thecapitol | There's a god awful feeling of dread in my heart

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There's a god awful feeling of dread in my heart

Who| Quintus and China
What| Talking about the new Arena over dinner.
Where| A downtown restaurant.
When| The day after the 75th games announcement, seven in the evening.
Warnings/Notes| None inherent.

Quintus hadn't planned on paying a great deal of attention to the coverage surrounding the games, barring whatever might be required in the context of his job. He had given his approval to the security detail sent out to police the crowds, directed media complaints through the Public Relations office, and otherwise kept an ear out for any issues. His attention was more focused on the rumblings of trouble in the Districts--reports of scattered attacks, broken communications and missing soldiers. Much of it seems the usual discontent, the disjointed violence he'd witnessed out in the field, but the paranoid part of him can't help reading into it, wondering what might be happening beyond the gaze of human and electronic eyes. He'd made a point of contacting a number of local commanders, both to hear intelligence for himself and to gauge how reliable those individuals are, spending hours in calls and conferences.

He's relaxing at home with a glass of red wine, chuckling at a funny movie, when the call comes. Lifting an eyebrow as he recognizes the name of his secretary--she should be out of the office by now, he thinks--he picks up the phone.

"Falxvale."

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but are you watching the Flickerman show highlights?"

"No. Why?"

"Turn it on right now. You're going to want to see this."

He does so, a whisper of anxiety flitting down his spine. As the reaped Tributes are announced, he sits up, setting his glass aside. His secretary says something but he doesn't comprehend it, feeling increasingly sick in spite of the fact that there's nothing unfamiliar about this display. The pump of Aemila's fist brings a sudden, unbidden memory to mind--Lurio's arms in the air, his grin vibrant beneath the lights, as though ready to embrace the sun.

The following day, he's restless and distracted, his muscles tight with suppressed frustration. There's so much he can't say, not to his employees, but he needs to air his grievances to someone. China comes to mind--the way she had always listened so patiently and tactfully, guarded her own words well. He imagines, as perceptive as she seems to be, that she may feel similarly.

So around lunchtime he calls her up and books a room in the back of a middle-of-the-line restaurant that serves a variety of meats and pastas, sending a crew down to have it swept for bugs. He changes out of his uniform and arrives before his reservation at seven to check over the place himself, waving a portable radio receiver around the table and walls before returning to the lobby to wait for her.

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China accepts the offer without hesitation and arrives fashionably on time; Quintus is on her rather short list of people she doesn’t mind not keeping waiting. There’s always a role to play for her, but that of the careless Capitolite is not the one for this scenario.

She knocks before slipping through the door, smiling apologetically when she makes eye contact. “It’s good to see you, Quintus. I fear things have been busy, considering the impending Arena.”

Busy, among many other things. Though it was such an accepted part of life before, she now wonders what the Districters in her life think of the sudden return to tradition. If she’s displeased, she imagines their feelings must be worse by an order of magnitude.

"Like you wouldn't believe," he says with a tight smile, ushering her back towards the room and pulling out a chair for her. The table is long, intended for a group rather than a pair, and in lieu of sitting at the other end he takes a seat beside her.

A waitress steps in to take their drink orders, then is gone, shutting the door behind her. There's a beat of silence.

"We're not under surveillance here," Quintus informs her, his tone hushed and eyes not quite looking at her. "I had the cameras removed. I wanted to be able to talk a bit more freely, I--"

He trails off, then speaks slowly, keeping his emotions in check. "This Arena was not a good idea."

She smiles and murmurs her thanks as she sits.

One eyebrow rises. "Did you?" She doesn't sweep her eyes around the room to check, assuming it wouldn't do any good. There's a part of her that's not inclined to trust what anyone says, and she feels some regret about that now. The temptation to speak freely is great.

Maybe they'll go down together, at least, though she imagines his position would allow him some more room to wiggle out of things. Or perhaps merely a more public death.

