating anything?" He made an innocent gesture towards Honeymead's plate. He takes her out to eat, and stresses her out to the point of drinking. Clearly he's doing the friend thing right.

The woman's lucky she doesn't officially count as proper Tower staff -- she'd be imprisoned dozens of times over.

"I don't want to fill up on bread," she says, glancing around as if their food is on the way, then takes another drink of her wine. It's not the truth, of course, but then again, she rarely eats more than a few bites at a time. "You're as bad as Daddy or Jason, soon the three of you will be shoving a feeding tube down my throat."

Her mouth twists a little and she rests her chin in her hand. "It just seems like it goes against the spirit of the Games, to have so many winners who don't want it. Like, what's the point, right? I know it's killing everyone out in One and Two."

"You'd be amazed at how convincing the people who love ya can be," Sinclair joked for a bit before he realized he'd been lumped into the same group as Jason. He hid his disgust perfectly, he was a proper Capitolite and all but he wanted nothing to do with the man...

"Wouldn't go that far, though. It's not like you can't make the choices themselves. Besides, aside from the overworked nature of the Games, you are looking good," Is it flattery when compared to the rest of the other teams, it's a truth? Either way, Sinclair has the waiter bring their food as soon as possible.

"The point was to make sure the strongest Tribute wins, survival of the fittest of whatnot."

Well, the group is 'people who want Swann to eat', it's about the same size as 'people who have met Swann'. He has no reason to be offended other than Jason's continued existence, which probably a lot of people would argue is a perfectly good reason to be upset.

"I think people just forget how to judge things like that. I have a little stomach." Swann is aware that she's tiny, long ago figured out that it was the size of her stomach, not her nerves, that kept her meals small and rare. She gets sick eating a normal plate of food, let alone the ones that most Capitolites eat, rich and heavy. "Maybe Daddy kept my stomach instead of passing it on. It would explain why he can eat so much."

She nods and takes another drink from her glass, feeling better because they're at least talking about things that don't make her feel out of control. "And that's not happening anymore. The offworlders don't have the right incentives to play properly, I don't think. They don't have ties to their Districts, they're angry about being brought here, and they know that they'll just be brought back to life once they die. So we're relying purely on their personalities to get real winners, and obviously that's working out just great." She sighs and smiles wryly, glances over at the aquarium wall, her face turned slightly blue and wavering with the reflection. "But no one listens to me about these things. The only thing I can do is make my Tributes want to win for themselves. Maybe a little bit for me. But for most of them, what does it matter if some kids they'll never meet out in Five or Eight or Eleven don't have enough food? You can only care about things that mean something to you, right?"

Edited 2016-04-06 19:32 (UTC)

Augustus could see the demands that being a staff member were making an already drawn and exhausted Swann into something resembling a mannequin, devoid of life and joy. That or Jason hasn't been behaving but Gus' long reach into the financial world has a funny way of showing up when Compson least expects it.

"And let me guess, they have shown none of that so-called compassion towards those District children, those people hopin' an' prayin' for a win but then paint themselves as these morally above the Games," he describes the wandering thoughts of a Capitolite born and raised into admiring the Hunger Games as the end-all symbol of the President's power.

"We're the barbarians."

That said, he does give Honeymead a chance, "As long as yer not wastin' away keepin' their ungrateful behinds alive, Ilar can keep both stomachs." He feels incredibly at ease with the former socialite, even more than his own assistant. Maybe that's why Nina suggested the outing on a note for him to sign.

There's something of both driving her into numbness, her work and Jason alongside her own problems, the ones she's always carried with her deep inside. Striking out at Jason would do little good; it would probably only make her worse, turn her into a nervous wreck at the thought that she's caused trouble.

Her laugh is hollow. "I got threatened over a charity for District orphans once, so you're not far off. I think I've gotten through to some of mine a bit, at least, but as long as they try, I can't ask for much more. If they win, does it matter that they did it for themselves instead of the District? They won't care out in Eight. But the other Tributes, the Districts without someone telling them what all this is for..."

She takes a sip of wine instead of finishing her sentence, her eyes following a bioluminescent jellyfish as it slowly floats by. "Most of them definitely think we're the barbarians. They've told me so. Blamed me personally for the Games. I suppose it's a blessing that so few of them pay enough attention to know who I am, what my family does. I expect they'd kill me with their bare hands."

But then she smiles at him, even if it's a bit dim. "I promise I'm fine, Gus."

"You're doing what you can and that's...more than you can expect from other staffers, old and new. Some of them just do whateve they want, and others...well, others might as well brand themselves for traitors and get it over with," Sinclair's brand of comfort wasn't always an easy pill to swallow but his intentions were there and he knows that Swann is doing her best.

"Let them be lulled into their security, makes their surprise and apologies that much sweeter and fullfilling," he conccluded that, "But you know that if they ever lay a hand on you, Jason will swoop in and deck 'em right?" Look, even Gus can give Jason some credit for his tenacity for standing his ground.

[ooc: wrap here?]

There's something funny about the fact that Gus thinks Jason is actually capable of decking anyone properly, but he's right -- Jason would at least try. "Yeah," she sighs with a nod, and drains the rest of her glass. The waiter comes back with their food, and she lifts her fork.

"We just all have to keep working together to make it as easy as we can," she says firmly, with another decisive nod. "And with your help, we'll... I'll get my Tributes to a victory. I will, or I will die trying." It sounds far more like she's convincing herself, like she needs to do it for herself more than anyway.

She smiles at Sinclair, and it's stronger than it has been all night as she raises her glass. "To Panem."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] Hierbas Ibicencas

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howwwww did i lose this

I LOST THIS TOO

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/wrap