Squaring her shoulders against the back of the chair, she speaks slowly, carefully. "Perhaps I simply don't have a strategic brain, because I... well, I admit I am somewhat confused about the logic behind this revival."

And pursuing Capitol children on top of it all. China doesn't care much for humans, but she does care for the chances of the nation with which she's thrown in her lot. Alienating their allies doesn't seem a great way to do that.

"They're trying to show who's in control. There's been unrest here and in the districts and they're pulling out the same old strategy they've used for years." He stares down at the tablecloth. "When we switched to bringing in the offworlders that was a concession to the districts. That was saying, 'quiet down, we recognize that you're causing serious problems for us, we'll give you this much.' And what the powers-that-be don't realize is that it completely changed the political landscape.

"Anyone who's ever worked in enforcement knows that rules have to be three things: they have to be clear, they have to be specific, and they have to be consistently enforced," he declares, counting those points off on his fingers. "If you aren't consistent then not only do people start getting mad because they feel like you're picking on them, but they start feeling like something's lacking on your end. That you're not powerful or competent enough to follow up on what you say. That's what we look like right now. We broke a tradition that's existed for decades in order to calm the districts down, and now we're pretending that we've been calling the shots the entire time, that we can go right back to how things were. But we can't. Our enemies aren't fooled by that."

China notes the use of 'we' and wonders just how closely tied to the Capitol Quintus still feels. She's never been the sort to feel bonds to anything, but now she imagines she can almost feel a physical force--an anchor, threatening to drag her down when the whole thing topples.

At the least, with him speaking so critically, she feels slightly more comfortable dropping her act.

"So we try to show control and all we reveal is that we've lost our grasp of how to run the game. And the Capitol citizens are alienated in addition. There are some who would not call this an envious position."

And they had put themselves there. It all smarted.

[ooc: I'm very sorry for this extreme lateness!]

"Yep, and that 'some' would include me. Whoever--"

The waitress pops back in, and he cuts off, accepting his drink with a smile. It's a tall glass filled with a potent mixture of whiskey and coffee, and as she leaves he takes a lengthy sip of it.

"Whoever had the bright idea of reaping the stylists' children thinks far too much of the loyalty of some people here. You grew up knowing that you wouldn't ever have to worry about or train for the Games. No citizen would. And now we're smashing those expectations and saying that anyone can have any damn thing happen to them at the whim of the government. Is that meant to convince people to side with us? If we don't have the citizenry and we don't have the districts, then who the hell do we have?"

He gazes into his glass, shaking his head, then looks at her, resting a fingertip against his scar. "I live every day with the reminder of what can happen if we can't keep things under control. And that is the last thing that I want for my men, my friends, and my country."

"If they expect the bureaucrats and the like to take up arms and defend this place, they may be sorely surprised by the power of population differences. ...That is if any are still willing to do so. Loyalty isn't an ever-giving fountain."

Because he's absolutely right, and that's been her fear. Without the Capitol citizens, what exactly is left? Having their children reaped isn't going to make the citizens fearful enough to be loyal--it's going to make them angry.

Her tone softens even more, and she moves to lay her hand on his wrist. "I do hope there hasn't been any reaction in the Districts, for the sake of your men."

It's a leading statement, and she waits to hear what the response will be. Just because she hasn't heard much about any riots or protests means nothing; the Capitol may have made a great error here, but they still seem to hold the leash of their media.

The touch is unexpected, but he doesn't twitch or flinch--it's rather nice, to tell the truth, and as his other hand comes to rest atop hers he doesn't move to draw her away.

"Nothing beyond the usual yet." There's the slightest of hesitations before he concedes that yet, turns possibility into certainty and lets himself be afraid. "I'm not optimistic."

She's pleased that he doesn't pull away from the comfort, though she keeps that off of her face. "A small mercy." And a temporary one, as he has so neatly pointed out.

"The men on the ground will pay for it before the rest of us do. I wonder how deeply they thought of that when making their decision."

Her heart doesn't bleed any extra for the peacekeepers, but she has a feeling that Quintus's might. On the basic level of value, of course, she'd rather have them alive and well.

"I don't expect you to share strategy secrets with me, but... I do wonder what those of us here can do." Helplessness isn't entirely new to her; there's a small part of her that chafes at living under a government with such control. But at least there used to be a refuge in that control--now she's no longer sure.

"They probably didn't think of it at all," he says, with something of a pained laugh. "The authorities here, they see our troops as something that'll always be around. The numbers don't matter so long as we come out on top. But the fact is that the numbers always matter, because they add up, and then we're left vulnerable when something really bad comes along."

He curls his fingers around hers. "And speaking as a soldier, losing your comrades--it's the worst. Knowing from the outset that it could happen doesn't make it any better. And the talk of honor, virtue, sacrifice that comes with it--you tell yourself those things because you want the loss to mean something, but it's hard to say. In the scheme of it all it's hard to say."

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, then releases his grasp, taking a swig of his drink.

"I wish I could give you something to do. I think we're both just going to have to wait and see where this goes."

She looks straight at him, lips parting slightly in surprise, when he speaks of his comrades. No tears will fall, but her eyes may just have the hint of welling to hear him share this. On the inside, her mental pen scratches away, recording this unexpected development. "Of course. How miserable that must be."

She withdraws her hand when he does, though she remains close

"Like sitting ducks, I suppose. Duck feathers never suited me, but I'll just have to adjust." She hopes dry humor is welcome. How else are they supposed to tolerate this? "I feel much worse for you, of course. I imagine you're one not accustomed to being impotent."

She sighs and adds, softly, "And your friends, of course. Do let me know how they're faring as this all progresses. You're not the only one whose heart softens for more than glory."

"Sure, I'll tell you what I can." He sighs too. "I've worked for the military for fifteen years. You'd think I'd be used to just shutting up and taking orders, but--I guess in this position I've got more of a stake in it. I can see so much on so many levels and it's like--"

He struggles against something in himself, some long-held reservation. When the words come, they're slow and forced, relegated nearly to a whisper.

"My experience should be worth more than this."

Selfishness comes naturally to China. But knowing Quintus, she imagines it's very different for him.

She bows her head, nodding. "It should be. You've worked too hard to be abused like this. And it's foolishness to leave a good soldier ill-used."

"I wish I could apologize on their behalf, Quintus. But perhaps I can just join you in hoping that they'll see their error before we all suffer for it."

Her agreement, along with her framing it in pragmatical terms, puts him more at ease. He nods, gesturing to the waitress to give them a few minutes when she pops back in to see if they're ready to order. The door clicks shut.

"I'm glad you understand. Sometimes it feels like I'm just...shouting into my own head all the time, watching mistake after mistake. And I used to be okay with picking up the pieces, but I'm not anymore. I'm not okay."

China smiles at the waitress just as she does everyone, though she's careful to file away the details of the woman's face. She doubts Quintus would let something slip through the cracks, but if it does... she wants to know her list of suspects well.

Her eyes are immediately back on his face when he continues. "You shouldn't have to be. Goodness knows it would be better for all of us if people could only do things right the first time. I don't understand why they have to make it so difficult." There's a tinge of amusement in her smile; this is her true sentiment masquerading as a dry joke.

The seriousness is back in an instant. Soberly and quietly, she asks, "How 'not okay' do you mean, exactly?"

"I'm just--" He's not accustomed to being this open about his feelings, due to both the necessity of maintaining a public face and the culture of the military. In the field he and his comrades had often shared complaints, bonding in part through mutual miseries, but there had rarely been a heaviness to it, a deeper admittance of grief. When his brother had died he had gotten condolences, but no one had encouraged much talk about the loss, as though afraid that a thing like that, once dwelt on, would only overburden him. In truth, being able to avoid it, to sink his cares into more trivial hardships, had been a kind of relief.

But now, so used to evading, he's again torn for words. He drinks and doesn't look at China, and his answer comes in fragments.

"I'm stressed. Sleeping badly, waiting for the next disaster, I--it makes me sick. It makes me sick because I care, and I expected more from this position, and in spite of everything I can't stop thinking that if I were only given the opportunity I could--"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not making a lot of sense."

She keeps her eyes trained on him as he reaches for the words. She doesn't move a muscle until he finishes, when she clasps her hands together on the tabletop. "There's no need for apologies."

The fact that someone isn't quite making sense is information all by itself. Furthermore, China's hardly so heartless as to fault a man for losing his poise at a time like this.

"It's a great disappointment that they won't loosen the leash as much as you desire." She means it bother as sympathy for his feelings, and, well... because this isn't exactly heartening to hear as a citizen. But the sympathy is what's important, so she allows it to flow fully into her words. "I fear my advice in that regard may be wholly unhelpful. The sleeping and sickness, perhaps, we could do something about."

She pauses, tilting her head so that her hair spills over her shoulder. "But I imagine that's not the solution you want."

He shrugs. "At this point, I'm willing to hear whatever solution you've got. Short of telling me to quit, anyway."

She sighs, "Unfortunately, you just read my mind. There isn't much point in being in the control room when the ship sinks if no one will let you do anything about it."

One eyebrow arches. "Is quitting really the only point at which you'd draw the line?"

The question she's thinking is, of course: what about defecting?

He regards her oddly for a moment, not sure what she's implying, then shakes his head vigorously, his fingers tight on his glass.

"As far as I'm concerned this system, dysfunctional as it is, is all we've got between us and so much carnage. The minute people think they can act without consequences, things fall apart. If you let a bunch of vengeance-hungry insurrectionists call the tune then you get exactly what you'd expect from a bunch of vengeance-hungry insurrectionists. So there's--I guess there's the ship, and the ocean. No one's coming to save us. We keep it floating or we drown."

"Forgive my boldness, but I just had to check. This is something of a comfort to hear--those of us at the bottom sometimes wonder if those at the top will simply leave the rest of us to sink." Goodness knows she would do the same in that position. It's one of the reasons she now regrets not following the family tradition--at least then she'd have some government secrets to sell for her safety if things looked bad.

Anything left of her smile fades for just a moment. "Yes. I doubt we'd deserve mercy in their eyes."

"I'm sure some of them would jump if things got rough enough. Some of the people we've got in power are far more interested in their own well-being than any kind of service or sacrifice. But even if they took off with some intel our enemies would find useful--all of us represent something that those agitators want to wipe out. That's not the kind of working relationship that'd last long."

"A very sobering point." And yet she finds herself grimly relieved--why would those traitors deserve safety more than the rest of them? If China's going down, she wants everyone going with her.

"We're all well and truly stuck. And I fear that any help I could give you would merely be treating the symptoms." She laces her fingers together. "I can offer you a quiet place to escape it all in my library, but at the end... you'd still return to the same work and the same problems."

"I wouldn't mind paying you a visit sometime. Better than staying home and trying to distract myself."

He rests a hand atop her folded fingers again. "Thanks for putting up with me. I know this isn't the most cheery rambling to have to listen to."

"You are always welcome. I never close the library, and I'd welcome your company."

She inclines her head, studying his face. “I wasn’t aware that I came off to you as the kind of woman who would prefer that you whisper pleasant little nothings in my ear.”

She appreciates the confidence, and not merely because she likes fishing for information.

"Well, I don't know if you walked into this thinking I'd be so doom and gloom," he says with a bit of a smile. "I just really needed someone to talk to that won't be reporting to me tomorrow. I have to save some face."

"I'll admit that I didn't expect quite this much 'doom and gloom.' That established, Quintus, I hope you won't be offended if I tell you that you're not the friend I call on if I expect sweet and fluffy conversations."

"But of course." It's certainly important in his position. "I'm happy to listen to you any time."

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There's a god awful feeling of dread in my heart

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